This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Longevity and Other Stories. If you are daring, why not subscribe to my newsletter (they come few and far between), and I’ll send you a PDF copy of the book?

The morning was almost beyond us. The cab drivers were thick out on the streets. There was a lot of barking over the corner, and there were rumors they might put up a stop sign. I wasn’t for it, but there were lesser evils, I suppose.

I poured tea for four and brought it out in our sitting room and set it down. Mrs. Smith was there.

“Thank you,” she said and added a lemon wedge to her tea and honey.

Mr. Curtis took him, adding nothing. He was watching the streets as the dogs went by, one foot up on the sill.

I sat down in my favorite wing chair by the fire.

Mrs. Constellation closed the door to the floor below us. I could hear her talking to someone, then shutting the door and shuffling up the stairs.

“The mail sirs,” said Mrs. Constellation.

“Leave it on the table, thanks,” I said. “Anything important?”

“A check maybe?”

Mrs. Constellation laughed. “There is something for you, Mr. Curtis.”

She put the small pile down and gathered her tea and her spot.

One letter, not the one on top, but one other poking from the side, had a jet-black envelope with gold writing on it. Seemed unusual, but I lost track of my thoughts on it when Mrs. Smith said “Do you think it’s the last time we’ll see them? The creatures.”

“I don’t…”

“Yes,” said Mr. Curtis. “They’ll be back. I believe they are nomads, looking for a home.”

“Proof of alien life, though,” I said.

“You haven’t worked with me long enough then,” said Mr. Curtis.

“There’s more?”

“Oh yes. You think we’re alone?”

“I always thought we were.”

“Rubbish,” said the frog. “Too much potential for life out there, Mrs. Smith. Way too much. Every planet, every star in the night sky, there’s a chance each star is home to something.”

“Mr. Curtis I…”

“We’ve seen some of it already. Saucers, little squid beasts possessing intelligent folks like us, running around doing little squid-beast things.”

“I’m sure it’ll…”

“It’s the beginning, that’s all. Did I ever tell you about my partner? The one who used to go on stage with me?” he croaked. “Excuse me.”

“Stella, I think her name was,” I said. “Chipmunk, easy to do your saw-her-in-half act.”

“I always thought she might be an alien.”

“What happened to her?” said Mrs. Smith.

Mr. Curtis cleared his throat. “Vanishing act. Smoke mirrors, velvet curtains, stuff like that. She vanished.”

“Then?”

“I couldn’t get her back.”

He jumped over the tea set.

“Mr. Curtis. I’m sorry.”

“I haven’t been on stage since, thanks to Dr. James here for this, a way to work on cases and exercise my mind.”

“And together we’re a good team.”

“Yes, we are.” He looked at the mail and came across the dark envelope. “Oh, dear.”

“What is it?” said Mrs. Smith.

“It’s a letter.” He held up the envelope. From where I was, I could only see it had our address, and an unusual stamp on it, all done in electric gold ink.

“It’s a letter from my brother.”

He opened the letter and skimmed it. The writing appeared in extremely complicated and swirly calligraphy with bright gold ink on deep black paper. Mr. Curtis read the letter half-aloud, mumbling from one end of the page to the end.

“Oh no. The worst has happened. He’s coming for a visit.”

“Mr. Curtis, won’t that be nice? I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Mr. Curtis drank his cup of tea down. “Ever had a brother that was always better than you were, no matter how brilliant you thought of yourself?”

“My sister’s better at cake than I am with bread,” said Mrs. Smith. She took a sip.

“I once built a fort from a box when I was a kid, a clubhouse. Had a door, everything. Slits for light. He built himself one with stone walls, gas lamp, separate study and bedroom and…” he sighed, “a moat with fish in it.”

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Constellation.

“Did anyone…”

“They all went to hang out in his.”

“And yours?”

“They burned it down while I was running to the bathroom. The moat was my idea too. I knew I needed one.”

“Want me to feed him one of my octo-rolls?”

“Do you still have any?”

“No, of course not.” She smiled.

“It was fun to think about it, though.”

“Anything else in the letter?”

Mr. Curtis tucked the letter into his waistcoat. “He wants a visit to the city. Thank goodness he lives in another.”

Mrs. Smith brought up a basket of rolls and laid them on the table next to the tea. There was an assortment there, different dinner rolls, as well as donuts, some cream horns, and a few jelly-filled cupcakes.

Their hands initially reached out for one, then everyone’s hands pulled back, all at once. In my mind I saw them hatching, struggling, then breaking forth, one pointed tentacle at a time, and then leaping for our faces, taking us down. Today is tomorrow and the town, then the world.

I blinked. Nothing was happening. I let out a long-held breath and realized it was over. Nothing was going to happen. I took a donut, a cake, frosted with chocolate, and took a bite.

“Delightful, Mrs. Smith,” I said after I got through a bite.

“Thanks for resting it, testing them,” said Mrs. Smith. With a smile now, she took one.

Mrs. Constellation picked up a blueberry muffin., nibbled the edge, then dove in, taking a huge bite.

“Let me see,” said Mr. Curtis. He looked them over and took a pretzel from the side. It was still slightly warm from being in the basket. He chewed on it, then swallowed it up in a gulp, grabbing it with his tongue. “Pardon me there. Excuse me. I might need just one more.”

I took a muffin.

“Look, here’s one made just for you, banana nut with extra flies.”

“Interesting, I did not notice that.”

“Made it just for you.”

“I thank you. Give it here then, James.”

I taunted him with an eyebrow and held it up in front of the window, and shook it.

“Make it disappear.”

Mr. Curtis squinted, judged the distance halfway across the room, and closed one eye. He took off the monocle, slipping it into a pocket in his waistcoat, and unleashed his tongue. It flew across the room at lightning speed, snagged the banana nut muffin with extra flies, and dragged it back into his mouth, where it did indeed disappear.

Mr. Curtis burped loudly, then licked his lips. “Excuse me.”

We laughed, and Mr. Curtis jumped into his chair, and the four of us polished off our morning tea.

Soon Mrs. Constellation tidied up the tray, I helped her, and then she took it away downstairs.

“Nobody much remembers it, but we do, don’t we?” I said.

“I don’t think that’s right, but it is a small number.”

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