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What Dr. Scarpelli heard.

I didn't even have a trial."

Unlike the Lipstick Murders, the Short murder investigation was unresolved, but was still getting the occasional front page column in the Chicago dailies, and I could only imagine what was happening on the West Coast with the Hearst papers that were even more sensational than Chicago's.

I left the ballpark and made it to my bank ten minutes before closing. I drew out my savings, a whopping $733.45, and then headed to the Tribune. My editor was livid when I told him I was going to Los Angeles within the next day or so. He didn't believe my story about taking a vacation to be with my sick aunt. He thought I was going after another job out there with one of the LA dailies. But he honored my request, adding that if I wasn't back at my desk in two weeks time, I was fired.

I didn't actually leave for LA until the fifth of July. My '37 Desoto was a temperamental thing, and the shop kept it much longer than necessary. They didn't do that great a job either, the Desoto broke down on the outskirts of Tulsa, but I was fortunate in finding a mechanic who not only knew his business, but had me up and running in only four hours.


Okay, now hang with me on this... I know it's a stretch, but honest to God it's true, please believe me. I met the Alien - on the 8th of July, 1947, while headed west on Route 247, roughly 12 miles east of Corona, New Mexico.

This was definitely desert country. I remember experiencing a kind of smug, self-satisfied feeling for having filled the gas tank that morning before heading into the desert. I was on my fourth Lucky Strike - I'd been counting them, trying to cut down to one and a half packs a day, when I spotted a kind of shimmering form in the sand off to my left. I brought my 1937 Desoto to a halt on the side of the road and got out to investigate.

In the next thirty seconds as I half-walked, half-trotted toward a shimmering form lying next to a baby cactus, my life changed forever.

I really thought it a woman at first because it couldn't have been even five feet in height. But on approaching the figure, I saw that the gray shimmer was not clothing, but the creature's skin. See? I was already thinking it a creature.

It spoke to me when I was about seven feet from it. No, let me restate that. It reached into my mind and spoke to me. There wasn't a sound made, except for the light breeze blowing sand against my combat boots.

"Help me, I'm about to expire," it whispered in my head.

To my surprise I responded in kind, not uttering a word, I thought, "How can I help?"

It informed me succinctly and with almost no hesitation, "I require Qvpty."

"I don't understand," I thought.

"Oh, so sorry, of course you don't. I need what you call motor oil."

"I have some in the car," I said aloud, and thought, "I'll be right back."

"Hurry," it said into my head as I trotted back to the Desoto. Seconds later I was gasping from the extreme heat and exertion of moving so quickly. I vowed for the thousandth time to quit smoking entirely; never mind the cutting back stuff. And then I was offering the open can of Esso Oil to the creature, which took it from me with a three fingered claw and poured the entire contents down its throat, and then croaked appreciatively.

I used the moment to study the creature. It was not of this Earth, of that I was sure. Yet I felt no fear. It had not threatened me; rather it had begged for my assistance; and I had provided it. I felt secure that it would not harm me, although why I felt that is still a mystery to me. Perhaps my war experiences had provided me with a certain assurance that when my time was up, it was up. So there was no sense in worrying about it.

As I stated earlier, the creature was gray in color, although as it recovered after absorbing the much needed Qvpty, or motor oil, a pinkish hue seemed to blend in with the gray.

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