Spot the Alien: Challenging Logic Puzzles

By Eric Shamblen

It's 1986 and aliens have invaded the small town of Chickenshack, GA. Using only logic, can Agent Neil Chambers determine which of the citizens are really from another planet? He'll need to, in order to save the town, the Earth -- and the woman he just might love!

This book contains 47 challenging logic puzzles and solutions, including unique variations on the classic knights & knaves problems and the world's first logical jigsaw puzzle. Difficulty levels appropriate for ages 14 to adult.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eric Shamblen
• Release date: Mar 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311130532

Eric Shamblen

Eric Shamblen is the author of the internationally best-selling 2-volume set The Ultimate Classic Rock Quiz Book, as well as several other books of puzzles for adults and children. He specializes in unique challenges, trivia and wordplay.Shamblen is a former professional trivia host and the creator of the website PuzzleMonster.com, which has been a source of original trivia, word puzzles, logic puzzles and more since 2004. Twelve new, free puzzles are made available every day on the website. His twitter feed, @puzzlemonster, is a daily gazette of puzzle news from around the web.

Book preview

Introduction

This book contains a variety of 47 logic problems, from unique variations of classic conundrums to puzzles the likes of which you’ve never seen, such as the world’s first logical jigsaw puzzle. Each chapter focuses on a different type of challenge, starting off relatively easy and getting progressively harder.

Spot the Alien was the first book I ever published, over a decade ago. Since then, I’ve published a variety of ebooks from children’s puzzles to science fiction anthologies to bestselling classic rock trivia, but the story of Neil and Ashley saving the world from alien invasion still holds a special place in my heart. If you enjoy this book, would you please leave a review on the website where you purchased it? I would greatly appreciate it!

– Eric Shamblen

Prologue: Division Q

Next time you're in Washington, D.C., go east on Virginia Avenue, just down the street from the Edward J. Kelly Park. You'll be mere blocks from the White House. Look for a grayish-yellow five-story building. Its sign will identify it as the National Bureau of Land Management or the Federal Committee for the Implementation of Textile Agreements or some other garbage. The sign doesn't matter. Go inside, continue directly past the stationed guard to the elevator, and press the down button. Then, an amazing thing will happen: you'll be grabbed by the guard you just waltzed past and get thrown back out on the street, if not arrested.

Stupid tourist.

In the basement of this building, which you'll never see because, frankly, you don't belong there, is a small maze of cramped corridors lined with cinder blocks painted lemon yellow. Bright fluorescent lights buzz overhead. The third door from the left as you leave the elevator (okay, not you, but someone else who passed the security clearance) is a medium-sized conference room. It is dimly lit and smells faintly of mold. It was in this depressing room, late on a Friday afternoon back in October of 1986, that Division Q Agent Neil Chambers first learned about the aliens.

Chickenshack, Georgia, said a man in a black suit. In seven years, Neil had never learned his name, although the man was his immediate supervisor. Secrecy was highly valued at Division Q.

The town's infested, said the only other person in the room, a woman. She was his supervisor's supervisor, and Neil had only met her once before, at the Division Q Annual Barbecue. She was wearing pajamas, which for her was not unusual: she wore a different set to work every day of the week. No one knew why, but she was an acknowledged strategic genius, so it was overlooked. Today she had on a mauve cotton number with matching bunny slippers.

But there's regular red-blooded Americans in there too, said Neil's boss. Can't just destroy the whole town. Though we'll have to, if you don't figure out which is which.

Excuse me, sir, said Neil. Which is which what?

Which are humans and which are aliens, Agent Chambers. We got a town full of aliens – real aliens – right here in the U.S. of A. They're parasites. They come in, take over the bodies of real Americans, keeping their memories and skills, of course, and then we're in trouble. If we can identify and capture them, then no problem. We'll figure out some way to kick them out of the host bodies. But if you can't figure out a way to identify them, we're gonna have to neutralize the entire town before they spread.

Are they dangerous?

The woman looked at him coldly. Would you consider trying to take over this entire planet dangerous, Agent Chambers?

Yes, ma'am.

Here's your assignment, said Neil's boss. Your job is to identify the aliens. Don't detain them, or arrest them, or kill them. Just identify them. That's it. Keep a low profile, find out who they are, and we'll take care of the rest.

Neil thought it over. May I requisition a sidearm?

Are you deaf, Agent? snapped the woman. Low profile assignment. No guns.

Excuse me, ma'am, but you said they're dangerous. Shouldn't I be armed?

We don't want you going in there and frightening people, said Neil's boss. Most of these people have no idea their town has been invaded by brain parasites from another planet. We must prevent a panic. No weapons. Got it?

Neil gave up. Yes, sir.

Good. You fly out at oh-six hundred.

The Crones

1. Meeting the Crones

The next morning, Neil checked into the Kudzu Palace Motel in Chickenshack. The bed was clean, the TV had four channels (one snowy), and there was a free breakfast featuring hominy grits and country ham, which he'd missed by about two hours. He unpacked and put on his undercover clothes: a spotless white suit and a wide-brimmed white hat. He'd blend in, yet be seen as well-to-do. Important in an investigation like this to get people's respect right off the bat. He got into his rented Honda Prelude and went out to meet his contact.

Aliens. Neil still wasn't sure he believed it. He took another sip from his Capri Sun and looked at the map again. His contact, Ashley Fimbrand, lived on Peachtree Avenue with her three elderly aunts. His boss had told him he could trust her implicitly, that she never, ever lied.

Never ever? Neil had asked.

Not even once, his boss had replied.

Neil shook his head. A person who always told the truth was even more improbable than aliens taking over some flyspeck town in Georgia. But, if his boss said it was true, then it must be true. He put the map away and pulled back onto Peachtree Drive.

After a few wrong turns down Peachtree Road (nothing but apartment buildings), Peachtree Street (nothing but small-town shops), and Peachtree Park Terrace (just plain nothing), he found the road he was looking for. The house was unmistakable. It was an old antebellum mansion with a wraparound porch, which stuck out like a sore thumb on a street filled with two-bedroom ranch houses.

He coasted into the driveway, parked, got out, walked to the porch, and was about to ring the bell when the door opened. A shriveled old woman peered out at him. Must be one of the aunts.

Miss Crone? he asked. I'm Agent Chambers. I'm here about the–

The aliens! the woman cackled. About time you got here, young man! I saw you drive up. That suit is just precious. Please, come in, come in!

Neil followed the dowager into the house as the door creaked shut behind them. His hostess turned and studied him. Can I get you anything? Ice cold sweet tea, maybe?

Um, how about a Capri Sun?

Caprizi whatnow?

I'm fine, thanks.

She showed him onto the back porch, where two other old women sat in rocking chairs. One of them was gazing out over the kudzu-filled backyard; the other seemed to be fast asleep. The alien man is here! shouted his hostess.

I'm not actually an alien man, ma'am, I–

Oh good, said the other woman. "Maybe you can do something about our neighbors, the Smiths. Nice young couple,