I stuck it out all winter long. Being cooped up, too cold to be outdoors, breathing the same air molecules ad infinitum. I had put up with going to work and coming home again, bundled in several layers of thermal clothing, under a down jacket, since early November. It was now May. Canada's winter was almost over, vernal equinox notwithstanding. The days were now finally warming up. Yesterday it got up to 12° Celsius, today it was topping out at a balmy 23° Celsius! Welcome to Cobourg.

After breakfast and the morning rituals, I waited a bit impatiently. At 8:03 A.M. the sun snuck around the corner gable and illuminated my front deck. It would shine there until late in the afternoon. I was sooo glad that I had taken the day off work, for no other reason than I wanted to. I had asked the boss yesterday, after the Monday morning meeting, and he agreed. I didn't even have to resort to begging, pleading, or puppy dog eyes. Fortunately, my workplace allowed such leisure days to be taken.

As soon as the sun cracked open the cold shadow of the house, I grabbed the small outdoor bistro table that had been hibernating in the shed all winter. I set it up on the deck, with the full-on sunshine quickly warming it. I added a chair, power cord, my laptop, and a big mug of hot tea. There I sat, soaking in the long-awaited warmth of the almost-summer sun. The tea was tasting lovely, and I started writing furiously, working on a new chapter in my next novel. I heard a soft mewling and turned to look at the living room window, which overlooked the front deck. My cat, Dick-Head II, was sitting there in his most elegant and regal pose. He was simply letting daddy know that his little prince was close by. I mumbled some kitty styled baby talk to him, then finished the last of my second mug of tea. I went inside, made some toast with peanut butter, poured another mug of tea, then went back down to type some more of my prose. I probably shouldn't be having toast and peanut butter, overweight and diabetic and all. However, I had worked hard to get where I was in life, weight notwithstanding, so I tended to be a little less careful in exchange for being a little happier.

As I sat down, however, I noticed an odd humming sound. I put my white-haired head close to the computer, it wasn't coming from there, thankfully! I checked the power converter on the charging cable, it wasn't that either. It wasn't coming from my neighbours, in fact, I couldn't be sure it was coming from anywhere. The mystery was solved when I looked across the farm field, on the opposite side of the road, in front of my house.

The 250 hectares was still a springtime dust bowl. It wasn't time for the corn to be planted yet. There was a square gray ship flying slowly through the air, coming in from the Lake Ontario, straight up the middle of the farmer's field. By square, I mean, perfectly square. Equilateral sides and no wings. My first thought was that I was about to be assimilated by the Borg. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. I looked at it with my glasses on, then off. I was seeing a UFO. I couldn't believe it. I had been writing about outer space, aliens, and spaceships for years. Now, on the morning of my day off, I was standing on my deck, watching a UFO come to a hover almost directly in front of me... in a farmer's field. How cliché.

The humming was quite disconcerting. The closer it got, the louder it got until it was almost in front of my place. Then the humming lowered its pitch to nothing as the square ship landed on six legs, extending from the underbelly. No sooner had it stopped moving, a hatch on the side opened, and three creatures stepped out, looking around carefully. I darted back through the front door before they saw me, then peeked out through the blinds on my front window. They had to be seven feet tall, and they looked like, well, a cross between a house fly and an ant. Long skinny arms and legs, big bug-eyes (pardon the pun) on their heads, antenna's, and it looked like claws on their hands.

Ummm, frak. What to do? Who do I call? The Police? To what end? Their freaking aliens, right out front of my place. It was during this stunned moment of lost meanderings, on unlikely courses of helpful action, that Dick-Head II chose to mewl loudly, followed by a low throaty growl. He was watching the surprise farm field visitors too. All three alien heads turned to look at my house. They all started running. Frak. "Dick-head," I muttered.

As I departed from the window, I saw that only one was running right for my house. I ran into the small kitchen, grabbed a dirty Chef's knife in the sink, and ran again. As I headed for the back door, I heard a crash against my front door. I saw Dick-Head II run for the bedroom. Thanks, buddy, thanks for the help. I grabbed the handle on the back door as my front door splintered, crashing to the floor. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Mr. Bug-Eyed Alien stomping in, glancing around, spying me, then heading for me. I pulled open the back door, inner handle smashing in the drywall, and stepped through it. I turned to the right but then threw my back against the wall, then turning to face the open door, a prayer for salvation running through my head. There was no way in hell my fat-ass was going to outrun that thing, not with two others out here somewhere. I heard a noise behind me, glanced back to the corner of the house. Nothing, I turned back to the door and came face to face with Mr. Bug-Eyed Alien. I think it was as surprised as me by the way it recoiled. Maybe this was its first time meeting an alien up close?

I wasn't waiting for introductions. Nothing about them, so far, had said friendly. My hand with the knife came up fast, but the thing blocked it. I reached out with my left hand and grabbed it by the throat. Its throat was hard, it had layers of (armor?) something protecting it. Its other hand came up and grabbed my hand, trying to pull it away. They may be big and fugly, but they aren't without limitations. Their claws, however, are sharp. It's right arm, with four sharp claws, reached down and dug into my side, breaking the skin; inducing a flaming, agonizing, pain. There must have been a secretion on its claw that exacerbated the pain. I screamed. It seemed... pleased.

No guts, no glory.

It was still struggling to hold back my knife hand while burying its claw in my side. I had let go of its throat, dropping my left hand to fight with the hand trying to rip me open. I only had one option, only one thing that might work. I let go of the claw rooting in somewhere near my large intestine, grabbing the arm holding back my knife hand. I pulled hard, I pulled it's arm which pulled my hand with the knife, pulling it deep into the middle of one of its eyes. It screamed and stepped back. I didn't wait another second, I rammed the knife into its other eye. It was someone else's turn to squeal and scream now, bitch! It danced around in what had to be agony... or fear. It fell to the ground. I was on it. I jumped on its back, my full sized frame flattening it against the cement patio. I raised both hands, flaming agony in my side going up-tempo a bit more. With both hands I brought the Chef's knife down into the middle of its skull, wiggling it around a bit once it was in there, scrambling what passed for its brain. The creature went slack and stopped moving. I couldn't detect any breathing, but then again, I wasn't sure it even breathed.

I heard a child screaming. Frak. Andy and Joan next door. I got up and ran the fifteen feet to the fence between our driveways. I grabbed the four foot high top and much to my surprise, pulled my fat ass over it in one leap. Must be the adrenaline. I knew Joan was at work, Andy was unemployed at present. Their two kids were home with the flu. I bounded in the side door, and two steps later I was in the kitchen. Andy's headless corpse was still spurting blood on the floor. The kids were huddled in the corner, Claire and Michael, the twins. They were crying, screaming, and snotting all over themselves. They were looking up at an identical creature, which was squatting on top of the kitchen table. The kids stopped screaming and looked at me. The creature followed their gaze. I ran forward as the creature launched itself at me. It hit me, a lot harder than I was expecting based on my first encounter. I stumbled over Andy's corpse, landing on my back. The humming was back. This time, it was even worse.

The creature launched itself to land on top of me, but I rolled quickly. It grabbed my arm, and I dropped the knife; we wound up locked in an arm to arm struggle. At some point in the struggle, I thought I heard a gun blast. The alien creature opened its mouth, two pinchers folding out of it. The sharp looking pinchers started snap-snapping at me, it was thrusting its head at my face, trying to pincher my eyes. Tit-for-tat I guess, in some cosmic joke. I managed to get up to my knees, pushing it back as it tried to push me down again. We were locked in a stalemate. I had no clue what to do, no plan. Then I heard a very comical boi-i-i-ing! The creature fell forward, to my side, landing face down. Claire was holding a cast iron frying pan. She had beaned the fraker right on the back of the head.

She was sobbing, her breath hitching in her chest, "You-you-you, killed my daddy!" Then she raised the cast iron frying pan again (strong little filly, that one) and screaming like a ten-year-old banshee, brought it down hard on the fly-ant creatures head again. She completely caved in the skull. Two down, one to go.

I grabbed the kids, made sure they weren't injured and stopped to think. Dollars to donuts that third one was going to come through the door. The door smashed open against the wall.

Doris was standing there, holding a shotgun. My other neighbour was alive.

"Where's Paul?" I asked. Paul, an ex-cop, was her husband.

"Getting more ammo," she was looking at the mess, quickly taking in what happened.

"One at my place too, dead," I smiled.

She nodded once and handed me her husband's hunting shotgun, "Safety's on." She then stepped over the two corpses on the floor and gathered up Michael and Claire in her arms. The safety of her grasp seemed to give them leave to start crying again.

Paul poked his big, black face in the doorway, hunting rifle in one hand, butcher knife in the other. "We gotta go, we can't get trapped inside," then his head was gone. I peeked out the door, the humming was to the point of distraction. Paul was kneeling behind the tall hedges at the front of the house. Doris was right behind me, arms around each of the kids shoulders.

"Let's go over to Paul," I looked at them, "Can you run fast and not make any noise?"

They all nodded. We all ran fast, crouching down even though we didn't have to. We were blocked from the view of the farm field by the tall cedar hedges, more like small trees than hedges. We all knelt down beside Paul. He was peering intently through the hedges, chewing on his lip, sweat glistening on his bald head. I looked through the hedges. The one square ship was now about twenty square ships, most of the hovering over the field, landing one at a time and disgorging more aliens. There was now about two hundred of the fly-ant-aliens standing there, doing what looked like equipment checks, forming up into groups.

The razor sharp claws of the furry bundle that impacted me dug deep into my flesh. I let out a short, startled yell. Dick-Head II hand landed on my back and shoulder, digging his claws into me in terror. He looked into my face, I could smell the fear on him, "Meoowrrrrr!!"

I looked at the others who were staring at me, angrily. Paul pointed through the hedge, I looked. All two hundred of the aliens were looking right at us. They started moving towards us, double time.

I sighed and looked at the others, "I hate Tuesday's."