Aello, Aliens and the Imagination of Peter Trundle

All Peter Trundle knew was that the fecal matter had come from a great height, and that it had nearly killed him.

He had been taking a shortcut through the woods near his home, after watching War of the Worlds. He was still thinking about the way the aliens made that terrible foghorn noise right before they dumped out a thunderous stream of water. Man, that was scary. And a little bit gross. What was that, some sort of alien bowel movement?

Just then, there was a gust of wind, a distant screeching sound, almost like the sound of a crow laughing, and something hit him on the head.

When he came to, Trundle didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, but the wind had grown in intensity, and he could hear the rumble of thunder. He was covered in blood and a substance that could only be one thing. He was seeing a few spots too.

Perhaps it was the blow to the head, perhaps the suggestible mood he was in, but Trundle was suddenly, terrifyingly sure of one thing. The aliens were coming.

More snaps of lightning. The wind gusted, nearly knocking him over. Trees cracked and started fall. Just like the movie.

Trundle ran out of the forest, screaming: “the aliens, the aliens!”

Normally a sober and sensible member of their community, Trundle’s terror, confusion and let’s face it, horrific appearance was convincing.

A panic ensued, and it took the better part of the day to clear up the misconception. The trees had fallen because of a freak tornado or microburst. Trundle had no doubt been the victim of an airplane toilet and was lucky to be alive. See, nothing strange going on, just an unlikely series of events, and an overactive imagination.

It was all going to be okay. After a few more hours of observation at the hospital, doctors told Trundle he was okay, and could go home.

“What a weird day,” Trundle thought. “No more jumping to conclusions for me.”

At home he took a shower, put on some clean clothes and poured himself stiff drink, despite the warnings of the doctors. He put some jazz on the stereo, and sat back, letting the tension ease out of him to the sounds of Miles Davis.

There was a tentative knock on the door. Had Trundle imagined it? No, there it was again.

An image of one of the aliens popped in his head.

“No, that’s silly,” Trundle thought. “They wouldn’t bother to knock. I’m sure it’s just a salesman or something.”

There it was again. He sighed, and shouted, “just a moment.”

Who the hell could it be? He opened the door.

It was a bear.

Before he ran, and all the unpleasantness that followed, a hopeful thought flickered in Trundle’s mind: “perhaps I’m imagining this too?”

Inspired by:
Aliens arrive! | Candygram | Lead Harpy