‘The Littlest Alien’

You readers are simply frightening.

It’s spooky how many of you--5,626 to be exact--have bizarre enough imaginations to submit entries to our fifth annual Halloween scary story contest. And, yes, blood-draining as it was, we closely eyeballed each and every one.

Oh, the gore, the guts, the annoying sisters who meet deservedly bitter ends, the green zombies who masquerade as elementary schoolteachers, the outer space guys who turn little boys into ground meat (yes, bones and all).

Martha Stewart moves to our house!

Christmas season presents Tickle Me Donny Osmond dolls!

Marv Albert asks, “Do you have that in a 40 short?”

Stop, stop, stop. Life in Southern California is scary enough.

Well, here are the winners--four adults and four children in the writing category, and an adult and a child in the drawing category. These lucky 10 each win four tickets to Disneyland.

Here are a few samples from those who didn’t make it:

Understatement of the Pile: “Two years ago there was a boy named Max. He was not very nice. He robbed an old lady. He felt bad. So did the old lady.”

Best Last Line: “It’s been a year since Scott’s death. I’m sad about this tragedy, but at least I’m popular.”

Call David Letterman: “It would be a scary Halloween this year when . . . your mother generously volunteered to provide entertainment (defined as singing and doing the polka) at the annual school dance.”

Take me to Funkytown: “The Boogie Man wore a white polyester suit and a gold chain around his neck. . . . Gerald could feel the life drain out of him as he was compelled to do the Disco Duck and then the Hustle.”

And now the winners:

Sammy Flynn was so excited. His trembling hands betrayed him as he fumbled with the Velcro on the back of his latex rubber mask. To be sure, he had put it on and taken it off all by himself before, but today was a special day--it was finally Halloween. As the son of a mask maker, he knew the value of his special mask, and to rip it would most certainly land him in his room for the evening, if not longer. Simply not acceptable! He would just have to wait for some grown-up assistance. Despite desperate pleas, his mother casually continued disemboweling the overgrown gourd on the kitchen sink. Rendered sightless by the half-seated mask, Sammy wisely waited for help and attempted to calm himself by reflecting on his day. There were, after all, 20 minutes until dusk, which was when he was to meet his friends under the scrub oak at the end of the street.

Third grade could be a dangerous place. Minor scuffles broke out hourly. The kids pushed and shoved in a snake pit of physical contact. Sammy sheepishly avoided most of this. Let’s just say he wasn’t your average rough-and-tumble third-grader.

In first period little Ginny Reinhart almost kissed him on the cheek. Were it not for his last-second realization and a cleverly mishandled pencil, she would have most certainly had her way with him. Recess found him dragged into the “dodge-ball-game-from-hell” that could easily have sent him to the nurse’s office. Sammy was fabulous at most sports, but to him the risk of injury was too great and he despised profuse sweating.

During lunch, Blix Henreaux embroiled him in a campus-wide game of “run-away-from-the-oversized-fifth-graders.” Fortunately, Sammy excelled at running. He sprinted all over campus, avoiding Blix and his great big partners in terror. They never laid a hand on him. His uncanny ability to defy death had made “Flyin’ Sammy Flynn” a hero to his more immediate peers. Jaime, Frank and Ken were his buds. Together they were the “JFKs.” Sammy didn’t mind being a lower-case “s.” Indeed, it meshed nicely with his rather subdued nature.

After the lunchtime excitement, class appeared to drag on interminably. Almost every glance at the clock seemed to find the same time. His eager eyes darted, but the clock mockingly yawned back at him.

Sitting on the bed lost in thought, he started to tug at the back of his head. His father had come in and was adroitly attending to the mask. And who better to help than the mask’s creator? Soon his mother too arrived with the special treat she had promised; it was a silver Mylar spacesuit. His alien outfit was going to be the envy of every Superman, Spider-man and Power Ranger that he met tonight. No doubt about it!

Under the scrub oak, the “JFKs” all admired Sammy’s silver suit, but the clincher was his alien face. His green reptilian skin glistened in the dusky light. His huge glowing amber eyes with their vertically slotted pupils sealed the deal. He was the best-looking alien in town. Together the friends set off to trick or treat the night away.

Back in Sammy’s room, draped over the Styrofoam bust on his dresser laid the lifeless rubber face of a perfectly normal third-grader. A patch stitched to the inside edge of the mask bore the flying saucer logo of Mr. Flynn’s company, Roswell Masks Inc. You see, Halloween was the only day of the year that Sammy didn’t have to wear his mask.

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* Salit, 32, is a computer consultant. He lives in Santa Monica.