Late fall afternoon in Dysmal Nitch, the sun radiates down through impossibly tall Hemlock and Spruce evergreens lining the road on one of the last few sunny days before the fall and winter rains begin cloaking the Pacific Northwest in months of grim greys and muted blues. An ill cared for car cries with steam rolling out from under the hood, overheated and never to run again. The car is parked on the side of the lonely untraveled paved road where an unlikely interview is taking place about unlikely events:
Reporter: “Are you sure they are running the bank of Utah? Maybe they are on the board of directors, or simply looking at investment opportunities…”
September 23rd Highway Interview of Ronnie Dutch
Ronald looks around, “they’ll be here any minute” he says breathlessly scanning the sky, scanning the side of the lonely highway. “I didn’t expect to encounter a reporter.”
“Dysmal Nitch attempts to interview anyone fleeing down our municipal road. So Mr. Dutch, let’s continue, can you describe why you’re terrified and trying to flee?”
“How in the fuck do you know my last name?” He pats his pockets , reporter hands him his cigarettes.
He crouches in the shade of a spruce trying to compose himself and light up. “Look, I don’t have much time before they catch up to me. I can tell you what happened but you won’t believe it.”
Reporter: shrugs and waits
“I have been living in my late parents house, and my dumb ass brother has been trying to sell it, but I won’t move out, well he sets it up with the bank you see? Understand?”
“I’m a contractor, I do some odd jobs but the work has been slow. I haven’t been paid in awhile, and I admit it, I drink a bit. But that’s my right, and it has never been a problem before and I think he can butt right on out – just because he’s a big shot real estate agent…understand? he knew the house was worth some money, and I had no idea how much. He always lies on me and refers to me as unemployed.”
“I had a note TAPED, TAPED to the front door when I arrived back from the Liqueur store – well more like a notice, seemed official and the bank was involved with taking MY HOME. MINE. Mom and Dad wanted me to have the old place, they said so, they said so many a’time, not my asshole brother who was too big for his britches — and I’m sure they didn’t want it sold, understand?”
Reporter: yawns again motions with hand roll to get going with the story utterly bored with the brother versus brother real estate brokerage narrative.
“Okay, okay, long story short, I ran into the bank of Utah and they’re yelling and screaming at me from the front counter to stop, a couple of small women and one effeminate dude. A real big place, glass fronted and I take the stairs and bound up them all the way to the third floor and I see this glass enclosed conference room where there were these well dressed smug board room types in a meeting, I was mad as hell, understand? But I just wanted to talk.”
“I barged into the meeting and maybe I was talking loud, real loud … well, okay I admit it, I also had a gun. I never planned on firing it and it was only for show, understand? I wasn’t there to hurt anyone, I just wanted to be heard and get my home back.”
“They had this long oblong wood table, real polished, and papers in front of them and they look startled to see me but just sat there — and then I see it. They had two God damned aliens, just like you see on the TV, the ‘greys’ I’ve seen them called, bug eyed and bobble head mother fuckers — yeah those! THEY WERE THERE. THEY WERE THERE AT THE GOD DAMN TABLE.”
“I realized in an instant these mother fuckers are helping run our banks. So I pull out my gun and start firing but I was shaking so bad that my aim was non-existent. It was just pure adrenaline making the bullets fly around the conference room, understand?
“The aliens didn’t blink or even move, but the humans hit the floor when the gun fired. I just kept firing until there were no more bullets, I remember that at least…”
“I don’t recall what happened next, I don’t know if the bullets even broke any glass, I screamed – I am not ashamed to say that – I could feel those beetle eyed bastards in my mind casting around to make the cobwebs and give me ideas, but fuck them, I drink way too damn much for them to do jack shit, understand?”
“I have been driving all the way from Utah but I know they can find me, especially with my car broke down. I don’t know how I know but I know they’re [sic: the aliens] can find me if they want, understand? I’m not long for this world.”
Reporter: thanks for your time, here is a commemorative Dysmal Nitch travel mug and t-shirt with a courtesy bottle of water, bottled at our very own Dysmal Spring. We of Dysmal Nitch wish you the best of luck evading unknown telepathic assailants presumably from space and … with a meaningful look, Mr. Dutch we will be seeing you again.
You may also enjoy the next story involving Mr. Ronnie Dutch:
‘The Return of Ronnie Dutch’
