When Tom Stone Failed to Impress

When Tom Stone failed to impress his chemistry teacher, Mr. Boron ordered him under the class emergency shower. Tom obliged, clothes and all. Within a minute he began to sing America the Beautiful. The usual wiseguys joined in until Mr. Boron ordered silence. “Rush to the nurses office,” he ordered Tom.

“It's okay, Mr. Boron. My hands are better.” Tom held them out for inspection.

Mr. Boron checked Tom's hands, front and back. “Impossible. You spilled sulfuric acid. Your shirtsleeves are half eaten away so should the skin on your wrists and forearms, but they're not. You splashed sulfuric acid on your shirt and pants. Your clothes have the holes to prove it, yet you have no burns. How is that possible?”

“Somebody watered down the acid?” Tom suggested.

Mr. Boron issued the final word on spilled sulfuric acid. “Nonsense. Head down to the nurse's office this instant, young man. Tell her what happened. Go.”

It was the final word for Tom Stone. He padded down the hall out of the science wing headed for the front entrance of Claymore High School in the tiny town of the same name located a few miles northeast of Madison, Wisconsin. The year was 1952. Tom preferred to stay until graduation, but he knew from experience that Miss Atkins, the school nurse, would ask too many questions. She was inquisitive that way. Meanwhile, Mr. Boron would research the possibilities for the instant healing from acid burns. Sooner or later he would run across rumors of shapeshifters walking the earth and men in black.

Back home, Snipgridixz removed his wet clothes and shifted his Tom Stone body in the female direction. Small teenage boobs popped out on his chest. Strange things happened down below. Since she lacked clothes appropriate to a teenage girl, Snipgridixz changed into one of her “Grandma” outfits and morphed into her sixty-something Grandma persona. Her boobs sagged, her hips spread, her knees bent low and her old lady clothes fit. Her hair turned gray and frizzy, her face wrinkled. “Perfect,” Snipgridixz said.

On the way out, she couldn't help but notice the black 1951 Dodge sedan cruise into the parking lot. Four tall thin men stepped out. They wore black suits, white shirts, black neck ties, black shoes and black hats. They had covered their eyes with sunglasses. “Excuse me, ma'am,” shouted one of the men. “Have you seen this young man. He lives in this apartment complex.”

Snipgridixz Grandma stepped close to the men. She smiled to reveal cracked teeth and receding gums with many gaps. “I know the boy. He should be in school at this time of day.” Her words included enough spittle to spot the closest man's sunglasses.

The men gagged on Grandma's breath. “Thanks, ma'am.” The men shuffled into the apartment building.

Snipgridixz Grandma drove off in the direction of the afternoon sun. She glanced at the empty seat next to her. “Don't worry, dear, you're so pretty and Grandma will buy new outfits for when you begin high school in our new hometown in Arizona.”

THE END

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Middle-Aged Teenage Alien Hermaphrodite Shapeshifter

The young male strapped naked to the autopsy table widened his orange eyeball. He followed with his green one. “You'd really remove my brain and replace it later?”

The doctor's breath carried the aroma of Milwaukee's finest beer combined with Wisconsin bratwurst. The medical practitioner waved a scalpel over his victim. A long female face appeared next to him.

“Fred, my name is Doctor, well, we don't reveal our names in the laboratory of the black dress code, but I don't suppose your name is Fred either. Much too earther. I'm delighted to confirm our plan to borrow your brain. We'll store it in a large glass jar filled with formaldehyde to preserve it. As I mentioned before, you don't have to worry. I'll replace it when I'm finished with my studies.”

The doctor and his female companion backed away as “Fred” reshaped his body to free himself from his restraints. The doctor and his assistant continued to step back when Fred morphed into his normal blue-gray alien body with the giant eyes and tiny mouth on a triangle shaped head. When he stepped toward the physician and his assistant, the doctor tripped over his feet. He landed hard on the blood-red enamel-painted concrete floor. His assistant tumbled down with him.

“He's knocked out,” said the assistant after she checked on the physician.

Fred approached her. “Please give me your clothes.”

“Pardon me?”

“Su clothes, por favor. Now.” Fred placed a hand on the assistant's shoulder. She either fainted or faked it. Either way, Fred caught her in mid-collapse. He stripped her before he strapped her naked on the autopsy table. After dressing in her clothes, underwear and all, he morphed into the exact likeness of the female assistant, except for an oversized butt, third boob and six bellybuttons. He adjusted his chest but failed to notice his very noticeable butt. Fred, now Frieda, placed a surgical saw in the physician's hand before she left the building.

The lab was housed in the basement so Frieda had to find the stairwell. She exited the stairs on the first floor where she came out at the back of a large office of black-suited bureaucrats. Several people greeted her as Mona. Frieda changed her name to Mona to accommodate. She felt an urge that she couldn't identify until she noticed the Ladies room sign. What the heck, she thought, earthers might prefer privacy when they eliminate.

Later, Mona tried the female assistant's car key in every automobile in the building parking lot before she decided the woman must have parked in another location. Besides, she had no idea how to operate an earther vehicle. The stranger meandered down the street with a grin. It was a brisk, sunny November afternoon in 1946, and it must have been payday on earth for the stolen purse contained a large wad of greenbacks. “I simply must learn my human anatomy,” Mona said aloud to no one as she set out on her next adventure on a her new planet.

THE END

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Brainless Alien?

Four tall, thin men dressed in black suits and fedoras arrested the quiet stranger teenager Elizabeth Stockmeyer and her mother called “Fred.” Sheriff Winslow Tate sipped Mrs. Stockmeyer's fresh coffee with his back to the arrest by the outsiders. He stared at the kitchen counter as the four agents from who-knew-what federal agency handcuffed and hauled the young man out to their black late model Ford sedan. As far as the sheriff could tell, the only crime the lad committed, other than his odd looks, including a left arm that was a foot longer than his right, was to pop out of the woods buck naked earlier that morning and thereby expose himself to an innocent young Wisconsin teenager on a cold November morning. The year was 1946. Sheriff Tate knew if it was up to him, he'd haul the young man to the state line and turn him loose with the warning never to show his butt in Grant county again. He couldn't even look Mrs. Stockmeyer in the eye when she moaned, “What the hell.” Sixteen-year-old Elizabeth explained that the boy was a fugging Nazi spy. Her mother scolded her for her language.

The four agents drove “Fred” to Madison where they parked in back of a nondescript four-story office structure that could have been a state government building or something else. Within minutes, the men had taken “Fred” to a basement laboratory and strapped him down on an autopsy table, but as a stranger from a far distant place, Fred did not recognize it as such.

The four black suits left the room. Another few minutes passed when a middle aged plump man entered accompanied by a woman, also middle aged. She was tall and thin, an apparent sister to the black suits. She and the man wore black lab coats, surgical masks and head coverings.

“Do you understand English?” the big man asked.

“Si,” replied “Fred.”

“What's your real name?” the woman asked.

“They call me Fred.”

“But your real name is?” asked the rotund man as he rolled a cart filled with surgical instruments up to the autopsy table.

“Fred.”

“Well, Fred, your name is of no matter. Welcome to earth, to America, the land of the free and home of the brave. We would love to interview you in depth about your advanced alien science, but we simply don't have time. Our superiors want us to learn everything about your biology and they want to know immediately. Something about not wanting to unleash alien bacteria and such on America. We're delighted to see that you look like us, with a few weird exceptions like your orange and green eyes, purple hair and one arm longer than the other. It'll make our living autopsy easier. I'll begin by removing your brain for examination. Don't worry, I'll put it back when I'm finished. You don't mind, do you?”

The man and the woman both bellowed their best rendition of an evil mwa-ha-ha laugh.

THE END

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Elizabeth Stockmeyer's Most Unusual Morning

Through her glasses, with lenses thick as a soda bottle bottom, sixteen-year-old Elizabeth Stockmeyer spotted a flash of bare human flesh through the woods about 20 yards down Stickle Road from her family's farm. Snipgridix, the teenage alien hermaphrodite shapeshifter, wandered out of the forest. Unfortunately, he hadn't yet mastered the art of being human. His sky blue left foot was a size 6 and his right sky blue foot size 18. The right side of his body was white while the left side was black. Otherwise, he appeared average height, weight, brown hair and forgettable face. He had one purple eyeball and one orange.

The most interesting thing, of course, for young Elizabeth was she now knew what gentleman kepthidden beneath their khakis. She suspected the weather on this November morning in 1946 may have affected the young man's, uh, “equipment” which the stranger made no attempt to cover. She had heard from the other girls to expect the young man's thingie to be much larger.

“Buenas dias,” said the youth. “You wouldn't happen to know where I could obtain some of those outer coverings you creatures wear, would you?”

“You must be freezing. Here, cover yourself with my coat.” Elizabeth removed her navy blue wool A-line jacket and handed it to the stranger.

“Thank you.” The newcomer attempted to put the coat on upside down. Then he twisted it sideways to wear like a wrap. He smiled at Elizabeth. “Ist gute, ya?”

“You'd think you never in your life wore a coat before. Let me help you.” Elizabeth moved behind the man and held up the jacket. “Slip your arms in these holes.” From this position she missed seeing the young man conform his body to the size of the A-line. “Oh, my, a perfect fit, but how is that possible? Come to my house where you may borrow my father's clothes. They'll be way too big on you, but you can't go about naked and half frozen to death even if you are a Nazi spy.”

While her Mom assisted the young visitor with his apparel needs, Elizabeth waited in the kitchen with a well-sugared and creamed cup of coffee by the wood stove. She sauntered down the hall where she called the sheriff's department on the telephone to report the arrival of the odd-colored naked stranger. The sheriff ended the conversation by suggesting Elizabeth make a fresh pot of coffee.

Within a short time, her mother returned with the young man behind.

“Your father's clothes fit,” Mom said.

“But that's not possible,” Elizabeth said. “My coat fit him before. Besides he lost some of his color and now his feet match. What's going on here?”

“We can worry about that later. I'll drive you to school, but first, let me pour Fred a cup of coffee.” Mom picked up the coffeepot.

“Sorry, Mom, but I called the sheriff. We should wait.”

“Don't worry. I'll make breakfast for Fred in the meantime.”

Thirty minutes later, Fred, or Snipgridix as his home world folks named him, watched out the window of the kitchen as Sheriff Tate liberated his oversize mid-section from behind the wheel of his Chevy in the driveway. An unmarked black Ford sedan parked next to the sheriff's Chevy and ejected four tall, thin men dressed in black suits, black neckties, white shirts, black hats and black shoes. They wore black sunglasses.

THE END

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Fred Freeborner's Alien

In the years that followed, farmer Fred Freeborner told anyone who would listen about the alien visitation in his deer blind at daybreak on November 15, 1946. He took pains to point out this was the deer blind on the west end of his southwest Wisconsin dairy farm, not the one over near Bob Perkins' blueberry farm.

What he thought was an unusual three-horned black bear lumbered down the deer path in front of him. Later he learned the creature was likely the legendary Mudvarian Primbobber. Whether horned bear or legendary creature, it morphed into one of those scary space aliens. You know the kind. They’re blue-gray, have a teeny, tiny slit for a mouth and have a triangular-shaped head with no hair. Their eyes are super large and twisted at an angle down from their oversized brains. They communicate by mental telepathy.

These aliens kidnap weird people to conduct painful experiments. They stick long needles into their bellies and steal their mojo before they return them to the world like a fisherman playing catch and release. Their victims then travel anywhere they can find listeners who want to hear about their alien abduction, but nobody believes them. Would you? Well, the Mudvarian Primbobber turned into one of those aliens.

The strange visitor, strolled to the bottom of the hill by the creek. He glanced up the trunk of the big oak, noticed Fred in his deer blind and said, “Good morning” without moving his mouth.

Fred, who at this point realized he had snatched the 22 longs instead of the .30-06 cartridges he needed for his Remington 1903/A3 .30-06 Springfield when he left the house, began to fumble around for the hunting knife that at the time resided under the seat of his red 1945 Ford pickup parked 100 yards south by the side of road.

In his best clear American, Snipgridixz the newly-arrived teenage alien hermaphrodite shapeshifter, said, “Oops. Das vas nix gute.” He morphed into a naked young man. “Is this better?” And it would have been if Snipgridixz had morphed into a normal human instead of his blue-footed version with a left foot size 6 and a right foot size 18. If both sides of his body had the same color skin, well, that would have helped also.

Fred nodded but the words simply would not form in his mouth so he grunted and groaned as the strange nude figure wandered into the woods on the other side of the creek. Fred took a gulp of java embellished with his home brewed Wisconsin cheese liqueur but spit it out. He always ended the tale by mentioning the men in black visited him two days later.

THE END

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Glickenhopper's Mudvarian Primbobber

After he blew up his flying saucer, quite by accident you understand, Snipgridixz waited in Lake Winnebago. When the soldiers finished their cleanup, he ventured onto shore where he rested in the form of a Mudvarian Primbobber. He may have remained asleep all night if Private Elmore Glickenhopper hadn't stepped on him while on patrol. Glickenhopper jerked back. “What was that?” He shone his flashlight on the sleeping form with the boot print on its butt.

Glickenhopper had never seen an animal like a Mudvarian Primbobber. It appeared the right size for a black bear. But what about those three horns on one end of the the brute's body? Were the  horns on its head or its butt? Glickenhopper wasn't certain. He noticed the beast's scaly skin and bloated body. The animal either burped or farted. Glickenhopper couldn't be certain which end was which, but the aroma assaulted the nasal passages only slightly more than the fragrance of a barracks where 40 GIs slept off a beer and beans night at the NCO club.

The Mudvarian Primbobber galloped into the darkness of the Northwoods never to be seen again except for occasional appearances in his many other forms like the Jersey Devil, Rhinelander Hodag, the Lizard Man of Scrape Ore Swamp, and of course, your average American teenager. Snipgridixz could even land in your school. Have you checked on the new kid in your chemistry class? Snipgridixz enjoys masquerading as a boy most times, talkative as ever, and always, well, almost always, one step ahead of the Men in Black.

THE END

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First Day on Earth

On the night of November 14, 1946, Snipgridixz bumped into a panel on the saucer's main control panel. The defense shield dropped. Slipgringil screamed “Brizilagramp,” a bad word in his native language. A captured German V-2 rocket flew through the open docking bay door where it exploded against the back wall.

The flying saucer disintegrated but Snipgridixz escaped when the blast blew him out the open bay door. He spread a pair of bat-like wings and flapped until he landed in Lake Winnebago near Paynes Point, a tiny tourist area south of Neenah, Wisconsin. Air-filled float bags replaced his bat wings once he hit the water. As he watched, the rest of the crew, including Slipgringil, landed in a cluster on shore, but in the dark, Snipgridixz didn't spot any movement. He assumed they must be unconscious or worse.

U.S Army soldiers assigned to monitor the V2 test approached the crash site. They divided into two groups upon arrival. The first panicked and scattered into the surrounding forest. Snipgridixz heard their screams mixed with the battle noise of M1 rifle fire from the braver soldiers. Snipgridixz knew his shipmates died in the saucer explosion. Otherwise, they may have laughed at the soldiers. He regretted causing the accident that killed his crewmates, but what could anyone expect from a teenage alien hermaphrodite shapeshifter?

Major Medford Stormblazer, commander of the Army battalion, ordered the alien bodies burned and the scattered debris tossed into the lake. In his memoir written years later, he mentioned how he feared an Army investigation into why he destroyed an actual flying saucer and ordered his men to kill the occupants. No one believed his memoir, of course.

THE END

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