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Area 51 Tale

Updated on May 19, 2020
carrie Lee Night profile image

Carrie is an avid short story writing with a passion for creatively twisty plots. Explore the emotion of her raw characters.

The Truth is Out There, But It May Be Closer Then You Think


Quit Asking Charlie

“You actually were assigned to Area 51?”, the kid asks like he is loopy on sugar snacks.

That rookie kid with the star struck eyes is Cliff. He was freshly delivered from the Midwest by his farmer mama. I suspect he is corn fed, don’t see him eating meat much.

He follows me around like a puppy dog and even hounded me for my autograph once; like this old fart is a big deal.

Cliff has this preconceived notion that if you work at Area 51 you have a top secret glow in the dark badge, government issued dark sunglasses and have the chance to high five some aliens walking down the hallway. You pride yourself on being civilian of the month because you played guard dog to protect a UFO

The disappointing truth is Area 51 is classified for no dang good reason. It is nothing special, just a large military installation in the middle of a hot wasteland. If you are the few privileged assigned to this duty you may get the special chance to baby sit tourist trying to trespass or fire a warning shot just above their head.

I don’t brain slap Cliff into believing the fictional sci-fi happenings even though I am tempted to…he is so naïve because his mother hadn’t remove him from her haystack hip.

So who am I ? What makes me so special? The truth of the matter is I’m not anything special but….

America’s got their Charlie Brown, but the Pentagon has their very own Charlie White. I’m called that because I have snow white hair and if you stare long enough you may see some flakes. You can stamp me as a senior citizen that should be retired in a rocker somewhere, but looks can be deceiving because most of Uncle Sam’s ants struggle to keep me with me.

Still, I’m respected around these parts for being one of the best firecrackers the government has ever had. I rebel against most protocols because they don’t apply to me. I defy the dress code by wearing a few buttons away from pajamas. I like to add I resemble a clean shaven lumberjack that survived Nam whose holding on to some sagging skin scattered with bullet holes, but I always get the job done.

I fiddle with my suspenders today at the lunch table in the Pentagon’s food court, breaking bread with Cliff and Bernie.

Bernie is past his prime like me, but acts like the old bag of bones he is. He drives a motorized wheelchair, chews on pills like sticky candy and has a date with a different doctor every day of the week. Sadly enough, after fifty two years of faithful government service, he is retiring.

“Tell me all about Area 51”, Cliff gleams while shaking his cup of ice to get the last sip of his cola.

“Oh brother not this again…Charlie when are you going to tell this whipper snapper there is nothing to tell”, Bernie yaps while nudging me back from day dreaming.

“I’m not talking to you prune pits!”, Cliff smartly sasses.

“Easy kid… want to know the truth?’, I ask reeling him on the hook.

“Yes, I’ve been asking for it for six weeks now and you have been stringing me along”, Cliff whines like the little newbie he is.

“Cliff, there’s not really much to tell and the rest is classified…you know that”, I reinforce trying to be the responsible role model the government pays me to be.

“Just give me a little taste, its not like anyone will know”, Cliff presses.

“You’re not going to let this go are you?”, I ask.

“Not a chance”, Cliff smiles.

“Well…I guess I can throw you a bone if you promise to shut up”, I snap.

“So where is the government stashing the UFO’s?”, Cliff asks completely off the logical grid.

“Another question like that and I walk, got it!”, I discipline.

“Sorry, I just get so worked up”, Cliff backtracks.

“Kid I served there for three years after Nam and it was anything but exciting. The reality of Area 51 is so boring that I yawn just thinking about it. Lets start off with a duty station in the middle of nowhere and miles away from the nearest fun house. Standing long knee knocking watches and securing the same old buildings; it was the same old routine twenty four hours a day seven days a week. The most action we had around there was an occasional shooting star and a coyote we named Rabies. I swear on my nu*s that I never saw an alien or a UFO from outer space”, I recite plainly.

“You are withholding the good stuff because it’s classified”, Cliff speaks, he is not satisfied with my colorless confession.

“All I can tell you is the classified stuff had nothing to do with any alien gibberish. Remember kiddo if you want to keep your job, I don’t suggest asking everyone where we’re keeping E.T and his crew”, I advise.

“Okay…”, Cliff sighed.

Cliff grabbed his sandwich wrapper and silently left the table.

“Gee whiz Charlie, I think you burst his bubble”, Bernie chuckled with his loose dentures messing with my eyes.

“I pacified him, that’s what I do to those kids still wet behind the ears”, I bluntly say.

“You don’t think he took offense do you?”, Bernie cautioned.

“If he did, he’ll get over it. We work in the Pentagon not in a preschool”, I say.

“Whelp time we get back, the meeting will start soon and it will take a fifteen minute high speed chase to get there”, Bernie speaks while squinting at his watch.

“ I can’t ride shot gun today because the rest room is beckoning me, you go ahead”, I speak.

“Charlie, that’s the third time since lunch, aren’t you ever going to get that prostate problem fixed?”, Bernie asks.

“No scalpel is getting close to my wee wee, I’m doing just fine partner”, I preach.

“Alright, see you later, but don’t lose your balance and fall in like last time”, Bernie smiles.

“Get going easy rider”, I say while shaking my head at him.


I prefer the urinals in the Pentagon men’s room adjacent to the barber shop. They provide an easier target for my unpredictable jet stream and bleach odor here is tolerable.

I putter a pathetic whistle like my lips are coated with peanut butter while waiting for my plumbing to leak, but today it seems impossible. It figures on a day when I have to be somewhere I run dry.

Once the first drop dribbles, the lights in the bathroom flicker. Unsure if the power was going to hold out, I retreat then flush.

“It’s not going to happen anyway”, I grunt.

While lathering my hands with this funky neon green antibacterial gel soap, I hear a strange noise.

“What is it now?”, I sigh to myself while the lights flicker again.

Then the noise is amplified into a thousand hissing sounds like snakes. Suddenly my ears vibrate and I feel queasy.

“Maybe it’s the back up generator”, I think to myself.

I dismiss the strangeness and walk towards the door, then the lights decide to fail. Now I find myself in complete darkness. Feeling a bit disoriented, I feel for my cell phone in my pocket so it can provide a little light, but there is no charge.

Suddenly I feel a subtle draft behind me, I’m not alone.

“I’ve survived Nam, a motorcycle wreck and two ex-wives; I may be old, but your just a drop in the bucket for me so I suggest you show yourself so we can dance”, I roar.

“Sleep now”, a groan demands.

Then I feel a stinging sensation in the back of my neck and I slowly slump over.

My head feels brick heavy as I drift in and out of consciousness. I feel myself being dragged by my ankles across the bathroom floor without even getting one lick in. Being paralyzed from the neck down is not my idea of a fair fight.


Who knows how long I’ve been out. Relieved that I have feeling back in my extremities, I will myself to stand up.

My eyes scope this pillowed wall room that I’m in. There are no doors, no windows, and no vents.

“How in the h*ll did I get in here?”, I groan to myself feeling a dull ache still menacing the back of my neck.

“That’s what I call being comfortably numb”, I think while trying to maintain focus.

By now the average person will panic, but panic is not in my vocabulary because it invites death in.

I pace the small room searching for any small clue to indicate where I’m being held. There is no sound whatsoever. Just a hard, cold stone floor, white pillow walls and a drywall ceiling with a single hanging bulb light.

The Pentagon has fire sprinklers am I still in the Pentagon?”, I ask myself out loud.

“Yes and no”, a voice answers.

“Where am I? What do you want with me?”, I ask laughing at myself for asking such generic questions.

Suddenly a tall man walks through the pillow walls and into the room.

“Cliff…is that you?”, I ask.

“In the flesh”, Cliff speaks. He doesn’t quite look the same, but it is him.

I don’t feel threatened, yet Cliff has a lot of explaining to do.

“We need to talk, but first lets get you out of this room”, Cliff speaks.

He opens up a secret panel inside one of the pillows on the wall and sticks out his long, curly, plush silver tongue and taps it on a sensor.

“So that’s your finger print huh”, I say without feeling one ounce of fear.

“You’re catching on quick”, Cliff speaks while smiling in my direction.

Suddenly the room is gone and we are standing in a drafty warehouse looking place.

“I know your wondering where we are so I’ll throw you some clues. It’s nothing exciting, no action around here except for alien relations and we are the official sponsor of the UFO super highway. Have a guess yet ?”, Cliff asks.

“Area 51?”, I answer in confusion.

“Bingo…Welcome to the real Area 51...twenty five feet below the Pentagon”, Cliff laughs as we walk and he gives me the grand tour.

“Why doesn’t any of this surprise me?”, I ask. Really I’m dumbfounded that I’m still standing up.

“Because your one of us”, Cliff speaks as his eyes change vortex black and expand to take up most of his face.

“What are you?”, I ask knowing he’s not human

“Alright…I think you need total submersion. You are not human…you are one of us…you are Yeti”, Cliff speaks serious as a heart attack.

“So I’m part of the Big Foot Club?”, I laugh to ease some of the tension.

“Yeti is the name that belongs to our species…humans just adapted it for that mythical hairy creature that is shown on the seven o’clock news”, Cliff speaks now in a telepathic method.

“So let me get this straight…I’m not human, I’m Yeti and we are standing in the Pentagon’s top secret basement”, I recap.

“You’re a pure blood Yeti standing in a UFO hangar at the real Area 51”, Cliff educates.

“Your feeding me so much bologna this place is starting to smell like a deli…”, I laugh not believing a single word of it.

“Charlie…it would be so easy for me to show you your true form, but I know you are not ready for that. At least let me explain to you where you came from and what you are doing here…then if you still don’t believe me you can leave…its that simple”, Cliff pleads.

“So you are not holding me against my will?”, I ask.

“Of course not…but if you leave you will never know the truth and since you work on the right hand of the government, you may want understand why I brought you down here”, Cliff answers.

“Enlighten me”, I huff.

“You are the sole survivor of the first Roswell crash”, Cliff introduces.

“First crash? Cliff you must of flunked in history…there was only one crash…it occurred in July of 1947”, I interrupt.

“Ah yes, let the truth begin. The first Roswell crash occurred on December 7th 1941”, Cliff speaks.

“The day Pearl Harbor was attacked”, I confirm under my breath.

“That’s exactly right. Your crash never reached national attention because no one cared about a UFO crashing in a small town, they were worried about the war. Anyway, a little girl who lived on a farm named Dotty found you, and hid you in a horse’s stall. During that time you developed an emotional bond with Dotty…something that our species never had with a human. This was a friendship that changed universes, but the military had their own plans. Eventually the military did track you down and transported you to the “moonlighting” Area 51. They wanted to use you as a spy against the Nazi’s, but you didn’t develop as quickly as they had anticipated because you had a birth defect. They contained you until the Yeti search party came and crashed into Roswell in 1947 from an entry malfunction. The two survivors of that crash were taken to Area 51 for experimentation. The Yeti civilization was ready for all out war against Earth, but you stopped them because of the bond you had with Dotty. As years past…the experimentation stopped and an alliance was formed with President JFK. I became an Ambassador of good will for our species. But now that leaves you. Yeti aren’t shape shifters by nature, but on Earth we discovered we can adopt human form, however in doing so we may lose our memory, special abilities and shorten our lifespan. I think you traded your form for Dotty, but once that happened your memory of her drifted away. So to give you purpose you were assigned to serve in the Army and that’s history”, Cliff spoke.

“What an incredible story. Too bad we don’t have popcorn”, I gloat.

“I knew a hard faced veteran would be difficult to convince”, Cliff smiles

“Look I’ll give you a break, why did you bring me here? I know it wasn’t to take a trip down memory lane”, I sum up.

“We need your help. You’re the only Yeti who has spent real time inside the U.S government and we need your intel to help us release a Yeti held in a Federal Prison”, Cliff reveals.

“Didn’t Cliff just say there was an alliance with the government and that he is an Ambassador of good will?. Why couldn’t he just talk to the government?”, I ponder.

“He must think I’m an idiot…everything is flawed. What planet am I from? If this is an UFO super highway then why is this place empty? Why would the government use an alien to serve in the Army?”, I think more.

“I’m sorry Cliff, but I can’t help you”, I sigh.

“All you have to do is give me the passwords for the prison so we can hack their computer system in order to break him out”, Cliff soothes over.

“With their so called technology they should be able to do that themselves in their sleep”, I think.

“Sounds like an easy job for you to figure out”, I speak.

“Please help us Charlie. If you do this for your people we will take you to see Dotty. She is dying and wants to see you”, Cliff begs once more.

“I don’t know a Dotty and again I can’t help you”, I stand solid.

“Fine old fool, have it you way. Say goodbye to Dotty and your grandchildren”, Cliff snarls.

I feel a sharp pierce in the neck and then I’m out cold.


I wake up the hospital to find Bernie and my boss Mr. Hearth staring down at me.

“Prognosis doesn’t look good…he’s awake and can see us”, Bernie giggles.

“Give it to me straight…what happened and why do I have this lump on my head?”, I ask while rubbing a nuisance of a bandage snagging the white hair I have left.

“Let’s just say you’ll go down in history”, Mr. Hearth smiles.


Once I was discharged from the hospital, the real truth came out. Cliff was part of spy network out to infiltrate the Federal prisons to break out several A list terrorists, I was his target. He posed as an innocent kid from the Midwest and even had an accent to boot, and was trying to get me to release information. When I wouldn’t blow the whistle on Area 51, he knew I would be a challenge. He waited until I walked into the men’s restroom and knocked me out. Somehow him and a few others smuggled me out and placed me in an holding cell in an undisclosed underground facility. He developed an elaborate plan to try to get me to talk because he knew conventional methods would not work on me.

When all failed he tried to kill me, but the military found me just in time.

Unfortunately for Cliff out of all the gum shoe’s he chose me. Who else could Cliff find that resists the truth serum, uses the code name Dotty as a distress call, has no grandchildren and is what he was looking for all along…an alien from Area 51.

© 2013 Carrie Lee Night


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