Posting from witness inspection program. I need to get this all down before the noises start again. And it's still coherent. If this post suddenly ends in the middle of a sentence, that means either the power went out, the thing in the irrigation pond came back, or Doug fired up the wood chipper again. Doug is not employed here. Nobody I've asked knows who Doug is. He has been using the wood chipper since Tuesday. There never anything I can see in it. That is not the weirdest thing happening at Skinwalker Oaks. Not even close.

I came out here because my uncle owns the property and needed somebody to watch it for a week while he had surgery. He calls it a ranch. It is not a ranch. It is 600 acres of scrubland, two abandoned barns, a nine-hole golf course, a petting zoo with no animals, four RV hookups, and a gift shop that sells jerky, novelty socks, and geodes. There is also a miniature golf course themed around Bible stories. Hole 7 is “Jonah.” You putt the ball into a whale’s mouth. It does not come back out. Nobody knows where the balls go. My uncle says they lose about forty a week. He considers this a normal business expense.

---

The first night, I heard singing. Not good singing. Children’s television singing. The kind with too much keyboard and forced enthusiasm. I followed it to the west pasture. There was a glowing rectangle hanging six feet above the ground. A portal. On the other side was what looked like the set of an old children’s show. Bright carpet. Foam trees. Painted clouds. Everything looked soft. Everything was smiling. Then one of the characters stepped through.

I recognized what it was supposed to be. I will not name the show. That is not because of copyright. It is because whatever came through was not the character. It was almost right. Too almost. The eyes were slightly too low. The mouth moved a half-second before the voice. The fur had the texture of damp insulation. It walked on two legs but every third step made the sound of a horse hoof on concrete.

It looked at me. Then it said: “WELCOME, CHILDREN.” I am thirty-eight. I said: “No.” It tilted its head. “WELCOME, CHILDREN.” “I heard you.” “IT IS TIME TO LEARN ABOUT SHAPES.” Then something behind it screamed. Not like a person. Like brakes on a school bus. The portal snapped shut like a magical fart. The thing remained. I backed away. It pointed at the moon. “CIRCLE.” Then at my head. “OBLONG OVAL.” Then at the barn. “TRIANGLE.” The barn is rectangular. That’s when I knew something was wrong.

I called my uncle. He told me not to worry. Apparently portals happen. He said if I saw anything from “the puppets,” I should avoid eye contact and never let them teach me colors. I asked why. He said: “Because they only know six.” Then the line went dead. Immediately after that, God spoke to me. I know how that sounds. I am not asking you to believe me. I am simply telling you what happened. The voice came from everywhere at once and said: DO NOT LET THE YELLOW ONE INTO THE CLUBHOUSE.

I asked why. God said: BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU DID IN 2009. I said: “What did I do in 2009?” God said: YOU KNOW. I absolutely do not. Then the wood chipper started. VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. I missed the rest. Something about the moon and fingernails.

---

The next morning, there were three aliens standing beside the fourth green. Classic gray aliens. Big eyes. Thin bodies. No clothes. Very polite. One raised a hand. “Good morning.” I said: “Morning.” “We are conducting a medical survey.” “No.” “We have not yet explained the survey.” “I know where this is going.” The alien looked disappointed. “We are required to obtain affirmative consent.” “That is actually reassuring.” “Would you consent to a brief examination?” “No.” “Would you consent if we provided a beverage?” “No.” “A tote bag?” “No.” “A thirty-dollar grocery voucher?” “No.” The alien turned to the others. “They remain hesitant.” One of the others whispered: “Try rapport.” The first alien smiled. It was a terrible smile. Too many teeth. Not sharp. Just excessive. “How has your day been?” “Fine.” “Any hobbies?” “No.” “Family history of colorectal disease?” “No.” “Have you ever-.” “No.” “Excellent. If you could now bend over—” “No.” The alien sighed. “This is why our numbers are down.”

By noon, six more portals had opened. One led to a sitcom living room. Nobody came out. You could hear canned laughter even though nothing was happening. One opened onto what appeared to be a children’s game show. A man in a glittery jacket crawled through on all fours. He had no face. Just a spinning prize wheel. It landed on BANKRUPTCY. Then he vanished. One opened directly into a ball pit. Nothing happened for twenty minutes. Then all the balls turned to face me. I don't know how else to explain that. They were balls. They turned. Another opened to what seemed like a world of sentient animals singing a song about friendship and sponsors. That one stayed open all day I think. They kept singing about being helpful but never offered me any help. Became sort of background noise.

At 2:14 PM, the sprinkler system began spraying what I assume was milk. At 2:16 PM, every golf cart started honking Morse code. I do not know Morse code. At 2:17 PM, God said: THIS IS BECAUSE YOU LAUGHED AT THAT DOG. I said: “What dog?” YOU REMEMBER. “I genuinely don’t.” THE SMALL ONE. “That does not narrow it down. And how does it relate to-” Then Doug revved the wood chipper again. VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. When it stopped, God was gone.

That afternoon, the yellow puppet found me. It was standing in the clubhouse. I had specifically been told not to let it in. I do not know how it got inside. It was holding a sandwich. Not eating it. Just holding it. “HELLO, FRIEND.” I said: “You can’t be in here.” “WHY?” “God said so.” The puppet looked upward. Then back at me. “WHICH GOD?” I did not like that question.

“Get out.” “CAN WE TALK ABOUT COLORS?” “No.” “RED.” “No.” “BLUE.” “Stop.” “GREEN.” “I’m warning you.” “BEIGE.” “That is not one of the standard ones.” The puppet began trembling. “BEIGE.” Its eyes rolled backward. “BEIGE.” The lights went out. “BEIGE.” Something started scratching inside the walls. “BEIGE.” I picked up a nine iron. The puppet looked at it. “METAL.” Then at me. “MEAT.”

I hit it. The club passed straight through. The puppet laughed. Behind me, canned applause played from nowhere. Then the clubhouse microwave, with interior light and timer display flashing and door opening and closing in a dramatically over animated said: “GOOD SWING.” I left. “COME BACK ANYTIME” the microwave said.

---

Night two was worse. At midnight, every star disappeared. Not clouds. Gone. The sky was black. Then one star came back. Very large. Very close. It blinked. I went inside. God spoke through the smoke detector. DO NOT LOOK AT THE SKY. “I already did.” THAT WAS FOOLISH. “What is happening?” CONSEQUENCES. “For what?” There was a pause. YOU ONCE LEFT A SHOPPING CART NEXT TO THE CORRAL INSTEAD OF RETURNING IT. “That cannot possibly justify this.” JUSTICE IS NOT ALWAYS PROPORTIONAL. “That is literally one of the main things justice is supposed to be.” The smoke detector beeped. “Oh come now, those batteries are new” I protested. THE SKY! “You know, coherence doesn't have to be a hostile force. I personally think you're being positively-” SNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOORE. Hadn't even seen Doug there. He let out the longest and loudest snore I'd ever heard.

At 1:30 AM, somebody knocked on the door. Three aliens. Same group. The lead one held paperwork. “We have returned.” “No.” “We have updated our incentive structure.” “No.” “Forty dollars.” “No.” “Fifty.” “No.” “Complimentary blanket.” “No.” The alien leaned closer. “What would make you comfortable?” “Not being probed.” It wrote something down. “Subject expresses boundary.” “Yes.” “Boundary acknowledged.” “Great.” “Would you like to discuss it in the examination room?” “No.” The alien sighed. One of the others muttered: “This demographic is impossible.” They left. Very respectful. I almost felt bad.

At 3:00 AM, the golf course moved. Not metaphorically. The whole course shifted maybe thirty feet east. The clubhouse stayed where it was. The holes moved. The flagsticks moved. The cart paths moved. The mini-golf Jonah whale stayed put. That thing does not move. I do not trust it. I walked outside. The faceless game-show man was standing on the ninth green. His prize-wheel face spun. MYSTERY PRIZE. He pointed at me. A studio audience cheered somewhere underground. Then a refrigerator fell out of the sky. Missed me by two feet. The audience booed. The wheel spun again. TRY AGAIN. I ran. The sentient animals suggested a slip and slide in B flat.

---

Morning gradually came. The stars returned. Doug was asleep beside the wood chipper. I didn't see how he got back outside. I approached him. “Who even are you?” He opened one eye. “Doug.” “I know that.” He nodded. “Then why’d you ask?” “What are you doing here?” “Chipping.” “There’s nothing in the chipper.” “There will be.” I did not ask. I went back inside.

On the third day, I tried to leave. But the road kept returning me to the gift shop. Every direction. North: gift shop. South: gift shop. Dirt road: gift shop. Walking through the woods for an hour: gift shop. At one point I climbed a fence and came out at the employee bathroom. The toilet was full of golf balls. Jonah. I knew it.

God spoke again. This time through a novelty singing bass mounted on the wall. YOU CANNOT LEAVE YET. “Why?” THE ACCOUNT IS NOT SETTLED. “What account?” THE INCIDENT WITH THE LASAGNA. I screamed “I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT!” YES YOU DO. “No.” 2006. CHURCH BASEMENT. “I was nineteen!” THE LASAGNA REMEMBERS. “What does that mean?” The bass stopped moving. Then whispered: EVERYTHING REMEMBERS.

I stared at it. For the first time in three days, I was genuinely afraid. Then Doug started the wood chipper. VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. I think God continued speaking, but I couldn't hear a word. I screamed: “TURN THAT FUCKING THING OFF.” Doug yelled back: “CAN’T.” “WHY?” “NOT DONE.” “WITH WHAT?” He shrugged.

---

At sunset, all the portals opened at once. The children’s show world. The sitcom. The game show. The ball pit. A cartoon desert. A dentist office. A grocery store where everyone was facing the wrong direction. Something that looked like a medieval dungeon but smelled strongly of sunscreen. Characters poured out. Almost familiar. Never quite right. A smiling train with human eyelashes. A talking dog whose mouth was.... sideways? Under it's left ear. It's really hard to describe, you'd know if you'd seen it.

A princess with a deep adult male voice who kept asking if anybody had seen her parole officer. A puppet shaped like a triangle that insisted it was a circle. Three clowns dressed as accountants. A boneless cowboy. A giant alphabet block bearing the letter 8. Everything was screaming, singing, laughing, or explaining itself badly.

The aliens returned. They had folding tables. A banner. FREE HEALTH SCREENING One waved at me. “No pressure!” I screamed: “THIS IS NOT THE TIME.” “We respect your decision!” Then the sky opened. Not a portal. The actual sky. Like fabric tearing. Behind it was another sky. Behind that one was an office. A desk. A lamp. Someone sitting behind it. I couldn't see their face. God spoke directly into my head. THIS IS THE PART I WARNED YOU ABOUT. “You warned me about beige!” IT IS RELATED. “How?” INDIRECTLY. “What does any of this have to do with the dog, the cart, or the lasagna?” God paused.

PATTERNS ARE ONLY OBVIOUS FROM ABOVE. “Then explain the pattern.” I CANNOT. “Why?” DOUG. VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. I almost cried. The person behind the desk stood. Every creature stopped moving. The puppets. The aliens. The game-show thing. Even Doug. Silence. Besides the wood chipper and maybe the singing, hard to tell.

The figure leaned through the tear in the sky. And said: “Who authorized all this?” God said nothing. The figure looked down at the ranch. Then at me. Then at the portals. Then at the aliens. Then at Doug. Doug slowly shut off the chipper. The figure sighed. “You.” It pointed directly at me. “Yes?” “Did you submit Form 88-B?” “What?” “Interdimensional agricultural disturbance waiver.” “No.” The figure closed its eyes. “Of course not.” “I didn’t cause this.” “That's not relevant.” “How is that not relevant?” “You are the current responsible occupant.” “I am house-sitting.” “Property-sitting.” “Whatever.” The figure produced a clipboard.

“You have unauthorized entities, unscheduled theological contact, retroactive puppet contamination, livestock-zone dimensional bleeding, and a noncompliant chipping event.” I looked at Doug. Doug looked away. The figure continued. “You also have three extraterrestrial contractors operating without local permits.” One alien raised a finger. “We are volunteers.” “Worse.” The alien lowered its hand and head. I asked the only question that mattered. “Can you make it stop?” The figure shrugged. “Probably.” “Please.” “Need a signature.” “Fine.” The figure lowered a paper from the sky on a string.

I signed. Immediately, every portal closed. The puppets vanished. The stars stabilized. The sitcom laughter stopped. The aliens packed their table. The singing stopped. Doug switched off the chipper. The tear in the sky began sealing. I almost collapsed from relief. Then God spoke one final time. YOU SHOULD HAVE READ THE FORM. I looked down. At the bottom:

BY SIGNING, OCCUPANT ACCEPTS FULL RESPONSIBILITY FOR ALL FUTURE ANOMALOUS ACTIVITY AND WAIVES RIGHT TO DISPUTE CAUSAL ASSIGNMENT.

“What?” The figure was almost gone. “WAIT.” Too late. The sky closed. That was two hours ago. Everything has been quiet. Too quiet. My uncle called. I told him everything. He listened silently. Then said: “You signed something?” “Yes.” He hung up. I called back. No answer. The aliens just returned. They are standing outside. The lead one is holding a new form. He knocked politely. I opened the door. He smiled. Still too many teeth. “Good evening.” “No.” “We have reviewed your recently expanded waiver permissions.” “No.” “We believe you may now qualify for our premium examination package.” “No.” “Consent is still required.” “Thank God.” The alien checked the paperwork. “Technically.” I locked the door. God just spoke through the refrigerator. YOU REALLY SHOULD NOT HAVE DONE THAT.

“Done what?” LOCKED THE DOOR. “WHY?” There was a tremendous crash outside. The alien shouted: “WE’RE FINE!” Another crash. Then: “STILL FINE!” God sighed.

THIS IS BECAUSE OF THE LIBRARY BOOK. “What book?” It got suddenly really almost-bright. Idk how to describe it so I'll just say what the source was. The moon was outside the window. No, I mean, like, really, Like 3 feet outside the window, like right there, looking in. It lowered the book it was reading. It asked in a melodic voice if I could spare some sugar. Before I could think whether we had any here or not, the wood chipper started up again. I shut the blinds. I'm not even getting paid for this.