Alien Beer and Other Stories

By E. Chris Garrison

Come along as E. Chris Garrison tells her strange tales of science fiction and fantasy. Twenty-three stories await you inside this book. Many have been published elsewhere, some have appeared online, and still others have been waiting patiently to be discovered. Some of them include: "A Bone to Pick" is a ghost hunting story, from the ghost's point of view. "The Spark" reveals a dark side of Reality Check. Ida from Trans-Continental gets her start in "Moonlight Blossom". In "Personal Space," Trog tells us of his anti-social superpower. In the world of Road Ghosts, "Spectral Delivery" mixes ghosts, Valentine's Day, and pizza. Is "Shelby" a boy or a girl, or something else? Little Minnie from the Tipsy Fairy Tales goes solo in "Seelie Goose".

• Language: English
• Publisher: E. Chris Garrison
• Release date: Sep 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781393952824

E. Chris Garrison

E. Chris Garrison writes fantasy and science fiction novels and short stories. She is a co-founding member of SFG. Her Trans-Continental series is a steampunk adventure with a transgender woman as its protagonist. The series is set in one of the worlds in Chrissy’s dimension-hopping science fiction adventure, Reality Check, also published through Silly Hat Books. Alien Beer and Other Stories, a collection of her short stories, was released by Silly Hat Books in 2017. Her books are published through Silly Hat Books. Chrissy has two urban fantasy series, the Road Ghosts trilogy and its companion series the Tipsy Fairy Tales. She reads her stories on her Alien Beer Podcast, which includes The Multiverse Blues, a science fiction serial. Chrissy lives in Indianapolis, Indiana, with her wife, step-daughter and many cats. She also enjoys gaming, sewing, and finding innovative uses for duct tape. Keep up on the latest news and releases from Chrissy at https://sillyhatbooks.com/ Elsewhere: Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EChrisGarrisonAuthor Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/10813332.E_Chris_Garrison Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/E.-Chris-Garrison/e/B005H63TLE Twitter: https://twitter.com/ecgarrison itch.io: https://echrisindy.itch.io Podcast: https://alienbeer.podbean.com/

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E. Chris Garrison

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http://sillyhatbooks.com

Other books by E. Chris Garrison

Silly Hat Books

Reality Check: A Tale of Quantum Entanglements

Trans-Continental: Girl in the Gears

Trans-Continental: Mississippi Queen

Seventh Star Press

Blue Spirit: A Tipsy Fairy Tale

Restless Spirit: A Tipsy Fairy Tale

The Road Ghosts Trilogy:

Book One: Four 'til Late

Book Two: Sinking Down

Book Three: Me and the Devil

Copyright © 2017 by E. Chris Garrison

All rights reserved.

Published by Silly Hat Books

ISBN: 1548056820

ISBN-13: 978-1548056827

Silly Hat Books http://sillyhatbooks.com

Speculative Fiction Guild

http://speculativefictionguild.wordpress.com

[e-mail]

Alien Beer and Other Stories is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition

Table of Contents

INTRODUCTION

Alien Beer

A Bone to Pick

Moby Me

A Tale of Two Laundries

The Spark

Moonlight Blossom

Personal Space

Killer Cure

Spectral Delivery

Nightmare in Frills

Shelby

Stranger Danger

Seelie Goose

Sweets and Strangers

Drag Show

Fell Down

Hunted

Fragile Allie

Never Be

The Man at the Top of the Stair

Dark Reflection

Dr. Princess and the Soldier

Christmas Special

About the Author

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the memory of my father, Joseph Garrison 1941-2016.

Introduction

THE STORIES IN THIS book were written between 2010 and 2017. Many have already been in print, many others have appeared as a part of the Iron Writer Challenge, and some have never been published. Most originally bore a different byline, a name I don't use anymore; it shall not be uttered in these pages.

I've wanted to do an anthology of this sort for years, so I'm quite excited to bring these stories to you now. Alien Beer and Other Stories is a hodgepodge of everything I write, ranging from science fiction to urban fantasy; from comedy to suspenseful horror. Many of the characters can be found in my novels, and some of these stories helped inspire parts of those much longer works.

With each, I've also included an introduction to say where the story came from, and where it's been. I hope you enjoy this taste of Alien Beer!     

Alien Beer

THE CONCEPT OF ALIEN Beer came to me well over twenty years ago, but without plot, characters, or story. Just the idea, "what would alien beer be like? I started working on an early version on a blog ages ago, but it didn't go anywhere, and is currently lost. But in 2011, I decided I'd get it out of my system and used it as the sole element for what I intended to be postcard flash", that is, a story told in 250 words. I managed under 340, but that was the most I could cut it down without losing the essence I was going for. It's a favorite of mine to read aloud, when I'm asked for a sample of my writing in person.

WE SURE WERE BLOWN away when E.T.’s crashed our hog roast kegger in the woods. Them suckers sure were strange, with their lobster bodies and dozens of spaghetti legs. My girl screamed and locked herself in the car and wouldn't let me inside.

Anyways, we offered the little monsters some Bud. They stuck mouth-suckers into their cups, snarfing down brewski after brewski. My buddies got kinda pissed when the keg ran dry, but me, I knew we'd never throw another party like this.

Then they rolled out their own barrel. Three of them carried a wobbly ball bigger than any one of them out of their UFO and set it next to our keg. One of 'em poked a clear glass straw deep inside it. Dark blue-green brew foamed out.

We all held out cups. Mine weighed as much as a milkshake as it filled. I looked at the other guys to see who'd go first. Everyone’s eyes dared each other. And me. I sniffed the beer. Sharp and fizzy, the odor reminded me of a gin and tonic. I held it to my lips. The guys' eyes widened. I grinned and made a silent toast. I sipped.

Oh. My. God. A-ma-zing stuff. Alien beer filled my mouth and slid down my throat like something alive. Unearthly flavors swam into my brain through my tongue. My skin iced over, my nerves caught fire. My toes took root and my arms reached to pull down the moon! I belched and went back for more.

My buddies backed away from me, dropping their brews. What the hell? I’d ask them why after just one or two more alien beers.

My girl tore up the gravel road as she drove off, but who cares? I taught my new pals to high-five with their noodles. We toasted the trees, the wind, the stars. One of them pointed out the star they called home. It twinkled happier than the others. If they have beer like this there, I’m gonna check it out.

A Bone to Pick

THIS IS A STORY I WROTE, also in 2011, vaguely based on real events, from my years as a ghost hunter. Of course, the tale was told to me by the real life version of Dee Dee, from her perspective, but I couldn't help but wonder, what was the other side of the story like?

I SHOULD HAVE LISTENED to the others. They warned me about taunting the living. Now I’ve got to bear this new indignity. Ol’ Bess was right, it’s worse because I brought it on myself.

Ol’ Bess is an older soul. You can tell by her lazy, sleepy speech. Most of us here just want to sleep. Some of us can, some of us can’t. Ol’ Bess can’t. She’s been here at least a hundred years, maybe more. Since no one remembers a time when she wasn’t awake, she’s probably the oldest of those still hanging on. She’s as batty as everyone else, of course. That’s why we came to this place, and how we came to be laid in this patch of earth. I look up to her, I do. She often treats me like I’m her slow niece, but I don’t mind. Anyone who could hold as together like Ol’ Bess has, after all this time, is someone to be reckoned with.

I just get bored, you know? And I don’t want to go back to the dark place in my thoughts where I go round and round, gnawing at myself over a past that doesn’t matter to anyone anymore.

Anyone but me, that is.

So, when those fleshies came along, I shoulda played dead. Stayed quiet. Ol’ Bess calls ‘em corporeals; she goes in for three-dollar words like that. Not me. Keep it simple, I say.

Anyway, the fleshies came around one night, a whole pack of them, like an aimless tour group. They had a leader, a chunky woman with long hair, rosy cheeks and a lot of Indian jewelry. I sat cross-legged and watched, invisible to them, from the sunken patch of ground I call home. One or two of them tripped in the gopher holes that plagued our grassy community. No one kept the grounds up any more. It’d been decades even since we had proper markers. The markers moved across the street, but they didn’t move us.

The leader herded everyone in a circle. I watched, amused. It might have been a pauper’s funeral, with all the dungarees and black undershirts they wore. At the same time, the gear these outlandish folks carried made me think of something from a science fiction movie I’d seen at the drive-in. Some had tiny spotlights on their hats. Many had strange-looking cameras. Others held little metallic sticks, each with its own tiny red light. Other plastic boxes beeped and flashed. One fellow even set up a box on a tripod that might have been a tiny toy movie camera.

The woman shushed them, pushing her hands down at her sides. She smiled and spoke loud enough to startle me. Hello! My name is Dee Dee! Is there anyone here who’d like to speak with us tonight?

There was a long silence, and not one of her fleshie friends answered her. It took a minute to dawn on me that they were here to talk to us.

I started to answer, just to see what they’d do, but she moved on to another question.

What year is it? she shouted in a voice that’d do a carnival barker proud.

I’m dead, not deaf. I jumped in with an answer, shouting back at her. Get a calendar!

She didn’t react. To my surprise, disappointment rippled through me. If someone was here asking questions, you’d think they’d have a way to hear answers.

She continued, Were you a patient here?

Any fool would know the answer to these questions! Back when the hospital still operated, the staff buried dead patients here, not other staff.

If you can hear me, please talk into one of these recording devices. See? The ones with the little red lights on them. They won’t hurt you.

Aha! So, maybe they could hear me? I moved close to a blonde teen-aged girl who held one of the sticks. Numbers changed rapidly on a tiny glowing screen. I didn’t see where to speak, so I just moved close.

Go away! I shouted. I couldn’t help it, I laughed.

Still no one reacted. I grew more impatient. Bothering me this late with questions I couldn’t even answer!

A tall fellow stood behind and to one side of the teen girl, one hand on her shoulder. With his other hand, he waved a plastic box in the air like a Geiger detector. I tried to swat it out of his hand. I didn’t connect with it, of course, but when my hand passed through, lights on the box beeped and it let out an awful squeal. His face lit up with excitement and several people near him broke their places in the circle to take his picture or wave other boxes near him.

I laughed at the fleshies and made other boxes flash and light up. I knew Ol’ Bess wouldn’t approve, and I’d get an earful later, but I hadn’t had this much fun in years.

Since I don’t like sharing body space with fleshies, I backed out of the clump of silly people and watched from my grave, a few yards away.

After awhile, the night air chilled my uninvited visitors. Since the boxes didn’t flash again, they got bored and yammered to each other. Dee Dee announced to the air and anyone listening that they’d be leaving soon. She led them in a prayer of sorts, something about visualizing a cocoon of white light surrounding them, protecting them from any spirits that might try to follow them home.

I chuckled and wished for a prayer to protect me from them.

After that, Ol’ Bess wouldn’t speak to me. I heard her talking to some of the others, whispering that I’d started something I couldn’t finish. When I objected, she just gave me the cold shoulder.

I thought that night would be the end of it, but I was wrong. That bunch of fleshies kept on coming back to talk to the air, begging for one of us to make their boxes flash and beep. Dee Dee was always there, though the other faces changed a bit.

It wouldn’t have been so awful for me since I’m awake a lot of the time anyway, but some of the others started to complain about the noise and commotion. Soon, none of my cemetery’s other residents would speak to me. I was filled with such loneliness that I looked forward to the pesky fleshies visiting. At least they talked to me.

One night, Dee Dee arrived with her bunch, and they performed their usual, even though I’d stopped trying to stir them up. In the middle of the one-sided conversation, Dee Dee stared at my grave and bent down. A gopher had been visiting lately, and freshly turned earth made a small lump in the long depression over my remains. Dee Dee gasped and picked something up off the ground.

"Guys,