Hello Internet! It’s been a while but welcome back to Flash Fiction Friday. I missed a handful of lovely submissions while I was deep in the trenches finishing Urban Fairy Tale. But you will see those this week coming Monday, Wednesday, and Friday!
Kim Fielding is back again with “The Visit.” A curious tale where we meet Brad and Tony. While on a camping trip, they encounter the classic lights in the sky. But that’s just an urban legend.
by Kim Fielding
“I still think we should tell someone,” Tony said as he hauled the duffel out of the trunk.
Brad slammed the trunk closed and shook his head. “Uh-uh. No way.”
“But we saw—”
“I know what we saw. But if we tell anyone, all they’re gonna do is make jokes about ET and anal probes. Or call the men in white coats. We’re going to keep this one to ourselves, babe.”
Brad unlocked the door to the house, and they trudged inside. Tony dropped the duffel onto the floor and, at almost the same moment, Brad dropped the sleeping bags. They’d clean up in the morning. Right now Brad wanted a hot shower, their bed, and Tony snuggled into his arms.
But Tony poked stubbornly at his phone. “But we have proof! I know the video’s pretty blurry, but they have technology that can clear it up, right?”
Brad didn’t know who “they” were and didn’t bother to ask. He sighed wearily. “You can mess around with it digitally forever, but all anyone’s going to see are some shaky colored lights. Nobody’s going to be convinced.”
The reality had been sharp and clear as day, magical in a terrifying sort of way. He and Tony had just polished off the last of the s’mores and were contemplating a final trip to the latrine before zipping themselves into the tent. But then they heard a sudden musical humming—like a tune you couldn’t quite place—and something huge appeared to hover over the treetops. Brad had been too scared to move, but Tony was the kind of guy who’d take a selfie even while being chased by zombies. He whipped out his phone, pointed it upward, and began to record.
It had been too dark to see the shape of the floating thing until the lights appeared. Bright like Christmas decorations, they flashed in a way that didn’t seem random.
“What the fuck?” Brad managed to squeak.
Tony didn’t even glance at him. “Aliens. Oh my God, it’s aliens.”
And although Brad wanted to point out that it was ridiculous, he couldn’t. This wasn’t a meteor or space station or weird meteorological phenomenon. This was a fucking spaceship, and it was right over their heads.
What happened after that, though, was… fuzzy. The colored lights twinkled and danced. Brad felt woozy, felt Tony clutch his hand. Had the distinct impression of being watched.
And then it was dawn, and they were waking up on the hard ground. They wished for last night’s fire as they shivered with the morning chill. Brad’s mouth tasted like burned marshmallows.
They checked Tony’s phone, of course, but it didn’t show much. They packed up and drove home in stunned silence. And now Brad was exhausted and simply wanted to climb beneath the covers and shut out the world.
“Want me to make dinner?” Tony asked. “There’s nothing in the fridge, but I think we still have those salmon steaks in the freezer.”
Brad’s stomach did a somersault. “No! I, uh, I just want to go to sleep.”
“It’s not even eight.”
“I don’t think…. I don’t know what happened last night, but I don’t think I got much rest.”
Tony nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. Me either. Okay, early to bed.”
They showered, quickly and without the usual naughty touching. Brad’s joints ached and his back hurt, no doubt from sleeping on hard-packed soil; and even with the grime washed away, his skin felt too tight. He was a little queasy too. Maybe he’d picked up a bug. Good thing he didn’t have to return to work for two days.
Naked, they fell into bed. But as soon as Brad pulled the blankets over them, he was hit with a strange revelation. “Babe?”
“Hmm?” Tony sounded half-asleep already. On nights when they didn’t have sex, he generally started snoring moments after his head hit the pillow.
“I’m kinda hungry.”
Tony sat up, clicked on the light, and glared at him. “You told me—”
“I know. But now I have a taste for something. We still have those Doritos, right? And the chocolate pudding cups?” They kept a stash of food for visits from Brad’s six-year-old nephew.
“Um… I guess so,” Tony said.
Relieved, Brad padded into the kitchen. He filled a big bowl with the orange chips, grabbed a pudding from the fridge, and carried them back to bed. Tony watched in apparent horror while Brad dipped the Doritos into pudding and munched away. “’S goo’,” Brad said with his mouth full.
“You don’t even like that shit.”
That was true. Usually Brad stuck to healthy stuff and teased Tony about his junk food habits. But not tonight. “I had a craving,” Brad explained.
And as he was setting the empty containers on his nightstand, he felt a faint but definite movement in his lower belly. He told himself it was a cramp. Probably gas. But then it moved again, and Brad saw Tony staring at his midsection.
“Um… Brad?” Tony whispered. Because a distinct swelling had developed, rounded and taut.
Brad opened his mouth to say… something. But that movement came again, this time unmistakably a kick. And as they watched, something pressed against Brad’s skin from inside. It looked like a very small foot.