The Day That Aliens (Nearly) Ate Our Brains

by Tom McLaughlin

  Contents

  1 P.M.

  2 P.M.

  3 P.M.

  4 P.M.

  5 P.M.

  6 P.M.

  7 P.M.

  8 P.M.

  9 P.M.

  10 P.M.

  “An inch to the left … now an inch to the right … that’s it, almost there! That’s it! One small step for man, one giant leap forward in sneakily watching

  using next door’s TV feed!” Freddy yelled in delight.

  “Finally, we can watch the title clash between Bone Crusher Bill and Bloodthirsty Derek.”

  “Well yooou can. I can’t see a thing from up here.” There, standing on a chair, holding a silver cone and wearing a colander on his head, wobbled Freddy’s best friend Sal.

  “I told you, someone has to point the satellite dish at next door’s transmitter; it’s the only way to watch the big fight. You lost at paper, scissors, stone so stop complaining.”

  “It’s not a satellite dish, it’s the cone your dog had to wear round his head when he had his bits taken off, covered in tin foil,” Sal protested.

  Both Freddy and Sal looked over at the dog, who sighed a sad sigh and went back to sleep.

  “Relax, you do the first hour, I’ll do the second.”

  “I HAVE TO STAND LIKE THIS FOR A WHOLE HOUR?!”

  Sal shouted. “I can’t feel my left buttock.”

  “Well I’m not feeling it for you!” Freddy shuddered.

  “No, I mean it has pins and needles in it. It’s both horrible and strangely pleasurable at the same time.”

  “A little more to the left.” Freddy waved, squinting at the TV as it fizzed in and out of signal.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Sal whimpered.

  “Why?” Freddy asked, staring at the screen.

  The whole room shook as Sal landed in a heap on the ground and the colander rolled to Freddy’s feet.

  “That’s why,” Sal said, rubbing his head.

  “Oopsy,” Freddy sighed. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  Sal squinted. “Which of your four hands am I supposed to be looking at?”

  “Hmm, maybe have a sit down,” Freddy said sympathetically. “It was a terrible idea anyway.”

  This was not the first hair-brained scheme that Freddy and Sal had attempted. There was the time they tried to invent hover-sock. The scorch marks were still visible on the ceiling of Freddy’s bedroom. There was also the occasion Freddy and Sal rewired the washing machine to turn it into a giant candyfloss machine, and Freddy’s dad’s pants came out fluorescent pink. But that’s what being eleven was all about, getting into scrapes and turning your best friend into a human satellite dish.

  “Well I guess we can’t watch the wrestling … I’m sooooo bored. What now?” Freddy puffed.

  “You know what we could do…” Sal said quietly.

  “No!” Freddy snapped. “Don’t say it.”

  “We could see if we can get the gold-fish to speak again?” Sal said casually.

  “I can’t believe you said it … for the last time, Sal, fish can’t talk!”

  “You weren’t there, you didn’t hear him!”

  It had been a few weeks previously, on another boring afternoon, when Sal had attempted to hypnotize Freddy’s fish, Perkins, with the belief that they could convince him to talk. Freddy had been downstairs fetching a snack for the pair of them, when Sal claimed he’d heard Perkins say the word “banana”.

  “Well I can’t think of anything else to do,” Sal said, sitting on the end of the bed and looking up at the ceiling. Freddy’s bedroom was an Aladdin’s cave of gizmos and gadgets, posters of planets and space rockets. Freddy was a bit of a dreamer. Sal and he were always being accused of having their heads in the clouds, but what’s wrong with that? Freddy thought. At least things are interesting up in the stars, not like down here on planet Earth. Their tiny town of beige houses seemed to suck the life out of everything and everyone.

  Just then a head popped round the door. It was Freddy’s mum.

  “Did I hear a thud?” she asked, eyeing the pair of them suspiciously.

  “Err, no, Mum.”

  “Are you sure?” she said as she looked at the TV hissing in and out of signal.

  “That’s a lovely hair-do you’ve got there. Is it new?” Sal interrupted.

  “Oh why yes, Sal. How thoughtful of you to notice.” Freddy’s mum smiled.

  “I might get one of those myself.” Sal grinned.

  “I’m not sure platinum-blonde tinted highlights would suit you, Sal. But thank you. Anyway, I only came up to tell you that me and your dad are off to the garden centre. We’ll be back later. You two all right on your own?”

  “Yes, Mum.” Freddy nodded. With that, she shut the door and bounced down the stairs.

  “That was close.” Freddy sighed.

  “The old ‘that’s a nice hair-do’ trick, works every time.”

  “Oh I can’t take it any more! This place is so dull,” Freddy said, staring out on to the street, “nothing exciting ever happens here.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting about the time Wolverhampton was hit with that terrible storm?”

  “Oh, the great drizzle of ’83? Don’t, my nan still talks about that. Can you turn the TV off? It keeps buzzing at me.”

  Sal looked at the TV as it crackled and whizzed into life. “Must be picking up a signal from next door still.”

  “GREETINGS, EARTHLINGS!”

  Freddy looked at Sal. “What?”

  “What? I thought you said that?”

  “‘GREETINGS, EARTHLINGS!’ I SAID. PLEASE BE HOW I EXPECT YOU RESPOND AND DO THE REPLYING BACK NOW,”

  came the strangely worded reply, as if it was English but not English.

  Freddy and Sal looked at each other.

  “Oh. My. Crikey! It’s Perkins! He’s trying to communicate with us, Freddy!” Sal ran up and put his head next to the fish bowl.

  “HELLO PERKINS, I AM SAL, TALK TO ME YOU FISHY GENIUS.”

  “Er, Sal…” Freddy whispered.

  “TELL ME, WHAT’S IT LIKE TO BE UNDERWATER? HOW DO YOU SNEEZE? DO YOU LIKE SWIMMING IN YOUR OWN WEE-WEE?” Sal cried, shouting at the fish as if it were an exchange student.

  “Sal…” Freddy said a little louder.

  “TELL ME, DOES BEING WET EVER GET BORING?”

  “SAL!” Freddy screamed. “IT’S NOT THE FISH IN THE BOWL TALKING TO US!”

  “How do you know?” Sal huffed.

  “BECAUSE THERE’S AN ALIEN ON THE TV SCREEN!”

  Freddy yelled, pointing at the TV.

  “YOUR FRIEND IS RIGHT IN HIS THINKING. I AM ALAN FROM THE PLANET TWANG AND I AM HERE TO DO THE TELLING OF YOU THAT YOU HAVE UNTIL 10 P.M. TONIGHT UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD WHEN I WILL KILL YOU ALL TO DEATH. TICKETY-TOCK … TICKETY-TOCK.”

  Freddy’s finger was trembling, and his mouth was open and a bit dribbly. Sal turned around slowly and stared at the TV. There, on the flickering screen, was a green-headed beast with large bulging eyes and big sticky-out ears. He had an enormous head that rippled and pulsated every time he spoke. He looked exactly like what he was: an alien from another planet.

  “What channel is this?” Sal muttered. “Peter Andre’s really let himself go.”

  “It’s not a TV show. This is real!”

  “YOUR MUCH CLEVERER FRIEND IS VERY RIGHT AT WHAT HE SAYS, SMALL EARTH PERSON. I GUESS THAT MEANS HE IS THE SMART HEADED ONE AND YOU ARE THE IDIOT NITWIT WHO VERY MUCH LIKES THE COMPANY OF FISH.”

  “Eh? I don’t like the company of fish. Sometimes, just sometimes, they say things,” Sal protested.

  “
I AM VERY MUCH BORED OF YOU. YOUR FACE SPURTS OUT SILLY MESSAGES,”

  The alien creature snorted in disgust.

  “Wait… What did you say a moment ago?” Freddy interrupted. “You’re going to destroy the earth, tonight?”

  “YOUR TV SIGNALS HAVE BEEN DRIFTING THROUGH THE GALAXY, WE HAVE WATCHED ALL THE DAFTY THINGS THAT YOU AND YOUR KIND HAVE BEEN GETTING UP TO. WE HAVE VERY OFTEN BEEN OBSERVING HOW YOU TALK FROM THE TELEVISION AND WE ARE NOW FLUENT IN ENGLISH TALKY-TALK.”

  “Well … not that fluent,” Sal muttered under his breath.

  “SHUTTY YOUR FACE FLAP! WE HAVE ALL VERY MUCH HEARD OF YOUR FAMOUS HUMAN JOKES, AND I TELL THIS FOR NOTHING, FISH BOY, I DO NOT LIKE IT!”

  Alan the alien screamed, before composing himself again.

  “WE DECIDED THAT THE GALAXY IS BETTER OFF WITH HUMANS NOT IN IT, INNIT. BUT WE COULDN’T DO THE PIN-POINTING ON THE MAP OF WHERE YOUR PLANET WAS. UNTIL YOU, THE ONE THEY CALL THE FREDDY, SENT A SIGNAL INTO SPACE. SO THANKING YOU VERY MUCH. WE NOW KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE, SO WE COME AND FIND YOU. THANK YOU, THANK YOU…”

  “What?” Freddy protested. “I only wanted to watch the wrestling, not start a space war.”

  “TOO LATE, NOW WE KNOW WHERE YOU ARE, THE INTERGALACTIC KINGDOM OF … WOLVERHAMPTON,”

  Alan said, peering at a map.

  “WE WILL COME AND TAKE OVER YOUR PLANET AND LEARN FROM YOUR PEOPLE IN THE TIME-HONOURED TRADITION OF TWANG.”

  “What’s that?” Sal asked rather nervously.

  “BY LEARNING FROM YOUR BRAINS – NOT JUST YOUR BRAIN THOUGH, BUT CLEVERERERERER PEOPLE’S BRAINS,”

  Alan said, looking at Sal.

  “Well just ask us. You don’t need to fly all the way here, it’s just a waste of petrol,” Freddy said, doing his best to stop a full-scale alien invasion.

  “THERE IS ONLY ONE WAY TO LEARN FROM THE BRAINS.”

  “What’s that?” Sal asked again.

  “EATING THEM IN OUR MOUTHS. WE EAT THE BRAINS AND WE DO THE LEARNING. IT IS THE WAY OF THE TWANG.”

  “WHAT?! HAVE YOU NEVER HEARD OF A LIBRARY?”

  Sal yelled. Freddy looked at the homemade satellite dish. “No, it was an accident, please don’t come and eat our brains.”

  “I AM VERY MUCH BORED OF YOUR UNTRUTHS, IT IS TIME FOR THE MIGHTY ALAN TO GO AND FLY THE SPACESHIP TOWARDS YOUR HORRIBLE WORLD OF NITWITS AND CLOWNS. COME ON, BRIAN, PLEASE GO PUT THE HOT WATER KETTLE ON, FOR IT IS TIME TO DRINK TEA, THE NECTAR OF THE TWANG. ALSO I MIGHT HAVE A CRUMPET TOO. ALAN IS RIGHT IN THE MOOD FOR THE CRUMPET.”

  Just at that moment another head popped onto the TV screen.

  “YES, MASTER, DESTROYER OF WORLDS, ALMIGHTY WORRIER AND CRUMPET LOVER.”

  Brian sighed wearily.

  “GOODBYE, HUMANS … FOR NOW!”

  And with that Alan was gone. Freddy rubbed his eyes. For a few seconds he just stared at Sal.

  “Did that happen?” Sal asked.

  “Yes. Well I think it did,” Freddy said, still unable to comprehend what he’d just seen.

  “Your mum and dad are going to be well annoyed when they know you’ve started a space war with alien brain-munchers. They don’t even like it when you help yourself to a KitKat.”

  “What are we going to do?” Freddy cried, checking his watch.

  “WE HAVE UNTIL 10 P.M. TO SAVE THE WORLD!”

  “We should tell someone. Isn’t that what they always say? Tell a responsible adult, a figure of authority, someone who’s not to be messed with.”

  “Yes!” said Freddy. “YES, YES, that’s a great idea!”

  “I know just the person!” Sal grinned.

  “Why are you telling me this? Do I look like an idiot? Now go away, before I hit you with my lollipop!” came the angry response.

  Sal ducked just in time as a huge fluorescent yellow blur tried to swat him.

  “CHANGE OF PLAN!” Sal yelled. “RUN AWAY, RUN AWAY!”

  Sal and Freddy galloped down the road.

  “HILDA THE ANGRY LOLLIPOP LADY?!”

  Freddy shrieked. “That was your great idea, telling a lollipop lady? She’s hardly NASA, is she?”

  “Who’s Nessa?” Sal gasped as they hid round the corner.

  “Not Nessa, NASA, the people in America who send space rockets into … well … space.”

  “Oh…” Sal nodded.

  “WAIT. THAT’S IT, WE SHOULD CALL NASA!”

  Freddy yelled in delight.

  “Brilliant!” Sal agreed. “But how? I mean they probably don’t have a direct number.”

  “You’re right,” Freddy said, scratching his head. “It’s not going to just fall out of the sky, is it? We need help.”

  “Oh wait, I could ask my uncle Clive!” Sal piped up. “He’s at the police station.”

  “Oh, why, what’s he done?” Freddy asked, looking shocked. He’d been friends with Sal for years – he had no idea that his best friend’s uncle was some sort of criminal.

  “Nothing!” Sal laughed. “He works there!”

  “What?!” Freddy said, the grin disappearing from his face as he came to a juddering halt.

  “Yeah, he’s a policeman.”

  Freddy said nothing. Sal screwed up his face, trying to work out why Freddy was suddenly annoyed with him. “Oh … perhaps we should have gone to see a policeman about the incoming alien invasion first rather than a lollipop lady with a history of violence?”

  “Yer think?!” Freddy smiled sarcastically. “Anything else I should know about your family, Sal? Is your great aunt Batman? Is your pet cat the prime minister? All this could be very useful.”

  “My cousin’s been on TV balloon modelling, but I don’t think that’s going to help a great deal,” Sal said.

  “Let’s go find your uncle,” Freddy said, looking at his watch.

  “Oh my goodness me, this is an absolute disaster! Something needs to be done straight away!” There, behind the desk of the local police station, a tall man with an impressive moustache picked up the radio and barked, “CODE RED, WE’VE GOT A CODE RED! Scramble all units, this is an emergency, everyone report to number fifty-seven Coronation Gardens, there’s a cat stuck in a tree. Fire up the squad car too!” This was Desk Sergeant Clive West, also known as Sal’s uncle.

  He slammed the phone down, just as Freddy and Sal walked in.

  “Hey boys, how goes it?”

  “Not brilliant, the world’s about to end,” Freddy replied.

  “Tell me about it,” Sal’s uncle sighed. “It’s been mayhem here. Mrs Splat’s cat Matt got stuck in the tree again. It’s a code red.”

  “WHAT?!” Sal gasped. “A CODE RED? Did you scramble the squad car? What made it run up there in the first place?”

  “Got spooked by a squad car … oh…Anyway,” he smiled and clapped his hands, “life goes on. What can I do for you two chaps?”

  “Uncle Clive, this is Freddy. He has something very important to tell you.” Sal pushed Freddy in front of his uncle. “Go on, tell him, Freddy!”

  “Well, Mr West,” Freddy began. “We were messing around with the TV and a homemade satellite dish and something odd happened. I know this is going to sound rather strange, but I think we’ve made contact with an alien race; not only that, they want to destroy the world, oh, and eat our brains. I think that’s it.” Freddy smiled hopefully. Sergeant West looked at both of them very carefully.

  “Now, I’m not pointing any fingers, or blaming anyone, all I want is an honest answer. Have you been on the strong cheese again, Sal? Do you remember that time you had some Stilton and you thought a fifty-foot hamster was chasing you?”

  “NO!” Freddy and Sal yelled simultaneously.

  “Uncle Clive, it’s true,” Sal pleaded.

  “Okay, let’s put the news on,” Sergeant West said, turning on the box next to him. “I’m sure if the planet is on the verge of annihilation, it’ll be on Midlands Today.”

  “It won’t be!” Freddy sighed.

  “There’s no news anyway,” Sal’s uncle mutte
red, “just some show about a man with a big green head. Weird, it’s on every channel. Good crikey, Peter Andre’s let himself go.”

  “What?!” Sal said. “Let me see.”

  “THAT’S HIM!”

  they both shouted, looking at the screen.

  “Wha—???” Sal’s uncle said.

  “GREETING, FREDDY, LOVER OF THE WRESTLING, EATER OF THE CHEESE, AND HIS STRANGE SIDE-KICK PERSON, KNOWN TO ALL AS SAL. AND GOOD HELLO TO LARGE EARTH PERSON WHO I DON’T KNOW YET.”

  “How did you know we were here?” Freddy asked, looking shocked.

  “I TOLD YOU, I HAVE BEEN WATCHING YOU. I KNOW WHERE YOU ARE ALL THE TIME. ALSO I WAS WANTING TO ASK YOU FOR A GOOD FAVOUR, MY SOON TO BE DEAD EARTHLING. BEFORE WE KILL YOU TO DEATH, CAN YOU LEAVE THE RECIPE FOR THE FOOD-TYPE YOU CALL PUDDING OF RICE OUT SOMEWHERE? I’M KEEN TO MAKE IT TO HAVE WITH YOUR DELICIOUS BRAINS.”

  “If you GO AWAY maybe we’ll give it to you!” Sal shrieked.

  “YOU ARE A SPORTING SPOIL PERSON,”

  Alan grumbled.

  “Wait, wait…!” Sergeant West said, putting his hand up, trying to calm the situation down. “No one’s getting ‘killed to death’. Now who are you and what do you really want? Enough of this nonsense about being an alien. Tell me who you really are.”

  “I AM ALAN FROM THE PLANET TWANG.”

  “You’re Loopy from the planet Bananas, more like.”

  “I AM WARRIOR OF MY PEOPLE AND I’VE COME TO DESTROY YOUR WORLD, EAT YOUR TINY BRAINS, YOU PLANET OF NINCOMPOOPS AND RICE PUDDING STIRRERS. SO THERE.”

  He snarled and stuck out his slimy purple tongue.

  “Prove it!” Sal’s uncle said smugly and folded his arms. “Shoot a satellite out of the sky or something.”

  “EASY PEASY LEMON QUEASY!”

  Sal looked at Freddy. Freddy looked at Sal’s uncle. They all looked at Alan on the TV, who grinned. Then there was the slightest hint of a high-pitched whistle. Freddy looked up. The whistle was getting louder and louder.