<Edited by Robert D. Morningstar>
A chunk of Chupacabra jerky posing as an old man stopped swigging his mezcal and lemonade long enough to watch the pterosaur dive-bomb his front lawn.
"Second time, today," the faded fossil mused to himself. The creaky relic cast a discerning eye upon the flying creature that had been extinct 65 million years.
Another gulp soothed the aged specimen's cracked throat. The man reclined in a lawn chair atop his dying front porch.
"This one's smaller than the last. Can't be no bigger than a Buick. Probably just a pup," he silently concluded.
Chewing rusty ice made from rustier pipes, the venerable sage deduced, "Damned door let two in, today."
A legally blind eye was diverted to a sandstorm licking the furthest edges of town. In the opposite direction, the pterosaur simply vanished into the nothingness from whence it came. The old man took no notice. A moment later, he vanished, too.
This was just another afternoon in Lordsburg, New Mexico. A dot the size of a pulp novel period defines this hamlet on the map. Three thousand grizzled, live bodies constitute the population, here. Perhaps more of the dead do, as well. Slow suicide is Lordsburg's modus vivendi, as an underground methamphetamine enterprise keeps this outpost wavering on life support.
Sandstorms dominate the meteorological forecast. Defunct storefronts dot the landscape like headstones in a busy graveyard. Yarns of Thunderbirds the size of small planes are spun around a perpetual loom of urban legends. Purportedly, mysterious spook lights, UFOs and ghosts are nothing new to inhabitants.
Amateur paranormal investigator, and Lordsburg resident, Ramon Ortiz has toiled the past 15 years photographing and videotaping unexplained phenomena above this tiny borough. Much of Ortiz's work showcases what appears to be technology beyond human capabilities. Enigmatic craft reportedly "hover, divide, flash and even change shape in mid-air" over this region
So, what's causing the mass irregularity inherent to this neglected rest stop on the way to Arizona?
According to locals, the source of the strangeness is simply a door. Somewhere on the outskirts of town, a portal between dimensions purportedly exists.
As asserted by Ortiz, the opening awaits somewhere near mile marker 17 along Highway 90. It's unclear as to whether this ingress is tangible, but allegedly a carved rock chair and table rest adjacent it. An ancient tree stump supposedly protrudes from the ground in front of the door. Trapped within resides a human leg bone, evidence of some unfortunate individual emerging from the gateway and into the molecular structure of a dead tree.
As if UFOs, monstrous birds and spook lights weren't enough, translucent, humanoid behemoths have reportedly emanated from the Lordsburg Door, as well. Ostensibly, even the spirit of Geronimo, long-dead Apache leader, has been observed walking the town.
Area ranchers claim many of their "hybrid, high-grade cattle" have mysteriously vanished only to "be replaced by low-grade, Mexican" cows. "Apparently, some cattle would enter the portal" while "others would exit."
Ortiz claims only individuals welcomed by the egress are capable of viewing it. According to legend, the Lordsburg Door is but one of seven such vortexes within the "Bootheel" region of southern New Mexico. Whether or not these tales are true is up for debate. Currently, no research has been conducted of the area by established paranormal investigative teams.
Consider changing all that by piloting your ship of steel over the waves of asphalt, crisscrossing Interstate 10, West of I-25, between Shakespeare ghost town and Stein's ghost town, about 25 miles east of Arizona, you may end up driving through a portal into another dimension called "The Lordsburg Door."
© 2010. Hugh Mungus