The Uninvited At the busy airport in the capital city of Carjackistan, I saw the American traveler ahead of me inadvertently bump into an older native gentleman. "Oops, sorry!," offered my countryman apologetically. The foreign man wheeled about, a look of profound displeasure on his face. He glared at the American for a moment, and I feared that I was about to witness an ugly confrontation. Then the older man's expression softened inexplicably, and he spoke a few words in heavily accented English. "It was nothing, an accident, yes?," said the small older man. Reaching into his pocket, the native man extracted a folded piece of paper and a small envelope, offering them to the American. "Please to take this, an offering of good will," said the old man in broken English. "It is a gift, it will make your #life...interesting," the small figure said softly, the trace of a dark smile crossing his countenance. I saw the American take the slip of paper and envelope with a nod, and stuff them hastily into his pocket. It was perhaps wise, I thought, to agree and go along with the offering of the old man rather than risk further offense. The American then walked briskly to the boarding gateway for his flight as so did I, apparently bound for the same destination. It turned out that we would share adjoining seats in the same row. We buckled ourselves in as instructed by the flight attendants, the jet taxied down the runway, and soon we were airborne. I must confess that I was not unhappy to be leaving Carjackistan. Looking downwards at the clouds from comfortable seats, I introduced myself to my countryman and fellow traveler. "My name's David Talbot," I said to my seatmate, offering my hand to him. As he shook my extended hand, I felt my psychic senses tingle. "I'm Bret Farraday," he said genially. "Did you happen to see the creepy old man that I accidentally bumped into at the airport?," he asked. I nodded in the affirmative. My flight companion moved his hand to his pocket where he extracted the folded paper and envelope that I had seen him take from the old man. "He gave me this," said Bret, opening up the folded paper where I could see it. The paper was covered with an incomprehensible array of symbols, with some text also written on it in an unknown foreign language. I was instantly troubled by a nagging sense that I had somewhere seen something like this before, and that it had been followed by trouble. "Makes no sense to me," said Bret, crumpling the paper before I could examine it thoroughly, and stuffing it back into his pocket. "Well, let's see what prize the old coot gave me in this little envelope," he said tearing it open before I could caution him otherwise. To the untrained eye, the envelope held nothing. "What the hell?," wondered Bret, "The damn thing's empty!" Unlike Bret, however, my third eye could see something small, pale, and almost transparent perhaps an inch long swiftly scurry out of the envelope and up my companion's arm. While he could see nothing, almost immediately the man felt something, and began scratching. I watched a small bulge move under the fabric of my companion's shirt as he itched frantically and compulsively at the path taken by the thing. The almost invisible creature emerged again at the cuff of his opposite sleeve, where I noticed with alarm that it was now almost twice its original size; the thing looked like a cross between a centipede and something that crawled along the ocean's bottom. I was filled with feelings of disgust and revulsion. Small chittering sounds emerged from the creature which were audible to my ears but not to his. Again the worm-like thing turned and disappeared beneath Bret's shirt cloth, moving in a new and terrible direction. My companion clawed at his flesh now, feeling the progression of a myriad of tiny jointed feet which he could neither see nor touch. "What's wrong with me?!," he cried in desperation. The small flight crew was beginning to hear Bret's agitation, but like himself, could see nothing. I waved them away with my hand as if to say that I had this situation covered. "He's just a little nervous!," I said to them reassuringly. "Be silent and still!," I admonished my companion, my eyes never leaving the track of the unspeakable thing as it progressed inexorably towards Bret's head. In a moment I saw the thing emerge at the man's collar, now more than three times its original size. I saw transparent mandibles, compound eyes, and countless joined legs. Knowing I had to do something quickly, I lunged at the creature, snatching it despite its resistance and pulling it from my companion's neck. The foul thing twisted and writhed between my fingers, but I held it tightly in my grip. High-pitched squealing sounds emitted from whatever oriface passed for its mouth. Countless loathsome legs flailed in the air, seeking purchase in vain. Holding tightly to the chittering creature, I brought it to the floor and stomped it under my heel. Some kind of thick disgusting clear fluid gushed out of the ruined body, but still its revolting legs flailed. I stomped it again hard with the full sole of my shoe, and yet again a third time. Finally, it was still to move no more. My companion stared at me uncomprehending, his eyes big as saucers. "I don't know what just happened," he said breathlessly, "but I do know that you've just saved me from something, something terrible, something that the old foreign man at the airport somehow inflicted upon me..." I nodded at the man, noticing two small punctures on his neck where the creature was about to burrow inside his skin. --Would it have tunneled into his flesh, causing a torturous death? Or would it have attached itself to his brain stem, in some manner taking him over? Thankfully, we'll never know. "I don't fully understand either what you ran afoul of at the airport," I told Bret softly. "But you apparently offended and incurred the wrath of some kind of dark entity." We talked much about that for the remainder of the flight about dimensions existing outside of the realm of regular human senses, the existence of things there which we don't want intruding into our dimension, and how, when such things do push through, there are those such as myself present who push back. As we exited the plane and prepared to go our separate ways, Bret looked at me and said, "That's very interesting, David, but I'm not sure that I believe you. I think that I may just have had a psychotic episode of some kind on the plane or perhaps a reaction to my medication, one which you talked me through." I shook Bret's hand. "Believe what you want to, my friend," I told him. "But it's a universe of almost infinite possibilities, and there is more in heaven and Earth than is accounted for in your philosophies." As proof of that, I unclouded the man's mind as I walked away to allow him to see my fox tail, one which, forgive my vanity, I am rather proud of...