Strange Happenings (6 page)

Though Jeff liked baseball—he played on a Little League team—what he really loved about the Astros games was the team mascot. The mascot was known as the Alien.

This Alien was a bulbous bright green creature covered with red polka dots. He had a stubby spiked tail and huge claw-hands with ten fingers on
each
hand, which, being rubbery, bent in all different directions. His face—perhaps a third of his whole body length—was long and narrow, with two large, round blue eyes, which gave him a quizzical look. The creature also had a long pointy nose—carrot-like—the end of which lit up red when one of the Astros did something unusual, like make a good catch, a classy putout, or an error.

The Alien's mouth was purple, large, and perfectly round, giving him a perpetual look of surprise. Two red horns sprouted from his head. When his nose lit up, so did the horns.

Jeff was really curious about the Alien. There was nothing in Rolerton like him. He'd do things like follow behind players, imitating any quirky walks with mocking perfection. If the umpire called an out against an Astro, the Alien would call the player safe, his stubby arms spread wide, nose and horns flashing furiously. Sometimes he ran the bases backward or made fun of the umpires or coaches. Or he would pretend to faint—falling backward—at exciting moments. The Alien posed for pictures with anyone, hugging pretty girls, playfully kicking boys on their butts.

If, during a game, the crowd roared, Jeff was probably not paying attention: He'd have been watching the Alien do a somersault, horns and nose brightly lit. Jeff had seen plenty of mascots for professional teams on TV. Every team in America seemed to have one. But the Astros' Alien, according to Jeff, was the best. Of course, Jeff understood that the Alien was a
costume,
which he supposed was made from foam rubber. That meant
somebody
was
inside
the foam rubber. The more Jeff watched the Alien's funny, mocking ways, the more he wanted to know who the person was inside. As far as Jeff was concerned, it was as if the Alien was making fun of Rolerton. Rolerton people didn't usually act the way it did: mocking things. Of course, people accused Jeff of acting the same way. Maybe that's why he found the Alien so interesting.

Jeff asked his friends if they knew who the person inside the mascot costume was. Not only did they not know—they didn't care. That made Jeff want to know even more.

One night he hung around after a game, waiting at the gate for the players, umpires, and coaches to straggle out. The food vendors, ticket takers, and park staff also left. Since none emerged with horns or a nose that lit up, Jeff could only assume that the Alien was
one
of the people who had already come out. But
which
one? His curiosity grew.

The next day, after the game was over, Jeff waited till everybody had gone home. When the last person came out of the park—an old guy who started locking up the gates—Jeff went up to him.

"Excuse me, sir," he said.

The man looked around. "Hey, kid, it's late. Your parents know where you are?"

"Yes, sir, they do. I'm going home right now. But I was just wondering: Did the Alien come out yet?"

"
Who?

"You know, the mascot. The Alien."

"Oh,
him.
Everybody's gone. I suppose he has, too."

"Do you know who he is?"

The man thought a moment, and then shrugged. "Now that you mention it, I don't. Hey, my job is to make sure everyone is gone and things are locked tight. And they are. So I guess that guy is gone, too. Unless it's a different person each night."

"I don't think so," said Jeff. "He's always funny in the same way."

"Funny?" said the man. "Ask me, I think he's just rude. But no, I don't know who he is." That said, the old guy drove off in a pickup, calling, "Better get yourself home, boy!"

The following day, Jeff got to the ballpark early. The Astros, being the local team, arrived in ones and twos. The Iowa City Jayhawks came in an old school bus. Any number of other people arrived, too. Jeff studied them all but did not have a hint as to whom the Alien might be.

"Excuse me, please," he said to one guy who seemed the right size. "Are you the Alien?"

"Who?"

"You know, the mascot."

"Are you kidding?"

When a man in a suit arrived—he looked important—-Jeff went up to him. "Excuse me, sir, do you know if the Alien has arrived?"

"Who?"

"The mascot. The guy in the green suit."

"Oh, him? Kid, to tell you the truth, I'm the general manager of the Astros. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have him around. Sort of offensive. But the town seems to enjoy him. Least, they pay his salary. So, no, I've got no idea who he is."

Jeff bought a ticket. Because he was so early, he wandered among the empty seats, and made his way down toward the field, where the Jayhawks were taking batting practice. The gate leading onto the field had been left open. After a moment of nervousness, Jeff went on through, half expecting to be shooed off. When no one paid him any mind, he looked around. The Alien was not there.

Moving along the edge of the playing area, Jeff went toward the field house, which was behind home plate. He kept his eye on the open door.

When he reached it, some of the Astros players were wandering out, carrying gloves and bats. They nodded to Jeff in a friendly way.

"Hey, is the Alien in there?" Jeff asked one of them.

"Nope. Least, not that I saw. You can go on in and look."

Excited, Jeff found himself in a corridor with gray concrete walls and three doors.
HOME TEAM
and
VISITORS
were lettered on the doors to the left and right. The middle one was marked
OFFICIALS.

Jeff opened the
HOME TEAM
door into a large bare room with glaring lights. One wall was lined with steel lockers. A long bench sat before it. The floor was littered with clothing. At the far end was another room in which Jeff could see toilet stalls and showers. Nobody was there.

Jeff went to the
OFFICIALS
room and looked in. It was a smaller version of the
HOME TEAM
room. Two men in umpire uniforms were straddling a bench, playing cards.

"What's up, kid?"

"I'm looking for the Alien. The guy in the green costume."

"Not here, I'm glad to say," said one of the officials as he slapped down a card with gusto and cried, "Gin!"

"How come no one likes him?"Jeff asked.

The other umpire looked around. "'Cause he's always making fun of people. Like he was better or something."

"Do you know who he is?"

"Nope. Good thing, too. If I did I'd punch him in the nose."

Jeff tried the
VISITORS
locker room. It was exactly like the
HOME TEAM
room, even to the discarded clothing on the floor—but still no Alien.

Jeff went back to the playing field. To his surprise the mascot was already out there. Jeff tried to approach him a few times. The Alien kept his distance. Then a town policeman told Jeff to get off the field.

"Do you know who that guy is?" Jeff asked the cop, pointing.

"The mascot? Ask someone from the team. He works for them."

"I thought he worked for the town."

"No way."

During the game Jeff stayed on the third-base side of the field, paying almost no attention to baseball. He spent all his time watching the Alien. As the innings wound down, Jeff's tension mounted. At the top of the ninth, an easy fly ball to the Astros' center fielder provided the third out. The game was over. The Alien ran onto the field and gave the relief pitcher high fives. When the players from both teams lined up and shook hands, the Alien took his place at the end of the Astros' line and acted silly. The players seemed annoyed. Once the handshaking was done, and the players had run across the diamond toward the field house, the Alien went to the two umpires and offered to shake their hands, too. The umpires refused and hurried back to the field house.

The Alien was alone on the field. As Jeff studied him, the creature suddenly turned and stared at Jeff with its enormous eyes. This gave Jeff an odd sensation, as if the Alien was studying him. The next moment the mascot turned away and started toward the field house. Jeff ran after him.

"Hey, kid!"

Jeff stopped.

"No spectators down here." It was a groundskeeper.

"But..."Jeff began. He swung back around to make sure the Alien was still in sight. He had vanished.

"Off the field, kid."

Jeff stared at where the mascot had been. "Where'd the Alien go?"

"Back to Mars, I hope," said the groundskeeper. "Now, beat it."

Jeff ran to the park entrance. He asked five different people if they had seen where the mascot had gone. No one knew.

How can he just disappear?
Jeff wondered.

Jeff spent the whole next day trying to figure out a way to get to the Alien. By game time he had an idea. It required an assistant.

"I need some camera help," Jeff said to his friend Dave.

"Is it about the Alien?"

"Yeah."

"You are getting stupid about this," said his friend. "You know, nobody likes him but you. People think he's weird. Like you."

"Just help me," said Jeff as he handed over his cheap camera. "I'll pay your way into the game."

"It's your dime."

Jeff bought two tickets, and the boys went into the park. Game time was in half an hour. The mascot was already on the field, teasing the visiting team, the Duluth Diamondbacks, as they did infield warm-ups.

With Dave right behind, Jeff led the way. He waited till the Alien's back was turned. Then he crept quietly up and tapped him on the shoulder, which was soft and bouncy. "Excuse me," said Jeff.

The Alien spun about, his enormous eyes fixed on Jeff. He started to back away.

"Please!" cried Jeff. "Can I get my picture taken with you?" He gestured toward Dave, who held up the camera.

The Alien paused, then drew closer and threw his arms around Jeff, squeezing tightly. Very tightly.

Suddenly fighting for breath, Jeff pushed the arms off him. For a second the Alien squeezed some more, only to abruptly release the boy.

Gasping for breath, Jeff said, "Who ... are you...
really
?"

Dave clicked the camera. The moment he did, the Alien shoved Jeff away and walked off in his funny fashion.

"Learn anything?" Dave asked.

"No," Jeff admitted. He rubbed his arms. They were sore. He looked at the retreating Alien.
Who is that guy?

A week passed before Jeff went back to Rolerton Park because the Astros had gone off on a road trip. It was Labor Day weekend, and the last games of the season. If Jeff didn't find out about the Alien soon, he would have to wait until next year.

So he went to the game very early—but not in his usual way. Instead of taking a seat in the stands, he crept
under
the bleachers, which was hard to do. It took a while for Jeff's eyes to adjust to the murkiness of the area with its forest of metal stanchions holding up the seats. The place was littered with old paper cups, bottles—some broken—and discarded food. It stank, too.
It's like a rubbish dump,
Jeff thought. A part of Rolerton one did not see often.

Jeff looked through the bleacher seats onto the field. He was so early he could see a few of the players doing stretches. A groundskeeper was moving around the bases, anchoring bags to their proper places. Jeff read the sign on the low wooden fence that ringed the outfield:
***TO VISIT AMERICA—VISIT ROLERTON
! The Alien wasn't in sight.

Because he was sure he could not be seen, Jeff decided his spot was perfect. The Alien would not know he was there, watching. Jeff kept scanning the field in hopes he would see the mascot emerge from his place—wherever it was.

As Jeff stood there, staring out to the bright field, he heard a soft scraping sound. At first he ignored it, but when it persisted, Jeff looked about, puzzled. With a start, he realized the sound was coming from a pile of discarded hot dog boxes. Or rather, from
under
the boxes.

Jeff watched. The boxes were moving, rising and falling as if something was pushing up from
below.
Then the top box slid to one side, revealing a dark spot beneath. Jeff—his heart beating fast—realized the spot was a
hole
in the ground.

The boxes continued to shift, revealing more of the hole.

In the gloom, Jeff began to see something pink move
within
the hole. He could not tell what it was, though it reminded him of cotton candy—soft, without any particular shape, a blob.

Jeff, realizing he was holding his breath, sucked in some air and stepped back. He told himself he should get out of there.
This is not right.
Even as he had the thought, the upper part of the pink blob began to shape itself into a thin tendril.

Jeff watched, transfixed. The tendril elongated and began to creep—still connected to the main blob—snakelike, over the ground, coiling itself around one of the bleacher stanchions. Having established a grip, the tendril began to ripple until the pink shape began to emerge from the hole—as if it were being pulled. It was only moments before an entire pink mass had emerged—looking, Jeff thought, like a compact, throbbing brain.

Too amazed to move, hardly daring to breathe, a mesmerized Jeff stared at the
thing,
as still another tendril emerged from the mass. That tendril crept down into the hole. Within moments it pulled up a lumpish green mass with red spots. It was, Jeff realized, the Alien
costume.

Once the oufit was completely out of the ground, the pink tendril pulled down a zipper on the back. The costume fell open, exposing a dark interior. The next moment the whole pink mass slid inside.

Jeff watched as the zipper closed from within. After a moment's pause, the costume trembled, heaved, shook, stood up, and turned around.

"So you finally found me," the Alien said, looking right at Jeff. The voice was thick, clotted.