Esther Chilton

If you’d like to be included in this slot, please get in touch: estherchilton@gmail.com. Poems can be up to 60 lines and prose 2000 words. If you’d like to add a short bio and photo, then great. All I ask is that there’s nothing offensive.

My guest this week is one who has entertained us a few times with his short stories. I first came to know Murray Clarke when we both wrote for a small press magazine called Lookout in the early 2000s. I miss those small presses; they were encouraging to writers and really gave us a platform. A couple that are still going and worth a look are Scribble and Crystal magazines.

Anyway, onto Murray’s story. Stick the kettle on, sit back and enjoy:

PIE IN THE SKY

By

Murray Clarke

Do you believe in Aliens – unknown creatures from Outer Space? Or UFOs – Unidentified Flying Objects?

Leon Allen does! He’s even taken out a comprehensive insurance policy to protect himself and his lovely wife, Alison, from . . .

“ABDUCTION BY ALIENS”.

I mean, honestly! The chances of THAT happening are practically ZERO! Right? Nevertheless, Lloyds of London were more than happy to take his money – at a modest annual cost of around £150.

Apparently, over 20,000 policies covering “unauthorised space kidnap and probing” have been sold by the insurers to gullible clients. However, they do require “credible evidence of an abduction” such as “a signed declaration from one of the aliens themselves.”

The first five years were uneventful.

Then, on the evening of Sunday, May 31st . . .

IT HAPPENED!

Leon had rustled up an authentic Italian meal for them both – washed down with a nice bottle of chilled white wine.

Later, about ten o’clock, Ali yawned. ‘I’m off to bed, dear,’ she announced. ‘Got an early start in the morning.’

Her husband nodded. ‘Mind if I stay up a bit longer? I fancy a nightcap.’

After a kiss, Leon walked outside into the cool night air – clutching a bottle of his finest cognac. It was a beautiful, moonlit evening.

He gazed thoughtfully at the “Blue Moon” hanging silently in the sky – the second full-moon that month. Plonking down on a patio chair, he poured himself a large brandy.

One drink led to another . . . and another. Before long, Leon was feeling a little worse for wear. He stood up, staggered forward, tripped over a concrete gnome lying on the ground, and tumbled headlong into the rockery.

How long he’d lain there, Leon couldn’t tell. But slowly, he became aware of mysterious noises around him. And bright, flashing, coloured lights.

‘ALIENS!’ he slurred.

Two dark shapes suddenly materialised beside him – backlit and seemingly almost transparent. Leon’s heart missed a beat. He felt his body being elevated and transported towards the blinding lights.

Then he passed out.

His journey into the unknown had begun – hurtling through space and time to a planet in a galaxy far, far away.  

When he finally opened his eyes, Leon surveyed his surroundings. Where was he? A narrow ray of light shone on him from above. In the background, a low hum and intermittent beeps.

Was he a prisoner inside some kind of alien spacecraft?

And who were – what appeared to be – three bald-headed figures with black, almond-shaped eyes grouped around him?

‘How-are-you-feeling?’ demanded a high-pitched voice.

‘W-Where am I?’ stammered Leon, his eyes straining in an attempt to identify his captors.

‘Don’t worry. You are safe with us,’ came the reply.

Leon hesitated. ‘H-have I been abducted by extra-terrestrials . . . from another planet?’

They all laughed. ‘We’ve been called a lot worse!’ joked the Tall One.

‘You’ve been asleep. In a coma. For five days,’ said the Short One, before adding, ‘It was necessary to detect any neuronal dysfunction after your traumatic brain injury.’

Leon recoiled in horror. ‘Where are you taking me? What’s our destination? The Moon? Mars? Tell me.’

‘You really are confused!’ said the Short One, and smirked.

‘Another few days, and we’ll return you home,’ said the Tall One. ‘In the meantime, you must remain with us.’

‘Here, take this when you leave,’ said the Other One, passing Leon an official-looking sheet of yellow A4 paper.

‘All the details are there,’ added the Tall One. ‘Everything you’ll need for the Insurance Claim. And I’ve signed it. You’ll have no problems.

‘I’m Grey, by the way . . . Doctor Grey. You’re at Queen’s.’

‘Queen’s?’

‘Yes. Queen’s Hospital in Burton-on-Trent. You were brought here last week by the paramedics – suffering from concussion,’ he explained.

‘You’d been drinking. Fell and hit your head on a rock. Remember?’

***

   

Image credit: Pinterest