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Alien or Cryptid? Man Discovers Creature Under his Trailer House

alien creature trailerThere are many trailer parks in Indiana, but there is only one with an alien creature living in it. That’s what L. Smith believes.

The 32-year-old unemployed man claims he has interacted with an “alien creature” living under his trailer house, at least five times since October 2013. As per Smith’s request, I went to cover his story and to find out more about the purported creature.

“I hear him moving at night. He is there, I know he is. He leaves when I come out, but I have caught him a few times under my trailer you know?” says Smith, who sits on an old brown sofa.

The creature, he explains, moves “incredibly fast” and has telepathic powers.

“I have talked to him. I don’t know what the words are but I understand him,” he says, imitating clacking noises that he claims the “alien” transmits directly to his mind through telepathy. “Yeah, I am sure he knows what I am thinking. He says he is a male from a different planet, and that he was placed on Earth just to explore it and send samples of soil back to his boss. But he quit the job because he liked it here very much.”

The man describes the beast as a hairless, gray skinned, big black-eyed skinny individual. “He is the typical guy from the X-files, only he is good. He is shy and he runs at the speed of light.”

“Am I crazy? Most probably believe I am. But I don’t think so. Why don’t I take a picture of the alien and prove it? Because he told me if I do so, he’ll leave and not come back, ever again,” he mumbles, holding a flashlight under the trailer while I hold his green can of beer.

grey alienThere is nothing under the trailer, except for raccoon scat. “That ain’t him squatting there you know? Them raccoons come by, make a mess, I smell it all the way up my house. This creature is clean, uses his own bathroom.”

Back in the trailer, he shows me a glass bottle which he swears the creature has touched and that it “has his tracks on it.”

Could this be just Smith’s imagination? He drinks severely, on a daily basis.

“Hell no, man. Hell no. You insult me by saying that dude,” he replies. “That is something else. I’m telling you I have spoken with the alien. Got cassette tapes.”

He retrieves an old cassette player and pushes play: October, 2013… static noise. Clacking noises. You hear me? More static. I understand but I can’t let you in. More clacking noises. Subject has left, became light figure. White. Static.

It sends me chills. I find it interesting, but there’s not much I can infer from it. At this point I am more interested in Smith than I am in the supposed cryptid.

How about Chupacabras? Is it possible that what the man is referring to is actually the infamous lizard cryptid?

“I know about Chupacabras, man. This guy here doesn’t eat animals. He grazes, like a horse. He told me he uses the sun so that he can metabolite.”

I know I am aggravating my host, so I decide to change the subject. I see a picture on the table, next to an old retro TV. Smith is sitting on a boat, wearing short pants and a white hat.

alien boat“Where is that on the picture?” I ask.

“Oh that’s the lake right there. I am at the lake. I go there sometimes and have a beer or two, rowing and stuff. But look behind. See him behind? That’s the only pic I have of him. I can’t take any pics because like I said, he’ll leave, but this wasn’t taken on purpose, so he don’t mind. Check it out, he’s hiding right there, behind the small trees, see?” he says as he handles me the framed picture.

I can see a little black spot behind his boat. I can’t tell if it was done by a pencil or if it’s genuine. He goes to the fridge to get another beer while I try to erase the stain. It doesn’t come off. Lens flare perhaps. After further inspection, I can make out a hand with exceedingly long fingers, but it could be just a coincidence. He is also holding a beer on the picture.

He offers me some food but I decline, politely. It is 10 p.m. and I need to go back to my hotel.

I say goodbye to Smith and thank him for his kindness. I am grateful that he shared his story with me.

“Come back any time, Michael, if you pay attention you will get to see him,” he says, shaking my hand while he moves his eyebrows up and down.

As I leave the front porch, I can hear noises under the trailer. I am not sure if it’s the creaking wood or a mad raccoon waking up for his nightly breakfast. Sitting in the car, I can see Smith, talking. I don’t know what he is saying. He is definitely carrying on a conversation, but there is no one else with him. It makes me think of the bees and their visible spectrum. Who am I to judge the man? For all I know he could be telling the truth about the monster. Everyone is born different. Some people are born blinder than others.

I can’t stop thinking about that cassette tape.

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