Who Stole My Son?

Maybe, just maybe, it’s our Roswell and not New Mexico’s that got the visit from outer space aliens.

For those of you old enough to remember the classic 1950’s horror flick, “Invasion of the Body Snatchers,” starring Kevin McCarthy (not the remake – that was dreadful), it depicted an alien invasion whereby space creatures took over human bodies when unsuspecting victims were asleep.

After exhaustive research and untold hours of stealth analysis, I am now convinced that same movie scenario is happening today, right here in Roswell, Ga.

Beware, Roswell! I believe we have been invaded by aliens and I want to alert all local citizens!

There is only one noted difference from the flick, which may have been a fore-bearer of history. The “alien invaders” who took over human’s bodies during their sleep in the film, now only go after teenage males, somewhere between 16 and 17 years of age. This is their master plan to eventually take over earth. How do I know this?

They got my oldest son, Jack.

Pre-alien body invasion, my son was your typical 15 year old teenage male in suburbia: bright, articulate, affectionate and engaged with his family. We did many things together and he spent considerable time with all family members. Then, suddenly, it happened! The space invaders took over his body!

Like the original movie, he started to sleep all hours of the day. Sometimes he would get up in the middle of the day, eat left-overs, and then go back to sleep. This is the first sign, as the aliens take over the body during periods of a teenage male’s 16-18 hours of uninterrupted slumber.

Once these space creatures are in control of the male teenager, you start to notice other changes occurring. The first is appetite. They eat constantly. You virtually cannot keep enough food in the house. Do they really eat all that – or are they storing food somewhere for their earth takeover plot? No one boy could possibly consume this much food in a day. Where are they stockpiling it?

The second is communication. The invaders don’t really understand English, so they communicate in a series of grunts. These guttural utterances are delivered in a series of garbled sounds. For example, when answering someone who says,” Good Morning,” the response is, “Ugh- Agh.” Hello is just, “Ughhh” and goodbye becomes, “Err- agh.”  I have attempted to decode these series of grunts to no avail. I am now convinced this is some kind of outer space language because it can’t be human.

Another thing is the aliens are obviously hard of hearing. Once they took full control of my son’s body, he started blasting music so loud it could wake up the dead (no pun intended).

Obviously, their constant fixation with X-Box video games must be their military boot camp training to prepare them to take over earth in some coming monolithic galactic battle.

In frantically searching for the antidote, I have been fixated with the alien’s method of relaying information back to his alien leaders. I may have figured it out! First, they have taken over cell phone text messaging. During all events and at all times of the day, my son is constantly looking at his cell phone for what appears to be secret text messages from planets far away. This text messaging phenomenon goes on all day and night. Even when I have intercepted these messages, they make no sense to me; I cannot decode them. They are especially prevalent when parents attempt to have a conversation with who they think is their son. Are these the seeds of their diabolical plans being relayed back to earth to take over the world?

The aliens have also devised an ingenious plan to give orders to their new surrogates on earth in case parents confiscate their cell phones. They have encrypted their sinister plans in the back of common refrigerators written with invisible ink only the aliens can see.  How else can you explain the illogical behavior of my son opening the refrigerator door and literally staring into the back of it for five minutes at a clip, only to take out – nothing! Then, after only a few minutes, when no one else has even approached the kitchen, let alone put anything new into the refrigerator, he will return, open the door, and gaze into it intensely again, as if something new my wife has prepared will have magically appeared.

I will keep observing – and trying to uncover the aliens’ plot.  I am on to them. As Kevin McCarthy said in the end of his cult movie, “Watch the skies.”