The Aliens Return

“What was that?” A woman sat up suddenly in bed, a flash of light from the house next door lit up her frilly pink nightgown, and the foam curlers she had twisted awkwardly in her hair.

“What was what?” the man lying next to her grunted, rolling over to go back to sleep. The woman prodded him with a bony finger.

“Wake up,” she urged. “Something’s happening next door.”

“Mmmmhmmm,” came the man’s sleepy response.

“I, said, wake, up,” and each word was interspersed with a new jab of her finger.

“All right, all right, I’m awake,” he said, rolling onto his back. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re here!” the woman announced in a mysteriously hushed voice.

“Who’s that, dear?” the man was humouring her now, and she knew it.

“The aliens! I knew they’d come back.”

The man mentally rolled his eyes. He knew better than to do so where she could see him. “And why would they do that?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied, her eyes peering through the darkness to the house next door. “But they were here thirteen years ago, and they’re here again now. Let’s go,” she said, swinging her legs out of the bed.

For the first time that night, the man looked alarmed. “Go where?” he said.

“Why, over there,” she replied, astounded. “We need to see what’s happened. And I think we should call the police. They need to know what’s going on.”

The man was getting out of bed now, his legs tangling awkwardly in the covers as he rushed to his feet. “Now, now, dear,” he said, his voice placating. “How about we wait and see before we call them.”

The woman sniffed impatiently. “Fine!” she answered. “But hurry, before they leave.” And pulling a faded dressing gone on, she rushed from the room.

***

“And say you saw what, ma’am?” a bored official stood, pencil in hand hovering over a small note book, waiting for the woman’s story.

“There was a flash of light,” she said.

“A flash of light,” repeated the bored voice.

“And so I rushed next door, to see what had happened.”

“You rushed next door,” he was writing mechanically.

“Yes, and I knocked on the door, and that man,” she spat the word, “answered the door.”

“The man answered the door…”

“Yes, and so I asked him if everyone was ok. And he said that everyone was fine.”

“Everyone was fine…” repeated the policeman. He stopped, and re-read what he’d written. “He said everyone was fine, ma’am?”

“Yes,” the woman answered defiantly.

“And on this basis you decided to call the police.”

“Yes!” replied the woman.

“And why is that ma’am,”

“Because he didn’t know who Aoife was,” she replied.

“I beg your pardon?” said the official.

“He didn’t know who Aoife was,” she repeated.

"I see,” said the official. “And who is Aoife?”

“Why, his daughter, of course!” replied the woman astounded.

“I see. So that man,” he gestured towards Richard, “didn’t know who his daughter was?”

“Yes,” the woman answered with a firm nod.

“And from this you deduced that…” his voice trailed off encouragingly.

“That she had been abducted by aliens, and his memory had been modified.”

“I see,” said the police officer a third and final time. “Well, thank you very much for your help.” He closed his notebook with a snap. “We’ll be sure to be in contact with you when we know more.”

“No!” cried the woman. “You have to believe me.” A crowd of people had gathered around them by this time, awoken by the flashing lights, and the sounds of voices. “She’s been abducted, tell them!” she turned to her husband. “Tell them!” her voice was desperate, pleading, but her husband was shuffling away from her.

***

Around the corner, Hercules and Achilles looked at each other. There was nothing else that could be done, that much was clear. A wave of their hand, and a white van appeared. Another wave, and they were garbed in dark trousers and white scientists coats.

***

A white van pulled up to the side of the road, and two men wearing white coats, and carrying butterfly nets hurried forward. Held tight in one of their hands was a jacket, with long, trailing sleeves.

“All right, all right,” they called as they approached. “Everything’s under control, move along, now,” and the crowd began to disperse, pitying looks in their eyes. Her husband took a momentary step towards her, before the police officer rested a hand gently on his arm.

“Best not, sir,” he said. “It’s all for the best, really.” And the man nodded once, and moved back away from his wife, who was shrieking now, that there were aliens, and that they had come again, and that if they didn’t stop, and listen to her, they’d come again, and they’d all be taken, one by one! The man stood and watched as she was loaded into the car, her cries ringing in his ears, as it slowly drove away.

The Explanation

“Richard, darling,” Marigold knocked on the door to the garage. There was no answer. “Richard, sweetie, I need to talk to you.” There was a shuffling noise, a few bangs, as though items were being hurriedly put away. Light, quick footsteps, and then the door was eased back, showing a pale face.

“Yes?” Richard blinked at the visitor for a few moments, waiting for his thoughts to clear. Marigold waited patiently. Richard’s face cleared in recognition, before covering over in confusion again. “Marigold, dear, what is it you want?”

“I think it’s time we told her.”

“Who?”

“Aoife.”

“Who?”

Marigold smiled patiently. She was used to Richard and his ways, they made him unique, and loveable. “Our daughter, dear.”

“Our daughter…” Richard continued to sound flummoxed.

“Yes, dear. Small, brown hair, blue eyes, often present at the dinner table when you eat.”

“Oh. Aoife.”

“Yes, dear.”

“What about her?”

“I think it’s time we told her.”

“Told her what, dear.”

“About how she was born.”

“And how was that, dear?”

Marigold lifted her hand, running it across Richard’s cheek.

“You remember, dear. It was January 7^th, thirteen years ago. It was a warm night, almost unnaturally so. All those mosquitoes and flies, and barely a breeze to stir the air. Muffy, our cat, had just left us, run over in the street, poor dear, but she’s doing better now, I talk to her often, she has a number of other cat friends with whom she spends time…” Marigold noticed Richard shifting uneasily, as if he wanted to close the door, and drift back to his work. “But anyway, dear, that was the day that she came to us. I so longed for a child, especially with the pain if losing Muffy, and so I opened my arms to Mother Earth, and she came to us. The most gorgeous little girl, just lying there on the door step. All pink and wriggly, with those big blue eyes that looked up at you like she could see your very soul. Not a peep out of her. Oh she was a beautiful baby, my baby.” Richard nodded, if he thought very carefully, he could remember being told this story before. But almost as if it had been acted out…as though, he’d actually seen it. “You were there dear, you saw her on the doorstep, how she looked at you, before she closed her eyes and slept.” Richard nodded again, he had a vague memory of something like that happening. That was the night he’d discovered Extranium, an exciting new by-product of the solar energy process. He’d despaired of ever finding it, and then his assistant, Jeremy, had come into his office with this jar of unknown fuel, seeking an answer. It was almost as if it was a gift from the gods.

“I think she should be told, Richard. Every child should know about their birth, where they come from. It is time.” Richard just nodded. Thinking about the Extranium had reminded him of some promising research he’d meant to pursue. “Whatever you think is best, dear,” he replied. Marigold smiled and nodded her head softly at him. “Tonight, then.” And running her finger tips along his cheek once more, she drifted back to her parlour, to prepare for the event.

A knock at the door startled Aoife out of her thoughts. She pushed the book off her lap, as her mother poked her head through the open door. “Dinner is almost ready, Aoife,” she said. Aoife nodded. “But come down with me now, darling, there is something I must tell you. Something you must know.” And with that announcement she disappeared again in a click of beads, footsteps pressing down the hall. Aoife stood uncertainly, not sure what her parents knew, or should have known, or what they were to tell her. She left the book lying on her bed, and headed downstairs.

Aoife started slightly as she entered the room and saw her father sitting at the table. Not only was he present, but he was looking at her, with a determined expression, as if he was ensuring that he didn’t forget who she was and why she was here. He was holding Marigold’s hand, loosely, but holding it nonetheless. Aoife must have looked surprised, because Richard blushed slightly and looked away.

“Come in, darling,” beckoned Marigold. “We wanted to talk to you.” She squeezed Richard’s hand, and stood up, floating towards Aoife, with her arms outstretched. She grasps her shoulders and looked down into her face. “My Aoife,” she said, and kissed her on the forehead. “Sit, sit.” And she guided Aoife to a chair.

“I think it’s time for us to tell you about where you came from,” Marigold began. Aoife began to blush. Now I know why Dad was so uncomfortable, she thought.

“Ummm, Mum, Dad, I really sorta know all this already. You don’t have to go through this with me. They explained at school, you know, about sex and that.” Aoife ducked her head, cheeks burning.

“Oh my darling, no,” said Marigold. No? thought Aoife. What does she mean, ‘no’?

“Sex is important, and you should know about that, but what we need to talk you about is where you came from.”

“Uh, Mum? I’m not sure I understand. I know where I came from, that’s what happens when…when two people have sex.” Aoife was so embarrassed all her words were blurring together, rushing out of her mouth in their haste to be said and done.

“Yes, darling, ordinarily that is where children come from. But you are not ordinary. Sit down, darling, it’s time for you to hear about your arrival into this world…”

Whereunto Aoife explains her Name

Aoife hated her name. She could always tell when a new teacher had reached her name in the roll: there was a pause, a frantic working of lips, mouth silently working over undetermined letters, the hesitant uttering of vowels before Aoife would give in “EVA!” she would yell. “It’s pronounced Eva!” She never had worked out why she had it; she wasn’t named after any relatives that she could think of. She’d asked her parents about it one time. Her father, Richard, had stared at her blankly, like he couldn’t even remember who she was, let alone what or why her name was. Her mother, Marigold, had smiled mystically, running her hands through her hair, and telling her that her name was given with love, and that it had come with her. Aoife never could quite work out what that had meant.

In the Beginning

“Psst! Aoife!” the voice boomed through Aoife, like a thunderstorm taking place in her veins. She was mildly surprised. She didn’t recognise the voice, but it obviously recognised her. And it could say her name correctly. She looked around. “Achem. Aoife. Over here.” Again, the booming that thundered through her, commanding her. Again Aoife looked around. “Up here!” the voice demanded, insisted. Aoife looked up. And saw, in the break between the clouds, a face. “Aoife, I…there’s something….” “No.” Aoife said. “You’re not real. It’s not possible that there’s a face in the clouds talking to me, therefore it’s not happening. Good day.” And she nodded politely to the non-existent face, and kept walking. In the clouds, God looked confused.

***

Floating on a nearby cloud, a bard sighed, and flipped back several pages of a large, leather bound book. Gripping several at a time, he yanked the pages from the book. He tucked them carelessly into an old urn he was using as a rubbish bin. He would dispose of it later. Muttering curses beneath his breath, he began this section again.

In the beginning, he wrote, there was a word and the word was Psst.