Once, in a strange time in my life, on the way home from one of my many misadventures, I had a close encounter in Roswell, New Mexico. I was driving from Texas to California, towing my little teardrop camper behind an absolutely enormous diesel pickup truck I had rented. The truck was so absurdly large and I am so short (I round my height up to 5 feet) that I could barely see over the steering wheel and nearly ran over the deputy sheriff of Roswell, and he wasn’t even on foot. That, however, is not the close encounter I am referring to. This one took place the night before, just outside of town, on a dirt road near a meteor crater and has a much more interesting ending. (The deputy sheriff was unscathed and did not write me a ticket.)
I arrived in Roswell in the late afternoon hoping for a little adventure in the town famous for its alien encounters. I was unimpressed by the so-advertised “alien theme” sports bar, delighted by the kitschy alien statues sprinkled along the main boulevard, underwhelmed by the town sign, and too late to see any of the museums. So much for adventure in Roswell. I decided to camp out along a dirt road located on public land nearby. According to the map there was a meteor crater there that might be interesting.
I pulled up onto the dirt road as the sun was setting, feeling ridiculous in the oversized truck with the undersized camper and hoping the road wasn’t too narrow in case I needed to turn around. Luckily, the road was wide and flat as far as I could see in the dimming light. I rolled slowly along looking for a pullout to spend the night in. The first few that I came upon were already occupied by camper vans. The idea of having strange neighbors in such a remote location was unappealing to my solo female self, so I continued on past a couple of available spots, hoping to find something more secluded. By this time the sun had completely set and of course there were no street lights. All that was illuminated was the short stretch of road in range of the headlights. I crept forward extra slowly to be sure I wouldn’t miss a good spot from my restricted view below the dashboard.
Suddenly, something caught my attention on the side of the road. Was that an animal? I had already passed it so I couldn’t get a better look from inside the truck. From what I’d glimpsed, it was the size of a small to medium dog and dark in color. I thought it might be a javelina, the little peccaries that live in the southwest. My curiosity was strong enough to induce me to stop and get out for a better look. With my phone flashlight in hand, I climbed down from the monster truck and walked toward where I’d seen the animal. I even left the door gaping open like the next idiot to die in a horror movie would. That thought even occurred to me, but I felt in the mood to live on the edge. This was an adventure.
The closer I got to the animal, the less I thought it was a javelina. It seemed to be stuck in one place, as if it was having trouble moving. Maybe it was an injured dog? But it made no crying or whining noises, no sound at all except for a faint rustling as it moved without traveling. I stopped at a distance—maybe fifteen feet—and peered through the dim orb of light emanating from my phone. My eyes could make out no distinct characteristics, no head, limbs, or tail. It looked curled up. Warnings of rabies and other diseases incurred from wild animal bites, not to mention the potential carnage, flashed through my mind. But the creature seemed so helpless and incapable of moving. I weighed the danger and inched forward a few steps.
Still no clear shape, but I could see one thing for sure: the thing had no fur. It had no feathers either. No quills, no scales. Just naked, black skin. A hairless dog? I didn’t really think so. The only animal I could think of with black skin like that was a bat. Perhaps it was injured and hiding itself under its wing. That might account for the rustling sound. But it would have to be a huge bat, not like the ones indigenous to the American southwest. Bats are well known for carrying diseases, bad diseases. Headlines like “Stupid Girl Gets Bitten by Bat and Starts Second Pandemic” flashed through my mind. But the thing still hadn’t managed to make progress in any direction. If it couldn’t move, it couldn’t catch me. I swallowed my fear and inched forward another couple of steps.
It had no shape. It wasn’t that I couldn’t see its extremities in the darkness, or that it had curled itself up in a posture of self defense. It had no shape. It was a monstrous ameba covered in dry skin, writhing disgustingly against itself. The rusting noise of its movement began to take on a haunting, otherworldly quality. The absurd, unthinkable thought flashed through my mind. Could it be…? Or was Roswell leading my imagination down a wild goose chase? But this wasn’t my imagination. There was something there, physically in front of me. Something alien. I thought of running back to the truck and driving away. But what kind of adventurer runs away from the unknown? I took one more step forward.
I instantly relaxed. Now I could see it clearly, every wrinkle on its nasty surface. I stepped right up to it and stomped on it without hesitation. It was a black, plastic grocery bag, caught by its handle on a plant and inflated by the breeze.
Victoria Castillo 