Visitors 101 Our most distant cousins have been visiting us for millennia. It is only in relatively recent history since the invention of the camera that their surprisingly friendly visitations have been documented on film. Previously humans relied on written accounts or artistic depictions, some of which we hope to show you should they be released to us soon. However this evidence, when it occasionally surfaces is quickly confiscated or ridiculed and labelled as a hoax, so amazingly these visits remain merely a myth until this day. In dusty boxes hidden in shady museums and secure facilities these pictures are mostly hidden away indefinitely until someone discovers them and is brave enough to leak them onto the internet and into public consciousness. Here is our first batch of pictorial documentation of these visitors throughout the ages. Visitor 068 - c1910s Zippy the Ziptharan It was whispered in low tones by the firesides of the village that the Sibley family, peculiar at the best of times, had acquired a new and most unnerving lodger. This guest, if indeed one could call it such, was said to possess a form so unnatural that even the Sibleys’ eldest son- a lad afflicted with eyes so bulging and amphibian that he seemed more suited to the waters of a bog than the dry land of his upbringing - was rendered almost ordinary in comparison. The first to notice the strange happenings was Mrs Fennimore, a widow whose parlour window overlooked the Sibleys’ modest cottage. She had taken to spending her afternoons at the glass, lace curtains drawn just enough to obscure her own presence while providing her with a clear view of the comings and goings on that quiet street. It was she who first reported the shadow. “It was like a great block of stone,” she confided to her neighbour, her voice trembling with both fear and delight at her own telling. “Broad-shouldered, with a head so round and smooth it might’ve been a cannonball. And that mouth - heavens, what a mouth! Wide enough to swallow a loaf whole, I’d wager.” Other reports followed, though none could confirm what they had seen. Some claimed the shadow lingered near the window at night, as if watching the street below. Others swore they had heard deep, guttural murmurs - no language known to man - issuing from the cottage walls after dusk. It was not long before the whispers turned to speculation. Who-or what-was this strange figure? The Sibley family, known for their itinerant lifestyle and uncanny performances at traveling fairs, were no strangers to gossip. But this time, even their most staunch defenders began to falter. Rumours spread like wildfire: some claimed the guest was an escaped convict; others, a foreigner with unholy powers. A few ventured darker, more dreadful suppositions. And yet, despite the growing unease, no one dared approach the Sibleys to confirm or deny the truth. The family, for their part, carried on as if nothing were amiss. Freddy Frog-Eyes, as the boy was unkindly nicknamed, could still be seen running errands in the village, his unnatural gaze fixed unwaveringly on the ground. The mother hung her washing on the line as usual, though her manner seemed hurried, furtive. And the father, always a man of few words, now offered none at all when passing neighbours in the street. Still, the shadow remained. And with each passing day, the tension grew thicker, the village more restless. It was said that the guest, whatever it might be, would surely bring ruin upon them all.