Cwej: Little Green Men by Plum Pudding

Little Green Men
By Plum pudding
Illustration by Bex Vee

“They don’t look like that,” Chris Cwej noted, pointing at the neon green bumper sticker. 


“Mm?” asked Sang Mi, half-listening. The road was long and she had zoned out, as she was liable to do in the downtime. 


“Aliens. Martians. They don’t look like that.” Chris shrugged. It was just a plain fact.


“Yeah.” Sang Mi said, pointing at herself melodramatically. “I know.”


Chris chuckled, softly. He had forgotten she was from Mars — Gongen, that was — if only for a moment. She seemed like she fit here. Even if neither of them really did. 


Chris felt now he had to continue to justify himself, so he continued to explain. “I mean, some aliens, well, they look similar. Maybe. At a push. But they don’t visit Earth. Even the lads that showed up at Roswell sure didn’t look like that.” 


“Cool, yeah, uh, I don’t know what a Roswell is,” Sang Mi responded. 


“It’s a thing nutjobs yell about on conspiracy forums,” Chris said, half paying attention and not really explaining because there were so many bumper stickers, decals, decorations on nearby houses. This was alien-central. 


The amount of bumper stickers didn’t really sit well with Chris. Bumper stickers were weird. Like they were something people believed in, an ideal. Chris knew about ideals and cultural fads. He didn’t trust them. 


The road was grey; the pavement and the buildings nearby were also very grey (or at least brown or white) and all excessively dull looking. There was generally a state of decomposition all around – Chris briefly wondered if this was a bad side of town, but then there were trees, nice trees, and every once and a while they’d see a beautiful old house, or in fact, a series of beautiful houses, and it would suddenly be clear that America was just weird like this. It came in waves. 


For every disheveled hut labelled ‘Jason’s Wayback Whoppers, the best Burgers in Pennsylvania ’, there would be another place that was gated off and looked like it came from old money. There were no rules. Excepting, of course, that damn near every other car in this town happened to have those alien bumper stickers. Some were green, some were grey, but they were increasingly common. 


This was a big deal around there, that they had all sorts of alien merch. This was pretty far from city civilization though, and yet the intensity of the town’s fixation did indeed take him aback. Perhaps there was something in avoiding the highways now and then.


“There are a lot of those,” Sang Mi at one point said, wrinkling her nose at the inevitable tacky American flag alien. It was funny, she had no idea the symbol existed before this whole thing, but she had tended to only see the flag showcased by nutjobs. She presumed there were ordinary people. She hoped there would be ordinary people.


It was bewildering to think that he lived here, Chris thought, had lived here, will live here, well, at least on this planet, nine-hundred and fifty years later or so, before all of this, although the memories of those days were now blurry and hazed. And he usually didn’t think of it, except for the fact that this little place in Pennsylvania  did remind him of Spaceport Five Undercity, even if they were nothing alike. This place was industrial, sure, but not a city. It was suburbian, small town industry. He had been to earth hundreds of times without the thought of Spaceport Five popping in. But there it was. Perhaps he was getting too introspective. Seeing things that weren’t there. 


“There’s gotta be a little green man,” Sang Mi squeaked, a little more excitable than she usually was. “There’s a really big one,” Sang Mi said, pointing at a giant inflatable Little Green Man. 


Chris instinctively pulled over. 


* * *


The home of the giant inflatable little green man was ‘Marko’s Mechanical Contractors, Exceeding Your Expectations Everyday’, next to a shop labelled ‘Suburban Tobacco’, and a restaurant called ‘Big Elk Grill’. It was decisively ordinary, the typical plaza you would see teenagers loitering at and not much else of note.


“There can’t be a little green man,” Chris said. “This specific design of a little green man isn’t native to anywhere. It’s not a thing.” 


Sang Mi nodded. “It’s kinda got to be a thing though.” 


“It absolutely is not,” Chris said firmly, not because he wanted to antagonize Sang Mi, far from it, but because he didn’t want to get her hopes up. 


“I mean, from a statistical sense,” Sang Mi began, and Chris sensed that there was absolutely no stopping her at this stage, which was doubly impressive because she was nearly dead to the world but for a few minutes ago, “a sizable percentage of the things we have witnessed on this trip have been in the impossible category. In short, thing territory.”


They still had quite a few miles to go today, a sizable amount of progress to be made, and if the whole day became a little green men production, they may not make it to the motel on time. 


Which, Chris supposed, wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. He decided to trust himself. He had to have pulled over for a reason. 


They got out of the orange car (which looked an oddity in a parking lot of silver and navy vehicles) and proceeded into Marko’s Mechanical Contractors. What awaited them inside they could not have possibly anticipated.


* * *


First off, there was a mascot. 


It was clearly a man in a suit. Embarrassingly so. He was the same sort of green alien the outside inflatable decoration was, but the person inside the suit did not befit the outside alien’s impossibly slender form. 


Secondly, it was a hardware store. They should have known from the sign. 


“Welcomeeee ee eee humaaaaannnn mortals,” the unconvincing mascot proclaimed. His voice was agonized, that of an unprofessional voice actor who had been forced to poorly impersonate Goofy for shifts of seven hours at a time. Every vowel was stretched out for millenia, his remarkably nasal voice cracked frequently. 


“Oh hell no.” Sang Mi muttered in apprehension. 


“It is I, BlooxBop from the planet Gameepmorp! I’m here to save YOU up to 15% OFF any purchase of lugnuts, screws and bolts under seventy-five greep glops! Gwarsh, I’m sorry, that’s my language for dooooooooooollaaaars!! Haha!” 


“You don’t have to do that,” Chris began, feeling his patience already wearing thin. “I’m Chris Cwej —” 


“Kweej? Golly, that’s a Gameepmorp name if I’VE ever heard one, buddy,” the Mascot began. “Have you tried our new drywall package? It’s out of this world!” 


“And this is Sang Mi,” Chris said through gritted teeth. She waved awkwardly. The Mascot did an (overenthusiastic) little jig in return. Sang Mi regretted the wave. 


Chris wondered for a moment about whether or not to ask anything further, if he should just walk out. This man was clearly not going to be helpful, but still, out of whatever it was, stubbornness or aimlessness, Chris remained there, standing in frustration. 


“Can we just talk normally?” Chris asked, tersely. 


“Caaaaaaan do!” The Mascot squeaked. 


“No, really.” Sang Mi butted in. “Please stop the weird voice. We’re not here for hardware.”


Suddenly the Mascot stopped dancing and slouched. “Ah, man, why didn’t you say sooner?” The Mascot said, talking in a normal, albeit low, voice. “What do you want then?” 


“What’s the deal with the bumper stickers?” 


It was bizarre how quickly the atmosphere changed, how solemn the moment seemed. The mascot removed his little green mask and sat down. His brown hair was tousled and stubble had grown all over his face. He looked depressed, nervous. Whatever he was, he was a hell of an actor.


“I, um, I don’t really know how to start. There have been disappearances. People… kids, mostly… They go missing in the forest. Sometimes they come back. Sometimes they… don’t…” the man said quietly. He looked over his shoulder, frightened of being overheard. “And the worst part is, it brings in the tourists, so nothing’s being done.” 


“Nothing?” Sang Mi whispered incredulously. 


“Nothing,” he said, haunted. “But it’s all this town has, the alien merch. And we’ve got to get paid.”


Sang Mi didn’t know how to respond. “That can’t be right…” 


“Excuse me.” He placed the Mascot head back on and got back to work. 


* * *


“I was right,” Sang Mi told Chris, clambering back into the car. “I told you the little green men were real.” She was a little too proud of herself. 


“Ugh. I mean, probably,” Chris said, buckling his seat-belt. “I think I believe him, despite the initial cartoon voice. I mean, it’s grim enough.” 


Sang Mi nodded. The proudness faded as she thought about that poor man in the Mascot costume. It was the first thing in a while to actually properly remind her of Gongen. Of home. And the reminder wasn’t because of the little green men suit, it was just the unfairness of it. Like that nasty old man challenging her to a sword fight in the gymnasium just to try to embarass her. She deliberated over what to suggest. She didn’t have to suggest anything.


He turned the car key in the ignition and they set off. They were going to explore the woods, and figure out exactly what sort of thing was going on here. And he had a feeling it was the sort of thing that would be terribly, terribly wrong.


* * *


As they drove through the town to go to the woods, they saw a man standing still, completely and utterly still–just staring out at nothing by the side of the road at, well, nothing. There weren’t enough cars on the empty road to grab that much attention. Nor was there anything picturesque on the other side of the road. His face was forlorn and tired. 


The strangeness of this man put a chill in Chris’ chest. He felt more dread seep in. He stopped the car and rolled down the window. “Hello?” he asked, carefully. It was a fairly ineffectual start, but he didn’t know what else to say. 


The man had sorrow in his face and alcohol on his breath. He wore a flannel sweater, but it was completely unbuttoned, exposing his haggard hairy chest. There was a fleck of blood on his lip – he had been absent-mindedly chewing it. “Please leave me alone,” he whimpered.


“I’m sorry, I understand wanting to be left alone — but seriously, are you alright?” Chris asked. 


“Course I’m not,” the man said. “My son’s gone. He just disappeared after soccer practice. It’s been weeks. Weeks.”


“Soccer? What’s that?” Sang Mi whispered in Korean. 


“Football,” Chris softly whispered back. In English, he continued talking to the man: “Is there anything we can do to help?”


“Leave me alone!” the man cried, still a statue on the side-walk. Unmoving and static. “Leave me alone!” 


Sang Mi wanted to say something but she felt useless in the face of the man’s grief. It was like a sponge: damp, absorbent. She felt herself getting sucked into it, and she wanted desperately to say something helpful, but nothing came to mind. 


“It’s been weeks,” the man whispered. 


They pulled the car over into a nearby parking lot and walked over to the man, trying to offer him some comfort, even if the attempt was feeble, but he was simply catatonic. 
“Come on, Sang Mi,” Chris muttered after their attempts at kindness had morphed into a long silence. “Best thing we can do for him is give him some peace and quiet.”
​

Sang Mi wasn’t sure. Usually when she was that bereft – on those rare occasions she did get that down and miserable – her shouts to be left alone were pretty much the last thing that she, deep down, really wanted.

But still, after a few minutes with the man, they had to move on. The forest was ahead, and so, hopefully too, would be answers.

* * *

Chris remembered why the town reminded him of the Spaceport Five Undercity  as they set off down the road to the woods, which were large and hitherto unnamed. It was the neglect. The authorities had never cared about the Undercity and no one cared about this place either. The woods overtook the buildings they passed, abandoned shells dotted the road. The centre of town had Marko’s and Big Elk, and even that was a little crumbly. But here? The roads weren’t maintained, because hardly anyone came out here but monster chasers, wanna-be interstellar abductees and minivan campers. It painted a dull picture. 

“It’s pretty out here,” Sang Mi said quietly. 

Chris wasn’t sure he really agreed. Though the trees were, in fact, marvelous. Mostly pine, really. It was funny. He had thought that pine trees were almost exclusively up-north, for Christmas decorations and Stephen King novels. 

“I’m still thinking about that guy,” she said. 

“I am too.” 

The road stopped, and there was a muddy trench of a parking lot ahead of them. He carefully manoeuvred the car into the lot, hoping that it would be easier than it looked to get it out. The sun was setting, and they were off course. Though Chris, despite his apprehension, felt certain that they were exactly where they were meant to be. Perhaps they should have brought camping gear. The alien-abduction in the forest experience felt incomplete without s’mores, tents, and a campfire. Though, he supposed, he could probably at least craft a campfire himself. And they had the car. Which had served a relatively tent-like purpose on previous occasions. 

The muddy parking lot had a few other cars in it. One of them in particular was gathering dust from abandonment. It had a broken window and what was probably raccoon scat on the front cushions. Most of the other cars were okay, but it did make Chris wonder what happened to that particular vehicle’s owner. Part of him said there were dozens of mundane explanations, but another part couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t something more.  The place was colder than usual for Pennsylvania , although that may have been the night air. Still, it was a gentle cool. 

“I’m going to go get some spare wood,” Chris said. “Start a fire.” 

Sang Mi was looking back at the little remnants of the town. She was having a nice little moment, taking in the sights of the tiny town over the hill. She hadn’t had the chance to just be at peace lately, so Chris, for whatever reason, decided to leave her to it. 

* * *

On the side of the parking lot, Sang Mi found a lost little bear. It was a stuffed animal, a teddy thing, though more gold than the typical brown. It looked well-loved. It didn’t make her feel nice to see it abandoned, sitting there like that, festering. Sang Mi, not thinking, in a sort of automatic ritual, reached down and picked up the bear.

It was lost, like her, sort of. She wasn’t lost, in most senses. But still, it was like her. She felt the story of the bear, its loneliness. Dropped in the forest by a child who, she knew for whatever reason, would not pick it back up again. The bear was essential. Sang Mi hugged the bear gently, and went back to place it in the car so as not to lose it. As she put it in the car, she shuddered a tiny bit. She never wanted to let it go.  

* * *

Soon enough he was deep into the forest, which was suitably for a forest, wild and unkempt. He stepped through some masses of brambles, picking up sticks. Twilight made the forest navy blue in shadow. Chris did not feel as peaceful as the woods. He smelled something sour in the distance, which he changed his path to avoid. 

It was the epitome of quiet and still. There was no bird song, no crunch of leaves underneath his feet. Everything felt muffled. Chris did not think anything of it. He had been to places that were like this before. Points of Stillness. He had never liked them, but they were always there. 

His eyes began to adjust to the dark. Yes, it was dark, suddenly dark. He paid it no heed. 

He kept thinking of Spaceport Five Undercity. He really needed to stop doing that. It wasn’t relevant, not at all. He bit his lip. He was in the middle of the woods, not a Spaceport. There was no-one, positively no-one here. It was in fact, the opposite of a Spaceport.

He picked up another stick. It wouldn’t do. It was soaked in some sort of sticky tree-sap. He cringed for a second, then remembered that it was just sap, and not some form of alien doom-acid. 

To be blunt, much of the forest was damp and moist, if not with sap, then with dew. He would be picking ticks off his clothes for days, no doubt. 

It was still very still. Chris resisted the temptation to hum to himself. In places like this, it was best not to be the only thing heard. 

Then he saw the shadow move. It was not an animal, but it also was not an alien. It was a person, standing in the middle of the forest, with a hunting rifle. 

“Don’t shoot!” Chris said, waving his hands. “I am not a deer!” 

This potential falsehood seemed to allay the figure, who lowered the hunting rifle. He could now see the shadow more clearly. It was a slightly rotund woman, middle aged – she was standing just like — no, that would be absurd. 

“Chris, dear, is that you?” She smiled. “Come give your mum a hug.” 

* * *

Sang Mi rummaged in the back-seat of the car for the soda and the sour cream and onion chips. She was hungry, and she liked the food that they sold at these “gas stations” very much. She wasn’t quite sure why Chris had left her alone out here, but for once, she didn’t particularly feel like following on after him, no matter how wonderful it had been to be with him lately. She just wanted some me-time. And she could sense that he wanted that too. Odd. She hoped she hadn’t done anything wrong. 
The chips were very nice though. She was confused why Chris called them ‘crisps’ even though it said Chips on the bag and everything. Perhaps he didn’t know. What an odd thought. 

The sun had completely fallen. Oh, and what a moon it was: a clear moon, a full moon! Though surely it had only just been a full moon a few nights ago, so this must be a nearly full moon. She squinted at the probably nearly full moon but came to the conclusion that, yes, it was a full one. 

She kept thinking about Gongen, and how, when all of this would be done, she would have to go right back there and do everything all over again. Back to the school, to the stress, to Sang Eun and Saki and all of it. And probably, sooner or later, something much worse than school.

There was a ruffle in the bushes. Chris was likely back. They should talk about something, she thought. She wanted to know more from him – know more about him. They had talked! They did talking, they did all sorts of talking, they had to, but still, sometimes, she felt just a smidge guilty that she had sort of forced herself into this whole thing, and sometimes all that talking didn’t feel like talking. She bit her nails nervously. 

But then the ruffle revealed itself, and it wasn’t Cwej. It was a young man who looked very similar to Sang Mi indeed. He could be her twin — in fact, he was. 

“Sang Mi!” Sang Eun exclaimed. “It’s so good to see you! But come on, we’re in danger — and —” 

Sang Mi immediately picked up the baseball bat that was hidden at the bottom of the car. There was absolutely no hesitation. She had seen a lot of ridiculous things lately and knew a trick when she saw one. Aliens were always shapeshifters in the movies and stuff — and this Sang Eun’s Korean was terrible. 

“You aren’t my brother,” she said, fiercely. “You don’t know anything about my brother.”

“Of course I’m your brother,” Definitely Not My Brother said. 

“How’d ya get here, big bro?” Sang Mi said, readying the baseball bat. 

“I followed you here from town. Mom says that we need to get back to the house. She’s making up some nice Illinois Jambalaya,” the false brother desperately attempted.
 
Sang Mi swung the bat.

“CHRIS, THERE ARE ALIENS!” Sang Mi hollered.

* * *

Chris looked at Mummy Dearest discerningly. She continued to smile in a superficial way. He was immediately aware this was not his Mother. This was manufactured. And quite glaringly so: Not only was Lovely Old Mrs. Cwej in the wrong century, she was dressed completely wrong, wearing the fashion of this century, and equally fashion she would never deign to wear. Plus she was holding a shotgun, which was quite out of style, and she was a bit too young too. Worst of all, she looked just like she did in his memories — the ones he recently discovered his Superiors had heavily edited, which was incorrect on a multitude of levels. Just seeing this pilfered and incorrect attempt at a Mother did indeed make him feel rather sad and nostalgic, but he was acutely aware that was the intention.

“So,” Chris began. “I think we both know where this is going.”

Mrs. Cwej chirped out a sickly-sweet noise of endearment. “Oh, my boy, I’m so very glad to see you again.” 

“And I would be too,” Chris said quietly. He looked at the woman and the shotgun. “Put down the gun, would you please?”

He was frustrated with how this whole thing still worked, despite the failure of the disguise. For whatever agenda or purpose, this thing was still dredging up old feelings. Why hadn’t he written his Mum a postcard? Even after he saw her last, in the deserted Undertown, barely able to say hello, let alone goodbye — and he hadn’t looked back for a second. That’s how he had always been. 

“You’ve caught on, haven’t you, love,” Mrs. Cwej murmured, disappointed. She pursed her lips into a sour triangle. “I can see it in your face.” 

“Yeah. So, you’ve been disguising yourself, taking people,” Chris declared. “I want to know why.”

“Taking people?” Mrs. Cwej laughed heartily. The familiar noise hurt something very deep down inside Chris, though he didn’t show it. “Aren’t you so funny! The little monkey thinks we’re doing something wrong. Isn’t that cute?” 

Chris didn’t let the monkey insult get to him. He’d been called much worse by the Superiors — and plenty of others across several star systems. What really annoyed him was the callousness of whoever this was. And that he had no clue who they even were. It didn’t fit the pattern of any other shape-shifter thing he knew of. They usually had to lock someone up in a pattern suspender, wear a specific disguise, or, depending on the creature, could automatically change to whatever they had seen. Whoever this alien was, he doubted it had seen his mother. 

He decided simplicity was the best move forward – he needed to keep things simple. “Who are you? What planet have you come from?”

The thing shaped like his Mother smiled again, a truly vicious looking smile. The smile opened vertically, revealing skin and arteries and eventually, a grey-green face. It re-asserted itself, and his mother was gone. The classical face remained; the prototypical face for alien and other. The grey alien face with those bulbous eyes. It was real. 
“We are from here,” it said, gleefully. “We have always been here.” 

Chris was astonished at the thought. He looked at the strange creature. Even as it talked, nothing on its face moved. Its voice was the only thing that betrayed emotion.
“You haven’t always been here,” Chris said. “I would know. The Superiors would know. An additional sentient species native to Earth, that’s not the kind of thing that gets overlooked.”

“We have always been here,” the Grey repeated. “In fact, we have become quite popular.”

“I’ve noticed,” Chris said. He steadily reached into his back pocket, subtly, so the Grey wouldn’t notice. “You even have merchandise.”

“It is intentional. It is intended. It costs money to remain hidden, Mr. Cwej,” the Grey told him. The voice was still the voice of his mother. “Even for, as you call it, shapeshifters. Of course, we give glimpses to certain people now and then. To discredit the idea — to remain in the public consciousness, to have a degree of… celebrity.”

“Yes, your appearance,” Chris said. “The abductions. It’s all very cliche.” 

“It’s a matter of branding. Public Relations,” said the Grey.

Chris hadn’t felt this angry at someone in ages. “Branding?! You’re kidnapping people and talking about branding?!” He tried to sound strong, in charge. “Listen up, you tiny little thing. I’m going to stop you. I will stop every one of you that’s doing this. I will take this as far as it needs to go.” 

Its face began to oscillate in color — it was green for a moment, quite green, although then it was grey again. Cwej scoffed at the sight. Everything was about appearances to this guy. 

But then, the Grey laughed. “Take it far, Mr. Cwej. No one will believe you.” 

A flying saucer was overhead. The Little Green Man made a mocking little “Live Long and Prosper” salute and then he was gone — beamed up. A little helicopter done up to look like a flying saucer was above him. It shuffled off. Cwej felt sick to his stomach. The callousness of whoever that was — it was incredible. 

The world felt upside down. Strange. Like there was more to it than he had ever known, and yet somehow so much less. These Roswell Greys, Zeta Reticulans, whatever he’d end up calling them — they were so small. So vindictive. Cwej looked up at the faux saucer, still ahead of him. He finally finished reaching into his back pocket, no longer needing to be subtle, and fished out his old celluloid camera. He snapped a photo, but there was nothing in the lens. The flying saucer didn’t appear. David Bowie’s voice echoed in his ears. There was no Space Oddity. There was no Life on Mars. 

* * *

Sang Mi came rushing towards the alien, baseball bat in hand. She knew enough Kendo to give these Grey bastards one thing coming. 

It no longer was disguised as Sang Eun. Great. That made swinging a baseball bat at its skull way easier. But she swung the Bat, and she missed by the biggest mile conceivable. Several miles. Several trillions of miles. A miles to lightyear conversion ratio.  

It was gone. Just like that. Her bat didn’t connect with it, she didn’t hit anything, it was just gone. She didn’t even see a sci-fi thing. It just wasn’t there anymore. What? Shit. 
She tried to ignore the sting of failure, and collected herself. None of today had made any sense, but there was still a bit of hope she could solve this, and surely that must be enough. She turned and rushed into the clearing after Chris. She only tripped on a root in the underbrush once, and she picked herself up and ran further into the forest. If there was one thing she was especially good at, it was running.

* * *

Chris was there in the clearing, remarkably dejected as Sang Mi got to him. The clearing was dark without the light of the fake saucer, and Sang Mi swatted away some bugs that tried to land on her face. The clearing was dead, scorched, though not by fire. The woods had just pulled back from where the Alien —well, if it was an alien — had stood.
 
“They’re gone,” he said, bitterly. “It doesn’t make any sense.” 

“I take it you also saw the little green men in question,” Sang Mi guessed. 

Chris Cwej’s failures were not usually this total in enormity. He shrugged. It was a feeble gesture, but he felt remarkably feeble. He didn’t feel like he had learned anything that didn’t bring up more questions, more problems. He could theorize how the Greys had obtained the face of his mother and also get so much wrong, but he couldn’t be sure.

What did make sense to him is what they had done. They had lured people in with familiar faces, abducted them. It was probably, maybe, why he had been feeling so nostalgic, and… The flying saucer he had just seen — well, it… it was a mockery of everything about abductions, now he saw it up close. A sick joke, enough for atmospheric travel, a goddamn helicopter. If he could just track them down…

“Chris,” Sang Mi interrupted his thoughts. “Are you alright? You look a bit like that sad dude on the road.” 

Chris made an untranscribable noise. “Yeah…” He sure felt miserable.

But maybe, if he had a mavimetric scanner that bypassed an active cloaking field with – ugh, if he had that, he might be able to track them — and he’d probably end up alerting the Superiors too. Who would outwardly dismiss whatever he claimed. How on Earth could they possibly remain undetected for this long? How on Earth?

“Hey! Sang Mi to Chris,” Sang Mi said, snapping her fingers in front of his face. That did it. “What’s going on?” 

“…I …I don’t want to talk about it,” Chris said, after a while. 

Sang Mi thought about what she wished she said to that man on the road, begging for them to just leave. “Tough luck,” she said decisively. “We need to talk about it.” 

Chris began to explain, “I couldn’t catch them. They’re shapeshifters. They said they’re… native? They became my Mother for a bit — then they mocked me a lot and talked about capitalistic ventures, how they’re everywhere —” 

“Slow down,” she said. 

“There’s something about this town,” Chris began, “that’s just eating at me. It’s sad, and it’s wrong, and it doesn’t make sense.” 

“Then we get outta here.” Sang Mi tried to explain. “We aren’t here specifically to hunt maybe-aliens, we’re here to try and help people. And if we can’t help people — we tried! That’s part of what I like about you, not that we win or we lose or whatever — but that we try.” 

Chris stood up. “You’re right. But when it’s something this big — you can’t just try once and then give up. Not when people’s families are on the line.”

“I wasn’t trying to say that.” She said quickly. 

Chris sighed. “I know!” He said angrily. “It’s just, sometimes, I don’t know what to do.”
Sang Mi looked at him. She thought about how funny it was to hear him say that. Not haha-funny, or even funny-strange, but just… funny in the coincidental sort of way. How alike they were. And how small her problems seemed in a sort of comparison when looking at her teacher. Mr. Cwej from the high school where she was Sarah Jhe. She minded a lot of things, and it was a weird name, but she never minded being Sarah Jhe.

“Well, we do what we can, I guess.” 

Chris, looking at her, thought how funny it was that she was the student and not the teacher. How she was already much better at all this than he was, and that when she grew up, she would probably be some sort of world peace superhuman, even if there were storm-clouds ahead. They were so alike. It would almost perturb him if somehow it didn’t make him feel better. 

They both felt better for being on the road — for solving problems.  And deep down, although they knew neither of them could solve this one, it made them all the more certain they could solve the next. Even if they were getting close to the end of the line, it still felt like a new start. 

But before they went for good, they had to do what they always did. They had to try.

* * *

Jimmy put the ZeepZorp costume on the shelf. It was the end of his shift. He sighed. It had been a long day of pretending to be a happy goofball and he was exhausted. He could stop being the Mascot now, and he could be Jimmy again, if only for a few hours. He’d clock in again tomorrow. But for now… 

He went outside for a cigarette. The town was empty and strange tonight. The light from the storefront was the only light there was. It was a lonely town. He almost convinced himself he could hear the relaxing country twang of guitar over the wind. Things would change around here soon. Less customers today. Maybe aliens weren’t as popular these days, what with the news. People have really had enough with always thinking the world’s ending, he thought. It’s not good for the mental health. 

The cigarette wasn’t hitting like usual. Jimmy stamped it out on the pavement, not even thinking about littering. His mouth still moved automatically, even without the cigarette — he chewed his lip steadily. 

The odd orange car from earlier rolled up to the storefront. It was funny they knew he was still here. The door opened, and there they were, the pair from earlier. He had sort of wondered who they were, what their real deal was, though somehow he knew he’d never really know. It was good they weren’t lost in the forest like so many others. 

“We’re looking for an old man,” Cwej declared.

“There are plenty,” Jimmy said, gruffly. “This is a town of old men.” 
Chris sighed. They had been all over town. It felt hopeless.

“Are you sure you don’t know him?” Sang Mi asked softly. “We have to get going. We have places to be.”

“If you had a name, I might be able to help,” Jimmy said, though he knew that they wouldn’t have a name somehow. This was a nameless town of nameless people — they had never bothered to ask his name earlier, now had they?

“Well, if you see him, if you see the guy, can you give him this?” Sang Mi asked. There was hope and pain in her eyes. She handed Jimmy — with great difficulty, he noticed — a small golden and thoroughly tousled teddy bear. Her grip around the bear was tight. He solemnly took the bear, recognizing its significance.

Sang Mi stepped away, awkwardly. “He, um, he needs it more than I do.” 

Jimmy looked at the bear in his hands, subconsciously stopping to feel its soft fur. Sang Mi’s sacrifice was noted. “I’ll make sure it gets to him,” he said. As he held the bear, it became Jimmy’s mission too. 

The two strangers got back into the car, and began their way out of town. It was night, but they were still going. Jimmy chuckled to himself, despite everything, despite being a thirty year old man holding a bear in an empty parking lot. Jimmy saw them drive, saw that they were going. He felt certain, although he hardly knew him, of one thing — that they would never stop. 

* * *

The Man stood at the side of the road. It was night, and it was time to move. He would have to go home, sit down. Maybe his boy was waiting for him back home already, and he had been wasting his day on this pavement for no reason, stinking of cigarettes and beer. Wouldn’t it be so nice if all the problems could get solved? Mmph. But that wasn’t real life, now was it? Certain things just hung there like implacable flies. 

Above his head, for just a second, he saw something in the sky twirl. A flying saucer! A flying saucer. Aliens were real! Aliens were real, goddamnit! Proper aliens! Not the big dumb aliens on the news, but honest to god Little Green Men in flying saucers! He laughed so hard. Those Little Green Men in flying saucers! They – Wait —  They’re the kind of alien that abducts people! Maybe one of those Alien agencies would know! Know where his son is!

He walked over to the nearest payphone — which still work in small towns like this – and he feebly dialed the phone directory and got the number for the Federal Bureau of Alien stuff or whatever it was. It was surprisingly easy to get, too. He was certain this would be it. He would report the UFO, and find out about his son. 

He phoned the number. “Hello!? I’ve got to call about the Little Green Men! I saw them! In the flying saucer!! It was a sighting, and you government people want to know about those, right!?” 

“…The little green men?” 

“Yes! The Greys! The Zeta Reticulans! They were here, in Pennsylvania !” His drunk voice probably wasn’t doing him any favors. 

“Mister, this is an official government line for real extraterrestrial sightings. We do not take well to being prank-called. There are no such things as little green men.” The phone played that dull beep of a tone, and he was hung up on.  

Another man might have sworn up and down, and redialed the number, and screamed to anyone who listened that the Aliens were in the Government! This man didn’t bother. He placed the phone down and walked back to his house, past the dozens of green and grey bumper stickers and inflatable balloons. He trudged past the merchandise, his drunkenness making him stumble. That was it. The Beer. His eyes must have been playing tricks on him. 
​
There are no such things as little green men. 

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Next Stop:
This is a Story About _______
​by James Wylder

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Copyright © 2025 Arcbeatle Press
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Edited by James Wylder and James Hornby
Formatting and design by James Wylder & Aristide Twain
Cover by Ari Michak
Illustrations by Bex Vee
Logo design by Lucas Kovacs
 
Concepts Used with Permission:
Academy 27 © Arcbeatle Press
WARSONG, WARS TCG, Gongen, Takumi, and associated concepts © Decipher, Inc.
Archie MacTavish, Tasha Williams, SIGNET and Charles Zoltan © James Hornby
Chris Cwej and associated concepts © Andy Lane
Yssgaroth © Neil Penswick
C.R.U.X © Aristide Twain
The Jovian Diplomatic Service, Blue Candle Coffee Company, E.D.E.M, Jhe Sang Mi, Jhe Sang Eun, Maxie Masters © James Wylder