The magnificent mothership landed gently on the large mound of dirt in the middle of Cougar Mountain Regional Wildland Park. It tipped over and rested its edge on the grass below. The driver decided to leave it be. Or perhaps he didn’t really notice since the ship had some sort of self-contained gravity field. The creature slid the door open manually and fell out. The man and his mastiff who had been watching the whole thing while sipping a cool cup of milk and eating mulberries made no move towards it, but continued munching. The creature stood back up and sighed. It brushed itself off and marched directly to the man and his mastiff. They both stood and the man smiled as the creature said one word, “Muxley.”
“Good morning, Mr. Muxley. My name is Mervin Maddox and this is my mastiff, Mercy. The dog made a small bark that sounded more inquisitive than malicious.
“Muxley!” it repeated, slightly maddened.
“Okay, I get it. Me Mervin, you Muxley. Whatever. Do you want some mulberries?” The alien did not respond now that he realized his voice recognition systems had not been completely activated.
The other, much younger man who had been camping a quarter mile away now pushed his way through the Monterey Cypress trees and made his way to the group. “Good day, mates. I’m Monty Montgomery. Would you like some M&M’s?” The other two merely stared at him. “Okay…then how about a Mars bar? Marshmallow? Junior Mint? Milk Dud?”
The alien motioned for them to follow him and up they went into the ship. There was nothing in it but a small console in the middle and what looked like a fat guitar leaning against it. He picked it up immediately and began to pluck the strings with a plectrum. Once he started, flashes of lights appeared on the wall. He began slowly, then sped up, and then slowed down again. The music was beautiful. It made the guests feel at ease. Even Mercy the dog, who had managed to struggle up the mound and into the doorway, swayed back and forth in dance. After it was over, a drawer slid out of the wall.
The alien walked to it and took out two devices. The first looked like a miter attached to drumsticks with wires. The other resembled a large retro mobile phone. He put on the miter and placed the edges of the drumsticks to Mervin’s temples. Nothing happened for a few seconds and then Mervin understood completely. Without speaking, the alien had somehow conveyed what he wanted. Mervin took the other device and spoke into it, “A, B, C, D…” and continued until he had finished the alphabet. He pushed a button on it and spoke again, “Milky Way, Earth, human, land, multiple, North America, United States, English, Oregon, Bellevue, male, Mervin, forty-two, camping, fire, motorboat, Cellar Door.” He was done. Monty stared at him like he was crazy. The alien took back the recording device and played it back in his own ear. After repeating this step several times he tossed it back in the drawer with its companion and picked up the instrument again; playing one chord so as to close the drawer. The wall appeared to have never been broken.
The alien let out a massive sigh and finally spoke comfortably, this time in English. “I have come as a scout in order to make contact with your people. We discovered this planet yesterday and we are anxious to meet you all. You must take me to various locations so that I may better understand your culture.”
The two men looked at each other then looked at the dog for help. Unfortunately, the alien had picked the two least qualified men as his guides. Neither of them had been outside of King County. “We don’t really know where to go.” The alien turned his gaze to the floor, not quite knowing what to say. Mervin continued. “Look, Mr. Muxley, we—”
“My name isn’t Mr. Muxley.”
“Then what does Muxley mean?” Monty asked.
“It doesn’t mean anything.” He was becoming more impatient. “That must just be what I sounded like since you don’t understand our language.”
Monty realized that he had asked the wrong question. “Well, what is your name?”
The alien spoke out in a mass of misinterpreted and possibly mythical monosyllables that made the men’s minds feel like maimed monkeys meandering their way through a maze of monsters and mutants.
“Okay…well we’ll just maintain calling you Mr. Muxley.”
The alien did not seem pleased with this but obviously considered it less important than the task at hand. “Take me somewhere.”
“Well, it’s almost time for breakfast,” Monty said. “We could head down to McDonald’s and get some pancakes or something.”
“No,” Mervin protested,” we shouldn’t give him fast food. Let’s go to somewhere more sophisticated.”
Monty thought for a second and tried again, “okay then, how about Mooby’s?”
“That’s just as bad!” yelled Mervin. “The best place to get breakfast around here is Miss Milly’s Mess Hall at the Mill.”
“Oh, yes!” Monty’s eyes lit up. “They have the best muffins!”
“I agree,” Mervin agreed. “But their specialty is Melons. The owner’s daughter-in-law, Miss Minor, says they get their recipes from some restaurant in France.” The men grabbed their belongings while Mr. Muxley put a masking charm on his ship. They piled into the small moss green truck and drove off towards the ghost town of Monohon.
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