James Field's Blog, page 18

Sci fi series: Evil Portent

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.
-
Picture by Sari Uski from Pixabay

Sci fi series: Evil Portent

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

Sci fi series: Evil Portent

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

Sci fi series: Evil Portent

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

Sci fi series: Evil Portent

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 32 - 35…
 
“Hey!” shouted Bert. He grabbed a fist-sized boulder and hurled it at the Guardian. It struck him in the chest with enough force to make him lose balance and step back. The Alien father squirmed to his feet and darted off down the hill.
 
Fury blazed in the Guardian’s black eyes. He charged at Bert, outstretched arms clawing for Bert's face. Although Bert was shorter than the Guardian, he reckoned he was heavier and stronger. Every day, sometimes twice a day, he wrestled and boxed with his best mate, Alf. Alf was England’s undisputed bare-fist street fighter champion. Rough stuff was an everyday part of Bert’s life, and he knew many tricks.
 
Bert bent his knees slightly and balanced his body. He waited unmoving until the Guardian's claws were an inch from his nose. Then, in one smooth movement, he stepped aside, tripped him, and helped him on his flight by tugging an arm and kicking his backside.
 
The Guardian’s head struck a tree trunk with a sickening crunch. Bert wasn’t sure if he was dead or unconscious, and he didn’t hang around to find out. Without a backward glance, he took off after the alien father.
*
“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. So 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 at The Stables 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 pop back to my planet for help.”
 
“I don’t believe you’d 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 all that rubbish you eat.”
 
The Alien Father’s display of bravery vanished as quickly as it came, and he slumped. “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.”
 
 
Part 36:
In this post: Wimps and heroes… 

​The Alien Father narrowed his eyes and squinted at Bert. “So you have it. Where have you concealed it?”
 
“You’re sitting on it.”
 
Keeping one eye on Bert, the alien father peeked under his cane chair and found it tied beneath with pieces of bamboo ribbon. He eased it out, kissed it, and gave Bert a slow smile. “Let’s take it outside.”
 
“Where is everyone?” asked Bert. The village seemed deserted.
 
“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. 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.”
 
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 Gaëtan GUINÉ from Pixabay

Sci fi series: Evil Portent

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 31 - 34…
 
A Guardian stepped out. Behind it, Bert saw a Doodad placed in the centre of the citadel. Against the back wall, the air shimmered and the throat of a tunnel gaped open, the other end at the Guardian's distant planet.
 
The creature had the body of a gorilla but stood erect and proud, like a commando soldier, half a head taller than Bert. And what an ugly head; it reminded Bert of a wild boar with tusks in its bottom jaw. Certain of its dominance over the meek Ewepitarians, it carried no weapon that Bert could see. The hideous brute strutted toward the upturned lawnmower, rectified it, and scanned all around, its black, sallow eyes, piercing and cruel. Its snout sniffed like a dog on the scent of a bitch.
 
It occurred to Bert this was a genuine Guardian. The image in the air a projection designed to terrify the Ewepitarians and keep them away. He thought that was hardly necessary when the creature was so frightful anyway.
 
“Stay still and don’t move,” whispered Bert.
 
“Run,” screeched the alien father, and bolted off down the hill.
 
“Crazy little twit,” grumbled Bert, and chased after him. A glance over his shoulder revealed the Guardian catching up. “If you’re going to run,” puffed Bert. “You better go a lot faster or you’ll be the main course at their next barbeque party.”
 
The alien father’s stumpy legs zipped along in a blur until he tripped and fell. Bert’s body weight carried him on, and when he eventually stopped and turned, he saw the Guardian standing over the alien father with his boot raised above his head, ready to stamp it down.
 
“Hey!” shouted Bert. He grabbed a fist-sized boulder and hurled it at the Guardian. It struck him in the chest with enough force to make him lose balance and step back. The Alien father squirmed to his feet and darted off down the hill.
 
Fury blazed in the Guardian’s black eyes, and he charged at Bert, outstretched arms clawing for Bert's face. Although Bert was shorter than the Guardian, he reckoned he was heavier and stronger. Every day, sometimes twice a day, he wrestled and boxed with his best mate, Alf. Alf was England’s undisputed bare-fist street fighter champion. Rough stuff was an everyday part of Bert’s life, and he knew many tricks.
 
Bert bent his knees slightly and balanced his body. He waited unmoving until the Guardian's claws were an inch from his nose. Then, in one smooth movement, he stepped aside, tripped him, and helped him on his flight by tugging an arm and kicking his backside.
 
The Guardian’s head struck a tree trunk with a sickening crunch. Bert wasn’t sure if he was dead or unconscious, and he didn’t hang around to find out. Without a backward glance, he took off after the alien father.
*
“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. Those who came for him would be warriors: bigger, stronger, fiercer, and armed with ray guns. He didn’t stand a chance.
 
His mind whirled. What should he do? Stay and fight or return to Earth? He had little choice. He couldn’t go back to Earth because he couldn't work the Doodad. So he’d stick around and battle to the death, taking a few Guardians with him. He doubted there was time to prepare, and apart from his knife, he had no weapon.
 
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, what was the point of staying? The Guardians would kill them all, anyway. If the caretaker lived and returned to the citadel, how soon would he raise the alarm and mobilize a squad of Guardians? If dead, when would the others miss him? He had little time. He couldn’t win a war by himself, he needed help, and that he’d find at The Stables on Earth.
 
“You, Alien Father,” said Bert, licking his lips with cautious hope. “We can’t sit here and wait for the Guardians to come and knock us all off. Let’s get the Doodad working and pop through the tunnel for help?”
 
“I don’t believe you’d 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 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.”
 
Part 35:
In this post: What breed of meat is spinach?
 
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 defeat 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. “The way I see it, you’re so puny because of all that rubbish you eat.”
 
The Alien Father’s display of bravery vanished as quickly as it came, and he slumped. “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.”
 
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 NatureFriend from Pixabay

Sci fi series: Evil Portent

If you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, 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.
 
Life in the Clouds #4: Evil Portent ® James Field.
Previously from posts 30 - 33…
 
 
Then the image faded, disappeared, and left the citadel in plain view. Bert swallowed, fought the urge to scamper, and waited to see what might happen next.
 
A moment later, small vehicles buzzed above the tower’s top, like honeybees flitting in and out of their hive. They resembled flying mopeds without wheels, and they each towed a boxcar. The ones leavening were empty. Those that arrived contained ten children each, crying hysterically.
 
“They take children from the entire planet,” said the alien father through gritted teeth.
 
Bert had forgotten about the alien father and was surprised he hadn’t fainted or run off, like he almost had. “Why so few?”
 
“We calculate they take three-hundred thousand children each year. Is that so few?”
 
Bert gulped, ashamed of himself and his cruel, insensitive question. Boiling with fury at the Guardians, he clenched his jaw so tight it hurt. The alien father was angry too. Or was it fear? Bert couldn’t tell.
 
A robot mower chomped its way past their hideout and the alien father shot out and kicked it. It rolled onto its back, wheels pointing to heaven. Trying to believe what he’d seen, Bert shook his head. There was no doubt the alien father boiled with anger, too. Bert rushed out, lifted the little man, and carried him back to safety. Not a moment too soon, because a door in the tower creaked open.
 
A creature stepped out. Behind it, Bert saw a Doodad placed in the centre of the citadel. Against the back wall, the air shimmered and the throat of a tunnel gaped open.
 
The creature had the body of a gorilla but stood erect and proud, like a commando soldier, half a head taller than Bert. And what an ugly head; it reminded Bert of a wild boar with tusks in its bottom jaw. Certain of its dominance over the meek Ewepitarians, it carried no weapon that Bert could see. The hideous brute strutted toward the upturned lawnmower, rectified it, and scanned all around with its black, sallow eyes, piercing and cruel. Its snout sniffed like a dog on the scent of a bitch.
 
It occurred to Bert this was a genuine Guardian. The image in the air a projection designed to terrify the Ewepitarians and keep them away. He thought that was hardly necessary when the creature was so frightful anyway.
 
“Stay still and don’t move,” whispered Bert.
 
“Run,” screeched the alien father, and bolted off down the hill.
 
“Crazy little twit,” grumbled Bert, and chased after him. A glance over his shoulder revealed the Guardian catching up. “If you’re going to run,” puffed Bert. “You better go a lot faster or you’ll be the main course at their next barbeque party.”
 
The alien father’s stumpy legs zipped along in a blur until he tripped and fell. Bert’s body weight carried him on, and when he eventually stopped and turned, he saw the Guardian standing over the alien father with his boot raised above his head, ready to stamp it down.
 
“Hey!” shouted Bert. He grabbed a fist-sized boulder and hurled it at the Guardian. It struck him in the chest with enough force to make him lose balance and step back. The Alien father squirmed to his feet and darted off down the hill.
 
Fury blazed in the Guardian’s black eyes, and he charged at Bert, outstretched arms clawing for Bert's face. Although Bert was shorter than the Guardian, he reckoned he was heavier and stronger. Every day, sometimes twice a day, he wrestled and boxed with his best mate, Alf. Alf was England’s undisputed bare-fist street fighter champion. Rough stuff was an everyday part of Bert’s life, and he knew many tricks.
 
Bert bent his knees slightly and balanced his body. He waited unmoving until the Guardian's claws were an inch from his nose. Then, in one smooth movement, he stepped aside, tripped him, and helped him on his flight by tugging an arm and kicking his backside.
 
The Guardian’s head struck a tree trunk with a sickening crunch. Bert wasn’t sure if he was dead or unconscious, and he didn’t hang around to find out. Without a backward glance, he took off after the alien father.
*
“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 hurried away and I ain’t sure whether he’s dead or alive.”
 
The alien father shrunk in terror. “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. Those who came for him would be warriors: bigger, stronger, fiercer, and armed with ray guns. He didn’t stand a chance.
 
His mind whirled. What should he do? Stay and fight or return to Earth? He had little choice. He couldn’t go back to Earth because he couldn't work the Doodad. So he’d stick around and battle to the death, taking a few Guardians with him. He doubted there was time to prepare, and apart from his knife, he had no weapon.
 
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.
 
Part 34:
In this post: Bert wants to fetch a crate of dynamite…
 
What was the point of staying? The Guardians would kill them all, anyway. Three or four Guardians at the citadel were more than he could defeat alone.
​
If the caretaker lived and returned to the citadel, how soon would he raise the alarm and mobilise a squad of Guardians? If dead, when would the others miss him? He had little time. He couldn’t win a war by himself, he needed help, and that he’d find at The Stables on Earth.

“You, Alien Father,” said Bert, licking his lips with cautious hope, “we can’t sit here and wait for the Guardians to come and knock us all off. Let’s pop through the tunnel for help?”

“I don’t believe you’d 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 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.”
 
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 Loren Elkin from Pixabay

Sci fi series: Evil Portent

If you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, 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.
 
Life in the Clouds #4: Evil Portent ® James Field.
Previously from posts 29 - 32…
 
 
By early afternoon, they’d scrambled along an overgrown path through the dense forest and advanced to higher ground. The air grew chilly, and the trees thinned enough to glimpse the Guardian’s citadel, prominent on the hilltop. From a distance, it resembled a rotten black tooth, jagged at the top. A weird display of red lights danced in the sky above it, too distant to see details.
 
Bert and the alien father clambered the remaining way and kept hidden in the trees. They found a large boulder, big as a house, where they could stay out of sight and set up camp if necessary.
 
Beyond the rock they heard grinding music issue from the citadel’s depths, crashing with fanfares of distorted hornpipes.
 
“Can we go now?” said the alien father.
 
“Not until I get a proper sight of them. Come on.” Bert strolled boldly around the rock and through the last few trees until he drew close enough to see the citadel clearly. The alien father hid behind one of his legs, whimpering.
 
The Guardians had cleared an area the width of a soccer pitch around their citadel, the grass lush and well trimmed. Bert counted ten robot mowers trundling around the hill, manicuring the lawn. The stronghold was a simple structure of straight lines—a squat tower of four equally broad and high walls with no carvings or ornaments. It had no windows, heavy double doors on one wall, and was crowned with a sturdy battlement. The entire setup throbbed with latent power, giving Bert the impression it might come alive at any moment and gobble them.
 
A hellish red glow burst from the parapets and up into the air. Bert backed away, his heart pounding in his chest, and almost tripped over the alien father.
 
Neither of them spoke because just then a figure formed in the crimson bloom—the figure of a Guardian. Watching it made Bert dizzy, and when it turned to face him, he drew a stuttered gasp. Red glowing pinpricks appeared in the demonic face, swelled, and developed into eyes. The pupils were black chasms, pierced by volcanic pools of molten lava. Bert wanted to run, but those eyes held him. They radiated fury, loathing, and the hatred of a mad devil’s soul.
 
Bert’s blood thickened like syrup, and his scrotum tightened. The Guardian hung suspended in the air, nailing Bert with its burning gaze, and he knew his next breath would be his last.
 
Then the image faded, disappeared, and left the citadel in plain view. Bert swallowed, fought the urge to scamper, and waited to see what might happen next.
 
A moment later, small vehicles buzzed above the tower’s top, like honeybees flitting in and out of their hive. They resembled flying mopeds without wheels, and they each towed a boxcar. The ones leavening were empty. Those that arrived contained ten children, crying hysterically.
 
“They take children from the entire planet,” said the alien father through gritted teeth.
 
Bert had forgotten about the alien father and was surprised he hadn’t fainted or run off, like he almost had. “Why so few?”
 
“We calculate they take three-hundred thousand children each year. Is that so few?”
 
Bert gulped, ashamed of himself and his cruel, insensitive question. Boiling with fury at the Guardians, he clenched his jaw so tight it hurt. The alien father was angry too. Or was it fear? Bert couldn’t tell.
 
A robot mower chomped its way past their hideout and the alien father shot out and kicked it. It rolled onto its back, wheels pointing to heaven. Bert shook his head, trying to believe what he’d seen. There was no doubt the alien father boiled with anger, too. Bert rushed out, lifted the little man, and carried him back to safety. Not a moment too soon, because a door in the tower creaked open.
 
A creature stepped out. Behind it, Bert saw a Doodad placed in the centre of the citadel. Against the back wall, the air shimmered and the throat of a tunnel gaped open.
 
The creature strutted toward the upturned lawnmower, rectified it, and scanned all around with its black, sallow eyes, piercing and cruel. Its snout sniffed like a dog on the scent of a bitch.
 
It had the body of a gorilla but stood erect and proud, like a commando soldier, half a head taller than Bert. And what an ugly head; it reminded Bert of a wild boar with tusks in its bottom jaw. Certain of its dominance over the meek Ewepitarians, it carried no weapon that Bert could see.
 
It occurred to Bert this was a genuine Guardian. The image in the air a projection designed to terrify the Ewepitarians and keep them away. He thought that was hardly necessary when the creature was so frightful anyway.
 
“Stay still and don’t move,” whispered Bert.
 
“Run,” screeched the alien father, and bolted off down the hill.
 
“Crazy little twit,” grumbled Bert, and chased after him. A glance over his shoulder revealed the Guardian catching up. “If you’re going to run,” puffed Bert. “You better go a lot faster or you’ll be the main course at their next barbeque party.”
 
The alien father’s stumpy legs zipped along in a blur until he tripped and fell. Bert’s body weight carried him on, and when he eventually stopped and turned, he saw the Guardian standing over the alien father with his boot raised above his head, ready to stamp it down.
 
“Hey!” shouted Bert. He grabbed a fist-sized boulder and hurled it at the Guardian. It struck him in the chest with enough force to make him lose balance and step back. The Alien father squirmed to his feet and darted off down the hill.
 
Fury blazed in the Guardian’s black eyes, and he charged at Bert, outstretched arms clawing for his face. Although Bert was shorter than the Guardian, he reckoned he was heavier and stronger. Every day, sometimes twice a day, he wrestled and boxed with his best mate, Alf. Alf was England’s undisputed bare-fist street fighter champion. Rough stuff was an everyday part of Bert’s life, and he knew many tricks.
 
Bert bent his knees slightly and balanced his body. He waited unmoving until the Guardian's claws were an inch from his nose. Then, in one smooth movement, he stepped aside, tripped him, and helped him on his flight by tugging an arm and kicking his backside.
 
The Guardian’s head struck a tree trunk with a sickening crunch. Bert wasn’t sure if he was dead or unconscious, and he didn’t hang around to find out. Without a backward glance, he took off after the alien father.
 
Part 33:
In this post: Bert wouldn't be fighting a caretaker next time…
 
“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 him, and reached his arm behind his 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 hurried away and I ain’t sure whether he’s dead or alive.”
 
The alien father shrunk in terror. “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. Those who came for him would be warriors: bigger, stronger, fiercer, and armed with ray guns. He didn’t stand a chance.
 
His mind whirled. What should he do? Stay and fight or return to Earth? He had little choice. He couldn’t work the Doodad. So he’d stick around and do combat. He doubted there was time to prepare, and apart from his knife, he had no weapon. Still, he’d battle to the death and take 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.
 
 
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 Luciana Vieira Lu from Pixabay

Sci fi series: Evil Portent

If you like dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, 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.
 
Life in the Clouds #4: Evil Portent ® James Field.
Previously from posts 28 - 31…

The Alien Father stifled a scream. “The Doodad is so simple to operate a four-year-old could manage it.”

“Yeah, but you’d have to show it how first.”
 
“True, and since you don’t have it, there’s no point in me telling you.”
 
Bert couldn’t let on he'd found the Doodad. Not yet. If the Ewepiterians feared the Guardians would seize it and follow him back to Earth, they’d never let him use it. He let his shoulders slump. The Ewepitarians were a kindhearted race of aliens who wanted to keep Earth safe, and he could only admire them. It just meant he'd have to find some way of pacifying them before he revealed the Doodad.
 
Problem solving wasn’t one of Bert’s strong points, but he realised he'd have to do something about those accursed Guardians. He needed more information about them. “I’d like a closeup look at the Guardian’s citadel. Will you take me?”
 
The alien father squeezed his eyes shut and his chin trembled. “No.”
 
“Why not. You said you tried to organise a scouting expedition once. Why so frightened now?”
 
“Because... Because when I suggested it I knew nobody would go.”
 
Bert slapped his knees and laughed. He liked the little man’s honesty. “There ain't no danger. Show me the way, and when we get there you can hide behind a rock and watch.”
 
The alien father clamped his hands over his ears and shook his head. “No. I daren’t. They’ll kill us.”
 
“I ain’t going to do nothing but spy on them. I’ll hide with you, quiet as a mouse.” Bert laced his fingers behind his head and whistled tunelessly. He wasn’t as honest as the alien father, but telling believable lies was one of his strong points. “Eh, what do you say? After I’ve seen them, we’ll scamper:”
 
“Can’t you ask somebody else to take you?”
 
“You’re the bravest man here. When we get back, you’ll be a hero.”
 
The alien father pinched the bridge of his broad, flat nose. “You promise it’s only for a quick peek?”
 
“I give you my word.”
 
“Okay. Let’s go before I change my mind. We start early in the morning, right after breakfast.”
 
"Don't tell me," said Bert, so hungry he'd eat anything. "Bamboo shoot porridge."
*
By early afternoon, they’d scrambled along an overgrown path through the dense forest and advanced to higher ground. The air grew chilly, and the trees thinned enough to glimpse the Guardian’s citadel, prominent on the hilltop. From a distance, it resembled a rotten black tooth, jagged at the top. A weird display of red lights danced in the sky above it, too distant to see details.
 
Bert and the alien father clambered the remaining way and kept hidden in the trees. They found a large boulder, big as a house, where they could stay out of sight and set up camp if necessary.
 
Beyond the rock they heard grinding music issue from the citadel’s depths, crashing with fanfares of distorted hornpipes.
 
“Can we go now?” said the alien father.
 
“Not until I get a proper sight of them. Come on.” Bert strolled boldly around the rock and through the last few trees until he drew close enough to see the citadel clearly. The alien father hid behind one of his legs, whimpering.
 
The Guardians had cleared an area the width of a soccer pitch around their citadel, the grass lush and well trimmed. Bert counted ten robot mowers trundling around the hill, manicuring the lawn. The stronghold was a simple structure of straight lines—a squat tower with four equally broad and high walls with no carvings or ornaments. It had no windows, heavy double doors on one wall, and was crowned with a sturdy battlement. The entire setup throbbed with latent power, giving Bert the impression it might come alive at any moment and gobble them.
 
A hellish red glow burst from the parapets and up into the air. Bert backed away, his heart pounding in his chest, and almost tripped over the alien father.
 
Neither of them spoke because just then a figure formed in the crimson bloom—the figure of a Guardian. Watching it made Bert dizzy, and when it turned to face him, he drew a stuttered gasp. Red glowing pinpricks appeared in the demonic face, swelled, and developed into eyes. The pupils were black chasms, pierced by volcanic pools of molten lava. Bert wanted to run, but those eyes held him. They radiated fury, loathing, and the hatred of a mad devil’s soul.
 
Bert’s blood thickened like syrup, and his scrotum tightened. The Guardian hung suspended in the air, nailing Bert with its burning gaze, and he knew his next breath would be his last.
 
Then the image faded, disappeared, and left the citadel in plain view. Bert swallowed, fought the urge to scamper, and waited to see what might happen next.
 
A moment later, small vehicles buzzed above the tower’s top, like honeybees flitting in and out of their hive. They resembled flying mopeds without wheels, and they each towed a boxcar. The ones leavening were empty. Those that arrived contained ten children, crying hysterically.
 
“They take children from the entire planet,” said the alien father through gritted teeth.
 
Bert had forgotten about the alien father and was surprised he hadn’t fainted or run off, like he almost had. “Why so few?”
 
“We calculate they take three-hundred thousand children each year. Is that so few?”
 
Bert gulped, ashamed of himself and his cruel, insensitive question. Boiling with fury at the Guardians, he clenched his jaw so tight it hurt. The alien father was angry too. Or was it fear? Bert couldn’t tell.
 
A robot mower chomped its way past their hideout and the alien father shot out and kicked it. It rolled onto its back, wheels pointing to heaven. Bert shook his head as if that would help him believe what he’d seen. There was no doubt the alien father boiled with anger, too. Bert rushed out, lifted the little man, and carried him back to safety. Not a moment too soon, because a door in the tower creaked open.
 
A creature stepped out. Behind it, Bert saw a Doodad placed in the centre of the citadel. Against the back wall, the air shimmered and the throat of a tunnel gaped open.
 
The creature strutted toward the upturned lawnmower, rectified it, and scanned all around with black, sallow eyes, piercing and cruel. Its snout sniffed like a dog on the scent of a bitch.
 
It had the body of a gorilla but stood erect and proud, like a commando soldier, half a head taller than Bert. And what an ugly head; it reminded Bert of a wild boar with tusks in its bottom jaw. Certain of its dominance over the meek Ewepitarians, it carried no weapon that Bert could see.
 
It occurred to Bert this was a genuine Guardian. The image in the air a projection designed to terrify the Ewepitarians and keep them away. He thought that was hardly necessary when the creature was so frightful anyway.
 
“Stay still and don’t move,” whispered Bert.
 
“Run,” screeched the alien father, and bolted off down the hill.
 
“Crazy little twit,” grumbled Bert, and chased after him. A glance over his shoulder revealed the Guardian catching up. “If you’re going to run,” puffed Bert. “You better go a lot faster or you’ll be the main course at their next barbeque party.”
 
The alien father’s stumpy legs zipped along in a blur until he tripped and fell. Bert’s body weight carried him on, and when he eventually stopped and turned, the Guardian stood over the alien father with his boot raised above his head, ready to stamp it down.
 
Part 32:
In this post: Claws reach for Bert's face…
 
“Hey!” shouted Bert. He grabbed a fist-sized boulder and hurled it at the Guardian. It struck him in the chest with enough force to make him lose balance and step back. The Alien father squirmed to his feet and darted off down the hill.
 
Fury blazed in the Guardian’s black eyes, and he charged at Bert, outstretched arms clawing for his face. Although Bert was shorter than the Guardian, he reckoned he was heavier and stronger. Every day, sometimes twice a day, he wrestled and boxed with his best mate, Alf. Alf was England’s undisputed bare-fist street fighter champion. Rough stuff was an everyday part of Bert’s life, and he knew many tricks.
 
Bert bent his knees slightly and balanced his body. He waited unmoving until the Guardian's claws were an inch from his nose, stepped aside, tripped him, and helped him on his flight by tugging an arm and kicking his backside.
 
The Guardian’s head struck a tree trunk with a sickening crunch. Bert wasn’t sure if he was dead or unconscious, and didn’t hang around to find out. Without a backward glance, he took off after the alien father.
 
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 support me! Thank you! from Pixabay

Sci fi series: Evil Portent

If you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, 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.
 
Life in the Clouds #4: Evil Portent ® James Field.
Previously from posts 27 - 30…
 
 
“Periodic congruent entomological meta-euclidean adjacency.”
 
Bert nodded all knowingly. “That’s what I supposed. Better-included adjuicency.”
 
“Meta-euclidean adjacency, Bert. You can pass through a non-congruent adjacency, but you can’t connect its two aspects. It’s only logical. Imagine the differential energy stored when a quarter of a gazillion miles of space-time is folded to less than a millimetre.”
 
“Yeah, I can imagine. Awesome, ain’t it.”
 
“Of course," said the alien father, "I’m no expert. You’ll have to ask the Alien Mother for a detailed explanation.”
 
“Look mate," said Bert, lips pinched together. "I don't need to ask the Alien Mother nothing. I understand all that babble perfectly. All I'm asking you is how to use the damn thing?”
 
“Do you have it?”
 
“Might have. Ain’t saying. Just curious about how to turn it on.”
 
The alien father stifled a scream. “The Doodad is so simple to operate a four-year-old could manage it.”
 
“Yeah, but you’d have to show it how first.”
 
“True, and since you don’t have it, there’s no point in me telling you.”
 
Bert couldn’t let on he'd found the Doodad. Not yet. If the Ewepiterians feared the Guardians would seize it and follow him back to Earth, they’d never let him use it. He let his shoulders slump. The Ewepitarians were a kindhearted race of aliens who wanted to keep Earth safe, and he could only admire them. It just meant he'd have to find some way of pacifying them before he revealed the Doodad.
 
Problem solving wasn’t one of Bert’s strong points, but he realised he'd have to do something about those accursed Guardians. He needed more information about them. “I’d like a closeup look at the Guardian’s citadel. Will you take me?”
 
The alien father squeezed his eyes shut and his chin trembled. “No.”
 
“Why not. You said you tried to organise a scouting expedition once. Why so frightened now?”
 
“Because... Because when I suggested it I knew nobody would go.”
 
Bert slapped his knees and laughed. He liked the little man’s honesty. “Show me the way, and when we get there, you can hide behind a rock and watch.”
 
The alien father clamped his hands over his ears and shook his head. “No. I daren’t. They’ll kill us.”
 
“I ain’t going to do nothing. I’ll hide with you, quiet as a mouse.” Bert laced his fingers behind his head and whistled tunelessly. He wasn’t as honest as the alien father, but telling believable lies was one of his strong points. “Eh, what do you say? After I’ve seen them, we’ll scamper:”
 
“Can’t you ask somebody else to take you?”
 
“You’re the bravest man here. When we get back, you’ll be a hero.”
 
The alien father pinched the bridge of his broad, flat nose. “You promise it’s only for a quick peek?”
 
“I give you my word.”
 
“Okay. Let’s go before I change my mind. We start early in the morning, right after breakfast.”
 
"Don't tell me," said Bert, so hungry he'd eat anything. "Bamboo shoot porridge."
*
By early afternoon, they’d scrambled along an overgrown path through the dense forest and advanced to higher ground. The air grew chilly, and the trees thinned enough to glimpse the Guardian’s citadel, prominent on the hilltop. From a distance, it resembled a black rotten tooth, jagged at the top. A weird display of red lights danced in the sky above it, too distant to see details.
 
Bert and the alien father remained well hidden in the trees until they found a large boulder, big as a house, where they could set up camp if necessary.
 
Beyond the rock they heard grinding music issue from the citadel’s depths, crashing with fanfares of distorted hornpipes.
 
“Can we go now?” said the alien father.
 
“Not until I get a proper sight of them. Come on.” Bert strolled boldly around the rock and through the woods until he drew close enough to see the citadel clearly. The alien father hid behind one of his legs, whimpering.
 
The Guardians had cleared an area the width of a soccer pitch around their citadel, the grass lush and well trimmed. The citadel had no carvings or ornaments and was a simple structure of straight lines. It throbbed with latent power, giving Bert the impression it might come alive at any moment and gobble them.
 
A hellish red glow burst from the parapets and up into the air. Bert backed away, his heart pounding in his chest, and almost tripped over the alien father.
 
Neither of them spoke because just then a figure formed among the crimson bloom—the figure of a Guardian. Watching it made Bert dizzy, and when it turned to face him, he cowered. Red glowing pinpricks appeared in the demonic face, swelled, and developed into eyes. The pupils were black chasms, pierced by volcanic pools of molten lava. Bert wanted to run, but those eyes held him. They radiated fury, loathing, and the hatred of a mad devil’s soul.
 
Bert’s blood thickened like syrup, and his scrotum tightened. The Guardian hung suspended in the air, nailing Bert with its burning gaze, and he knew his next breath would be his last.
 
Then the image faded, disappeared, and left the citadel in plain view. Bert saw a squat tower with four equally broad and high walls, a cube. There were no windows. It had heavy double doors on one wall, and was crowned with a sturdy battlement. Bert counted ten robot mowers trundling around the hill, manicuring the lawn.
 
Small vehicles buzzed above the tower’s top, like honeybees flitting in and out of their hive. They resembled flying mopeds without wheels, and they each towed a boxcar. The ones leavening were empty. Those that arrived contained ten children, crying hysterically.
 
“They take children from the entire planet,” said the alien father.
 
Bert had forgotten about the alien father, surprised he hadn’t fainted or run off, like he almost had. “Why so few?” Bert gulped, realising too late of the cruel question.
 
“We calculate they take three-hundred thousand children each year. Is that so few?”
 
Bert wanted to kick himself for being so insensitive. Boiling with fury at the Guardians, he ground his teeth and clenched his jaw so tight it hurt. The alien father was angry too. Or was it fear? Bert couldn’t tell.
 
A robot mower chomped its way past their hideout and the alien father shot out and kicked it. It rolled onto its back, wheels pointing to heaven. Bert shook his head, as if that would help him believe what he’d seen. There was no doubt the alien father boiled with anger, too. Bert rushed out, lifted the little man, and carried him back to safety. Not a moment too soon, because a door in the tower creaked open.
 
Part 31:
In this post: A gorilla with a the head of a wild boar…
 
A creature stepped out. Behind it, Bert saw a Doodad placed in the centre of the citadel. Against the back wall, the air shimmered and the tunnel’s throat gaped open.
 
The creature strutted toward the upturned lawnmower, rectified it, and scanned all around with intelligent eyes, piercing and cruel, into the trees too. Its snout sniffed like a dog on the scent of a bitch.
It had the body of a gorilla but stood erect and proud, like a commando soldier, half a head taller than Bert. The head reminded Bert of a wild boar with tusks in its bottom jaw. It carried no weapon, certain of its dominance over the meek Ewepitarians.
 
It occurred to Bert this was a genuine Guardian. The image in the air a projection designed to terrify the Ewepitarians and keep them away.
 
“Stay still and don’t move,” whispered Bert.
 
“Run,” screeched the alien father, and bolted off down the hill.
 
“Crazy little twit,” grumbled Bert, and chased after him. A glance over his shoulder revealed the Guardian catching up. “If you’re going to run,” puffed Bert. “You better go a lot faster or you’ll be the main course at their next barbeque party.”
 
The alien father’s stumpy legs zipped along in a blur until he tripped and fell. Bert’s body weight carried him on, and when he eventually stopped and turned, the Guardian stood over the alien father with his boot raised above his head, ready to stamp it down.
 
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 Dmitry Abramov from Pixabay