Short Story Saturday: Dog Fight: A Creepy-Colin Escapade by Guest Author Paul Skelton

Dog Fight

(A Creepy-Colin Escapade)

Written by

Paul Skelton

   Billy Chandler, who was nearly twelve years old, loved his toy. It was ace. During the day, Billy was home alone for the school holidays with only Benji, the families Yorkshire Terrier for company. Benji did not share Billy’s love of the toy. In fact, he was terrified of it, especially when it was used to chase him 'round the garden.

  Billy’s Mum, Lorraine, worked in the local bookies in the afternoons, and Dad, Terence, worked the twilight shift (2pm – 10pm) at a local warehouse. Both parents worked six days a week, with only Sundays off. Lorraine finished at 5:30pm each day and had Billy fed, watered and in bed by 7:30pm, giving her a two-hour window to go to her bedroom and play with her favourite toy, which was ace.

   Creepy-Colin was a fifteen-year-old nerd who lived next door. He was very clever and into all sorts of high tech gadgetry, including a sophisticated surveillance system set up to watch Lorraine when she played with her favourite toy. What he did not know was that Billy with his toy could spy on Creepy-Colin. Billy often wondered what Creepy-Colin was looking at on his computer screen, but judging by his antics, he reckoned it must be very exciting. Only Lorraine was oblivious to all this spying, whilst lost in ecstasy and pleasure, sprawled naked on her divan bed.

  The neighbours on the other side were the Caswells, a family of six adults, all benefit and alcohol dependant. Their pet dog, Tyson, was a vicious pit bull, who regularly attacked other people's pets when he was on the loose.

   One afternoon, Billy was playing in his upstairs bedroom, whilst Creepy-Colin next door was setting up his telescope to watch Mrs. Wilson (two doors down) come out to do some topless sunbathing. This was inferior entertainment compared with Lorraine’s activities but had its moments when Mrs. Wilson applied sun-tan lotion to her chest area.

   Billy was just turning his attention from his Tonka-Toy truck to his X-Box when there was a loud and urgent banging on the front door, accompanied by shouting through the letterbox.

   'BILLY, BILLY! Let me in quick! Your dog's in trouble. He's being attacked in your back garden. LET ME IN! I CAN HELP, BILLY!' It was Creepy-Colin.

   Billy jumped up and shot a glance from his bedroom window to the back garden below. He could not see Benji, but he could see Tyson, who had come through a hole in the fence. Alarmed, he ran down to let Creepy-Colin in.

   'Billy, them Caswells kicked a hole in your fence, which let their pit bull into your garden. Benji's hiding behind your Dad’s shed. Saw it all through my telescope. We gotta do something, Billy.'

   'We can't fight Tyson, Colin. He'll kill us.'

   'No, not with our bare hands we can't. Get your drone, Billy, and I'll get some knives and stuff from your kitchen. I've got some duck tape, we can rig up your drone to scare Tyson off, okay? See you up in your room, Billy, in two minutes.'

   Billy went and got out his favourite, ace toy: his drone. It was a sizeable one fitted with a camera. It was also fully charged. Within minutes, Creepy-Colin was in Billy’s room, equipping the drone with sharp kitchen knives, attached with the duck tape. He'd even found some loose craft knife blades to stick onto the rotors. Billy, meanwhile, had opened the bedroom windows wide. He saw a bloodied Benji being chased from behind his Dad's garden shed by a snarling, slavering Tyson.

   'QUICK, COLIN,' he yelled.

   'It's ready, Billy,' Creepy-Colin affirmed. 'Now, gimme the remote controls, and hold your drone over the window ledge. I'll fly it, coz it's a bit heavier than you're used to with all these knives on it.'

    Billy did as he was asked.

    The drone lurched drunkenly through the open window into the garden. Benji was now perched up on top of an old coal bunker, quaking and yelping in fear. The rather heavier pit bull stood in front of the bunker, glaring up at Benji and growling with malicious intent. Tyson lacked Benji’s agility and therefore did not succeed in his attempts to jump up onto the bunker himself, which bought Billy and Creepy-Colin valuable time.

   Creepy-Colin lost no time in mastering control of the drone, and in moments, had it circling above Tyson’s head. As Tyson attempted to rear up on his hind legs to assault the drone, one of the knives slashed one of his front paws, leaving a nasty gash. The stricken pit bull fell back heavily, howling in pain just as Creepy-Colin steered the whirling machine in for a second attack. This time the blades caught Tyson in the face and head. One ear was sliced through, an eyeball vacated its socket and Tysons jaw was severely torn. The whimpering hound retreated to the Caswell’s back garden, leaving a scarlet trail behind him. Once he was on the other side of the fence, he hid under a garden table to lick his wounds.

   Billy ran downstairs to bring Benji inside for a drink of water and some rest. He and Creepy-Colin then found some unused paving slabs to block the hole in the fence, they even thought to use Billy’s Dad’s garden hose to wash away Tyson’s trail of blood.

* * *

   Billy’s Mum arrived home just after 5:30pm.

   'Hi, Billy, been up to much?' she called as she entered the front doorway.

   'Just playing with my drone, boring day really.' Billy yawned.

   Billy was fed, watered, and sent to bed at 7:30pm, but he did not sleep. Once he'd heard his mother close her bedroom door, he got out of bed, put his dressing gown on and sneaked downstairs. Creepy-Colin’s mother and father were out at the local pub when Billy entered the house. Soon Billy was in Creepy-Colin’s room watching the action on his computer screen, he'd never seen his mother quite like this before.

   'Told you, Billy, ace, innit?'

   'Blimey,' said Billy. 'Is it naughty of us, doing this?'

   'Nah. Fun though, innit? I call it neighbourhood watch. It's just spying really.'

   'Yeh? Like James Bond and stuff?'

  'Yeh, Billy, like that. And remember, Billy, if it hadn't been for me doing my bit of spying, we might not have saved Benji. So no telling, right, Billy-boy?'

   'No. No telling,' Billy reassured him. Then giggling and pointing at the image of his mother on the screen in front of them, Billy said, 'And mum's the word.'

   'Ace,' said Creepy-Colin, high fiving Billy’s palm.

Short Story Saturday: Another 8 Hours from a 'Jessica's *What if* writing prompt'

Another 8 Hours

I squeeze my eyes tight, trying to bring the image to my mind as to force myself into the reality I desire when I drift to sleep.

'Please! Don't put me back into the dark world of beasts and ghouls. The world where they tear one another apart with little regard as to what they are doing and why,' I scream within my thoughts.

I feel my breathing slow as I drift to sleep, into another world. He's there. His face kind, caring . . . knowing. His green eyes shimmer with mischief. He smiles. It spreads further to his cheeks than possible. Further still. The corner of his lips reaching the lobes of his ears, splitting his face in two.

I scream as the top of his head falls back, thudding at the nape of his neck. His exposed esophagus has what looks like dark, black, hairy twigs escaping it. The opening widens as the biggest spider I've ever seen is freed from his gaping maw.

I jump to my feet and run. Only tricked that I'd actually come to the place I'd hoped to dream of, instead to have been placed in the nightmare world I'd wished to avoid. Another night, another 8 hours I must fight to stay alive. No wonder I'm always so tired when I wake up.





*This flash fiction story came about from a segment in the Facebook group 'Supporting Indies, Reaching Readers' called Jessica's 'What if' Weekly. Every week Jessica Minor posts a 'What if' question; some ponder on the question, others write a tale inspired by the question, and some just move along as if the world didn't just stop turning for one of their fellow authors. This week's question was: What if the place in your dreams or nightmares were really an unknown dimension?

Snippet Saturday: Just a Bear an excerpt from Wraith

Take Note: This excerpt needs some serious editing. I haven't posted in a couple weeks and I have no idea what day it is half the time anymore, so realizing it's Saturday, I grabbed a section I was working on to post.

Hours had passed by, and while I’d hoped to get some sleep, I merely drifted in and out of a fitful rest in the passenger’s seat. I felt the hair raise on my arms and a tingle, that seemed all too familiar like an old friend, run down my spine. At the very moment I gasped, Bastian accelerated the car.

I was about to ask him why when a large beast breaking from the tree line drew my attention. There was no mistaking that the mass of fur and muscle was feline, but I’d never even seen a tiger or lion as massive as this thing was, let alone a native cougar. While the darkness and speed of the car made it difficult to get a good look, I could see it looked very similar in color to a lion, but it lacked a mane, and at its size I would assume it would be a male. I, however, had no experience with large cats, other than the occasional run-in with a cougar, and the thing was no fucking cougar.

“Bastian, stop the car! Pull over!” I shouted. “There’s a fucking lion back there. It must have gotten loose from a zoo or something.”

“What are you going to do, stop it and take it back? Besides, it was just a bear,” he said, accelerating even more.

“That was not a bear.” I look at him incredulous before looking back out the window. “Look, it’s still there. Like it’s trying to run alongside us.”

“I’m telling you, it’s a bear. I think you’re a little too stressed out.” He changed lanes, moving away from the animal and accelerated further.

I saw the beast turn and disappear back into the woods. Yeah, I didn’t know what I’d planned to do had Bastian actually pulled over, but something told me I needed to come face to face with the large cat. I remembered the tingle down my spine and the hair raising on my arms, and I wondered if it was merely a coincident. Something niggled at the back of my mind, something Innocence had said once.

“Let’s get something straight, the next time I tell you to pull my car over, you damn well better pull it over. Understood?” I said to him.

“Sure thing, Coral Ann. Would you prefer to drive?” He looked at me, and I shook my head. “It was just a bear.”

“Okay, sure. It was a bear.” I blew out a breath. “How long before we get to her place?”

“Probably nine or ten hours. You still have time to sleep if you want,” he said, his tone softer and more caring than before, and I closed my eyes.

Short Story Saturday: Not You

Not You

Seth ran into the room. Panic etched his facial features as he grabbed a few things here and there.

“Come on! We have to go!” he said in a rush.

Willow took in his appearance. His dirty-blond hair jutted in every which direction. His cheeks were flushed, and his pupils were so expanded, the green of his eyes was near-impossible to see.

“Go? What the hell are you on about, Seth? You look like you’ve been chased by a rabid animal. I’m not moving until you give me a good reason to. It’s my day off.” Willow sighed, and then she patted the cushion beside her.

“There’s no time. We have to go! I want to pick up Gena on our way. I hate to think she’ll be sitting there alone when it happens.” He ran his left hand through his hair, taming it a bit.

“When what happens?” Willow asked.

“It’s World War Three, Willow! There are nuclear missiles being launched as we waste time,” he all but shouted before grabbing her wrists and pulling her to her feet.

“Wouldn’t they let us know that on the T.V.? I haven’t seen anything about it.” She wriggled from his grasp.

“Really? Do you really think the government would tell us that? And if I’m wrong, what’ll it hurt? But if I’m right . . .” He wrapped his hands around her left. “Please, Willow. I’m trying to get us to a place that may very well be the safest place we can get.”

Willow sighed, giving up. “Okay, but if you’re wrong and you ruin my only day off, well, you’ll pay for it later.” A moment passed. “Wait, do we really have to pick up your sister?”

***

“What’s the big-g-g ruthsh?” Gena had been hiccupping and slurring her way through everything she said since she opened the door.

“For shit’s sake, woman! Just get in the ever-loving truck,” Willow said, her patience had dwindled to near-nothing.

Willow had already held up and guided the woman to the open door of the dark red ’78 Ford F-150. She just needed to get in and slide to the middle of the bench seat.

Gena put her left foot up on the floorboard and gripped the back of the seat—her five-foot-two inches made the step-up difficult, even if she wasn’t drunk. Willow saw Gena falling back toward her, and she was quick to brace Gena’s back to steady the woman. It wasn’t Willow’s first rodeo with Gena and her drinking. The woman strained again to get up on the seat. The exertion ended with Willow getting a cloud of methane to the face.

“A power-boost. Fantastic!” The sarcasm oozed from Willow’s words. “At least you finally got in. Now scooch! I have to get in too.”

“Willow, be nice, please,” Seth pleaded, and then he walked around to the driver’s side door.

“Fine.”

***

Three hours later, Gena had been passed out, snoring and farting, with a strand of drool connecting her mouth and her leg. Willow noticed those facts the last time she’d looked over at Seth. His face strained with a look of concern, and he was mumbling something she couldn’t hear, so she turned her attention out the window.

If there were nukes, they sure were taking a long time to hit, she thought. She hated when he started getting into that conspiracy theory stuff, but she couldn’t just tell him to stop. Even though it stressed him out, it also made him happier than she’d seen him in a while.

It soon became obvious that they had been picking up speed, and a lot of it. She could barely make out the trees through the blur of everything as they passed.

“Seth, slow down. We’ll never make it to your supposed safe spot if we die in a fiery crash because we were going too damn fast,” Willow said.

Gena groaned in the middle, but Seth gave no response, and the truck continued to pick up speed.

“Goddammit, Seth! I said, slow the fuck down not give it more gas.”

“Who are you talking too?” Gena asked.

Willow turned to look at her. “Who the hell do you think?” She gasped when she saw the seat empty beside Gena. “Seth!”

The door was closed. She hadn’t heard it open. Yet, Seth was gone, and the truck continued to barrel at speeds that should’ve been beyond its capabilities.

“Shit! Gena, slide over and hit the brakes,” Willow screeched.

“Oh, no, I can’t. I’ve been drinking and can’t afford another DUI,” Gena responded. “You do it.”

“How do you expect I do that?”

“Climb over,” Gena said, putting her head between her knees.

Willow wanted to pummel Gena with her fists. Instead, she unbuckled her seatbelt and brought her legs up to put her in a crouched position in the seat. With no one steering the truck, it miraculously stayed on the road while Willow wriggled over the top of Gena to get to the driver’s side of the truck.

Immediately after her butt hit the seat, Willow gripped the steering wheel and placed her right foot on the brake pedal. It didn’t respond, so she grabbed the steering wheel more firmly and slammed both feet on the brake pedal. Nothing.

“Fucking stop, truck,” she yelled.

“Where’s Seth? You don’t know how to drive,” Gena griped.

“Don’t start with me, woman!” Willow said, removing her feet from the brake pedal and placing her left foot on the clutch. She grabbed the shifter and downshifted.

The truck protested but eventually went into third gear and slowed ever so slightly. She tried the brake again. Nothing. She popped the shifter into neutral and tried the brake. Still, it wouldn’t work. So, she downshifted to second, then first. The transmission grinded and protested with each shift, but the truck still wouldn’t come to a stop. It even climbed a hill, picking up lost speed on the way down the other side.

Willow reached the point of giving up and was about to tell Gena they’d have to jump and hope for the best when the truck came to an abrupt halt at the very bottom of the hill and shut off. Willow sat trying to catch her breath and make sense of what had happened.

“It’s about time you learned how to use the break. Probably burned the damn transmission up,” Gena said.

“Oh, shut up, you damned good-for-nothing drunk. Where the fuck is Seth?” Willow asked, but in place of a response was the blaring of a semi truck’s horn.

“You could’ve at least pulled off the road, dummy. Come on, get out of the guy’s way.”

Willow turned the key off and then back to the on position. Not even a click. “Yeah, go figure. As if this situation couldn’t get more strange.” She put the shifter in neutral, blowing out a long, steadying breath. “Come on, get your short ass out and help me push it off the road. Then we’ll try to figure out what’s going on.”

With a bit of grumbling from Gena, they managed to push the truck off the road, and the cars that had gathered behind them drove by like nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

Willow kicked the back passenger’s side tire. “What the fuck is going on?” she screamed up at the sky.

A trill noise sounded from the cab of the truck. Willow looked to Gena who had sat down on the grass, and then she looked back to the truck.

“Was that your phone?” she asked.

“Nope, mine’s here,” Gena said, holding up her cell.

Willow felt her front pocket where her phone was. It had to have been Seth’s. He usually put it on the dash. She opened the passenger’s side door and reached across, grabbing the phone. She put in his pin, and the screen lit up, showing a new text message. She tapped the message, opening it.

Seth is safe. He is somewhere that he will continue to be so.

She didn’t understand. He had been driving, and then he was just gone. How could he possibly be safe? She typed a response.

Where is he? Bring him back! How do I know he’s safe?

She waited until the phone dinged again.

He was chosen. He is safe.

She started to get angrier with the cryptic messages.

If he’s safe, take me to him!

The phone dinged a minute later. The wait increased her anger, and she could feel the blood pulsing in her head. She checked the message.

He was chosen. Not you!

She turned to let Gena know about the texts. “Gena . . .” But Gena was gone. Her phone lay on the ground next to where she’d been sitting.

Willow heard the rushing sound of something through the air and then there was a huge explosion. Everything went black.

Snippet Saturday: The Coffin, an excerpt from 'Impractical Encounter'

Randy stood in an aisle. On both sides of him were long benches. Their seats and backrests were covered with red cushions that were stitched with gold. Pews. He realized that he was standing in a church.

He had no recollection of how he'd come to be there at that particular moment. He hadn't stepped foot in a church since before he came out to his family. He, unlike Billie, still believed that there was a God, but he held no compassion for religion or churches. Religion, or the beliefs his parents had about their religion, was what caused him to be cast away from his family at seventeen. Shunned, never to be spoken to by those who said they loved him but couldn't be associated with him for fear that their souls would burn in eternal damnation.

Billie had been fourteen when he was thrown out of the house. She'd call him in secret to see how he was doing. And, she'd come to see him when she was supposed to be visiting a friend. When he'd turned eighteen, Billie voiced her outrage, knowing what would happen, and then she came to live with him when their parents kicked her out a few months later. Those first couple of years were rough, but they made it. Then when Billie was twenty-two, he thought he'd lose her. Randy shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the line of thinking it was on.

He looked around, noticing that he was alone, and sitting in front of him at the end of the aisle was a wooden coffin. Randy stiffened at the sight of it. He didn't want to go to it, but something caused his feet to move forward. He wanted to turn a run from the church. He didn't want to face what the coffin held, but still, he walked toward it.

He was several feet away. Mere steps past the first row of pews when quiet sobs broke his attention away from the glossed cherry-wood. He turned his head to the right. Billie lay curled in the fetal position on the floor. Her hands covered her face, but he could see her cheek was wet with tears.

He wanted to go to her and pull her into his arms. He wanted to tell her everything would be okay. That they still had each other, and that would get them through anything, but he was drawn to the casket. He had to look. He had to find out who could possibly make her cry like she was.

Randy took the final few steps, glancing back to see that Billie was still curled up on the floor. Her chest heaving with each sob that left her lips. He couldn't understand whose death would cause her so much pain, and then he looked back to the coffin.

His breath caught in his throat as he stared at himself lying on white satin. His hands sitting on his chest, one on top of the other.

He turned back to his sister. She had managed to come and stand next to him without him noticing.

“Billie, what is this?”

Short Story Saturday: Special Guest Post Paul Skelton with Squiddies

Paul shared this story with me a few weeks ago. He wrote it after reading and being inspired by my short story Remains, which I shared at the beginning of November. Honestly, I'm honored that he was inspired by the story and chose to write one of his own, featuring his own version of the Space Squids.

Without further ado, I give you Squiddies written by Paul Skelton. Enjoy!

SQUIDDIES

Lamont; Michigan; U.S.A.

    ‘They’s white slimy slitherin’ critters, I tell ya,’ Skeet Baker told the disbelieving Sheriff Bellamy. ‘With tentacles like squids a’ got,’ he added helpfully.

    ‘Yeh, ‘n’ they come down in a shiny dome shape craft, what wuz lit up like a Christmas tree. Soon as they wuz a’ slippin’ an’ a’ slidin’ in our direction, it wuz a case a’ jump in the Blazer and we lit outta that yard a’ ours an’ straight here. I tell ya, Sheriff, ya should call out the military,’ Skeet’s son Tyler added.

     ‘There’ll be time enough for that once I’ve assessed the situation,’ the Sheriff answered as he scribbled furiously on his note pad.  ‘Now, how much moonshine you two cow pokes bin imbibin’ tonight, huh?’

    ‘Ain’t touched the ‘shine, Sheriff, plate of Franks n’ beans washed down with Root beer is all we done, right, pa?’

    ‘Tha’s right, Tyler. Now, Sheriff, I’m urgin’ ya, they alien Space Squid things are huge, an’ they can’t be here t’ see ZZ Top rockin’ The Kazbah or pop a Bud Light down at Eezy-Nix, can they?’

    ‘Okay, boys, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll tool us up, call my Dep’ an’ meet up over at your shack. If you’re yankin’ my chain, you’re both in for a stretch in my cooler, gottit?’

    They “gottit” and were soon powering up the North Road in the Sheriff’s Dodge Journey with “Blame It On The Boom Boom” by Black Stone Cherry blasting out of the infotainment system.

    Deputy Frazer was already at where the Baker’s shack once stood ahead of them. The Dodge screeched to a grit kicking halt, slewing a drift as it did so, and three shell shocked men leapt out from the car.

    ‘Jeez-us,’ exclaimed Skeet Baker.

    ‘It’s all . . . slime. Nuthin’ left, just . . . slime,’ Tyler was hyperventilating.

    ‘There’s a dome shaped craft over yonder, behind the bluff. You can just see the top of it shinin’ in the moonlight. It’s too hot to approach beyond, maybe, ten meters, scorched the dirt, it has. No sign of any critters, ‘cept for this slime,’ Deputy Frazer informed them.

    Sheriff Bellamy walked towards a gap in the slime and shone his torch into it.

   ‘Tha’s where our basement wuz, sherf.’ Skeet spat a great wad of chewing tobacco infused saliva as he said this.

    As the Sheriff moved in on the hole to the basement, Deputy Frazer came up beside him and shone his torch into the hole too. As he did so, two huge tentacles shot up through the hole and grabbed the awestruck law enforcement officers. The tentacles wrapped right round them several times, squeezing the breath from their writhing bodies. Then as quickly as they emerged, the limbs withdrew back into the basement, dragging the two men with them with a loud, wet, sucking sound. Skeet and Tyler screamed and turned to run back to the squad car, only it was now invisible, engulfed by a milky-white squid. Frozen to the spot, father and son looked around wildly for a place to retreat to, but time wasn’t on their side, as even longer tentacles slithered from the creature, firmly gripping both men, and lifting them into the air.

* * *

Harpenden; Hertfordshire; United Kingdom.

     James and Kate Lewis were lounging in front of the TV, watching a DVD of the “Wolf Creek” series, season two, in which Mick Taylor had just murdered a safari tour driver and had commandeered the tour bus replete with its occupants. Their seventeen-year-old daughter, Tawny, was “busy” with Brent Henderson in her bedroom. Brent, the local twenty-five-year-old handyman, had accessed her quarters with his ladders. As a handy person, he was respected and trusted, but as someone to leave your daughter alone with, he was not. He was already twice married, with a mistress and somewhere in the region of nine children attributed to him, six of which were illegitimate. Just as Tawny was reaching orgasm, a thunderous, deafening sound drowned out her squeals of pleasure, and Brent looked up to see the ceiling cracking and bulging alarmingly. The tentacles whisked away the two lovers in seconds just as James raced up the stairs in response to thunderous crashing noises. He never got even close to Tawny’s room as the entire upstairs was destroyed, and the tentacles grabbed James. Kate Lewis ran out of the back door to the garden and saw a Space Squid attacking her house and most of all the other houses, including the late Eric Morcombe’s pile. She ran for her life down the considerably large garden and hid in the potting shed. She instinctively knew her husband and daughter were gone but had had the presence of mind to bring her handbag, which contained a decent sized flask of Vodka and a pack of Silk Cut cigarettes. As she swigged some Vodka to calm her nerves and shakily lit a cigarette, she searched out her android cell phone to call the emergency services. There was a “no service” message icon glowing back at her, and then she nearly jumped right out of her housecoat, when a voice spoke out.

    ‘Spare me a fag, love?’ growled Roger Hampton, a fifty-eight-year-old homeless person.

     Kate shrieked, shrank away from Rodger and threw the cigarettes over to him. He produced a lighter and lit himself a cigarette.

    ‘I’m not going to hurt you, love,’ he puffed, in a surprisingly gentle growl. ‘I’m just an old fool on the scrap heap of life, dossing in here mainly to avoid those things out there. I call them Squiddies, and they won’t get us in here because they can’t stand Creosote, and this shed is treated with it. How do I know that, you may well ask? Well, firstly, I can smell it, and secondly, I remember seeing that Henderson chap applying it for you in the summer. Then he, er, applied himself to your daughter, so to speak, right atop that fertiliser bag you’re sitting on.’

    ‘Good God,’ she gasped as Rodger wheezed out a chesty cackle.

    ‘You don’t remember me, though, do you? No? Well, I was your family GP in the nineties, when you got the measles because your mother declined the jabs. I was a pretty good doctor back in the day—family, nice house, brand new Lexus on the drive and, sadly, a gambling habit. By the millennium, I’d lost the lot and ended up adrift. I remember you of course, dear sweet child you were, Katey. Well, here we are, better look out for each other.’

     ‘Gosh, yes I do remember you. Doctor Hampton, isn’t it? Crumbs. How do you know about those squid things may I ask?’

     ‘Well, I can tell you that the first batch arrived six weeks ago, incognito. The craft is submerged in Stanborough Lakes over at Welwyn Garden city. I saw it sliding under the water, steam rising from it and a hideous hissing sound when I was up there fishing up. I decided to pack up and get away, as did some other anglers, but then my float went under and the rod twitched, so I reeled it in. I’d caught a baby one, and it was a feisty thing with sixteen tentacles. Interestingly, none of its limbs had suckers on them, just the most clingy, sticky slime I’ve ever encountered.’

    ‘Crumbs, er, where is it now?’ Kate enquired.

    ‘Aha, don’t worry dear, it’s safely out of the way. I ate it. Anyway, the Squiddies are here to collect human specimens for research purposes. They will be discarding people of authority, such as leaders, chiefs and politicians. Yes, they’re using volcanoes to dump them in.’

    ‘Really?’ Kate now sounded sceptical. ‘You know this, or did you dream it, Doctor?’

    ‘Oh, my dear Katey, I fully understand why you would doubt what I say, just look at my shabby appearance. The baby one I caught was like an open book full of information. Yes, I found that I had a telepathic link with it. It, of course, being the operative word. You see, these Space Squid things are genderless, sexless, hermaphrodites, much like slugs and snails. Yes, indeed, I would classify them as a type of mollusc, in actual fact,’ Rodger Henderson concluded.

    ‘Oh, Doctor,’ Katey blushed. ‘You might be a bit scruffy, but you look okay to me, really. You’re still quite handsome.’

    ‘Oho, am I? Well, I always had a shine for you, especially when you were in your teens. Yes, some of my exploratory examinations went a little further than perhaps they should have, particularly when you thought you were pregnant at fifteen. Yes, I remember that very well.’

    ‘Did you fancy me, Doctor?’

    ‘Let’s be clear here, I possess an addictive personality, hence the gambling addiction. My obsession with teenage girls was much the same sort of complaint, and, being a Doctor, I had easy access. I rarely wanted sex with my girly patients, just to touch, fondle and arouse them, whilst arousing myself of course.’ He paused. ‘Fact is though, in your case, yes I did desire full intercourse.’

   ‘Do you desire some fun now?’ Kate surprised herself.

   ‘Well, I can still raise an eyebrow, and you’re what? Thirty-eightish? Yes, why not?’

   Kate removed her house coat and teased off her knickers from underneath her flimsy nighty, whilst Rodger fumbled around inside his loose-fitting tracksuit bottoms. As Kate Lewis leaned back on the fertiliser bag, parting her legs as she did so, a white slimy tentacle extended from Rodgers nether regions and entered her vagina. The initial feeling of ecstasy soon turned to discomfort and then agony, as the tentacle explored further into Kate’s body.

    ‘Hmm, maybe I shouldn’t have had the squid after all,’ Doctor Rodger Henderson told himself as he strolled out of the potting shed and across the Lewis’ vast lawn toward a hovering space vessel.

* * *

All Aboard The Squiddie Express.

     ‘Aha, here’s Doctor Henderson himself, folkingtons,’ a jovial Melvin Cartwrirght announced to the motley group sat cross legged on the floor in front of him.

    ‘Aha, greetings, mugwumps. Before we start the one to one consultations, I’ll take any questions you may have. Just raise your hand. Yes, you sir, er, Bellamy isn’t it?’

    ‘Sure is, limey, just exactly, where are we?’

    ‘Inside the main cargo hold of the XC5555 unit, which is a space craft. It has a hemispherical drive unit capable of thirty billion horsepower, which runs on Creosote, a centric gravity simulation unit and an air conditioning system specifically designed for us humans. We are guests of the Rambastical Alien Elite, or “RAE” for short, a colony of Space Squid from the planet M075zz731A. We’re approximately seventy thousand miles from Earth, heading towards Pluto. But, of course, there’s no windows here, so you could actually be in a warehouse at Maylands Avenue in Hemel Hempstead in England. You decide.’

     ‘Why?’ James Lewis spoke up.

     ‘You didn’t raise your hand, Lewis,’ the Doctor scolded him, ‘but I will answer your question anyway since everyone will be wondering the same thing. This is a holiday of sorts, in which some of you will breed, be medically examined, experimented upon or eaten. Your fate largely depends on your intellect and level of co-operation. By the way, Lewis, I’ve had your wife in the potting shed. Yes, waited years to do her and fill her with slime. Feel co-operative do you, James?’

* * *

THE UNTIMELY END

Short Story Saturday: Tapioca

Tapioca

Joanie looks across the table at me like I’ve lost my mind. Her bottom jaw hangs slack, and I can see where her back molars on the bottom are missing, leaving me to wonder how I’d not noticed their absence before.

“What? I don’t understand why you guys are even trying. It’s just my opinion until we know what’s going on, where we’re going to end up, that no one should be trying to get pregnant. Don’t look at me like that! We’re on a fucking alien spaceship, for fuck’s sake!” I shove a spoonful of the grey gruel that fills the bowl in front of me into my mouth. It’s not bad, but it’s also not good. It’s got this weird, oily film that coats your mouth and everything else it touches, and it has little squishy-like balls similar to tapioca. Gross! You get hungry enough, you’ll eat just about anything, including whatever the hell it is these squid things give us to eat. But, I can’t stand tapioca, so I pick and spit out the little blobs of disgustingness to dispose of them in the closest possible receptacle as soon as I can.

Before we went our separate ways on Earth, my brother called the aliens Squiddies. Part of me wishes I stayed back there with him, and I wonder for a moment what he’s up to before I brush the thought aside. He was always private in that scary, keep-to-yourself-psycho kind of way, but at least I never had to go on the news and say, “He was the quiet type. Kept to himself, really.” But he was right about the aliens, they do look like squids—not that I’d call them Squiddies or even Space Squids to their faces. They insist we call them friends; I don’t know that I could honestly call them that, though.

“You’re serious, aren’t you, Betty?” Joanie’s lips wrap around the spoon she holds, and then she slowly pulls it from her mouth, causing my breath to hitch and pulse to quicken. “This is our life now. There’s no going back. You saw what Earth had become. You couldn’t even see land or water through the thick layer of black smog when we made it into orbit. It was so much worse than the government made it seem. We were going to die there, and people were still reproducing. How is this worse? They’re taking us to a new home. We are meant to procreate. They wouldn’t have saved us if they wanted us to die. Would they have?”

A heavy laugh sounds behind me, and the tall, ginger-haired man it came from rounds the table, sliding in beside Joanie. “Or we merely saw what they wanted us to see. What do you think, Bet? They got beaks hiding in those tentacles?”

“That’s not nice, Travis! They saved us!” Joanie seems to struggle to keep her voice at a low level.

“Well, Travy,” I sneer at him, “it would only make sense. They do share pretty much all the other characteristics as the squids we have on Earth.”

“They’re not squids. Just because they look . . . weird, doesn’t mean we can’t trust them,” Joanie says under her breath and glances around.

“Let’s not forget, they call themselves Decaphaliods. Anyone who knows their shit, knows ‘deca’ for Decapodiformes the suborder of cephalopods, where the ‘phal’ comes from. They knew they looked like the squids from Earth, and they took the scientific name and class for those creatures and smashed them together to make a fancy sounding name to call them. I’d guess, they’d been studying us humans for some time . . . just waiting to make their move. I’m with Bet, Joanie, I don’t trust them.”

“See, Joanie,” I say and bite back the bile caused by what’s to follow, “as much as I hate Travy here, we’re on the same page. So, are you sure you want to bring a child into this setting?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Bet baby. Don’t be changing my honey’s mind. She wants a kid, I’m going to give it to her,” Travis says and smirks.

“You’re only worried about getting laid, and now since there’s no reason to have your nose in a book, you’ve got time to do so. It’s just sad that, out of everybody, Joanie chose you to collect sperm from. It’ll only be a matter of time before she comes crawling back to me, begging for a real fuck.” Irritated, I shove my chair back and stand. I grab my bowl and take it to the bin for dirty dishes. It’s still nearly full, but I’ve lost my appetite—well, what appetite I had—so I toss it as it is into the bin and walk to my quarters.

***

“I guess Travy’s rancid little swimmers stuck then, huh?” I asked. It’s been nearly a month since we really talked to one another.

“Doc’s pretty sure, yeah, but apparently they weren’t allowed to bring any medical equipment, so he said it could just be a bug.” Joanie fiddles with a cloth in her hand she’s been using to wipe her mouth with.

“I’d like to think it’s just a bug, and it is pretty early for morning sickness, I would think. Ugh, Joanie,” I cringe, “how can you let him touch you? Is having a kid so important to you that you’d risk intercourse with a complete and utter asshole?”

“He’s not all that bad.” She takes my hand in hers. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Betty. You gotta believe me that I never, ever meant to hurt you, but things change. The fact that we’re on a ship with beings not from our planet and going to a completely different one to live better lives is proof that things change. That’s how life is.”

I pull my hand away, fighting to control my anger. “Yeah, don’t worry about it, Joanie. I mean, you’re the only reason I’m here on this ship with these freaky fucking squid things, but you didn’t mean to hurt me! You never even mentioned wanting kids the entire time we were together. Four years and not a peep about it, so you can imagine my surprise when two weeks after hopping aboard Star Ship Squiddie to be with you, you leave me for the ginger prick to go try to have a kid.”

Joanie’s left hand flies to her mouth, and she stands abruptly. Her eyes are glassy and shining with unshed tears, and I can see she wants to say something, to respond in some way, but her cheeks are puffed with what I can only assume is vomit. As she turns and runs, I see just how baggy her clothes fit.

Maybe it is a bug, I think to myself. If not, she should probably ask if losing so much weight is safe for the fetus.

***

It’s been three weeks since I saw Joanie. I miss seeing her. Travis is also been avoiding me. I look around the dining room, noting that there are a lot fewer people than normal.

I turn in my chair, look at a man with sharp, hard features and dark hair, and ask, “Where the hell is everyone?”

He grunts and clears his throat. “Lotta folks been sick. I heard some have even died.” He rubs at his eye, then scratches his chin. “Not sure if the last bit’s true. I haven’t really looked into it. Wonder what they do with the bodies if it is true. I haven’t seen any.”

I need a second to take in what he’s said. I don’t even respond before I jump up and rush toward the last room that I knew Joanie was staying. Before I can reach the room, I run right into one of the things that supposedly saved us from our dying planet.

“Please do slow down,” it says in it odd, even tone. I’ve never figured out where their voices come from, whether they’re actually speaking the word or projecting them directly into our brains. “There is no need to move about so quickly. There is nowhere to go but here.”

I notice that it’s using one of its tentacle arms to rub a grey substance over its body. The substance looks strangely like the stuff they feed us, only without the little, squishy balls. I shudder at the resemblance.

“Sorry. Just going to see a friend.” I maneuver around the squid and continue on.

I make it to Travis’ door and pound on it with everything I have in me. Several minutes pass by with a few more bashes from my fist. I try the door, but it’s locked.

“Joanie! Are you in there? God damn it. Travis, where are you guys at?” I hit the door three more times with no result, so I turn around and begin walking away.

I hear a click behind me, and then the sound of a door sliding open.

“Bet,” Travis says, his voice strangled and strained.

I swing around and face him. His clothes are baggy, worse than Joanie’s were the last time I saw her. But it’s not just his clothes, his skin is baggy too, and it has a sickly grey pallor.

“Sweet balls of Aphrodite, Travis. You look like shit, but I’m actually glad to see you. Where’s Joanie? I need to know she’s okay. There are rumors about people dying,” I say, hoping he only looks worse than he is.

I watch as his cheeks pull in and then push away from his teeth, and then he swallows. It’s like he’s working to moisten his mouth. “Joanie’s—” he coughs a couple times and clears his throat, and I hold my breath, waiting to hear the worst, “—Joanie’s in bed. She isn’t well. She’s worse than I am.”

I push past him, nearly knocking him over. Something in my panicked mind has enough decency to have me mutter, “Sorry.”

“Yeah, sure. No problem,” he says and coughs again. “Come on in.”

I ignore him and rush to the side of the bed where Joanie lies. Her skin is devoid of color, and its greyish hue makes her look like a corpse. It also hangs loosely. In a matter of a few weeks, it’s as if her muscle and fat have shriveled away to near nonexistence.

“What the fuck, Joanie? What the hell’s happened to you?” I manage to say.

Her eyes open minutely, but she doesn’t say anything. It’s only at that moment, I see how dry her lips are. She tries to smile, and the fact that her teeth are no longer there is startlingly apparent.

A movement draws my attention her shoulder, but as I focus, there’s nothing there. I put it off as a side effect of the moisture filling my eyes. I hear a shuffle and look up to see Travis finally making it over to the bed. He sits on the corner.

“She hasn’t said anything in days, and I haven’t been able to get her to eat in a week,” he says, and then rubs at his chest with his hand. He grabs a glass from the bedside table and drinks heavily.

“How did you let her get so bad?” I control myself enough not to screech it at him.

“The doc said there’s nothing he can do, that he’s never seen anything like what’s been going around. Said we just need to ride it out and hope for the best.” He shakes his head.

I try to keep the tears from spilling and running down my face. I wipe at them with my palm when I fail to keep them at bay. “Joanie, you hang in there. You stay with me. I love you. Please, I can’t lose you like this.”

I move the blanket to uncover her hand, and I grab ahold of it with my own. I gasp when I feel the hand has no structure. The fingers, hand, and forearm are pliable, bending and squishing like those goo-filled stress balls. Before I can let go, I feel several small movements under her skin. I jerk my hand away, and I stand, backing away.

“What the actual fuck, Travy? What’s wrong with her hand? Her arm?” I yell.

“I don’t know.”

I go to speak again, but Joanie’s breaths pick up. Her chest heaves as the air whistles and hisses as it leaves her body. I see where it looks like several things squirm under the skin in her neck, and I scream.

The next thing I know, several of the alien squid beings are sliding into the room. I have enough time to see Joanie still, her labored breaths halting, before one of the beings grabs me, pulling me out of the room. I feel a jab in my arm, and I’m plummeted into darkness.

***

I wake in a room, staring at a white ceiling and some kind of tubing hanging from it. My arms are strapped to the table I’m lying on. There’s a noise to my right, and I try to turn my head to look, but it’s secured in place.

“Ah, finally awake,” someone says. “Maybe you can clear something up for us? We have done test after test, and there is not any sign of egg implantation within your body. You are obviously eating or else you would have died of starvation long ago, so how is it there is not a single trace of egg or larvae in your system?”

“Who are you? And what are you talking about?” I shout and then struggle with my bindings. “Why the fuck am I tied down?”

“Just calm yourself,” the squid says as it comes into view above me. “Have you been eating?”

Giving up, I answer the thing. “Yes, but I pick out the tapioca. I couldn’t stand the shit on Earth. I sure as hell didn’t plan on eating it here.”

“Tapioca? What is that?” the squid asks.

“The squishy balls in the gruel.” I clench my teeth and suck in a raging breath as what it’s said clicks into place.

“Yes, that explains it.” It pauses, and once I’m about to speak up, it says, “If we let you out of here, are you going to eat all of the food provided to you?”

“Why the hell should I? It seems to me that a minute ago you implied it has some kind of eggs in it that implant themselves in our bodies.” My last memories resurface—Joanie’s shriveled body, her arm pliable as if it didn’t have bones, the movement under her sagging skin. “Oh, my god!” I gasp, fighting back the tears that force their way into my eyes. “Is that what’s wrong with the sick people. They’re not sick, are they?”

“Sick? No. But, unfortunately, they do not survive the process. A side effect we have not been able to fix,” the thing says as I watch it rub a layer of that grey slime on its top half, and I shudder, thinking that it probably is more than likely the same stuff they’ve been feeding us.

“Why did you take us away? Promise us a new home, a new life?” I say through clenched teeth.

“Your world was dying with you along with it. We saw your potential as incubators, but you must understand, not all of you will die. Most are going to make it to a new home where they will procreate. Only the finest specimens will be used for incubation. We want our offspring to have the best start possible, so we will give them the best food we can find. You have fallen in the first group of humans to continue the growth of our species. You should be honored.”

“Honored?” I laugh. “Oh yeah, sure. Honored to have been lied to, used, and . . . eaten from the inside out? Do I have that right? Is that why her arm felt like a sand-filled bag? Bones and all, huh?”

“Yes, sadly it is not a very pleasurable experience. Know that nothing goes to waste. Our young use everything within the body, only breaking through the skin when everything has been used.” It acts like what it’s said is the best news in the universe.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better about essentially being eaten by maggots with tentacles? Because it doesn’t. I knew you things were weird and disgusting, so I don’t know why I didn’t figure you to be damned parasites.”

If it’s offended, I can’t tell. Hell, I’m not sure if these things have emotions. Motion catches my eye, and I focus to the hose thing that hangs above me. One of the Squid’s tentacles is wrapped around it and pulling it down toward me. In my peripheral, I can see another of its tentacles move and what I assume is the other end of the hose. It looks like the thing is connecting it to itself.

“Wait! What are you doing?”

“If you cannot cooperate, if you insist on resisting, then we must force feed you. We are running out of time, as we plan to move the second group onto this ship, shortly. None of the first group can be present when this happens. We do not want things to be more difficult than they need to be,” it says, moving the hose closer to my face.

“I need to know something. Why, if your species was just planning to use us to house your larvae, did you leave behind so many? Why did you weed out those you deemed unworthy if you were just going to kill us?” I ask, unsure of why exactly but wanting an answer, nevertheless.

“Ah, our young take on traits from their hosts. While you may find our actions monstrous, we are merely trying to survive, so we are doing what needs to be done. But traits such as urges to kill your own kind or to molest little ones or rape those we find weak in our kind or to take advantage of others to the point their lives are miserable . . . those are traits we do not wish to pass on to our young. So, we left behind the humans who held higher levels of what we felt were bad traits,” it answers me.

“I should’ve stayed with my brother,” I say.

“If it makes you feel better, he will die too. The planet may heal, but the people left, they will be far more dangerous, wanting to feed their cravings. Most may starve at some point. You humans were far too dependent on corporations to provide you with food to buy. Very few of your kind would know how to survive, needing to hunt and forage. Your brother may outlive you in years, but, yes, he too will die as you would have, had you stayed.” I see it slather on more of the grey substance on its long body . . . head . . . I’m not even sure I care anymore.

Something drips on my face, next to my mouth. I cringe and look at the hose dangling above me. A slick looking, oily drop of grey dangles from the hose. Looking past it and toward where the hose meets the ceiling, I see where the clear tubing is filling with the grey substance. Then a tentacle settles on my chin, pulling my bottom jaw down and opening my mouth. Another tentacle wraps around the hose.

“Now, this will be easier if you don’t fight it,” it says as it feeds the tubing into my mouth and pushes it into my throat. “Just let it in. Try to swallow. The goal is to get it down to your stomach. We want the deposit to be direct.”

I gag, feeling the oily residue coat my throat, making the tube slide just a little easier than if it were dry. I force myself not to swallow, willing it not to go any further. I hoped to wake up from this horrible nightmare that had become my life, but I knew it was all too real. I feel the tears rolling from my eyes and down my cheek. My stomach clenches and my throat tries to wretch to expel the invading tube that has triggered my gag reflex, but it is to no avail.

The Squid quits pushing on the hose, and I can feel that it has made it to its proper destination as my stomach begins to fill. It isn’t just that my stomach was filling, I could feel movement. Small, tiny, quick spurts of movement.

“You should not have to suffer long. And the process will go much more quickly for you as you are getting a direct infusion of freshly hatched young. You see, we have the ability to have live young or eggs. We laid eggs to feed your kind, which was given in lower doses. So, it takes longer that way. The eggs need to accumulate to a decent number before hatching, but with you, I can fill you directly with as many as I can, and they can start to consume you and grow immediately. It should only be a few of your planet’s hours before you lose active consciousness. You will still be awake, but you will not be aware. I believe your kind would refer to the term vegetable. Your body will die within a day or two, which should fall right in the timeline we need it to.”

I try not to listen to it. I try to ignore the tube down my throat, the tears falling from my eyes, and the painful expansion within my stomach. I didn’t know how painful it could be to fill your stomach beyond its ability. I feel it stretching to accommodate. I try to scream as something pops inside my body. I can see my abdomen being inflated upward and outward.

The thought that this thing, this Squid has to see what’s going on, crosses my mind, but it doesn’t seem to realize. The pain becomes unbearable. My vision goes black as I feel liquid run down to my breast from my stomach and a searing pain shoots through me.

“Oh, it seems I miscalculated. Sorry about that. I’m afraid we will have to close that up,” the Squid says.

Its voice sounds far away. The last thing I register is the tube being pulled from my throat.