9781910981729

by Alexander Hammond

  Chester watched transfixed as it made its way around the room to an empty seat. Nobody else in the room even blinked so much as an eyelid.

  The alien clasped his hands together in front of him as a human would. “You see Chester, we’re in league. Actually our races relationship is developing into…what’s the word? Oh yes…a symbiotic one. Through necessity. Both races have something that they need from each other. We’ve reached an accommodation.”

  Chester finally found his tongue again. “So I haven’t just killed a bunch of your buddies?”

  The alien made a noise which Chester surmised was an approximation of a laugh. “No no,” it said. “They were the bad guys. We call them the Blacks. Their agenda is simply invasion, conquest and colonisation. When they first arrived you were helpless. We’ve helped you fight back, given you technology, intelligence on incursions, that sort of thing.”

  “That’s very benevolent of you,” the Colonel murmured, “Are you sending a bill?”

  “You’re already paying and have been for some time,” came the reply. “The Blacks are barbarians but we’re not. We’re enlightened compared to your race and compassionate in our way. Unlike the Blacks we’re not expansionists by nature but our home planet is coming to the end of its life. We’ve been seeking a new home for a very long time and, well, yours is a pretty unique little globe, though for some reason you seem to have been hell bent on destroying it.”

  The alien waved some of the admiral’s cigarette smoke away from his face. “And you seem to be intent on destroying yourselves as well,” he continued. “Your race is one of such opposites. You are capable of the most unbelievably creative thinking and yet you are individually dominated by fear and the pursuit of happiness through acquisition of material possessions. You represent such a dichotomy. This why we need to study you, you see. To enable us achieve a true compliance between our races.”

  “What do you mean…compliance?”

  “To enable us to…migrate here…we cannot do it with our current physicality. We are too alien to survive here for very long. The only way that we can achieve our exodus is by taking the best of us and the best of you and essentially achieving a merging of our races. A hybrid race if you like. Your Illuminate here faced a difficult choice sixty years ago. Conquest and extermination by the Blacks, or a pact with us to achieve a merger between our two races for mutual survival. Of course it’s a very difficult task requiring huge research. I’m afraid all those abductions and experiments are us. Casualties of war if you like. A small price to pay for survival.”

  “Casualties of war?” shouted the Colonel. He felt physically sick. “And you bastards gave them a free hand? To experiment on our own people?”

  “Really Colonel,” murmured the alien. “Please put this into perspective. Less than point one percent of your population has been affected in the last sixty years. There’s been remarkably few fatalities, and we do our best to keep the suffering to a minimum.”

  “You’ve abducted over three million people to experiment on them? My God in heaven. What have you been doing to them?” The Colonel maintained control only with the greatest of difficulty.

  The unblinking eyes bore down on him. “Unlike your race we haven’t been torturing laboratory rats so that women can paint their faces in safety Colonel. We haven’t even incarcerated anyone except for a few hours now and again. Abduction is generally a gentle process, whereby the subject is only vaguely aware of their surroundings and wakes in the morning for the most part putting the experience down to a dream. The experiments are far too complex to explain here, but essentially the main thrust of our work is genetics. We’ve spent a great deal of time studying your physiology in order to engineer human-grey hybrids. That was stage one. Stage two was introducing our own genetic material into unborn foetuses of pregnant women and studying the outcome. The few infants that survived show great promise that our objectives can eventually be achieved.”

  “Dear God,” the pilot mumbled, “You’ve actually created hybrids? Don’t you realise that once these…creations…make their appearance, your little games will be over anyway. People will never understand. There will be mass panic. Whatever the threat from these so-called Blacks you’ll be seen as the invaders you are. There’s no difference between you and them except for the fact that you’re sneaking in through the back door.”

  A civilian cleared his throat. “Actually Colonel, it won’t be like that at all. This has been thought through you know. As our guest here indicated, the Greys cannot live here with their current physiology. As a result the early hybrids don’t look any different from us. Mentally though they are generally superior in many ways. Increased intelligence, more developed brain functions, faster reaction times, etc, etc. By the time the final version of the hybrids is developed, the majority of the human race will already be dominated by the Grey gene and far better prepared to accept the truth once it’s revealed.”

  The admiral appeared slightly embarrassed. “We’re grateful for your time Colonel,” he said, “and for your contribution to this program.”

  The pilot stood up and leant over the table, “My contribution to the so called ‘program’ ends right now gentlemen. I resign.”

  The Grey met his stare. “I’m afraid your contribution is inextricably linked to the program. You see, you’re one of our greatest successes. As an educated man you’ll understand our need to fully evaluate our experiment. It’s vital for us to know what has made you survive and flourish while others did not. The contribution you’ve made to the survival of our races is invaluable and will never be forgotten. A fitting epitaph surely?”

  With that, a civilian opened the door to the briefing room. Moving fast, four armed soldiers entered followed by a man in a white coat nursing a syringe.

  - The End -

  THE MAN WHO THOUGHT HELL WAS A BREEZE

  The Prince of Darkness stoked his beard thoughtfully. His subjects rarely ever had his personal attention after admission. Few merited that honour. Normally, after his well-worn greeting, new arrivals were dispatched to his team of trusted lieutenants for them to do what they did best. The new souls were almost like his children though he would have never allowed himself that almost romantic notion. He’d sowed the seeds in their life and they’d picked up the baton and run with it. He preferred to think of it as creating his own supply.

  The majority of these arrivals ran through the normal tiresome gamut of pleading and sobbing before they were taken away. The very few that showed a bit of grit just lacked imagination. Their sobbing and pleading simply started a little later. Laughably, some even insisted they were there by error. He particularly enjoyed welcoming those. After an eternity though, they all seemed to merge in together. He rarely heard anything new. Until now.

  What his most senior lieutenant was telling him now was indeed new and it had piqued his interest. He observed the ministrations of one of his numerous teams putting a recent arrival through an unspeakably brutal ordeal. The subject was laughing. “You know,” muttered his lieutenant darkly, “We’re just not reaching this guy.” The Devil raised an eyebrow. “It’s been a long time since I had a challenge. I may have to take a personal interest.” He recalled this soul’s arrival. It was unusual as he’d exhibited a total lack of concern. He knew it wasn’t down to mental illness as they were spared his domain. He just assumed, like others, he’d be reduced to naked traumatised fear once he’d been introduced to what this place was really all about. Evidently, despite protracted and sincerely creative efforts from his best people, this hadn’t happened. It was most odd. Curious even. Still, he mused, ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve had to dig deep.’ “I’m sure I can think of something,” he said to his lieutenant.

  With a wave of his leathery hand he altered the torment and subjected the man to a barrage of agony and abuse that had his trusted aide blinking with admiration. “My Lord,” he offered gratefully, “You are truly are the Master.” His revered ruler allowed himself a s
mile. Admiration always went down well. It was a weakness that he allowed himself. He couldn’t allow himself many; after all it was only his will that held the place together. He stopped the scenario, eager to hear the supplication and entreaties for mercy. A hollow laugh was what he received. His lieutenant looked at his Lord with dismay. The Devil felt a prick of…what was it? Embarrassment? Newly motivated, he brought down on the man a mind-bending assault of such exorable depravity and pain even his lieutenant had to briefly look away.

  The man chuckled uncontrollably. “Bring it on man, I’m lapping it up. Is that the best you can do?”

  Some time later Satan flopped into his favourite chair and mopped the sweat from his brow. It wasn’t the heat causing his perspiration; it was the sheer effort that he’d put in. Unbelievably, the man actually seemed to enjoy the nameless degradations and misery he was being forced to experience.

  Not one to admit defeat easily he plumbed his creativity in his search to inflect horrors beyond imagination and get the man with the program. He met with no success. He revisited the man’s time from whence he had come and studied it carefully. The man had been hell bound almost since he was born. A genuinely revolting individual. Of course the Devil wasn’t shocked, but was certainly surprised it had taken the man so long to get here. His subject had lived long enough to not only comprehensively break all of the Ten Commandments, but he’d also a good many others that the Good Lord hadn’t thought it would be necessary to remind mankind of. The Almighty always did tend to underestimate how bad his creations could actually be.

  A short while later his most senior people arrived with the subject who, most infuriatingly, was sporting a broad grin. “You took your eye off the ball man,” he said, “You got old and careless. You think you’re bad? Yeah, sure you were, back then. It’s a whole new ball game now.” His lieutenants looked aghast. To their dismay the man continued. “You’ve been down here too long. You think this is bad? Have you actually been up there recently? Pain? Bring it on. I lived it all my life. I was beaten black and blue from the day I was born. A good day for me was one where I was only kicked senseless. Hell, it was the only attention I got so I started enjoying it. Gotta say, it toughened me up. Guess I’ve got you to thank for that. Isn’t all that your influence?” The Devil nodded quietly. “Well pal, you did a good job. Didn’t have nothing so I took what I wanted and didn’t let nobody stop me. In fact I liked it when they tried. Gave me the excuse to mess them up. After a while I didn’t need an excuse. Hell, I was messed up so I figured why shouldn’t they be? Got to enjoy it too. Really enjoy it. You know, the rush. Always knew I’d make it down here. I was looking forward to it. Did everything I could to make sure I made it. You did a damn fine job of screwing me up. Good work. The best. Trouble is you and this place. Big disappointment. This is a breeze. You’re not past first base after where I grew up.”

  He’d heard enough. The Devil motioned his charges to take the man away. He was tired and, after all, he had eternity to break him. His lieutenants remained rooted to the spot. He looked up sharply.

  The man who thought Hell was a breeze laughed. He addressed the lieutenants, “Get this sorry sucker out of my sight. I’ll sort him out later. Right now I got some changes to make.”

  - The End -

  THE HITCHER

  As a teenager she’d called it ‘Hitching’. To herself of course. She’d never told anyone about it. It was her secret and one that she guarded jealously. She feared losing it. That must never happen. She couldn’t live without it. She wouldn’t live without it. Now, in her mid twenties, she continued to enjoy her gift, too caught up in its magic to recognise the signs of her total and utter addiction. And like all addicts, enough was never enough.

  When she’d nudged into her early teens, metamorphosing from a boyish rake of a girl into a body that was full of promise of what full maturity would bring, life had been the uncertain and cruel affair that comes with puberty. A body and a range of new emotions and experiences changing her almost by the day. Tooth braces and the unwelcome discovery of period pains hadn’t helped her introduction to the onset of eventual womanhood. She had been miserable and depressed. And then of course there had been boys. Insensitive, unsophisticated, single minded in the pursuit of their own burgeoning needs, there couldn’t be a less endearing creation than the male in his early to mid teens. At least that’s what she thought then. Now, more experienced, she realised that they did have their uses. An unbridled enthusiasm and a much-appreciated stamina were benefits that sometimes made up for their painful emotional immaturity and lack of experience. Not that this had been apparent to her as she made her difficult journey on the way to adulthood. Inevitably she found herself liking boys and being drawn to them in spite of herself.

  She could laugh now at her teenage angst but then it had all been very real. Night after night she’d regularly confessed her deepest thoughts to her diary, writing feverishly on her bed, surrounded by soft toys and posters of boy bands. There was one boy. A tall and unusually calm persona for one so young. Apparently untainted by acne and arrogance, the boy played guitar to himself at break and excelled on the running track. He exhibited none of the ‘jock’ proclivities associated with sports and yet he was tolerated by the other boys due to his athletic prowess. All the girls worshipped him. There had been a very long line to stand in wait for his attention. She was close to the end of the queue; indeed she believed she was so far back she’d never reach the front. She had been mistaken.

  A wretched party had been the venue. Thumping music, too many people and the uneasy combination of school kids and illicit alcohol. Through the gloom she’d glimpsed the object of her adoration in a clinch with a pouting classmate. The envy surged through her like an electrical current. As they fumbled awkwardly in the shadows, consumed by desire and the newness of each other, she’d ached to be in the girls place. Her desire to experience what this girl was enjoying right in front of her eyes was almost a living thing. That was the moment it first happened.

  A brief moment of disorientation followed. Later, when she was more used to the sensation, she called it ‘the wobble’. She remembered giggling as she’d first confessed it to her diary. A second or so later she looked into the eyes of the object of her affection. She was unalarmed. It seemed so natural. She felt him grope at her buttocks as he pushed his tongue roughly into her mouth. She felt the hairs on his face scratch against her cheek. His breath smelled vaguely of beer which strangely did not repulse her as she felt herself responding to the sheer excitement of the moment. She felt herself kissing him back. That was when she realised all was not as it seemed. She saw a ring on her hand wasn’t hers. She saw the blue nail polish she would never have worn. She became aware of breasts were smaller than the ones she prided herself on. She wasn’t the instigator of the kiss, she was the experiencer. As the passion of the embrace heightened she became aware that she was somehow a passenger in her classmate’s body. Shocked by this realisation, her reaction had been stark fear. In that moment she was once again the observer staring at the frenzied passion in the corner.

  As she lay in bed that night she remembered the experience with alarm and excitement. She could still smell him. She shivered as she recalled feeling his erection through his jeans as they’d gyrated together in their exploration. She had never felt so aroused, indeed she still was. She buried her hands between her legs and relived the scenario second by second. When it was over and the flush of arousal had passed she tried to look at the situation logically. She was undamaged; she’d enjoyed the experience, and the two would-be lovers seemed not to have noticed her hitching a ride.

  Next day she’d tried it again at school. It didn’t work. She found that no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t again experience what other people were experiencing. Eventually she’d put it down to alcohol, a claustrophobic smoky environment and a vibrant imagination. That was until she went to stay with her older sister.

  If she’d have been born thirty
years previously Cassie would have been a flower child. The Hitcher adored her. Ten years her senior, her sister lived in Bohemian splendour in Greenwich Village, writing piercing political pieces on her blog and embracing pretty much everything that life had to offer. Her sister never patronised her. Never treated her as a kid. Always listened to her. Important recognition for a sixteen year old. She’d almost confessed her bizarre story and would have done so had it not been for the arrival of Cassie’s latest boyfriend.

  Carl was, in her opinion, utterly gorgeous. He made his entrance to the untidy apartment in understated elegance, resplendent in a well-constructed appearance of unkempt affluence. “Hiya, you fucking old fraud,” Cassie had laughed at his arrival. Stunned by her sister’s greeting, she was even more confused at his chuckling at the outrageous welcome. That evening, as they all ate dinner and drank wine, she began to realise that there was much she had to learn about adult communication. She also realised that Carl was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Through the mock shabbiness of his clothes she caught glimpses of a physique that made her almost gawp. His manner, replete with a piercing dark humour, had her hanging on his every word. When he occasionally looked at her it was almost too much to bear.

  The evening at an end, she’d helped clear the dishes almost in a dream. She watched enviously as ‘Goodnights’ were said as her sister and Carl made for the bedroom. While cleaning her teeth, all she could think about was how she wished that she was her sister right now. The ‘wobble’ followed and, immediately recognising it, she embraced it.

  In that moment she was her sister. She lay smiling on the bed as Carl began to disrobe in the half-light. “She’s very sweet,” he said. “She’s going to be a heartbreaker when she grows up.” A moment later she was shocked to hear Cassie laugh. “Quit talking about my little sis and take care of business.” ‘My God’, she thought, ‘She’s actually joking at a time like this.’ Carl grinned and removed his shirt. She felt the flush of appreciation as her sister admired the show. She felt her increased heartbeat as her sibling anticipated the moment. When the boyfriend had removed his shorts and had made for the bed she felt her body come to a new height as her sister began to open herself and embrace what was to come. She luxuriated in her sister’s longing for the lean hard body. She saw and lived the comfort Cassie felt at seeing his erection, delighted that her body could stimulate such immediate arousal.