The Alien’s Unfortunate Timing
Fat Bob was chomping one of his special meat pies when the alien landed. His doorbell rang.
‘Greetings,’ said the alien. ‘Are you the leader?’
‘Huh?’ said Fat Bob through gravy and crumbs. He looked down at the visitor. ‘Hey this ain’t Hallowe’en already is it?’ He hated the whole thing. Last year he had opted for ‘trick’. No way was he parting with one of his beloved pies. They had lured him out into the garden onto a patch of autumn leaves. But the leaves gave way. The devils had dug a pit and it was two days before he got out.
He wiped a greasy sleeve across his mouth. He really wanted to get back to his pie and chips. And a second pie, chicken surprise, was warming in the oven. The oven Martha had got at the dump. Resourceful Martha. The door kept falling off and one ring only worked if two of the others were on. We’re wasting gas he would say timidly. But she insisted her innumerable ‘bargains’ outweighed the utility bills. His trousers fitted her better. He was used to being led, and anyway she was one hell of a pie-maker. But as he got fatter she got thinner. Rare wasting disease the doctor had said. Then one day she wasn’t there anymore. He sure missed her pies. He experimented and pretty soon had the hang of it. And he could be resourceful too. He found breeding and slaughtering his own chickens cost-effective. Then he discovered roadkill, and was not averse to adding snails, beetles and suchlike.
He grinned at the bug-like creature on the doorstep. He’d give it trick or treat.
‘I guess I am the leader. Good first question,’ Fat Bob said. ‘Hey, good disguise too. Come right on in.’
Michael Kirby is from Chudleigh in Devon and has been writing ‘longish’ short stories for about five years. One of these stories was long-listed for the Fish prize. He is ‘at last’ editing his own ‘twenty odd year old’ Sci Fi novel. This is his first try at Flash fiction.