Mail from all over the world with accounts of UFO sightings find DIX’s hallway every morning. The creatures had run out of earth money three months ago. Now aliens learn about our defences by observing them and plan to spearhead an invasion of outside attack. They are Spomeda, DIX is sure. Enclosed, parasitic mega-beings are little bags of human hair. A curious letter of handwriting proved, beyond any doubt, they were extraterrestrial masters of mimicry. Family members were shown to be impostors. He is some kind of person who seems to think with aliens. If it’s a joke authority on worldwide encounters the funny side. Deep down he knows the whole business is but isn’t all part of anything. The police had held the lunatic who’d held him for over two years and shot him dead during the riots. They told DIX that his captor had been nothing. He had never been able to believe that. Police were satisfied but he knew there was something else going on.
The DIX in the bathroom mirrorsays, “What are you looking at? Aren’t you bathroom mirrorglaring out at the real frightened? Surprised, even?”
DIX regards the porcelain basin edge in hand, then its counterpart. “What is that?” The world, mirrored, gazes back at him. Confused, he staggers away. From behind the shut door he hears a falling hallway warping and cracking with unearthly scream of glass pressure. His inside, it’s coming out. With breaths shallow and rapid with panic he’s on his feet again running. Another door he slams shut and lunges across open floor, dragging the table. With face reddening in exertion, he’s regretful, as he shoves, that he barely exercises at all. With a blood pumping piece of furniture in place against the door he is slightly calmer. Daylight in dusty strips filters the stirring outside noises of the waking city. He pulls open a drawer and feels steel carving knife in sweating palms. He weighs and balances blade in his grip. He imagines thrusting into someone’s stomach, or throat, or face. He could do it. DIX shudders and scrapes along. He knows he must kill to survive. It’s some kind of evil has pissed in his trousers.
