She's an Alien Spy, I Swear

Sitting two computers down from me at the library. Blonde hair, running leggings, trainers decorated with a flash of orange. Foreign trainers, not English. perhaps not even of this Earth.

She is booking flights with her brood mother, maybe to Riga. Her mother gave birth to her and 600 others like her in a larval chamber on their homeworld. They were despatched out through the galactic neighbourhood, to observe, report, and monitor. She is a spy breeder, specifically chosen by the hive elders.

She looked at me just then, clutching the printout of her Ryanair details. Ha, the perfect cover story, why fly Ryanair when she could easily get a ride in one of their space runabouts? She probably works at one of the local warehouses or cake factories, and I know for a fact young genuine Eastern European women disappear from these places, never to be seen again.

Abducted for breeding purposes. Most of them don't survive the experiments and are used to feed new larvae. Those are the lucky ones, the survivors are trafficked back to the homeworld and used as hybrid mating stock for the industrial drone classes.

She's gone now. I'm sure she's reporting to her controllers that I spotted her. I ought to be in fear for my life, they will come through the walls as I sleep tonight.

And if they do, well, let them make it quick...

Copyright Bloody Mulberry 13.12.13

They Lurk in the Mist

As I sit writing this, head sore from rum and astronomy dabblings last night in my garden, there is a distinctly misty look about the world outside. The grass is lush and green, with no frost tickling it like yesterday, and the grey sky has come down from the air to meet it.

A number deal of mysterious events are usually presaged by mists...

I think of Napoleonic battlefields, of tales of modern day people seeing phantom armies from the era emerging from banks of mist, for example. The Hound of the Baskervilles prowled the misty moors, HG Well's Martians travelled to Earth in cylinders that trailed a green mist, and of course had a toxic mist, the so called "Black Smoke", at their disposal.

Many famous UFO encounters began as people encountering a strange mist. I think of the famous Barney and Betty Hill abduction, that started off as they drive into a bank of fog. The cases of the Avises in the UK started similarly, and eventually led to a terrifying abduction painting, the worm faced aliens with glowing eyes, carrying out an examination on Mr Avis. I first came across this illustration in a UFO book in the early 80s, and like the Hopkinsville Goblins featured in the same book, made it occasionally rather tricky for me to sleep with the light off.

I wonder what would happen if I were to run off into the mist one day. Would I encounter phantom armies or mythical beasts? Would I find glowing eyed, worm faced aliens insisting on giving me an intimate examination? It does not bear thinking about.

Yet I want to run off into the mist. Fog is the most wondrous atmospheric event there is; everyday objects like people and cars are reduced to indistinct shapes; moisture clings to every surface and if the temperature is below freezing, it makes everything into a crystalline wonderland.

I don't know what lurks within the mist. But I must encounter it, shed all my fears. And when I run off into the mist, I may not come back.

Copyright Bloody Mulberry 11.12.13

I Broke A Girl's Heart

I needed to try and refire my story writing in a hurry. I've been reading a lot about alien abductions lately. Wonder what goes through their minds?