Chapter: 6

Tinfoil Trouble

The pedal to Mr. Lytell's was miserable. If Trixie had known the girls were going to bike, she would have worn shorts instead of her heavy dungarees. As it was, the clammy dampness of the morning had them sticking to her body like an uncomfortable second skin. And her legs, inside their blue denim shell, felt as if they were slowly being poached by the sun, which was creeping ever higher in the sky.

It didn't help that the gnats were as thick as fog. And the girls were constantly stopping to rub them out of the corners of their eyes. Honey agreed it was maddening. But thankfully, the old clapboard store was now only a stone's throw on down Glen Road. Still, on this particular Sunday, the trip seemed to be taking forever.

"Have you talked to your parents today?" Trixie called out to her friend, who'd pumped up beside her on a vacant stretch of byway. "Any word on how things are going with Mr. Brandio?"

Honey, after giving a quick "no" in reply, went on to explain,"Mother's not exactly an early riser. She and Daddy usually call early afternoon. Jim was sorry he wasn't going to be home. I think he hoped that Daddy or Mr. Brandio would be able to identify our U.F.O."

"It sure would be nice if they could," Trixie sighed. "It's one mystery that's a bit out of our league, I'm afraid." Then, accidentally swallowing a bug, the repulsed girl asked Honey if she had a bottle of water in her bike bag.

Honey giggled, relieved that the unpleasant incident hadn't happened to her. "I'm afraid that I left our drinks and energy bars, sitting on Tom's workbench in the garage," she said. "When we reach the store, we'll pick up some beverages and I'll put them on Daddy's account. Though I don't suppose you'll be needing another protein snack, now will you?"

Despite being afraid to open her mouth again, Trixie laughed and admitted, at least not the kind that wriggled going down anyway. Then, thinking about Tom, she asked, "How's Celia doing this morning?"

"You won't believe this," the pretty girl replied. "But she's just fine? It's almost as if everything that happened last night was nothing but a strange dream? Oh! And speaking of dreams, I thought for sure I was never going to be able to nod off once I got home from the trailer. And if I did, I would have terrible nightmares as I did when I was at boarding school. Only I was wrong, Trixie? I slept like a baby and had the most wonderful dreams!"

Trixie raised an eyebrow, but it came more out of interest than it did surprise. "They didn't happen to involve an aromatic pirate captain, did they?" she teased her pretty friend.

Honey's cheeks colored, and she admitted that they might have, but she changed the subject by asking Trixie how she'd slept.

"I tossed and turned a lot," Trixie admitted. "But that was to be expected. Just listen to what Bobby told me just before bed…."

"Ooo, that's really spooky," Honey gasped as Trixie finished relating her story. "And it was very smart of my brother to put the pieces together like that, don't you think?"

"Absolutely amazing!" Trixie replied. "But I can't help but think there's more to this puzzle, Honey. That we're still not seeing the full picture."

"Oh, I agree," the honey-haired teen replied.

Then, as the girls coasted up to their destination, Trixie was preparing to dismount the borrowed bicycle when her foot caught the seat as she tried to clear the bike's high crossbar. Tumbling head over heels, she landed with a soft thud in the middle of Mr. Lytell's flower bed with her ride atop her.

Honey, letting out a cry of alarm, rushed to her friend's aide. But Trixie had already detangled herself from the ten-speed and was now inspecting the damage. Fortunately, she and the bike had come through unscathed, but the teenager couldn't say as much about her pride or the shopkeeper's red and white striped petunias.

Her day was certainly wasn't getting off on the right foot. True, she had survived the accident, but Trixie had to wonder if she'd be able to live through Mr. Lytell's scolding. Even on a good day, she'd be lucky to escape the store without a lecture of some sort. The cranky man made it no secret that he regarded the spirited girl to be a thorn in his side. And just the wrong look on Trixie's face had been known to set him off.

"Oh woe, I'm in for it now," she wailed, as Honey attempted to prop up the bruised plants and respread the mulch about them.

"I could stay out here while you go in for the papers?" Trixie went on to suggest.

Honey didn't bother to reply. Instead, she just took the protesting girl's arm and dragged her up the porch.

Entering the store, the two noticed that Mr. Lytell was out from his hovel behind the counter, speaking with a group of older men. As the weathered screen door came to a close behind the girls with a loud squeak followed by a clap, the gentlemen glanced in Trixie and Honey's direction and dropped their voices.

Then, with a raise of his palm, Mr. Lytell hushed his companions completely and lowered his heavy glasses.

"I trust you are unharmed, Miss Belden?" he said. There was a hint of exasperation in the condescending man's voice, and Trixie found that she could not look her questioner in the eye.

Drawing circles in the dust on the wooden floor with the toe of her sneaker, she replied, "Yes, Mr. Lytell. And I promise, if the flowers don't spring back, I'll come to replace them for you."

Only Mr. Lytell waved her off and sighed, "I'm sure that won't be necessary. The posies will be just fine." Then, returning his spectacles to the bridge of his hawk-like nose, he resumed the discussion he'd been having with his friends.

Trixie and Honey exchanged unbelieving glances, wondering if they could trust their ears. What? No scolding? The petunias would be fine? Had Mr. Lytell somehow been replaced by an alien replica, grown from a pod planted in old Belle's stable? Trixie had seen it happen in the movies.

Deciding it might be wise to study the shopkeeper more closely, the discerning girl concluded that he definitely looked unearthly. Mr. Lytell's features were elongated almost to the point of exaggeration, and the gentleman's high domed forehead, and magnified protruding eyes, only added to this alarming alien aura. Trixie also had never noticed before how Mr. Lytell's hands, with their boney skeletal fingers, dangled at the end of his spindly arms lower than most peoples'. In fact, they fell almost to his knees! And if that wasn't convincing enough to make one believe he was something from another planet, then the shopkeeper's transparent skin, with its glowy blueish cast, just might.

Of course, Mr. Lytell's motley buddies weren't exactly prime specimens of Homo sapiens either. They included Mr. Brown, everyone's favorite earth science teacher at Sleepyside Jr. /Senior High School. A self-proclaimed off-grid fanatic, "Ted", as he liked his students to call him, was dressed in his signature concert T-shirt and ragged jeans, and he'd pulled his thinning grey hair back into a loose straying ponytail. Mr. Jackson, beside him, was more of a bullish man who was built as thick as a brick. He was the Comet's coach and was a retired naval commander who'd served aboard the aircraft carrier USS Neptune. Mart had told Trixie once that Mr. Jackson was an opinionated fellow and someone not to be messed with. And then there was town council member Stanley Gruber. Mr. Gruber was a slight peevish person who was not only mousy in appearance but also in his mannerisms. He owned the stationery store down on First and Main.

The three men were indeed an unlikely trio, and Trixie wished she were the fly that was buzzing around their closely knocked heads. She had no doubt that the gentlemen were agitated. Their animated hand gestures were a sure giveaway. And from the few words that Trixie had been able to catch here and there, she'd been led to believe that this had everything to do with witnessing the U.F.O.

Only the curious teen's plan to inch closer, in hopes of picking up more of the private conversation, was suddenly thwarted when Mr. Lytell raised one of his withered pod-person fingers, directing his male customers to a shelf in the grocery aisle. As the suspicious group slowly strolled past the two girls, the men's heads kept twisting so that their staring eyes never lost track of the young ladies.

The gruesome gang gave Trixie a bad case of the heebie-jeebies. "I think we'd better get our drinks and paper and split," she whispered to Honey, spurring her friend forward. "I'm getting a creepy feeling in here. You?"

Honey, who was already trembling, nodded her head in agreement. "Only we can't forget to ask Mr. Lytell for our money for the jam, too," she told her friend hesitantly. "Let's see how jars many we've sold. Then I'm with you, Trixie. The sooner we get out of here, the better!"

The rickety table, where the girls' berry preserves were displayed, sat in a dark corner at the very back of the shop. Out of the original twenty jars which Trixie, Honey, and Di had carted into the store with Dan's help, only three had sold. And Trixie knew one of those sales had been to Miss Trask.

"Our jam has got to be the very best item in this whole silly store," she told Honey as she counted jars again. "It's almost as if Mr. Lytell is trying to hide it from his customers? The jars would sell much better if he put them in the window, Honey. They look so pretty with the circles of pinked fabric you tied around the lids. They might actually dress the place up a bit."

"Jars did come out rather nice, didn't they?" Honey agreed. "It was awfully sweet of your mother to let me raid her remnant bin. And Di did such a lovely job on the product labels. She's very good at Calligraphy. Her strokes in the letters in 'raspberry' are perfect."

"If I'd done them, they'd look more like chicken scratch," Trixie admitted. And then, with a heavy sigh, added, "Oh, well. At least we've raised something for the B.W.G. insurance fund. Papers next?"

Reaching the periodical rack, the rushing young ladies found it nearly half empty. Usually, Trixie and Honey were among Mr. Lytell's first customers, so this early morning run on the Sleepyside Sun shocked them. Trixie was glad now that she and Honey hadn't been later, or her father might have been getting his baseball scores online.

Grabbing a copy of the thick weekend edition, Trixie couldn't help but marvel at its thundering headline, "Saucer Spotted above Sleepyside."

"I never thought I'd live to see that," she breathed quietly. "Di certainly can't claim Never Land is boring now."

So with another task complete, the girls headed off to the beverage cooler, where they each picked out a bottle of their favorite soda. The Beldens rarely kept carbonated drinks in their icebox, so for Trixie, this was an extra special treat. Especially in light that Honey had offered to pick up the tab. Trixie knew if her friend hadn't, she'd be going home with a mighty dry mouth as the money in her hip pocket was hardly enough to pay for the newspaper and cover her Bob-White dues.

Now, done with their shopping, the girls took up line at the front counter behind Mr. Gruber, Mr. Jackson, and Ted. Being careful not to get too close to the menacing men, Honey gave Trixie the elbow and then pointed to the items which the three fellows were sporting.

Immediately taken back, Trixie's face twisted into a knot of dismay. The copies of the weekend news were to be expected - but not the boxes of aluminum foil which each man also had in their possession? Whispering in Honey's ear, she suggested, "Maybe the Jiggly Piggily is running a special on russets this week?"

Honey rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. Even if so, the purchase still seemed rather odd. She couldn't think of too many things people used aluminum foil for, other than baking potatoes? But why had everyone suddenly run out at the same time?

Once the men had completed their business, Trixie handed her copy of the Sun to Mr. Lytell.

"I'd like this, please, "she told him. "And if it's not too much trouble, Mr. Lytell, Honey and I, would also like to be paid for the jars of jam which sold this week. I believe I counted three?"

"Yes, three would be correct," the shopkeeper repeated dryly. "However, Miss Belden, the week isn't over until five o'clock this afternoon. If you will kindly come back at five-fifteen, we can settle up then."

"Five-fifteen!" Trixie exploded. "Can't you pay us now, Mr. Lytell? Honey and I have a Bob-White meeting at five-thirty, and if we're late, it's a fifty-cent fine!"

"Now that's not my problem, is it?" the shopkeeper replied, utterly unbothered.

Trixie dug out her newspaper money and then placed it in Mr. Lytell's outstretched Martian hand. She knew it was useless to argue with the rigid old tightwad. If those were his rules, then the girls really had no choice but to abide by them.

Then, noticing the box of aluminum wrap which was poking out of Mr. Lytell's satchel behind the desk, she asked, "Why's everybody buying foil today?"

Mr. Lytell's pallid sunken cheeks only went paler. "I suppose because they need it," he said flatly. "Not that it's really any of your business, Miss Belden," he added in a more curt tone.

Trixie pursed her lips but held her tongue. That is until Honey finished signing for the soda pop, and Mr. Lytell asked nervously, "You girls happen to see the spacecraft last night?"

Then she lost it.

"Why yes, we did," Trixie replied, staring pointedly at the fidgety man's receding hairline. "And it has me terribly worried, too, Mr. Lytell. You see, this morning, when I went to brush my hair, it was coming out in great big clumps. That's why I'm wearing this ball cap, you see. I think the two things might be connected? Not that it's any of your business, mind you."

Not waiting for the shopkeeper's reply, Trixie grabbed her friend's arm and rushed her out the door, where two immediately doubled over in hysterics.

"Oh, Trixie Belden, that was almost evil!" Honey gasped, trying to contain herself. "Why must you.."

Trixie's eyes were filled with tears, but they certainly weren't tears of sadness. "I know, I know," she continued to laugh. "… be so bad? I'm sorry, Honey, really I am, but Mr. Lytell just makes me so angry sometimes. And when that happens, things just seem to pop out of my mouth. Would it really have hurt him to pay us a little early? It's not like it's all that much. And Mr. Lytell is making a profit from each jar, don't forget. The way I see it, we're doing him a favor by selling our raspberry jam in his store."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Honey returned with a sympathetic giggle. "But you really shouldn't let him get to you like that, Trixie. You know how Mr. Lytell is. He's just set in his ways."

"Well, you shouldn't keep making excuses for him," Trixie retorted. "That man needs to loosen up if you ask me. He'd be a much happier person if he weren't so inflexible, Honey. Brian's the same way. All work and no play. Has to do everything by the book. And never does anything wrong. Why he's getting downright stuffy. Sometimes I think my big brother's older than Dad!"

Honey handed Trixie her drink and then took a sip of her own. "Brian's not that way at all," she argued, bringing a sniff from her friend. "He's just…well…."

Trixie kicked up the stand on Jim's bike, and as the pair started down the road, Honey's thoughts were lost in the breeze.

Back at Crabapple Farm, Trixie heard Mart Belden calling out to her from the garden.

"Hey, pipsqueak, think you're buff enough to help lug these walloping wonders inside to Moms?" Mart didn't work for Mr. Sanderson's on Sundays, as the aging farmer believed the holy day should be a day of rest. Trixie's brother also usually took off on game days, and on those days, it wasn't unusual to see Mr. Sanderson in the bleachers cheering on his agricultural apprentice. When he was younger, the wiry farmer had also swung a bat or two, and he'd been able to give Mart some pretty good pointers.

"Heavens, I don't know?" Trixie replied, eyeing the two bushel baskets of tomatoes which her brother had picked. "That Mr. Stripy in your hands must weigh ten pounds alone. Why it's almost as big as a dinner plate! Have you been fertilizing the plants with your Miracle Multiplier, or what-not?"

"Miraculous Multiplier," Mart corrected her. "And that's an affirmative. But if you find this beauty astonishing, you should take a gander at the monstrous pumpkin I've been feeding over at Mr. Sanderson's. It will most assuredly take first place in this autumn's Giant Pumpkin weigh-off at the Harvest Day Festival. Though I do believe transporting it to the fairgrounds will require a crane and a flatbed."

Trixie knew Mart liked to exaggerate. But the huge size of the streaked red and yellow fruit he was holding had to make her wonder about the pumpkin's true proportions. "You'll have to show me some time," she told him with interest. "But right now, I've got something to show you!"

Holding up the newspaper, the teenage girl let her brother read the bold screaming headline.

After he had, Mart whistled and added his latest pick to the top of the slatted basket at his feet.

"The Sleepyside Sun never ceases to amaze," he commented. "That ship was no more of a saucer than a baseball is a wedge. Is the article following just as erroneous in fact?"

Trixie had to admit that she really didn't know. Would you like me to read it to you?" she asked.

Mart took an exaggerated bow and waved his sister on with a flare of dramatics.

Before beginning, Trixie let out a deep breath, and then noted to Mart that the story had been penned by none other than the B.W.G.'s arch-enemy, Paul Trent.

Not that this wasn't to be expected. The unsavory young reporter was not only the owner's new son-in-law, but he also liked to sensationalize his stories, which in this day of dying publications, was the kind of thing which sold newspapers and kept them afloat. The only problem was, you never knew with Mr. Trent if the news you were getting was fact or fiction – and it usually fell somewhere in between.

Plus, no one was safe from Paul Trent's scathing pen. And while it wasn't his style to flat out lie, he was very good at leading people to believe things that just weren't true. Like the time he had the good townsfolk of Sleepyside thinking that poor old Miss Rachel Martin had kidnapped child prodigy Gaye Hundi, which wasn't true in the least. If it hadn't been for Trixie and the Bob-Whites, Mr. Trent's story might have landed Miss Rachel in a rest home! It was no wonder Mr. Lynch thought so little of the newspaper.

Overturning the bucket she used for watering, Trixie then took a seat and started reading.

"Last evening, shortly after darkness, a strange hovering object was spotted by numerous rural residents in the skies above Sleepyside-On-the-Hudson.

Local Authorities suggest that the sighting was nothing more than a military flyover. However, officials at Stevens Airforce base refuse to comment.

The unidentified flying object, pictured above, was said to be triangular in shape, with strobing lights. However, individual accounts and opinions do vary.

Mr. Ted Brown, noted earth science teacher and 'Ufologist', claims the sighting was real, and believes that the extraterrestrials have come to our planet to reap its vast natural resources.

Mrs. Wilma Connors, who lives off Revolution Road, reports that during the time of the sighting, she awoke to find a seven-foot-tall entity with long blonde hair sitting on the edge of her bed. Fabio, as she has affectionately dubbed it, was reported to have told her that he, and his companions, have come to Earth to raise human consciousness.

Quite a different story comes to us from Mr. Max Donahue, who also cites having had a close encounter of the fifth kind. Mr. Donahue, who you may know as your friendly butcher down at the Jiggly Piggly, insists that he was accosted by a one-eyed, one-horned, violet alien (artist rendering below) which came down from the sky and lit in his tree. Mr. Donahue asserts that the only reason he is still with us today is that the man-eating invader found him too gristly for a dinner snack."

As Trixie had been reciting the good butcher's account, Mart had been howling with laughter. Stopping to show her brother the outrageous black and white sketch, the quizzical young lady asked what the entertained boy was finding so funny.

"Don't you know?" he whooped. "Mr. Donahue's account came straight out of a nineteen-fifties number one hit rock and roll song. Boy, did he pull a good one over on our buddy Paul Trent! What a card! Remind me later, and I'll see if I can find a clip of the jazzy little ditty, and I'll play it for you. You'll get a real kick out of it!"

Trixie grinned. Anything that made Paul Trent look like a fool was solid gold for her!

"That's about all it says, Trixie finished, refolding the paper. Other than noting that it 'appears we are not alone in the universe', and that one anonymous witness has been losing large amounts of hair thanks to radiation exposure from the ship. And we both know who that is," she finished with a chuckle.

Mart's fiendish grin spread from sunburnt ear to sunburnt ear. "Do tell, how did the dear fellow appear to you today, sweet sister? Was Mr. Lytell bald as a billiard ball and hairless as an egg?

"Neither," Trixie giggled, "But oh, Mart, I said the most horrible things to him!"

After the ashamed girl had repeated her mean remarks, Mart snatched away her hat and gave a loud shriek. "Oh dear Lord!" he teased. "The lady hath lost all her tresses! We must be off to the knob-thatcher, my poor Beatrix!"

Trixie grabbed the cap and put it back on while trying not to laugh. "The only place I'm going is into the house where it's cooler," she declared. "Oh, but before I do, you'll never guess who I saw at the store today? Your coach, Mr. Jackson. He was there with Mr. Gruber and Ted, of all people? And do you know what they were buying? Tinfoil? Honey and I figure everyone must be having baked potatoes with dinner today. But I tell you, those men were sure acting oddly, Mart."

Hoisting up one of the heavy baskets of tomatoes, Mart laughed and acknowledged that things were getting more enjoyable by the moment! "Surely you know the real reason for the procurement of aluminum wrap?" he scoffed.

When Trixie shook her head no, her frustrated brother cried, " Tinfoil hats, featherhead! Sleepyside's idiot savants are attempting to shield their brains from alien mind control!"