SECTION SEVEN
Entry #0049: The New Neighbor
01-30-2009
Up the dirt road a piece from my cabin, maybe just a quarter of a mile,
someone just moved into the old Eckert's cabin. I waited a few days
before making contact. Because what if this person was a goon sent by
those that sought me out? There's that old paranoia flaring up again!
But if they succeeded at locating me, they could plant this person here
in the Mulvern vicinity -- yeah, to spy on me. Putting my idiotic
paranoia aside, I decided to make contact - that was my plan anyway.
But the newcomer beat me to it.
Around noontime today, I was taking a leisurely walk along the dirt
road, since it's been pleasant and sunny out. Trundling up the rocky
route was an old beat-up, rusted-out 70-something Ford truck that used
to be blue at one time. In the back floorboard I saw bags of groceries
and other miscellaneous items, since he had just come from town. The
driver had short tawny hair and blue eyes, and he began to slow down.
The proceeding conversation I recall to the best of my memory.
He stopped the truck, gave me a friendly smile, saying, "Are you the fellow who lives in the yellow cabin?"
I cautiously nodded. He extended his hand, and we shook.
"I'm Mike Smith, your new neighbor."
"Bert Green."
"Glad to meet you."
"So you moved into the Eckert's cabin." I made it a statement.
"Just renting it from them. For a few weeks. On vacation. I'm their Chiropractor."
I smiled. "My Dad was a chiropractor." But as I said this, I suddenly
wondered if this was part of the scheme. The spy tells me he's a
chiropractor, which I can easily relate to, which should make me feel
friendlier to him. Bait in the trap.
Mike Smith beamed, "Seriously? Is he still in practice, or is he retired?"
I coldly said, "He's dead now."
"Sorry to hear it."
I shrugged, "That was over a decade ago. I figure he's in greener pastures now."
Mike chuckled at that, although I didn't think it was really funny. "You must be an optimist."
"Not really." Especially since I was a little too cautious lately, especially around strangers.
"Well, I've gotta put my perishables away. Talk to you later, Bert."
Mike Smith revved his engine and drove on up the road toward the Eckert's cabin, passing mine along the way.
I realized my shoulders and back were real tense. Perhaps this guy is
who he says he is, plain and simple. But I can't help being skeptical.
Perhaps I will talk with this Mike Smith further, just to feel things
out, see if I could perceive any flaws in a possible scheme. Like they
say, keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer.
On the other hand, if he was indeed a spy, that's exactly how he would be treating me.
A chill ran up my spine.
Entry #0050: The Mysterious Lady, Part 4
02-03-2009
I figured out a way to get out more. Work on the outside of the old cabin.
Just before noon today, I was at Garvey's Hardware store, buying a box
of nails, for some minor repairs to my old rickety wooden porch, and a
gallon of yellow paint, since the old cabin had old paint peeling away
on it. And a paint scraper. Yeah, I used to be a house painter, so this
job was right up my alley. Plus we've been having some nice weather
lately. 70ish and sunny today. Not bad for winter here in the high
desert! This is spring weather for Sioux Falls, my previous stomping
grounds.
Anyway, as I came out the door of Garvey's, I saw that mysterious
lady's tan Ford Bronco roll down the avenue from the west, entering
town. I watched the SUV pull into the small parking lot of Rick's
Center Store, just a few buildings from the hardware store. This was my
chance finally and I wasn't going to blow it this time.
Rick's little variety shop was what folks used to call a five-and-dime
store, but now they call them dollar stores. Here old Rick sold
clothing, books and magazines, stationery items, greeting cards, toys,
canned and boxed foodstuffs, and more. I put my supplies in the back
seat and drove the Blazer down Mulvern Avenue, pulled into Rick's and
parked next to her Bronco. My pulse rate was rapid, so I had to calm
myself down so I wouldn't make a fool out of myself. I got out and
entered the store, seeing the elderly gray-haired man sitting on a
stool at the counter reading a book, as usual. I had been in here a few
times, since I moved here last summer, so he didn't know my name yet,
rather, he didn't know me as Bert Green. But when I was a kid, Leo and
I were always hanging out here, looking at toys or books or magazines,
and he knew our names back then. Unfortunately, I couldn't tell him who
I really was -- but then he's most likely forgotten after all these
years. He seemed old back then, 50ish, really old to a twelve-year old.
What was he now, 80-something?
I had to refocus. I saw the mysterious lady in the women's clothing
section, looking at purses. Typical. So what did men do that was
typical -- look at wallets in the men's section? It was right next to
the women's area, so I casually sauntered over to the wallets. I
already had one. Oh well.
Today she wore a long dress with some kind of Native American pattern,
and a white blouse. Although she wore very little make-up, she was very
pretty with her long auburn hair and blue eyes.
She looked up, and seemed to recognize me. So I got up some gumption and looked at her, smiling. She smiled back.
I said, "Hi."
She said, "Odd we keep running into each other."
I chuckled and replied honestly, "That's funny, because I was just going to say that."
"Really?"
"Yeah, really."
I stepped closer and decided we should talk, even if just casually.
Alright, first base had been reached: talk mode. If that's what first
base is. Okay, folks, my account, my rules.
First base is casual talk with the lady.
She asked, "You're a resident here -- right?" It seemed odd that she
started this as a statement - then turned it into a question.
"Wow - you're psychic," I chuckled.
She just smiled oddly about that -- yes, oddly. As if she was hiding something, and said nothing. Hmmm.
Then I continued, "But I've only been here since the Summer." I decided
not to divulge anything about my past as a child here, not just yet.
Her eyes squinted as she said, "But it seems you've been here before, long ago, right?"
I started getting a strange feeling as my paranoia started kicking
in. I had blandly suspected she might be someone sent here from my
pursuers, someone to keep their eye on me perhaps. But if she was such a
spy, why would she volunteer things she knew about me? This indeed
seemed odd. First base was getting really strange now.
Entry #0051: The Mysterious Lady, Part 5
02-06-2009
I realized I was frowning and unresponsive for several seconds.
Then she said, "Sorry, I don't mean to be pushy, it's a bad habit of mine."
"No problem. I'll just not be pushy either and not ask you whether or not you're visiting or live here in town."
She laughed, "I'm visiting at the Sky High Guest Ranch. My Aunt Edith
works up there. She's the program director, creates exciting events for
the guests, or visitors in general."
"Oh, I see."
Her eyes squinted again, as if seeing something herself. "Somehow you
knew that already, didn't you?" It was as if she suspected or knew I
had damn near followed her to Sky High Road that day.
This gal seemed to know a little bit too much. Either that or she was a
little bit too intuitive. But I just smiled and said jovially. "You are psychic, aren't you?"
She hesitated, and then replied, "Some have accused me of that."
I decided not to pry; perhaps it was a sensitive issue with her.
Then she said, "A few weeks ago, you followed me, but not up Sky High Road."
I felt a tad shocked. But I sighed, "Guilty as charged."
"But it doesn't take a psychic to know that - I saw you in my rear view mirror." She smiled with a raised eyebrow.
I felt embarrassed. "Well, I was just curious, that's all. I'm no stalker."
"But yet . . . . you feel as if someone is stalking you, or perhaps watching you."
What was this now, a psychic invasion of privacy? Or maybe I wore my feelings on my aura's sleeve or something.
I replied, "I'm paranoid. But if you're sensing something here--"
"I'm just getting what you're feeling, not what's true."
"So if you're truly psychic, can you tell me if someone definitely is looking for me?" I was almost afraid to ask that, as if I really didn't want to know.
"I can check it out if you want. But I don't always get anything right away."
"Be my guest."
So she closer her eyes and took a few deep breaths while she held her hands together over her belly.
A minute went by and she opened her eyes, saying, "It seems very fuzzy,
but yes, apparently someone has been searching for you."
My neck hairs prickled, whether because this seemed to verify my
suspicions or that she seemed to be psychically picking up on this, I'm
not sure. "Can you tell who?"
"No, I can't."
I sighed, "I've been trying to lay low, and I don't want them to find me."
"You don't know who they are, but yet you know they're looking for you."
I looked around to make sure no one else was around, except old Rick
and two other shoppers. Then I said, "I can explain the whole
situation, but we would need to go someplace else."
"The Kountry Kitchen would be nice, "she smiled.
I smiled back and replied, "It's almost lunchtime anyway, but I'd
rather tell you things in confidence, like in my car. Then after that we
can eat lunch. Sound okay?"
"Sounds great."
"So what's your name?"
"Monica."
"Call me Bert."
So that's what I call sitting on first base. Talking and getting to know each other.
Entry #0052: The Mysterious Lady, Part 6
02-09-2009
I felt I could trust her. So we sat in my Blazer as I explained to her
my situation, why I thought somebody was after me. And I felt she
believed me, unlike Calvin Hodges.
She ventured, "I don't know if it'll help, but I can go to the web site
your articles are posted and read through them, see if I can get an
idea why somebody might be upset."
I replied sharply, "They're more than just upset. But I have articles in
various e-zines and web sites and magazines, too, for many years now,
so you'd be looking for a needle in a haystack. So I'm not even sure what somebody saw that got them all riled up."
She nodded, then said, "I've got a suggestion. Use your intuitiveness
to feel out your articles, read as many as possible, and perceive which
ones could be causing the problem."
"Easier said than done. I've tried techniques like that before, I've
studied metaphysics for many years, but I think my problem is I'm too
emotionally involved to get any clear answers, because I've reread many
of those crazy articles 'till I'm sick of them."
She smiled at that. "You have to learn to be detached and indifferent so you don't block yourself."
I nodded. "You're right, of course."
Then she suggested, "Try it tonight."
"Alright. But let's eat lunch. The Kountry Kitchen has a great fried chicken meal. I'm buying."
And so we ate lunch, and talked about less serious things. For a change.
Entry #0053: Up-date on Monica
02-12-2009
Alright, enough of this "Mysterious Lady Part XX-whatever." It's getting old - and annoying.
It's nighttime and I'm sitting here in front of my computer down in my
station of operations in Area 57, ready to try that intuitive technique
and psychically scan my boring articles -- boring to me because I'm
sick of looking at them. They're all spread out in different documents,
files, and folders, so this will be one well hidden needle in a bunch
of haystacks.
But first an update about Monica when we talked over lunch. I told her
my real name, plus the pseudonym I use for my writing I submitted to
various sources, that living here incognito isn't easy, and she
understood. She told me that she lives "down below" in the big cities,
and she may be visiting up here for a few more weeks before she has to
head back, although she admitted she wouldn't mind living up here. She
wasn't attached or married, but had been for a few years; the guy
turned out to be a royal clod, she said. She has no children, and felt
she was getting too old to ever have any. I told her I had one son,
grown now, and I told her all about him and how proud I was of him,
being a wiz-bang computer nerd who actually taught me most of what I
know about this always advancing technology.
She told me she had studied many different spiritual and metaphysical
traditions, but never joined any of them. She was a solitary journeyer.
I told her I had committed to such a study of diverse spiritual
traditions myself for many years, except I did try joining a few
groups, but they never jelled with me. I told her I was just your basic
generic searching wanderer, but otherwise I preferred to remain
uncategorized.
She replied, "Well, I'm just Monica. That's as categorical as I'll ever get." We laughed at that.
I asked about her psychic ability. She said in the beginning, while
she lived down in the big megalopolis, she tried to ignore it, as news
of her talent spread by word of mouth, especially when friends and
other people seemed to need help in various ways, or just wanted her to
read their futures, and ended up flat out using her. A lot of greedy
people wanted to find out if money or romance or great careers were
lined up for them, but she disappointed many. People despised her for
that. So she dropped out of view, moving around to different cities
here and there up and down the coast. I told her, it sounded like
people were in hot pursuit of her, just like I was experiencing, but
for different reasons. She agreed. Then she said this was another
reason the desert was appealing; she could more easily avoid the crazies
from the cities below.
She told me that sometimes spiritual seminars are held up at Sky High
Ranch, many of them lead by a particularly fellow by the name of Dr.
William Barnes, a metaphysician who has written a few books. She said
that in a couple of weeks he was going to start a new seminar. She
wasn't sure of the topic, but she invited me to come. I told her I
would be glad to come. Her Aunt Edith, being the program director for
the Ranch, often orchestrated such metaphysical get-togethers up here
in the high desert, especially with Dr. Barns as a regular, at least
once a year.
Then we discussed philosophical matters, then desert life, and just
life in general, and I finally told her I used to live here when I was a
kid, which she intuited already, and I told her a few of my crazy kid
capers, which made her laugh. The best one was when a friend named
Billy and I, at about age of 11, were riding our bikes around the
intersection of Foothill Road and Highland Avenue, a couple miles up
the slope from Mulvern. Every now and then a car would come up Highland,
and out in this area of the desert the traffic was practically dead,
if not just whimpering. So we did this crazy thing where every time a
car drove up the road, we would ride our bikes and pretend to crash
into each other and fall over on side of the road. So far all the
drivers ignored us. Then I had a great idea and got a bottle of ketchup
from my house. We smeared it all over our bodies, thinking it looked
like blood. So the next time the car was coming up the hill, we did our
thing and crashed. The car stopped, and a middle-aged lady jumped out,
freaking out, hollering, "Are you boys okay?" We realized that it was
the neighbor lady whom we both knew very well. That was not something
we expected, but then we had never thought it through as to how we
would react anyway if someone did stop. We told her we were okay, got back on our bikes and got the hell out of there fast!
Monica laughed over that one.
Before we parted, we swapped cell phone numbers, since she indicated
she would like to talk again sometime soon. And she emphasized (again!)
that I should intuitively scan my articles. Alright, fine. If I must.
Entry #0054: Being Techno-Intuitive
02-15-2009
While I sit here at my computer down in Area 57, my mind just wanders.
I'll think about Monica later. But quite often I go over in my mind
which article or articles could have caused these mysterious pursuers to
seek me out. I tried what Monica suggested, but I'm having a hard
time getting emotionally detached, and as I search through my numerous
documents for Zones Unknown, which contains countless articles, I try
to "feel out" which one could be the "Eureka!" article. And I had to go
through other articles I submitted to various e-zines and magazines
over the years.
My assorted UFO articles couldn't draw any serious attention from
anyone, although the notorious Men in Black do supposedly search out
witnesses to coerce and silence through fearful threats. I considered my
long multipart article about these clandestine individuals as a
candidate, since quite possibly the real McCoy MIBs wanted to scare me
or shut me up. Perhaps, but doubtful. It didn't "feel" like the
feather-ruffling sort of article. And the one on Area 51 might have
exposed something or other, although other journalists have done the
same. And any conspiracy articles involving the government could indeed
have spilled the beans, but I have my right of free speech. Unless
someone out there didn't recognize that right.
But I couldn't intuit any particular articles yet, anything that
might cause eyebrows to rise higher than a guy's hairline. So far no
such luck. My psychic feelers weren't getting me anywhere. I was too
close to the matter. So I bailed out for now. Being intuitive and
applying it to computer technology was kind of weird, I think. But I
often call my son "techno-intuitive" because anything involving
computers comes to him so naturally, like second nature. I've been
learning the hard way, since I didn't have this kind of gift. I could
learn it though, according to Monica.
So all last night and a couple hours this morning, I've been searching
futilely, so now I'm blurry eyed and tired. I'm gonna turn off the
computer and watch one of my DVDs on the portable TV next to my desk. Enemy of the State with Will Smith. Exactly what I needed to watch in order to feed my paranoia! Ha!
Article: The Enigma of the Mysterious Men in Black
Entry #0055: Repainting my Yellow Cabin
02-18-2009
Little by little, I have been scraping the old yellow cabin, getting it
ready to paint. Getting out in the sun was doing me good. And today
was a good day for outdoor work. Besides, I had to get my mind off of my
usual paranoid thought processes.
Mike in his old rust-bucket truck drove down the dirt road, but he
stopped and pulled into my dirt driveway. He asked if I needed a hand. I
said I preferred to do it alone, but appreciated the help. I didn't
know if I could trust him yet anyway, and idle conversation while
working might lead to uncomfortable questions from him, ones I had no
intention of answering. On the other hand, I felt I needed to find out,
or feel out, whether he was a spy or not. I was just about to change
my mind, and say that I'd welcome the help, when he said that he had
some errands to run in town anyway, that he'd check back later just in
case I changed my mind. So he rumbled off down the dirt road. I
shrugged and went on scraping the old paint off the wood siding.
Soon I had enough scraped on the front that I began painting it, with a
rich yellow that outshone the old dull yellow of before. The paint
color was called Dandelion. Appropriate.
Later that day, toward evening, as I sat on the porch with a cold beer,
taking a break, he drove by, not stopping, going on to his cabin. Did
he forget to check back with me? Or was he just being generous earlier,
with no intention of actually helping me? Strange man. No matter.
I wrapped it up for the day, and washed my brushes and equipment. At
least I got the whole front of the cabin repainted, porch and all, and
the west wall too. And as I stood back to see my work, it looked a tad too
bright yellow, as if I was - hmmm - was subconsciously trying to draw
attention. Perhaps I should've chosen a dismal color like grey, to
reflect my usual mood lately. I was being too paranoid again.
Entry #0056: Contemplating the Unknown
02-22-2009
I got up bright and early this morning, hot coffee brewing on my desk
in my station of operations, while I sit and contemplated my fate. I
don't feel like painting today, so I've decided to just rest up, work
on my computer, search through my articles again. A dreary task.
While sipping the rich Columbian coffee, I ate a Bavarian Crème donut. They make pretty good donuts down at Mulvern Market.
Unfortunately, I'm obsessing again over those who were trying to hunt
me down -- whether it's an unknown government faction or some criminal
group or Men in Black, or whomever. If it's our old faithful govt.,
don't they realize I have freedom of speech? I should be able to say
anything I want, within reason, I suppose. I don't think I ever said
anything treasonous, or terroristic, or criminal even. But some covert
faction was offended by something I said; somebody believed I had
revealed something I shouldn't have, perhaps some vital secret that some
clandestine organization didn't want the public to know about,
something I may have inadvertently guessed at or stumbled upon, but
then that's what conspiracy theories are all about.
Let's not forget the dramatic thriller Conspiracy Theory starring
Mel Gibson. I can totally relate to the character in this crazy movie!
He inadvertently discusses some key element in his homemade newsletter
that he circulates, and it blatantly ruffled the feathers of somebody,
who soon began pursuing him! Then they captured him and interrogated
him!
Everybody has heard all the crazy conspiracy theories about the
government attempting to cover up the UFO phenomenon or various
political agendas, and the existence of Area 51, or even who or what
the Men in Black are. I wrote about all of these things and so much
more, just like a lot of other journalists and reporters have done and
still do. What am I missing? Whose feathers were being ruffled so badly
that I had to go into hiding? If it's a criminal faction, they could do
anything to me, if "they" ever catch me. If it's the govt., they still could do anything to me, if it was a small covert department the "Big" Government didn't know about.
Sometimes I think I'm becoming delusional, if not schizophrenic,
imagining all these crazy incidents that have happened to me back in
Sioux Falls, or even here in Mulvern. Have you ever looked back and
questioned your memories, wondering if you're remembering them
correctly? The mind can play tricks with you at times. And if I do have
a severely unhinged imagination like I suspect, I suppose I could
imagine just about anything happening in my life.
Plus I've been inspired by reading a lot of science fiction, suspense
mystery, and espionage novels, and movies of these same genres, so
quite possibly my subconscious started weaving convoluted plots in my
own life. Although it's possible, I doubt it. I shouldn't
psychoanalyze myself too much - it might make me go crazier than I
already am.
But then, Monica seemed to psychically perceive that someone was indeed
searching for me. That's reassurance that I'm not losing my mind. Or
was she humoring me, if she was a spy? Was she acting out a key roll,
portraying the psychic lady that enters my life? Just as I suspect that
Mike Smith has some role to play too? Perhaps these two are a part of
some elaborate scheme, stringing me along in some convoluted plot that I
couldn't understand. Was I just feeding my paranoia with everything
going on around me, or was there truly some sinister plot against me?
Either way, I still felt like I was losing my mind.
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