A Very Alien Christmas

by Skye MacKinnon

  She shook her head. “You have no idea.”

  Chapter 6

  They spent the day in stores, restaurants, coffee shops and city streets. They saw more decorations, listened to music, and interacted with other people. The aliens asked dozens of questions, and she answered as well as she could, standing back with amusement when they turned their questions onto other people. It was a happy afternoon.

  When the sun was setting, she took them to the school. She parked in her usual spot and walked to the door.

  “School is closed for the week, so nobody’s here right now. I can bring you in and show you where I work.”

  “I would like to see that,” Sipu said.

  They followed her down the darkened hall, their footfalls echoing. Her classroom was the fourth on the left, and she flipped on the light and brought them inside.

  “The kids I teach are mostly seven or eight years old,” she told them. “Young, still learning about the world. They’re emotional and creative and smart. They need routine and for things to be stable.”

  The aliens walked through the room, too. They spoke to one another quietly while they looked at the artwork the children had made. Construction paper Christmas trees covered the walls, and Christmas cards that their parents had sent her were taped to the door. It was all very festive and innocent, and it felt like home to her.

  She walked through the room, stopping beside Becky Jones’s desk. She had learned horrible, sad things about the little girl’s home life, and in many ways, she was the most stable adult in Becky’s life. How could she, in good conscience, just disappear on her? How could she leave all of these kids? They might not all need her on as visceral a level as Becky did, but they still needed things to be on an even keel.

  She knew, then, and the knowledge saddened her. She wanted to explore and see the galaxy with these two, and she wanted to find out what lay beyond the stars… but she couldn’t leave these kids behind.

  Sipu and Kepi seemed to know what she was thinking just by looking at her face. Kepi took a deep breath.

  “We understand. Please take us back to our ship, and we will leave you to your life.”

  “But I don’t want to lose my chance to see your world. I just… I have to finish out the school year. I can’t just disappear. Give me time. I can go with you once summer starts.”

  “The wormhole closes in three days,” Kepi objected. “We cannot wait until then.”

  Sipu looked at her, and their eyes met. In that moment, she thought she saw a question in his eyes, and hoping that she was reading him correctly, she nodded. He turned to his companion.

  “Kepi, I will stay with her until summer, and I will help her to prepare to go with us when the wormhole opens at this time next year.”

  The other alien looked shocked, then started speaking rapidly in their native tongue. Sipu answered, and he held his ground despite what sounded like strong objections. Finally Kepi made a frustrated gesture with his hands and turned away.

  “Please take me to our ship, Carolyn Walker,” he requested. “Apparently my partner will be staying with you.”

  “I can learn more about humanity this way,” Sipu explained. “The scholarship I can do will be invaluable.”

  Kepi gave him the side-eye, but he said nothing. He held his silence all the way out to the car and during the drive to the field where the ship had been hidden. The three of them stepped out of the vehicle, and Kepi deactivated the disguise.

  “I will see you again when the wormhole reopens,” he told them. “Watch for my lights in the eastern sky.”

  “We will.” Carolyn spontaneously embraced him, and he stiffened but tried not to recoil. She stepped back. “Be safe out there.”

  He nodded. “I shall. And I hope this extra time is what you need.”

  “It will be. I’m sure of it.”

  Sipu stepped forward and spoke to his partner, who replied in a clipped tone. Apparently this parting was less than amicable, which saddened Carolyn. Sipu looked unconcerned, though, which was reassuring.

  They stepped back toward her car and watched as the saucer reappeared, the cloaking energy falling away. Kepi turned and looked at them once more before he opened the hatch and climbed inside.

  The lights on the edges of the saucer blazed, and with a downward rush of wind, the craft lifted into the air. It hovered for a moment, then shot out of view. She stayed staring at the stars, filled again with wonder.

  Sipu gently took her hand, and she interlaced her fingers with his. She hadn’t misread him.

  “You stayed for me?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  Carolyn turned to face him, and he deactivated his disguise, reverting back to his coppery self. She dared to reach up to touch his cheek, and he smiled.

  “We have time to learn from one another now,” he said. “Before he comes back, we can teach each other many things.”

  Spontaneously, she pulled him down so she could kiss him, and he came willingly, his lips meeting hers. He wrapped his arms around her, and they stood together in the snow while the stars whirled overhead, holding their secrets for later.

  The End

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  About the Author

  J. A. Cummings was born in Flint, Michigan and was raised in a nearby town called Clio. Appropriately enough for someone growing up in a place named for the Muse of history, she developed a passion for reading and the past that continues to this day. Her love of poetry and storytelling quickly followed.

  Her life has been one of numerous false starts, unexpected endings and fascinating side trips that lasted far too long. All of that chaos has informed her writing and improved her understanding of what it means to be human, both the sorrow and the glory.

  She still resides in Michigan and also writes as Tiegan Clyne.

  Want to hang out with the author, win prizes, see the cool covers first, and support J.A.’s books on social media? Join Cummings' Crickets, J.A.’s street team on Facebook!

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  Cryptomorphs Series

  Ghost U Series

  No Treats for Charlie

  An Alien for Christmas

  A Rangg’don Warriors Christmas Story

  Michelle Mcloughney

  About An Alien for Christmas

  Tessa Adkins dreads December 25th. Being lonely in London on the holidays sucks jingle balls. She never imagined her life would be so…so…uneventful.

  Of course, bumping into a giant, green grumpy alien-with Abs to die for-isn’t exactly how she imagined Christmas either!

  Binge read this alien romcom before starting the new series The Warriors of La’ggon out in April.

  This short story is stuffed full of one confused Alpha alien, one not so fragile heroine, and some well-deserved ho ho ho!

  Tessa

  Staring at the door handle I take a steadying breath. Do I really want to do this? Okay that’s rhetorical. No. I don’t want to do this. I’d rather scoop my eyes out with a rusty spoon that go to this shindig. I dread this event. The subtle and not so subtle bullying every year. Calm yourself, Tessa. Just ten minutes. Show your face and leave.

  “All right, love? Come on then.” The taxi driver looks in his rear-view mirror meeting my eyes before raising his brows expectantly.

  Sure, mate. Plenty of fares on Christmas eve, you’re busy. I get it.

  I fake a grin and nod back at him. I try to keep my shoulders from slumping, but the thoughts of stepping out of the car and putting one foot in front of the other t
o walk into this building, terrify to me.

  “Of course, sorry. Thanks for the lift,” I mutter, before smiling brightly. I’m nothing if not resourceful. I tap my credit card against the machine in the back of the taxi, before opening the door onto the street. This Christmas party is the event of the year at Coughlan and Son accountancy firm. That’s really saying something. Accountants aren’t usually known for their crazy parties or hedonistic lifestyles. We’re much more suited to work suits and figures, the numerical kind.

  Brushing my hands down the front of my red Mrs Claus costume that my ex-roommate Steph let me borrow four years ago, I groan inwardly. It’s a size too small now, thank you yearly extra poundage. How I look is not something I’d usually worry about, except this makes it too low, too short and too ridiculous. I should have bought something new. But, I’m loathe to spend money on something for an event I want to show my face at for all of ten minutes, before ducking out and getting into my fluffy pj’s to Netflix and chill myself into the new year. Initially I had decided not to go at all this year, as I do every year. Old man Coughlan pre-empting this mass exodus had sent the usual semi-threatening passive aggressive invite. Christmas bonus to be paid into the bank the day after St Stephen’s day ‘all going well.’ Message received loud and clear, a no show at the party may mean a potential delay on receiving the bonus. For an accountancy firm that deals with the Revenue office, legalities when it comes to employee entitlements are not our strong suit. So here I am. I don’t know why I don’t just try to enjoy it more. I don’t have much opportunity to leave the house these days anyway.

  “All right Mrs Claus, coming down my chimney any time soon?”

  I smile politely and make room for a crowd exiting the hotel, full of the joys of Christmas. And more than a little merry from the complimentary Christmas cheer in the form of cheap sparkling wine. My leg grazes the wall of the hotel and my stocking snags on something immediately a little ladder appears.

  I bloody hate this Christmas party lark. This is the tenth year I’ll be attending, and the tenth year I’ve promised myself that it won’t be too bad. The tenth year hoping that old man Coughlan won’t try to cop a feel of my arse at the punch bowl. The tenth year of hoping that Mrs Coughlan won’t call me Carissa instead of Tessa even though we all have a white sticker name tag. I suppose there is something to be said for better the devil you know, the familiarity of conformity. If that is such a thing.

  When my eyes take in the foyer of the hotel I smile despite my growing apprehension. Every inch is decked out in Christmas splendour. Gold and red themed this year, good choice. Large green Christmas trees stand at the four corners of the marble floor in a square formation. Baubles and tinsel have been strung across the trees with twinkling red and gold fairy lights illuminating the area like the inside of a rocket ship. ‘All I want for Christmas’ is being piped subtly around the opulent foyer and reception desk. It makes sad and hopeful in equal measure. I miss my fur babies suddenly. The only physical interaction I have are cuddles with my two rag doll cats, Darcy and Heathcliff. It might seem crazy to most people, but it’s been five years since I touched another person bar my dentist, and doctor. Who knew you could be lonely surrounded by millions of people?

  The scent of cinnamon and pine wafts through air, and it makes me think of my grandmother’s kitchen when I was a girl back in Ireland. That all seems so long ago now, London has been my home for 12 years. Sometimes I wonder if my childhood was real at all. Such a quiet life. Just the two of us always, until two became one. Not an easy transition for a young girl of 18, but after Nana died there wasn’t anything or anyone keeping me in Ballybane. Still, London has given me plenty, independence, a keen sense of achievement. Sometimes I wish it had given me more of a backbone.

  Tessa

  “Yes Doug, still a trainee accountant,” I say, anticipating his reply.

  “So, you hold the calculator,” Doug says, catching the eye of one of the small crowd of people gathered around us. Cue raucous laughter and twittering.

  “Oh, fuck off,” I reply. In my head of course. I laugh along with him, maybe this can be our Christmas in-joke, since he’s used it for the last three years. Having the company cover the cost of my accountancy training is everything. I could never afford to live in London, work, and study at the same time. The fact that it’s only part-time study means it will take me longer, but I should be grateful instead of picking holes in the generosity of the Coughlan’s.

  As time goes by, I don’t feel as grateful. I feels as though I work 60 hours per week, for little pay and a whole lot of being the office dogsbody.

  When did my life become so staid, so uneventful? Was it always like this? Roaming the beach outside our cottage in Ireland as a child seemed more of an adventure. Collecting seaweed and shells with Nana seemed like it was fraught with perils of the deep, possible pirates and skulduggery just around the corner. On a clear night Nana and I would sit out the back, on deck chairs, and watch the stars shoot across the clear pollution free night sky.

  “Your destiny is up there, Tessa,” she’d say. It seems foolish now, of course. There is nothing at all celestial about me.

  I take a gulp of Champagne and look at the little cliques that have naturally formed around the room. Office popular kids-check. Beauty queens-check. Sporty guys-check…and so on. I spot some of the group I lunch with. I should go over. I don’t want to, but some of the more popular appreciates are over there. Maybe I should mingle more, join in.

  Yes! You should Tessa. No time like the present.

  Taking a deep steadying breath, I force myself to grow a pair and walk over with my head held high. No one even notices me joining the back of the group, and I breathe out a little sigh of relief from a breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding.

  Bryce Coughlan Junior, AKA the golden boy, is holding court. The usual fan club are drooling over every nonsensical observation he spews from his mouth. Something about him makes me rage, I try to control it, the irrational anger. I’m failing lately. All my life I’ve kept my anger in check, I know to release it would have dire consequences for me, my nana told me that. The church mouse façade is slipping, and it scares me. What exactly am I capable of? What would happen if I really lost my temper? Like that one time…

  Bryce bangs a fork against a champagne glass and clear his throat.

  “Okay listen up gang. John, you’re crowned the winner this year. You chose in exactly the right order. Pamela, Justine, Marianne, Jemma and then Louise taking up the rear, as opposed to up the rear.” I eye roll as his minions laugh and hoot over at Louise who blushes beet pink.

  “Congrats! A bottle of Jameson and a fifty quid voucher for Olemaun’s restaurant. All the women in the office in…” he leans forward, whispering. “Order of fuckability. Great this year. Justine was a great addition to the team,” he says making honk honk motions with his hands on his chest. What an utter shit.

  “Well, you didn’t include Tessa, is that cheating?” someone pipes up before laughing.

  I put my head down and sneak a look to my left. Eddie Redmond. I have lunch with him every day in the canteen. I covered him at work for two weeks when his wife had their baby. I gave up my summer holidays for him. How can he be so cruel?

  “Well let’s get real, plain Jane Tessa-no-tits isn’t on the list because she would come last every year, and it’s very unsportsmanlike to put a lame dog in any race, Eh?”

  Cue titters and a bit of back slapping. And then whispering and nudging. A gasp, a laugh. They are one entity as they turn to look at me. Bryce fashions his mouth into an O shape, but a glimmer of a sneer lingers on his full wet lips as he shrugs his shoulders at me.

  “Tessa, old girl. It’s just a joke. You’re far too classy for anything like...” I walk up to Bryce and stand toe to toe with him. He has the decency to look embarrassed and doesn’t resist when I pull the list out of his hand.

  “I don’t need you to like me. Or want me. It’s not necessary for my
self-esteem to have some entitled shitbag like you or the rest of these children to rate me on a list. Fuck yourself, Bryce. Fuck you all.” Mouths fall open and Louise catches my eye and smiles at me, before mouthing a shy Thank You. Pity, she’s new. I hope she leaves before they kill her spirit.

  I’m getting the sack. I know that. I can see old man Coughlan staring at me out of the corner of his eye. I march up to him and throw the list at his feet. “You perpetuate this machismo nonsense. Your son is a vile pig. I would rather die that work another day at your company.” He has the decency to look embarrassed as he nods. His wife shakes her head and looks aghast at the nerve of me.

  “Carissa.”

  “It’s Tessa. you simpleton. It’s always been Tessa. For the last ten years, it has always been Tessa. Tessa while I covered for your husband, Tessa when I bought you flowers when he’s played away, and Tessa when he faked appointments when he didn’t want to see you. Still Tessa. No need for goodbyes or ridiculous platitudes mister C. Take this as my verbal resignation. My formal letter will arrive in the mail in due course.”

  I twirl around and raise a toast as I walk across the dancefloor. “So long fuckers. I hope you all get crabs, and your arms are too short to scratch them. By the way Bryce, your wife is banging Terry. Adios assholes.”

  I drop my champagne glass in the middle of the floor and walk out, my head held high. I reach the front door of the hotel and dash my hand across my eyes. I hate them all, I hate everything they stand for, but most of all, I think I hate myself. It’s freezing and I forgot to go to the cloakroom and get my jacket. No way in hell I’m going back to the ballroom to get it.