Mostly wasted space these days, of course. The barn now contained some old appliances and mechanical parts, a dozen bales of hay so ancient that any self-respecting cow would turn up her nose in disgust, and of course my Fortress of Solitude near the entry door.

I slid the wagon doors open just enough to get the truck through, then carefully backed it in. That was an unusual move, since the big doors were cantankerous and needed a lot of coaxing to open and close. It was a smaller risk, though, than being spotted hauling something from the truck to the barn. If Dad caught on, the alien corpse would be in government custody before you could say, “E.T. phone home.”

But as long as I didn’t do anything to attract Dad’s attention, I was probably safe. The barn had been my hangout when I was younger, and had become my retreat since I returned from college. Returned. Yeah. Such a nice, neutral word. My parents rarely intruded, texting me instead when I was holed up here.

I had long ago built a workshop-slash-hangout area near the entry door, populating it with a couple of comfortable chairs; a heavy workbench more than twenty feet long, with cupboards and drawers along the bottom; and some small conveniences, like a microwave and TV. There had been many happy times there over the years, hanging out with Patrick and Natalie until all hours on weekend evenings. For a brief moment, thinking back to those happier and much more innocent times, I wished I could roll back the past couple of years, even if it meant being back in high school.

I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. I needed to focus, and throwing a pity party wasn’t going to get it done. I stood straight, took a deep breath, and clamped down on my steadily spiraling anxiety.

It took a few more seconds to get myself back on an even keel. I pulled the pallet jack around and retrieved the pallet holding the Bigfoot burrito, then placed it in the open area near the hangout. I carefully rolled the burrito off the pallet, making sure I didn’t accidentally unwrap it in the process. Part of the body had to have been sticking out of the ends, apparent only because the tarp seemed to be wrapped around nothing. So, still invisible. Was that a natural ability, or some piece of technology? Or was Bigfoot actually made out of energy? That seemed unlikely, and it wouldn’t explain the dust disappearing as it made contact.

Come to think of it, the flour might not work out any better, unless we could sprinkle it faster than whatever process was at play could make it disappear.

I was staring down at the burrito, lost in thought, when a voice from behind made me jump. “Hey, bud. What’cha got there?”