On the run for the past 22 days. Borrowed five grand from my Uncle Harry. Used cover identities to stay one step ahead of the law. Anonymously contacted the FBI, CIA and the Defense Department about the alien experiment that killed my wife. As expected, I got no response.

Headed to Potomac, Maryland, in search of a man known as "Crazy" Eddie Nambulous. He's the publisher of The Paranoid Times. It's on the Web. The masthead says "Believe the Unbelievable." If anyone ever needed a believer, it's me.

Eddie was skeptical of my story that Hannah was cloned and I was part of an alien experiment. He dismissed the aliens as yesterday's news. Claimed the government was behind secret cloning experiments. He told me his friend Dean Hormeth had stolen some evidence from a cloning lab that would reveal the ‘conspiracy of the century.'

I made a beeline for Dean's place to check out the evidence he had. There was no sign of Dean and his place was ransacked, but I found what someone else obviously hadn't – a metallic orb – unlike anything I'd ever seen. Thought it might perk Eddie's interest, too.

The aliens came after Eddie looking for the orb. Whatever its connection to the cloning story was, the aliens wanted it back. Eddie finally believed my story after a close encounter with a beautiful alien that almost got both of us killed. We decided to trace the orb back to the aliens and take them down.

Eddie's a self-proclaimed genius and a helluva paranoid guy, but now he's seen the aliens. He knows the terrible secret, too. He believes I didn't kill Hannah, either.

When you're wanted for murder, every move is critical. The wrong choice can be fatal. This is my life as a hunted man. Crazy Eddie can help me stay on the run so I can clear myself of this murder charge. I'm gonna let people know.

So now I have a believer. I know I'll find more out there. When the word is out, I won't be the one running anymore. The aliens are here. My story may sound crazy, but look around and look hard. Reminds me of a saying my friend Eddie has;

Sometimes madmen turn out to be prophets.

'Til next time...