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I Just Wanted A Beer
Copyright © 2021 by Rj Waters
Cover By: Trient Press
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Dog leads me down the path and around a turn. Ahead of us is the opening to a cave. He stops at the opening and motions with a nod of his head for me to follow him inside.
“I’m not going in there.”
Dog looks at me, and I follow him. How does he control me? I don’t like this.
The cave entrance is about four feet high but gets higher and wider as we go farther in. Soon I am able to stand upright. Ahead I see a glow. Behind me, I hear the ominous sound of a heavy door slamming shut.
I look at Dog. “I take it we’re staying.”
The glow becomes brighter as we walk around a turn. We enter a brightly lit room with… furniture? An opening on the opposite side connects to another brightly lit room.
Out of the room emerges a small creature. I freeze. I’m not sure exactly what it is. It is about four feet tall, a sturdy body, two arms and legs and a large bulging head with two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. There is no hair on the head and small openings for ears. The creature is luminous and devoid of color. My breathing almost stops. Why did I put my weapon in the suitcase?
It is wearing shorts and a polo shirt. Typical Las Vegas warm weather clothing. For some reason, it looks familiar.
It looks at me, and a warm smile breaks across its pleasant appearing face. It extends a hand, as if for a handshake, and says in English, “Hello, I’m Michael, the Commander. I am very glad to meet you. Dog has told us all about you.”
“Hello, I’m David; uh… very glad to meet you… I think.” I shake the extended pale hand. It’s a good firm grip for such a small hand.
“Relax, David, I know this is very disconcerting to you, but we will explain it all to you. Can I get you a drink?’
“Yeah, I could use a real drink, but I’ll take whatever you have.” That was a stupid thing to say; they’ll probably poison me.
Michael steps into the other room and comes back with two cut crystal whiskey glasses. He walks over to a cabinet on the wall and opens it. Inside appears to be a stock of real liquor. Now I’m certain I am mentally messed up: a bar — inside a cave — inside a mountain — in a restricted area.
“You look like a Crown Royal man to me. Neat or on the rocks?”
“Uh… you have ice? On the rocks, please,” I stammer.
Michael pours us each three fingers of Crown; he has small fingers, you know. He then opens another door that holds an icemaker. He puts a couple of ice cubes in each glass and hands me one.
“To the future,” he says.
“To the future,” I repeat. What the hell does that mean?
We both take a sip. I take another one.
“Please sit down and we can talk.” Michael gestures to a leather chair in the corner. I sit. My chair is comfortable, first-class furniture, with quality leather. He sits in another chair, and Dog curls up on the leather sofa.
“Don’t let Dorothy see you, Dog. You know how she is about your shedding.”
As if to defy Dorothy, Dog stretches out full length.
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