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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Sci-fi · #2285591
Aliens arrive for Thanksgiving dinner.
996 words

“Have you got the location of our Thanksgiving feast?”

“Yes, Captain,” said his navigator. “A widow in the Utah Desert. Relatives have abandoned her. The house is a four-bedroom, single level. Plenty of food for the whole crew.”

The Captain turned his attention to the squirming bundle of green blubber in his wife’s arms. He didn’t know how he ever got suckered into letting her get one of those detestable creatures.

He snarled, “Are you taking Poopsie?”

“Well, of course dear, you know how he loves cockroaches.”

Gram picked up her husband’s loaded shotgun on the way to answer the polite knock. It better not be one of those government agents trying to kick her out her house. She wasn’t hurt’in nobody and she wasn’t leaving her house. It was hers and everything in it.

She was greeted by the strangest agents she had seen thus far. Three men who had purple skin and a woman with flamingo pink skin. Their clothes looked like they were made out of plastic wrap. Could see right through ‘em. She was careful not to look in any inappropriate places.

“We have come to greet you and share Thanksgiving Day blessings with you. May we come in?”

Gram pointed the shotgun at Captain and said, “Naugh’in if you want to live.”

Captain stuck one finger in each barrel and only a small spark escaped when she pulled the trigger. They gently pushed past her, although Poopsie did try to nip her nose. Then leaped to the floor tossing debris as she chased the cockroaches.

“There’s no room in here for all of you. Get out!”

“We’re here to make room Gram.” They could all hear the chaos Poopsie was making in the kitchen. “Poopsie has already started feasting. My wife is an excellent cook. Won’t you show her to the refrigerator.”

Gram looked defeated and chagrined. “Ain’t nothing there but rot’en food. Think the rats got the stuff in the cupboard. So I got nothing to feed ya.”

“Well, let us be the judge of that.”

The crew climbed over piles of rotting clothes covered in mouse droppings, boxes of broken glass, old dolls and rusted pieces of metal, their use unknown. Poopsie yelped as a stack of newspapers as high as the ceiling fell on top of her. One of the crew quickly devoured the pile of paper, rescuing the little blob of mucus.

One crew member particularly liked mice and the others shooed them his way and searched for other tidbits. The bathroom hadn’t worked for a long time.

The Captain and his wife fine-dined on the delicious delicacies found in the refrigerator. These items had long-ago disappeared on Jupiter. And these had been aged so perfectly.

There was squawking from the hen house as fresh eggs were found and devoured. Maybe a few of the chickens too. The Captain wasn’t going to ask.

Gram didn’t put up much of a fuss until one of the crew picked up a pile of disintegrating clothing.

“Here now. You put those down. Those belong to my daughter and she will be here any day to pick them up. I bought those just for her. That shade of blue goes perfect with her skin. It won’t even go with yours. You. Are. Purple. I told you to Put. Those. Down!”

Gram charged at the man but he disappeared, along with the bundle of clothes, just as she tackled him and fell into another heap of rags. Gram went ballistic, calling them swear words she hadn’t used in decades and which they ignored.

“I’m gonna find that box of shells and blast you all to kingdom come.”

One of the crew looked worried. “Where’s Kingdom Come, Captain?”

“Time to go into stealth mode for our bodies and hologram mode for her things. We won’t be here but all her things will be.”

Gram found the shells and loaded the gun but found no one to shoot. Then she heard a squawk in the hen house?

“There you are, you Purple People Eaters. I’m coming your way.” And she left the house.

They materialized for the meeting with the Captain and his wife.

“What a wonderful banquet! Did each of you get your fill?”

The crew all nodded with big grins and rubbed their stomachs. One volunteered sheepishly, “Me and Max found scorpions for dessert.”

Wife scooped Poopsie up in her arms and kissed her, “Poopsie, I know you got your fill of cockroaches. They are all gone!”

The crew giggled and The Captain snarled.

“Boys, we don’t leave a mess for the host to clean up. I want this place spotless. Beam up everything we didn’t eat…except Gram and the chickens. He pinned each crew member with a direct eye-command. We do not eat our hosts or pets on Thanksgiving Day. Is that understood?”

Every eye focused immediately on the floor.

“We do not distress our host either. You will leave a hologram in place for everything. It will look exactly like when we arrived.”

“What about all the cockroaches Poopsie ate? Won’t she notice?”

The Captain’s wife held up a jar with one male and one female cockroach and wiggled it. Poopsie tried to knock it out of her hand and she swatted him.

“Get to work.”

Gram returned to the house, finding no purple men inside. Deftly she picked her way through piles of junk, following the well-known path towards her bed. She needed a nap. Must have been hallucinating. That seemed to be happening a lot lately.

After the holidays, she got another knock on her door. She met the intruders with her hologramed shotgun. This time it was the government people; and again her gun misfired. She fought them off with verbal assaults. But they came in and inspected anyway.

“Congratulations, Gram. I don’t know how you did it but the place is spotless and…empty? Do you need food assistance?”

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