The tour van rattled up the long, cracked driveway of the Outer Limits Lodge, the only available accommodations within thirty miles of the next night’s Arkansas county fair gig.

The sign out front—half-lit, gently buzzing—read:

“OUTER LIMITS LODGE: We Believe. AAA Discount. Weekly Rates.”

A glowing alien face was painted over the “O” in Lodge. A smaller sign underneath added:

“Free Wi-Fi (sometimes)”

Jonah leaned forward between the front seats. “I swear to god, if a gray steps out and tries to probe me, I’m leaving.”

Rico was already giggling. “What if it’s hot though?”

Thane, behind the wheel, let out a deep sigh. “I miss roaches. Roaches were honest.”

The lobby looked like The X-Files threw up in a Cracker Barrel.

Alien statues—plaster, resin, maybe fiberglass—were scattered everywhere. One was holding a “WELCOME EARTHLINGS” sign. Another was dressed like Elvis.

Glow-in-the-dark stars coated the ceiling. The front desk clerk had dyed green hair, a tinfoil hat, and a name tag that read: “SHARLA – NOT A CLONE.”

Gabriel loved every second of it.

“I want to live here forever.”

Cassie deadpanned, “You’d eat the hotel soap and marry the vending machine.”

Maya looked around. “If I wake up with an anal probe, someone’s getting dropkicked into the next dimension.”

Sharla handed over the keys—literal, old-school brass keys attached to tiny alien heads.

“All rooms come with a complimentary conspiracy theory,” she added cheerfully.

Thane muttered, “We already live one.”

The rooms were… something.

Jonah opened his door and was immediately greeted by wallpaper covered in glowing UFOs. His bedspread had crop circles on it. The TV played only static and a VHS copy of Fire in the Sky was left on the dresser.

Mark discovered his room had a lava lamp… filled with glittery alien heads. He didn’t react. He just stood in the doorway for a full minute before turning to Gabriel and saying, “I’m not sleeping. Ever again.”

Gabriel, meanwhile, was thriving. His room had inflatable aliens, a hanging spaceship lamp, and a poster that said “TAKE ME TO YOUR DEALER.”

“This is my sanctuary,” he whispered, hugging the alien lamp.

Thane, on the other hand, opened his bathroom to find:

  1. A sink with reverse hot and cold labels
  2. A toilet that flushed upward (somehow)
  3. And a cockroach wearing a tiny tinfoil hat (probably unintentional)

He backed out slowly and went straight to Mark’s room.

“You have fog fluid left, right?”

Mark nodded. “Why?”

“We’re sterilizing this place.”

The night got weirder.

Jonah’s TV turned on by itself at 3:13 a.m.
Cassie found a pamphlet titled “How to Survive Reptilian Encounters” under her pillow.
Rico swore he saw lights in the sky—and they blinked in rhythm to “Lunar Burn.”

And Gabriel?

Gabriel sat in bed wearing alien sunglasses, watching static and narrating his own alien documentary:

“This species is known for caffeine worship and poor impulse control. Observe its mating call—”
chugs a soda
“—followed by ritual dancing.”
flails arms like a maniac

The next morning, the whole crew staggered into the lobby like sleep-deprived survivors of a cosmic horror film.

Sharla greeted them with a tray of neon-green muffins.

“They’re pistachio!” she chirped. “Probably.”

No one ate them.

Thane signed out with a snarl and a muttered, “I will burn this place to the ground.”

Cassie asked, “Any chance we can check into a normal hotel next time?”

Mark handed her a tinfoil hat.

“Define normal.”