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Hello! If you like mystery/thrillers with a dash of the supernatural, a pinch of romance, and a solid dollop of humour, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published. Current book: Evil Portent.
Life in the Clouds #4: Evil Portent ® James Field.
Previously from posts 36 - 39… Then he narrowed his eyes and squinted at Bert. “So you do have the Doodad. Where have you concealed it?” “You’re sitting on it.” Keeping one eye on Bert, the alien father peeked with his other eye under his cane chair and found the Doodad tied beneath with pieces of bamboo ribbon. "I knew you had it all the time." He eased it out, kissed it, and gave Bert a slow smile. “It's too cramped in here. Let’s take it outside.” In the open, Bert gazed about. The village seemed deserted. “Where is everyone?” “When I told them what we’d done, they got scared again and rushed off back to the temple.” “Why didn’t you go with them?” The Alien Father sniffed and wiped at his nose. “They hate me for what we did. They don’t think I’m a hero at all, like you said they would. 'Dumb agitator' is what they called me, and the Elder said I must sacrifice my life and hope the Guardians will settle for that.” “Ignore them,” said Bert, desperate to leave for Earth. “They're a load of wimps. We’ll show them heroes. Get the Doodad working.” “Let’s hope you didn’t break it. Are you ready?” “Yeah.” Bert watched intently, keen to learn how to turn it on. “Place it on the ground,” said the alien father. “This side up is off.” He then turned it onto its other side. “And this side up is on.” Immediately, a shimmering haze formed above the gadget, hissing like a snake. In a few seconds, the tunnel’s gaping mouth opened, all set to swallow them. “Was it really that simple?” said Bert, scratching his bald head. “Yes.” Bert didn't want to think about how unlucky he'd been, placing the Doodad in the off position every time he set it down. Still, he now knew how to operate it, and the knowledge made him smile. “Let’s go.” The Alien Father dodged behind Bert. “You first. Dash into it full speed. That way, the experience is less formidable and you’ll be through in seconds.” Bert took his advice, lowered his head, and charged into the tunnel's deep throat. A feather pillow slapped his face, another struck his back, and then he stumbled into number three, Flintstone Cottage, The Stables, London, England, Earth. The Alien Father bumped into his legs, looked all around, eyes blinking rapidly, and rotated the Doodad into the off position. He shivered. “It’s cold here.” After the sweaty tropical warmth of Ewepiter, Bert was glad. “Much better, don’t you think?” "No." "It's because you haven't got any fat on you, but we'll soon put that straight." A quick glance told Bert everything was how he’d left it. Strange nobody came to see what had happened to him. “Let’s go to my place. I’ll light the fire and you’ll soon warm up.” "Is it far?" "Two houses away." "I'll bring the Doodad," said the Alien Father. "As long as it's turned off, the Guardians can't come through." This was good, and Bert gave the 'thumbs-up'. Now he'd have the whole morning to fix the energy drink and round up weapons. He strode out into the backyard, headed along the alleyway past Olive’s mid-terrace house, and stopped at his own residence at the terrace’s other end. "Home-sweet-home," he mumbled. By the sun’s height, it was early morning, the same time of day he’d parted. How many days had he been away? He'd lost count. At least two. His horse, Bigfoot, still saddled and tethered to the handle of his outside toilet, whinnied and pawed with his hoof. He could also hear his two Alsatians inside the house grow excited at his return. This was even stranger, hadn’t anyone taken care of his pets while he’d been away? Bigfoot nuzzled Bert’s neck. “Ain’t you let anyone close enough to take you back to the stable?” said Bert. He reached into his pocket for his phone and then recalled how the Alien Mother had smashed it for parts to repair the Doodad. Now he’d have to borrow Olive’s phone to find out why his best mate Alf hadn’t looked after his pets. He wondered what Olive had been up to while he’d been away. Most likely taken the opportunity to go off flirting. But then he noticed her back door slightly open, a sure sign she was up and about. Bert hugged Bigfoot’s neck and whispered in his ear. “Sorry I’ve been gone for so long. It won’t happen again. I love you, mate.” To his astonishment, his horse said, “I love you too, mate.” Bert shook his head. The journey between planets must have jangled his brain. The Alien Father reached out and stroked Bigfoot’s knee. “Don’t he scare you?” said Bert, eyebrows raised. Hardly anyone was brave enough to touch his horse, and his horse seldom allowed anybody to approach him. “He’s like me, a grazer, a hunted animal, but so proud, so strong.” “Yeah, he’s a good friend,” said Bert. "So are you, and I don't eat my friends. We'll soon have you just as strong as Bigfoot." He waggled a finger in his ear. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen a horse. We’ve got loads of animals here on Earth. Come inside and meet me Chums.” “Chums?” “Yeah, me Alsatians. Two little fluff balls. They’re dogs. Can’t understand why, but nobody likes them either.” Bert's Alsatians sniffed him suspiciously. “Where’ve you been, Boss? Where’ve you been?” he heard them say. “You smell funny. Take us with you next time, we’ll protect you. Who’s that with you? Shall we kill him?” Bert shook his head again and wondered how long it would take before his brain settled. “This is my friend.” He reached behind his back and yanked the Alien Father into view. “Say hello to him-nicely!” His Chums moved closer to the Alien Father, sniffed at the strange little creature, and growled deep in their throats. “They’re meat-eaters,” said the Alien Father. He scrunched his eyes shut and was so rigid he trembled. “Tasty!” said Bert’s Chums. “Out of bounds,” said Bert. “Go to your corner and don’t even look at him.” They slinked off, ears plastered flat against their heads. Bert pulled the Alien Father with him into the lounge. Two bulky-stuffed armchairs squatted on each side of the open fire, and a well-cushioned settee stretched along the furthest wall. A light beige carpet covered the floor. Sitting on the mantelpiece, a clock ticked lazily, and above that on the chimney breast hung a large picture of an angel with tears in her eyes. Dogs’ hairs coated everything. An even bigger surprise greeted Bert. Someone had lit his fire and the logs blazed cheerfully, just like when he’d hurried away to visit the newcomer at number three all those days ago. “Sit in that armchair next to the fire and warm yourself,” said Bert. “Olive’s been here, bless her. Put the Doodad by your feet where it’s safe. We don’t want Olive tinkering with it.” He gave a little wink. "Women!" Bert nudged his chair closer to the warmth and threw in two logs. The Alien Father tugged and pushed his armchair, but he was too weak to budge it. So Bert reached across, dragged it for him, and scooted him into the cushions head first. “And now,” said Bert, rubbing his hands, “I’m going to make you my ‘Piss De Resistant.’ “ Part 40: In this post: Porridge to make you strong…
While the alien father toasted his hands, Bert set about making his special porridge. He found a large basin and dumped in one giant mug of oat-based instant-breakfast cereal and three mugs of energy protein powder. It needed one full bottle of vodka to mix it into a thin gruel. Then he added an eggcup of salt, a teacup of sugar, and a tin of Popeye spinach. Three minutes in the microwave made it pleasantly warm and thick.
He carried the porridge, two cereal bowls, two spoons, and a jar of honey back into the lounge and set them on the floor between the armchairs. After making himself comfortable, he spooned porridge into one bowl, smothered it in honey, raisins and sliced banana, and handed it to the Alien Father. Then he filled his own dish. The Alien Father dipped the tip of his spoon into the porridge and tasted it carefully. Bert watched with keen attention; his own spoonful halted in front of his mouth. The Alien Father’s eyebrows shot up and a smile exploded across his face. “This is good,” he said and spooned porridge as if he hadn’t eaten for a week. Happy that his experiment worked out so well, Bert gobbled his bowlful. To his surprise, the Alien Father ate his just as fast. Bert refilled both bowls. After the bamboo tips porridge he’d choked on lately, his own creation was heaven. When he reached to fill the bowls for a third time, he saw the Alien Father had fallen asleep, his dish and spoon nestled on his swollen belly. Reckoning his alien friend wouldn’t want any more, Bert finished the rest, eating straight from the basin. Two minutes later, stomach full, head spinning, comfy and warm in front of the fire, threat of the Guardians forgotten, Bert fell asleep too. To be continued… The real world: Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts. Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth. -
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Hello! If you like mystery/thrillers with a dash of the supernatural, a pinch of romance, and a solid dollop of humour, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published. Current book: Evil Portent.
Life in the Clouds #4: Evil Portent ® James Field.
Previously from posts 35 - 38… The Alien Father inhaled deeply through the nose and then breathed out through the mouth. “If I were brave and strong like you, I’d help you against the Guardians.” He clenched his little fists, bounced to his feet, and spread his legs. “I’d pound them into mush.” “Yeah, I reckon you would,” said Bert. He sniffed. “The way I see it, you’re so puny because of that rubbish you eat.” The Alien Father’s display of bravery vanished as quickly as it came, and he slumped. “Bamboo shoots. It’s our staple diet. It's all we have.” Bert wiggled his eyebrows and gave the Alien Father a friendly nudge, almost knocking him over. “Where I come from, there’s a man named Popeye who grows super strong when he eats spinach.” “What breed of meat is spinach?” “It’s a vegetable, dark-green and leafy. It tastes almost as disgusting as your bamboo shoots. You’ll love it. If you come back to my place, I’ll fix a feast guaranteed to make you tough and strong.” “Without meat?” “I promise.” “What’s in it then?” “Energy protein powder, which is made from soybeans, peas, potatoes and vegetables like that. I’ll add some spinach and mix it all into a porridge with a liquid called vodka. It’ll put hairs on your chest.” “Are you sure?” “Positive. Hurry, we ain’t got much time.” The Alien Father’s hands balled into fists again. “Alright, let’s do it.” Then he narrowed his eyes and squinted at Bert. “So you do have the Doodad. Where have you concealed it?” “You’re sitting on it.” Keeping one eye on Bert, the alien father peeked with his other eye under his cane chair and found the Doodad tied beneath with pieces of bamboo ribbon. He eased it out, kissed it, and gave Bert a slow smile. “Let’s take it outside.” In the open, Bert gazed about. The village seemed deserted. “Where is everyone?” “When I told them what we’d done, they rushed off back to the temple.” “Why didn’t you go with them?” The Alien Father sniffed and wiped at his nose. “They hate me for what we did. They don’t think I’m a hero at all, like you said they would. 'Dumb agitator' is what they called me, and the Elder said I must sacrifice my life and hope the Guardians will settle for that.” “Ignore them,” said Bert, desperate to leave for Earth. “They're a load of wimps. We’ll show them heroes. Get the Doodad working.” “Let’s hope you didn’t break it. Are you ready?” “Yeah.” Bert watched intently, keen to learn how to turn it on. “Place it on the ground,” said the alien father. “This side up is off.” He then turned it onto its other side. “And this side up is on.” Immediately, a shimmering haze formed above the gadget, hissing like a snake. In a few seconds, the tunnel’s gaping mouth opened, all set to swallow them. “Was it really that simple?” said Bert, scratching his bald head. “Yes.” Bert didn't want to think about how unlucky he'd been, placing the Doodad in the off position every time. Still, now he knew, and the knowledge made him smile. “Let’s go.” The Alien Father dodged behind Bert. “You first. Dash into it full speed. That way, the experience is less formidable and you’ll be through in seconds.” Bert took his advice, lowered his head, and charged. A feather pillow slapped his face, another struck his back, and then he stumbled into number three, Flintstone Cottage. The Alien Father bumped into his legs, looked all around, eyes blinking rapidly, and rotated the Doodad into the off position. He shivered. “It’s cold here.” After the sweaty tropical warmth of Ewepiter, Bert agreed. “Much better, don’t you think?” "No." "It's because you haven't got any fat on you, but we'll soon put that straight." A quick glance told Bert everything was how he’d left it. Strange nobody came to see what had happened to him. “Let’s go to my place. I’ll light the fire and you’ll soon warm up.” "I'll bring the Doodad," said the Alien Father. "As long as it's turned off, the Guardians can't come through." This was good, and Bert gave the 'thumbs-up'. Now he'd have the whole morning to fix the energy drink and round up weapons. He strode out into the backyard, headed along the alleyway past Olive’s mid-terrace house, and stopped at his own residence at the terrace’s other end. "Home-sweet-home," he mumbled. By the sun’s height, it was early morning, the same time of day he’d parted. How many days had he been away? He'd lost count. At least two. His horse, Bigfoot, still saddled and tethered to the handle of his outside toilet, whinnied and pawed with his hoof. He could also hear his two Alsatians inside the house grow excited at his return. This was even stranger, hadn’t anyone taken care of his pets while he’d been away? Bigfoot nuzzled Bert’s neck. “Ain’t you let anyone close enough to take you back to the stable?” said Bert. He reached into his pocket for his phone and then recalled how the Alien Mother had smashed it for parts to repair the Doodad. Now he’d have to borrow Olive’s phone to find out why his best mate Alf hadn’t looked after his pets. He wondered what Olive had been up to while he’d been away. Most likely taken the opportunity to go off flirting. But then he noticed her back door slightly open, a sure sign she was up and about. Bert hugged Bigfoot’s neck and whispered in his ear. “Sorry I’ve been gone for so long. It won’t happen again. I love you, mate.” To his astonishment, his horse said, “I love you too, mate.” Bert shook his head. The tunnel must have jangled his brain. The Alien Father reached out and stroked Bigfoot’s knee. “Don’t he scare you?” said Bert, eyebrows raised. Hardly anyone was brave enough to touch his horse, and his horse seldom allowed anybody to approach him. “He’s like me, a grazer, a hunted animal, but so proud, so strong.” “He’s a good friend,” said Bert, "and we'll soon have you just as strong." He waggled a finger in his ear. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen a horse. We’ve got loads of animals here on Earth. Come inside and meet me Chums.” “Chums?” “Yeah, me Alsatians. Two little fluff balls. They’re dogs. Can’t understand why, but nobody likes them either.” Part 39: In this post: An open fire to warm the hands…
His Alsatians sniffed him suspiciously. “Where’ve you been? Where’ve you been?” he heard them say. “Take us with you next time, we’ll protect you. Who’s that with you? Shall we kill him?”
Bert shook his head again and wondered how long it would take before his brain settled. “This is my friend.” He reached behind his back and yanked the Alien Father into view. “Say hello to him-nicely!” His Chums moved closer to the Alien Father and sniffed. “They’re meat-eaters,” said the Alien Father. He scrunched his eyes shut and was so rigid he trembled. “Tasty!” said Bert’s Chums. “Out of bounds,” said Bert. “Go to your corner and don’t even look at him.” They slinked off, ears plastered flat against their heads. Bert pulled the Alien Father with him into the lounge. Two bulky-stuffed armchairs squatted on each side of the open fire, and a well-cushioned settee stretched along the furthest wall. A light beige carpet covered the floor. Sitting on the mantelpiece, a clock ticked lazily, and above that on the chimney breast hung a large picture of an angel with tears in her eyes. Dogs’ hairs coated everything. An even bigger surprise greeted Bert. Someone had lit his fire and the logs blazed cheerfully, just like when he’d hurried away to visit number three all those days ago. “Sit in that armchair next to the fire and warm yourself,” said Bert. “Olive’s been here, bless her. I see you brought the Doodad with you. Good thinking. Put it by your feet where it’s safe. We don’t want Olive tinkering with it.” Bert nudged his chair closer to the warmth and threw in two logs. The Alien Father tugged and pushed his armchair, but he was too weak to budge it. So Bert reached across, dragged it for him, and scooted him into the cushions head first. “And now,” said Bert, rubbing his hands, “I’m going to make you my ‘Piss De Resistant.’ “ To be continued… The real world: Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts. Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay
Hello! If you like mystery/thrillers with a dash of the supernatural, a pinch of romance, and a solid dollop of humour, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories.
Life in the Clouds #4: Evil Portent ® James Field. Previously from posts 34 - 37… But then again, staying to fight was a stupid idea. The Guardians would kill them all, no doubt. He couldn’t win a war by himself, he needed help, and that he’d find back on Earth. “You, Alien Father,” said Bert, licking his lips with cautious hope. “We can’t sit here and wait for the Guardians to slaughter us. Let’s get the Doodad working and I'll pop back to my planet for help.” “I don’t believe you’ll come back.” “Come with me then. I’ll round up me mates and a crate of dynamite and we’ll be back in a jiffy. If we’re quick enough, we’ll blow the Guardian's citadel to smithereens.” “But suppose we’re not quick enough and they destroy my village and then follow us to your planet?” “All the more reason to hurry. Maybe the Guardian's caretaker was alone, the rest coming and going on their flying mopeds. It might give us a time. Stop dilly-dallying and let’s go.” The Alien Father inhaled deeply through the nose and then breathed out through the mouth. “If I were brave and strong like you, I’d help you against the Guardians.” He clenched his little fists, bounced to his feet, and spread his legs. “I’d pound them into mush.” “Yeah, I reckon you would,” said Bert. He sniffed. “The way I see it, you’re so puny because of that rubbish you eat.” The Alien Father’s display of bravery vanished as quickly as it came, and he slumped. “Bamboo shoots. It’s our staple diet. It's all we have.” Bert wiggled his eyebrows and gave the Alien Father a friendly nudge, almost knocking him over. “Where I come from, there’s a man named Popeye who grows super strong when he eats spinach.” “What breed of meat is spinach?” “It’s a vegetable, dark-green and leafy. It tastes almost as disgusting as your bamboo shoots. You’ll love it. If you come back to my place, I’ll fix a feast guaranteed to make you tough and strong.” “Without meat?” “I promise.” “What’s in it then?” “Energy protein powder, which is made from soybeans, peas, potatoes and vegetables like that. I’ll add some spinach and mix it all into a porridge with a liquid called vodka. It’ll put hairs on your chest.” “Are you sure?” “Positive. Hurry, we ain’t got much time.” The Alien Father’s hands balled into fists again. “Alright, let’s do it.” Then he narrowed his eyes and squinted at Bert. “So you do have the Doodad. Where have you concealed it?” “You’re sitting on it.” Keeping one eye on Bert, the alien father peeked with his other eye under his cane chair and found the Doodad tied beneath with pieces of bamboo ribbon. He eased it out, kissed it, and gave Bert a slow smile. “Let’s take it outside.” In the open, Bert gazed about. The village seemed deserted. “Where is everyone?” “When I told them what we’d done, they rushed off back to the temple.” “Why didn’t you go with them?” The Alien Father sniffed and wiped at his nose. “They hate me for what we did. They don’t think I’m a hero at all. 'Dumb agitator' is what they called me, and the Elder said I must sacrifice my life and hope the Guardians will settle for that.” “Ignore them,” said Bert, desperate to leave for Earth. “They're a load of wimps. We’ll show them heroes. Get the Doodad working.” “Let’s hope you didn’t break it. Are you ready?” “Yeah.” Bert watched intently, keen to learn how to turn it on. “Place it on the ground,” said the alien father. “This side up is off.” He then turned it onto its other side. “And this side up is on.” Immediately, a shimmering haze formed above the gadget, hissing like a snake. In a few seconds, the tunnel’s gaping mouth opened, all set to swallow them. “Was it really that simple?” said Bert, scratching his bald head. “Yes.” “Then let’s go.” The Alien Father dodged behind Bert. “You go first. Dash into it full speed. That way, the experience is less formidable and you’ll be through in seconds.” Bert took his advice, lowered his head, and charged. A feather pillow slapped his face, another struck his back, and then he stumbled into number three, Flintstone Cottage. The Alien Father bumped into his legs, looked all around, eyes blinking rapidly, and rotated the Doodad into the off position. He shivered. “It’s cold here.” After the sweaty tropical warmth of Ewepiter, Bert agreed. “Much better, don’t you think?” "No." "It's because you haven't got any fat on you." A quick glance told Bert everything was how he’d left it. Strange nobody came to see what had happened to him. “Let’s go to my place. I’ll light the fire and you’ll soon warm up.” "I'll bring the Doodad," said the Alien Father. "As long as it's turned off, the Guardians can't come through." This was good, because it gave Bert the whole morning to fix the energy drink and round up some weapons. He strode out into the backyard, headed along the alleyway past Olive’s mid-terrace house, and stopped at his own residence at the terrace’s other end. Home-sweet-home. By the sun’s height, it was early morning, the same time of day he’d parted. How many days had he been away? He'd lost count. At least two. His horse, Bigfoot, still tethered to the handle of his outside toilet, whinnied and pawed with his hoof. He could also hear his two Alsatians inside the house grow excited at his return. This was even stranger, hadn’t anyone taken care of his pets while he’d been away? Part 38: In this post: Why don't people like Bert's fluffy Alsatians? Bigfoot was just as he’d left him: still saddled. The horse nuzzled Bert’s neck. “Ain’t you let anyone close enough to take you back to the stable?” Bert reached into his pocket for his phone and then recalled how the Alien Mother had smashed it for parts to repair the Doodad. He’d have to borrow Olive’s phone and find out why his best mate Alf hadn’t looked after his pets. He wondered what Olive had been up to all the while since he’d been away. Most likely taken the opportunity to go off flirting. But then he noticed her back door slightly open, a sure sign she was up and about. Bert hugged Bigfoot’s neck and whispered in his ear. “Sorry I’ve been gone for so long. It won’t happen again. I love you, mate.” To his astonishment, his horse said, “I love you too, mate.” Bert shook his head. The tunnel must have jangled his brain. The alien father reached out and stroked Bigfoot’s knee. “Don’t he scare you?” said Bert, eyebrows raised. Hardly anyone was brave enough to touch his horse, and his horse seldom allowed anybody to approach him. “He’s like me, a grazer, a hunted animal, but so proud, so strong.” “He’s a good friend,” said Bert. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen a horse. We’ve got loads of animals here on Earth. Come inside and meet me Chums.” “Chums?” “Yeah, me Alsatians. Two little fluff balls. They’re dogs. Can’t understand why, but nobody likes them either.” To be continued… The real world: Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts. Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth. -
Image by Steve Bidmead from Pixabay
Hello! If you like mystery/thrillers with a dash of the supernatural, a pinch of romance, and a solid dollop of humour, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories.
Life in the Clouds #4: Evil Portent ® James Field. Previously from posts 33 - 36… “You’re alive!” said the Alien Father as Bert burst into his house. He sat on a stool, head in hands, and genuine surprise in his voice. “What happened?” “You should have stuck around instead of running off. Then you wouldn’t need to ask.” The Alien Father let his head fall back into his palms. “It’s my natural instincts. If I were big and strong like you I might have stayed, but measly and timid as I am, I fled.” Bert crawled across the floor on hands and knees, pivoted to sit beside the Alien Father, and reached his arm behind the midget's narrow back. “Can’t blame you. I nearly did a runner myself.” The Alien Father sighed and glanced at Bert with a twitch of a smile. “You saved my life.” “Yes, well, the Guardian didn’t put up much of a fight. I came on down right after you and I ain’t sure whether he’s dead or alive.” The Alien Father shrunk in terror. “We should never have gone. They’ll come looking for you and kill us all.” “Yeah, that’s what I dejuiced.” Bert frowned. The Guardian he’d fought was a caretaker. If the creature lived and returned to the citadel, how soon would he raise the alarm and mobilize a squad of Guardians? If dead, when would his comrades miss him? The Guardians who came for Bert would be warriors: bigger, stronger, fiercer, and armed with ray guns. He doubted there was time to prepare a defence, and apart from his knife, he had no weapon. He didn’t stand a chance. His mind whirled. What should he do? Stay or return to Earth? He had little choice. He couldn’t return to Earth because he couldn't work the Doodad. A doctor of physics might work it out, but Bert left school when he was fifteen. Or was he thrown out? He couldn't remember. So anyway, he’d stick around and fight to the death, taking a few Guardians with him. His thoughts went to his beloved Olive, who he’d never see again, and his best friend Alf, and his two Chums, the Alsatians, and his horse, Bigfoot. Bye-bye, buddies. But then again, staying to fight was a stupid idea. The Guardians would kill them all, no doubt. He couldn’t win a war by himself, he needed help, and that he’d find back on Earth. “You, Alien Father,” said Bert, licking his lips with cautious hope. “We can’t sit here and wait for the Guardians to slaughter us. Let’s get the Doodad working and I'll pop back to my planet for help.” “I don’t believe you’ll come back.” “Come with me then. I’ll round up me mates and a crate of dynamite and we’ll be back in a jiffy. If we’re quick enough, we’ll blow the whole citadel to smithereens.” “But suppose we’re not quick enough and they destroy my village and then follow us to your planet?” “All the more reason to hurry. Maybe the Guardian's caretaker was alone, the rest coming and going on their flying mopeds. It might give us a time. Stop dilly-dallying and let’s go.” The Alien Father inhaled deeply through the nose and then breathed out through the mouth. “If I were brave and strong like you, I’d help you against the Guardians.” He clenched his little fists, bounced to his feet, and spread his legs. “I’d pound them into mush.” “Yeah, I reckon you would,” said Bert. He sniffed. “The way I see it, you’re so puny because of that rubbish you eat.” The Alien Father’s display of bravery vanished as quickly as it came, and he slumped. “Bamboo shoots. It’s our staple diet. It's all we have.” Bert wiggled his eyebrows and gave the Alien Father a friendly nudge, almost knocking him over. “Where I come from, there’s a man named Popeye who grows super strong when he eats spinach.” “What breed of meat is spinach?” “It’s a vegetable, dark-green and leafy. It tastes almost as disgusting as your bamboo shoots. You’ll love it. If you come back to my place, I’ll fix a feast guaranteed to make you tough and strong.” “Without meat?” “I promise.” “What’s in it then?” “Energy protein powder, which is made from soybeans, peas, potatoes and vegetables like that. I’ll add some spinach and mix it all into a porridge with a liquid called vodka. It’ll put hairs on your chest.” “Are you sure?” “Positive. Hurry, we ain’t got much time.” The Alien Father’s hands balled into fists again. “Alright, let’s do it.” Then he narrowed his eyes and squinted at Bert. “So you do have the Doodad. Where have you concealed it?” “You’re sitting on it.” Keeping one eye on Bert, the alien father peeked with his other eye under his cane chair and found the Doodad tied beneath with pieces of bamboo ribbon. He eased it out, kissed it, and gave Bert a slow smile. “Let’s take it outside.” Once there, Bert gazed about. The village seemed deserted. “Where is everyone?” “When I told them what we’d done, they rushed off back to the temple.” “Why didn’t you go with them?” The Alien Father sniffed and wiped at his nose. “They hate me for what we did. They don’t think I’m a hero at all. 'Dumb agitator' is what they called me, and the Elder said I must sacrifice my life and hope the Guardians will settle for that.” “Ignore them,” said Bert, desperate to leave for Earth. “They're a load of wimps. We’ll show them heroes. Get the Doodad working.” “Let’s hope you didn’t break it. Are you ready?” “Yeah.” Bert watched intently, keen to learn how to turn it on. “Place it on the ground,” said the alien father. “This side up is off.” He then turned it onto its other side. “And this side up is on.” Immediately, a shimmering haze formed above the gadget, hissing like a snake. In a few seconds, the tunnel’s gaping mouth opened, all set to swallow them. “Was it really that simple?” said Bert, scratching his bald head. “Yes.” “Then let’s go.” Part 37: In this post: Home-sweet-home... The Alien Father dodged behind Bert. “You go first. Dash at it full speed. That way, the experience is less formidable and you’ll be through in seconds.” Bert bound into it, and feeling nothing worse than a feather pillow slapping his face, and another striking his back, he stumbled into number three, Flintstone Cottage. The Alien Father bumped into his legs, rotated the Doodad into the off position, and then said, “It’s cold here.” After the tropical warmth of Ewepiter, Bert agreed. “Much better, don’t you think?” A quick glance told him everything was how he’d left it. Strange nobody came to see what had happened to him. “Let’s go to my place. I’ll light the fire and you’ll soon warm up.” He strode out into the backyard, headed along the alleyway past Olive’s mid-terrace house, and stopped at his own residence at the terrace’s other end. Home-sweet-home. By the sun’s height, it was early morning, the same time of day he’d parted. His horse, Bigfoot, still tethered to the handle of his outside toilet, whinnied and pawed with his hoof. He could also hear his two Alsatians inside the house grow excited at his return. This was even stranger, hadn’t anyone taken care of his pets while he’d been away? To be continued… The real world: Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts. Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth. -
Image by Please Don't sell My Artwork AS IS from Pixabay
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James Field
Talvik, Norway You can also Find me on subscribe to get a free copy
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