The Martians are Coming, The Martians are Coming

(This one is lovingly dedicated to Frederick Brown)


I threw the TV controller across the room. "God damn it!" I yelled. "They're back!"

"Who?" my wife asked.

"The f**king Martians!" I shouted on my way up the stairs. I was running to get my "go bag." My "go bag" was a leather satchel that I had packed and ready to go at a moment's notice. I needed one with the job I had.

I ran back downstairs with the travel bag, checking for my wallet and my gun. "Where are my keys? . . . Oh, never mind, I got'em." And I was running down the brick sidewalk. Before my wife could get to the front door, my car was speeding down the block, tires squealing on the damp, black pavement. She stood there listening to the night sounds re-assert themselves. The crickets chirping, the lawn sprinkler thwipping, the hiss of tires as a car rolled slowly by.

"Does he always rush off like that" The unexpected voice made her spin around. Eyes wide, she stared in shock at the little green man in her living room. "Wh-h-h-h-o-o-o-ooo . . .?"

"Who-ooo-ooo?" he mocked. "C'mon, baby, you can do better than that!" He winked at her and vanished, accompanied by three xylophonic notes and a puff of gold pixie dust in the air. He was gone. She stepped further into the room, setting her martini glass on the table just inside the doorway.

"Over here." came the voice from across the room. Startled again, she knocked the glass over, causing it to shatter on the parquet flooring. The green man was on the couch. Naked. He was lying on his side, one leg bent, his foot resting on the cushion behind his other knee. One elbow on the couch, a hand propping up his bald head. His other hand held the fallen martini glass; the clear liquid sloshing viscously inside the crystal. She quickly looked down to see that it was missing.

"Never cry over spilled milk. But vodka . . . that's another story." he commented.

"Who are you?" My wife demanded, finally getting her voice back. "And get off of my couch. You'll get that green make-up everywhere!" Just as she reached for him, he vanished again. With the music and the pixie dust and the whole schtick. She spun around, not seeing him. He was gone. She shook her head in disbelief. The martini glass was sitting safely upon the coffee table. The vodka moving in gentle waves.

She reached into the drink, pinching the olive between two fingers, shaking it slightly before raising it to her mouth. "Hey!" the tinny voice shouted. "Let go of me!" She pulled the olive back from her lips to look at it. She was holding the little green man by his head. His legs were flailing and his tiny fists beat at her finger and thumb. "Let go!" he repeated.

She dropped him back into the drink, staring down at the little freak. Suddenly a wave of vertigo washed over her and she felt herself falling . . . falling . . . and splash into . . . the pool? She came up for air. Sputtering. Spitting . . . vodka? She kicked around treading water or vodka or whatever. Trying to get a handhold on the slick sides of the . . . "Oh my God!" she screamed. "I'm in the martini glass!"

She thrashed and splashed some more, looking up at the giant green hand holding the glass, the icy liquid chilling her to the bone. Her feet couldn't get a grip on the sloping glass walls and she was taking the hundred proof poison into her lungs. Desperately she struggled to get out. Screaming, she pleaded, "Who are you? Why are you doing this?" Finally, exhausted from her struggles, one hand sliding against the glass prison, she sank below the surface and was still.

The Martian held the glass to the light and squinted slightly. "I thought your husband told you." he laughed. "We're invading." He downed the drink and shattered the glass in the fireplace. "We're invading." he repeated and vanished amidst the musical tones and a puff of gold pixie dust.