This is Skechenko (11)
Synopsis: Driven by a bland temperament and a thirst for normality, Roger Kiser has arrived at one of western civilization’s most isolated outposts, a small town in western North Dakota. A shuttle service has dropped him off in the middle of this small town and he is again left to fend for himself. Despite the frigid weather, all he has to wear is a thick sweatshirt. Everything he owns he carries in a large duffle bag.
The small commercial district was constructed for the simple sophistication of a previous time. There were brick sidewalks beside fairly narrow streets and the intersections didn’t have stoplights. Each brick building was a flat fronted two-story shop marked by large windows in the front. Cars were parallel parked or rolling by at a snail’s pace. A layer of snow and ice sat on every sill and awning.
Everyone seemed to be minding his or her own business. No one spoke to one another. Strangers felt no obligation to say hello or even look at each other. The cold weather was to blame for part of this the rest must have been innate.
Roger spun, and caught sight of his reflection in a storefront window. His clothes, face and hair appeared completely disheveled, but his expression conveyed someone satisfied with the pair of deuces he had been dealt.
It was then that close to a dozen children in alien outfits went started down the street. All wore long coats imbedded with billions of green sequins. Together the children’s matching outfits almost forced Kiser’s eyes to blur. Some were cute with large luminescent eyes and blinking antennas, others were gruesome with claws and fangs keeping their fingers warm. Four adults (who looked about as if they were seeing snow for the first time) flanked them.
Their quick chatter sounded as confusing as their appearance. They parted only slightly as they wandered by Roger. “Hey, let’s go hunt down some rangores… do you think Skechenko will use his lightning rays this time… I heard you like Suzy…hey, you got a frozen booger…that’s no booger, that’s a loose sparkly…hey, you know what? Skechenko is blasting you with an eye beam!”
Roger turned away, and took a closer, more critical look at his surroundings. There were portrayals of bearded men everywhere, but few were Santa. Green, especially the sequined variety, appeared dominant over its red counterpart. Sleighs and reindeer competed with saucers and antenna for every storefront window.
Kiser finally took notice of the brochure the van driver had given him. On the front was a bearded man in a green robe that possibly representative of God. He was standing with a group of frighteningly happy children and adolescents. Behind them was a starry expanse filled with exploding flying saucers. Above this, near the top of the pamphlet, it read,
“Welcome to Alien Days! Your post Christmas, pre New Year’s Eve Boredom relief!”
He opened the brochure, and his confusion multiplied geometrically.
It read, “ *Are you sick of the wasted days between December Twenty- Fifth and January First?
*Do you want to squeeze every last bit of enjoyment out of the year’s leftover week?
*Did you know that most astronomers in 15th century Europe predicted that America would experience a massive extraterrestrial invasion?
*Be sure to Meet Skechenko, Direct Descendant of 9 out of 10 European Astrologers, and Defender of Mankind!”
The elation of normalcy disappeared behind questions piling upon each other. Roger needed a rational explanation.
Directly behind him, the whining of a small child and a perturbed adult caught Kiser’s attention. A normal looking middle-aged man was dragging his reluctant daughter after the previous group trying to catch up. The gentleman wore a black scarf, a brown overcoat, and an undiluted expression of discontent. It was plain to see that this gentleman was not at all enamored with his surroundings. The child at his feet wore a neon green parka and fake antennae. The little one was jumping with excitement, her nose bright red from the cold.
When the man noticed Roger’s approach, his countenance shifted from unhappy to upset. For a moment, Kiser considered engaging someone else. Before he could turn, the gentleman’s dower expression turned into a sarcastic smirk.
“What’s the matter? Isn’t it what you expected?”
Roger realized he was holding the brochure somewhat protectively between him and the man. “Um, uh, I was hoping this was a, uh, you know, a quiet, remote place to call home.”
“Not during this time of year.” The man replied. “The town council decided we don’t have enough morons in the Rind the way it is so they try to import them this time of year. ‘We’ll be the next Wall Drug, South Dakota they say! We wish! It’s too cold to be out wondering around!”
“Wall what? Why would a place like this want to import morons?”
The man took a breath and adjusted his scarf. “Well before this area was settled, the indigenous Indians would take this time of year to have a wild celebration. When they did this, no one was charged five dollars for stuffed toys and they sure didn’t charge their own people twenty dollars for a freaking T-shirt! Can you believe that?”
He paused to lower his voice. The girl at his feet was becoming impatient. “Anyway, the point was to scare away the evil ‘spirits’. Whatever the heck that means. The event generated little enthusiasm since people today are far too intelligent to believe in ‘spirits’.”
The child pulled a plastic laser gun out from her coat, and proceeded to vaporize several others who were strolling along the sidewalk.
“Sally, stop that!” The man waited to make sure he was heard. “Anyway, the ridiculous town council changed the theme to aliens, and now we get visitors from as exotic locations like Wyoming.”
Roger pointed to his brochure. “And what about this bearded guy?”
“You mean Skechenko the Magnificent?” The man’s voice took the subtle step from sarcasm to mocking. “Skechenko is actually a failed theater major from Local College. How you fail theater classes is anybody’s guess. Anyway, the planning committee uses him to play Santa during Christmas and shaman during the festival. Every year they slap a robe and a beard on him, and send him to work. He’s a nut case, a weirdo. Him and his partner too.”
The young girl beside Roger’s informant became impatient, and began yanking his arm. “C’mon Daddy! I want to eat some alien brains! C’mon, c’mon!”
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