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It had been some odd number of years since they closed down the amusement park in town. After the recent death of its previous owner, the park was left to his son, a person of a rather unscrupulous reputation. It was no surprise to anyone when he promptly sold it to a large real estate investment firm out of Boston. Shortly after the new construction began, I was hired as a financial consultant for the firm. That's when the rumors started.
The town I grew up in was small and quiet; nothing amazing happens here. The trouble began with people whispering quietly at the local supermarket checkout line, and occasionally I would catch a nod, or a finger pointed in my general direction. Soon, I was getting dirty looks from the clerk at the convenience store, and faint disgusted snorts from passing customers as I approached the counter to pay for my morning coffee.
Finally, after working late one evening, I decided to stop at the bar down the street from my office, hoping a drink might help calm my nerves and quiet the growing paranoia which had begun creeping over my thoughts during the past few months. But, just as I was about to sit down, I was accosted by an irate bar patron who accused me of shady business practices. Apparently, someone had come up with the idea that the firm was run by aliens from another planet, and that buying the amusement park was the first step in their plot to conquer earth by subverting our small town to use as a base of operations for their invasion.
I didn't go into town much after that, but sometimes at night I would turn on the radio, and stand by the window sipping coffee, watching strange crafts looming over the burning ruins of town square, their metallic shapes hovering ominously beneath the red sky. Nothing amazing happens here...