Pickle Party By Karen Thrower

Mike lifted the lid of his trash can and jerked back as a racoon hopped out, a banana peel in its mouth.

“Gross little thief.” He mumbled and slung the trash bag in the can. “What good are these special cans if they can’t keep anything out?”

As he dragged the can to the front of his house he noticed the bushes rustling. “I don’t have any more banana peels!” He yelled. “Go find something else.” The can scraped against the concrete driveway.

“Eee!” Mike stopped at the sudden high-pitched squeal and his eyes went wide. What the hell was that? He turned and scraped the can on the driveway again. “Eee!” It was coming from the bushes!

“Hello?” He took his cell phone out and turned the flashlight app on. “Someone there?”

He walked over to the bushes and with a shaky hand pushed the leaves aside and saw two, big eyes staring at him. “Hello?” A little cooing noise filled the air and he lept backwards as a small green alien popped out of the bush. It was three feet tall, it skin seemed loose over its body and it had some junk in the trunk. At least what Mike thought would be its trunk.

He reached a hand towards it. “Are you okay?”

The alien ignored his hand and poked his phone with a fat finger, blocking the flashlight.

“Right, like you would know English.” Mike stood straight, and the alien wrapped itself around his leg and nuzzled his knee. “Uh, okay, okay that’s good…thanks.” He gently pried it off and it looked up at him. He was glad the alien was cute, he probably would have shit himself if a huge, hairy beast with a mouth full of teeth was wrapped around his leg. “Let’s uh, go inside yeah? Get out of the open.” It took his hand and peeled off his leg before they walked down the driveway.

He opened the door to his garage and the alien made that appreciative cooing noise again. “Yeah it’s a beaut isn’t it?” He was talking about the blue 1958 Chevy Impala that never saw the light of day that he kept in the garage. He wasn’t sure if that was what impressed the alien, but why not try and find something in common and modes of transportation seemed as good a thing as any. Of course, the alien’s ship would beat his classic car in the ‘cool factor’ any day.

The little alien waddled over to a low shelf and picked up a bottle of blue coolant. It shook it a little and put it to his mouth.

“No don’t drink that!” Mike took the bottle of coolant from the alien. It growled at him, but it sounded more like a tiny puppy growling so it wasn’t especially intimidating. “I don’t know what’s bad for you!” It pointed at him and started chattering in his alien language. It reminded Mike how his grandmother would scold him for taking cookies off the cooling rack. “Ugh fine here.” He gave the bottle back to it and watched as it ripped the cap off and chugged half the bottle. It sighed and gave a loud burp. “How very human of you. Glad you liked the toxic chemicals I have.” It smacked its lips and tossed the bottle to the side. “So, is there something I can do for you?” He didn’t know what to do or say, there had to be a hell of a language barrier here. “Look I’ll try and help but you have to tell me what you need.”

“Roamagoth.” It said as it started throwing tools out of his tool box.

“Roamagoth?” Mike dodged a screwdriver that was flung at his head. “What’s that? No stop that!” He dashed over and took the tools from the alien’s hand and locked the little tool box. The alien turned to him and he swore it rolled its eyes at him. “What?” The alien sighed and crawled up on the work bench but apparently couldn’t find what he was looking for. “Is your ship broken?” Mike asked.

The alien slowly turned to Mike. “Iss yoar sheep brookeen.” It said.

“Yeah!” Mike clapped in triumph. “Broken!” But the alien just groaned and waved him off. “Okay, I guess not.” He walked over to the door that went into the house and wondered if he should let it in. The garage was fine, but the house was an entirely different thing. He didn’t like the idea of a curious alien breaking his things. Then again how often would an alien be in his house?

“You want to come inside?” The alien looked over at him and slowly shoved a hammer off the workbench with its foot. “Inside?” Mike opened the door and the alien’s mouth formed a wide ‘O’ before it jumped down and ran past him into the house. “Guess that’s a yes.”

He shut the door and saw the alien looking around, trying to take in everything. Its big eyes were wide, and its mouth seemed frozen in shock. “Nice huh?” Mike walked over to the couch and sat down. “Have a seat.” He patted the couch next to him and watched the alien waddle over, it’s arms outstretched like it was afraid it would fall down. The alien patted the couch like he had done. “Yeah, put your butt on the couch.” Mike pointed to what he assumed was the aliens butt, then his own. “Butt on couch, it’s comfy.” It looked between Mike’s butt and its own behind and turned around. Mike thought it was going to hop up, but instead it backed up and squished its backside on the front of the couch. It nodded and started chattering at him again. “Whatever floats your boat I guess. Want to watch t.v.?” He picked up the remote and turned on the big forty-two-inch flat screen.

The volume must have been left up after his last gaming session because the sound of cars zooming around a track made him jump. “Shit!” The alien jerked at the noise and liquid squirted out of holes in its head. Mike quickly turned the volume down and stared at the alien mess on his leather couch. It was thick and pink. The alien groaned and climbed up on the couch next to him and used Mike’s shirt to wipe the side of its head clean. “Ugh, you’re welcome.” It chattered and sat next to him and stared at the fast-moving cars on the screen.

“Oh.” It pointed at the screen.

“You like that?” He flipped to a channel that had animals on it and guinea pigs eating vegetables popped up.

“Eee!!” It screeched and hopped from the couch, over the table and landed in front of the t.v. “Ee!!” It touched the screen, but it touched the vegetables, not the animals.

“You want that?” It kept poking at a cucumber. “Okay, let me see.” Mike heaved himself off the ruined couch, the liquid quickly becoming sticky and leaving little strings as he walked to the kitchen. He found a jar of pickles but no cucumbers. “Better than nothing I guess.” Mike turned back to the living room and almost dropped the jar. The alien was licking the sticky substance off the couch. It had an unusually long tongue for such a small head. Mike looked down and realized he was still covered in the stuff and quickly took his shirt off. There was no way he wanted an alien tongue on him. At least that alien he thought and walked into the living room. “Pickles!” He wiggled the jar and the water inside sloshed around. Mike sat on the couch, careful not to sit in alien goo.

“Heckles.” It crawled over to the jar and waited for Mike to open it. With one big twist he lifted the lid and the alien’s hand was in the jar. “ah-ah-ah-ah.” He watched its fingers wiggle in the water, trying to catch a pickle. Maybe that was its laugh he thought. It wrapped its fat little fingers around a pickle and brought it to its mouth. It gasped, pulled it out then stuck it back in.
“Good?” It seemed to have a hard time biting into it, but that didn’t stop it from sucking on the sour gherkin.

“Ah-ah-ah-ah!” It pulled another pickle out with its free hand and Mike watched, wide eyed as it took that long tongue and pulled another pickle out of the jar. It waved both pickles above its head and Mike ducked out of the way, but he wasn’t fast enough and got a face full of wet pickle.

“Ah, man come on.” But the alien kept waving them around for some reason, hitting Mike in the face repeatedly. “Okay, okay!” He scooted away from the alien, but it seemed to not like that. It hopped onto the couch and slid next to him, gnawing a pickle with one hand and waving another around with its hand. It kept hitting Mike in the face with the pickle wrapped in alien tongue.

“DRUAT! Put those down!” Both Mike and the alien turned to the patio door and saw a tall, green alien with their hands on their hips. It had a purple mohawk and seemed to be yelling at the little alien, ignoring Mike. Which he was grateful for. “And you!” It pointed at Mike and he froze. “Why did you think it was a good idea to give a baby that thing! It looks awful!” It’s speaking he thought, the alien is speaking!

“Uh, baby?” He said, looking between the two aliens.

“Yes! You have babies on your planet can’t you tell? Do you give those things to your babies?”

Mike looked at the small alien, still gnawing on a pickle. “You’re a baby?” It smiled, and he could see it had no teeth. “You gotta be kidding me!” The tall alien stomped into the house, like a mama on the war path.

It sighed and laid its head in its hand and sighed loudly. “Don’t tell me,” It leaned down in Mike’s face, “you let him lick up his sputum?” Its breath smelled sweet but there was something musty behind it.

“Uh, well he licked something off the couch that came out of his head?”

The tall alien groaned and stood straight, clearly irritated. “Great, now his holoc is gonna be clogged and he won’t be able to dege. That’s just what I need!” It took the pickles from the baby and picked it up. “Maybe be a little more responsible next time!” It said to Mike.

“Wha…I don’t even know what’s happening! It just showed up in the bushes and made a mess in my garage!”

“That’s what babies do! And it’s not an IT it’s an Oll!”

Mike made a choking noise. “I don’t know what that means!”

The tall alien walked out through the patio door and the baby on its shoulder waved bye to Mike.

“Uh, yeah bye. Oh wait!”

The tall alien turned back to him.

“What does ‘Roamagoth’ mean? He, it, uh Oll said it.”

“Roamagoth?” It snickered. “It’s baby gibberish.”

The baby laughed as a light engulfed the two aliens and they were gone.

Mike sat on the couch, completely flabbergasted. “Did I just babysit an alien?” A little beam of light shot through the ceiling and went through his table. When it disappeared, he saw a note. He picked it up with a shaking hand and read: Druat had fun!

Apparently, the pickle party was ‘the best’ so I guess those are okay. Same time next week?

—

Karen Thrower was born and raised in Oklahoma. She lives in Tulsa with her husband and their rambunctious four-year old. She graduated from The University of Tulsa with a Bachelor’s degree in Deaf Education. She is also a member of Oklahoma Science Fiction Writers and serves as the President and Facebook ‘Wizard’ which she suspects has something to do with her young age. She has been featured in Gathering Storm Magazine and Broadswords and Blasters. Her story The Lost Ones appeared in the best selling anthology, Secret Stairs: A Tribute to Urban Legend. The rest of her works can be found on her Amazon Author Page: amazon.com/author/karenthrower