Two glowing green eyes blocked George’s way. He peered through the windscreen into the night at a dark shape. It was an animal, but why wouldn’t it move? Worried that it might be injured, George went to investigate.
He found a strange creature. It was the size of a small dog, but not a dog: more a cross between a dog and a cat. It had no collar, so wasn’t a pet. George stood wide-eyed with pleasure; convinced it was no creature from earth.
George was an avid reader of supernatural Internet sites. He knew without doubt that this was a visitor from outer space. Unable to contain his excitement, he approached the Thing. It purred. ‘It’s trying to communicate with me.’
The Thing dozed contentedly on the seat as George drove home.
He gave it milk and asked it questions, ‘What galaxy are you from?’ but the Thing preferred to sleep.
Next day, George’s six-year-old son Alfie wandered into the living room where the Thing was still sleeping. Alfie’s eyes shone. ‘Hello little pussy,’ he cooed and patted the creature on the head.
In the kitchen George heard a roar and the blood-curdling shrieks. Panicking, he rushed to find his son slashed to ribbons and the Thing’s paws dripping blood. George squealed and fell to his knees, clutching his chest, dead.
Later, the man from Chester arrived to sedate the lion cub that had escaped from his zoo. It was a rare species so they didn’t put it down.
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 