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?

We scrambled down the road. It looks as though everyone on the street but us has a tentacle hanging from a nostril, ear, or mouth. They stagger about, but some of them are getting a grip and walking upright.

Mr. Curtis shoves the key into our apartment on shadow street and we practically fall in, locking the door behind us.

“The kitchen!” said Mr. Curtis.

“Salt!” I said, scrambling around behind him.

“That will be enough, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Constellation. She turned, wearing a long black dress, and with tentacles pouring from her mouth, nose, and ears, she opened her mouth wide enough for her head to appear to split open so the creature inside could get both eyes out, and use its mouth, though it continued speaking with her voice.

“You’ll do nothing of the kind.”

She whipped out a tentacle and stopped me from making the kitchen. Beak or no, she smiled a weak, prim smile at me. “I want you to know it’s nothing personal. The invasion is in full swing, and from here there is nothing you can do about it.”

“Nothing?” said Mr. Curtis. “I’ve never known nothing I couldn’t do something about.” He grinned and shot his tongue past her into the kitchen, where a small salt shaker sat by the tea tray.

“You!” she said, then whipped it away from him, and right towards me. His smile faltered, but only for a second, and while I was watching the salt shaker fly at me in slow-motion, spinning like a top and spreading salt everywhere on the parlor floor, I watched him jump on her head and pull her skirt back and cover her head.

I caught it.

“Good man!”

The shaker had plenty left in it, so I started shaking, while Mr. Curtis started hitting the tentacles coming from Mrs. Constellation that were still visible with drops of holy water.

The creature had burns on its skin. It hissed and pulled back with each drop.

Again, it hissed.

“No!”

“Invasion? What invasion?”

“We’re coming!”

“Looks like you’re already here.”

Drop. Hiss. It shrank back from him. I started salting my way up the stairs.

“Come on now.”

“Through the food. Germinating in the bread. We traveled the stars for eons. Ages and ages.”

“Why not ask for help?”

“We need hosts to…”

“To?”

“To grow. You’re just a child, aren’t you?”

Mrs. Constellation fell to her knees.

“Sorry, need her back before she dies.”

“No, don’t..”

He poured a measure of holy water over her.

Mrs. Constellation fell to the floor, writhing in agony. She clutched her throat, screamed, and then relaxed as the creature escaped from her mouth and ran for the door.

It skittered through the salt, limping in its tentacles with pain before it got to the door, where Mr. Curtis opened it, and let it out.

He croaked and lashed his tongue up to straighten his hat.

“You let it go.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Why?”

“Mrs. Constellation. I wanted it out of here long enough to revive her.”

She lay still on the floor.

“Come on, frog, she’s dead!”

He held up a finger. “Bullfrog.”

“Right. She’s dead, face it. The whole town is about to go under now. Look outside, they are everywhere.”

“True, but she’s not dead.”

“Of course she is. There’s the corpse!”

“Have you checked her pulse, Doctor?”

“No, I, uh.”

“Go on, check her.”

I reached down, mostly watching my bullfrog friend make sure a tentacle didn’t fall from his mouth. Her pulse was there. I checked it again.

“She is alive.”

“Thank you, Dr. James.”

“Help me.”

We picked her up and put her on the chaise. She opened her eyes, and they were wild. “You boys have no right. I’m going to kill you both!”

She sat up on her elbows and continued to fuss.

“You are never bringing me such a terrible breakfast ever again, and you, Dr. James, I need you to quit spreading the bloody salt all over the place. I’ve got a mind to take you out back and hog…”

“I love you too, Mrs. Constellation. You’re back to normal. I’m glad.”

“Back to… I went nowhere. I’m going to…”

Mr. Curtis pulled back the curtains in the front window.

“Hey, I never leave those…”

“I know,” I said, and led her forward to see outside.

“Down the street, that’s Phil Coleson from the farmer’s market. What’s that coming out of his nose, spaghetti?”

She looked up the street, “Martha Wright. Why is she stumbling around? Her mouth!” More noodles were dangling there.

“The salt?”

“They can’t cross it.”

The frog held up one of his empty flasks.

“Holy water?”

“Yup. Evicts them pretty much on the spot.”

She sat down at her writing desk. She reached out, grabbed a fountain pen and got it going, grabbed a piece of velvety stationery, and started barking.

“Where from?”

“Under The bakery.”

“How?”

“They get into the bread dough.”

“And there?”

“They germinate or develop somewhat.”

“Until?”

“They get eaten.”

“We think so. They get into the digestive system and then…”

“They take over, start driving.”

“Animal bodies.”

“What’s the point?”

“Invasion?”

“That’s stupid. They look like what, squid?”

“Little yellow octopuses.”

“Only have five tentacles, though.”

“Except the big one they use in fights. They keep one down their throats.”

“Right.”

“We need to get into that bakery again,” said Mrs. Constellation. “Undetected. Unnoticed. Without getting caught.”

“Yes, Mrs. Constellation?”

“Then we need to get the salt into the…”

“Around the tank and into the tunnels.”

“And the holy water?”

“Into the dough.”

“Into all the dough.”

“When the holy water is in their system?”

“Gets ugly. Creature escapes, usually through the mouth.”

“Breakfast is going to be ugly.”

“You know it is.”

“Have we any more salt?”

“There’s a box in the kitchen.”

“Okay. That’s good.”

“Let’s get our stuff together.”

“Arthur?”

“We’ll see. Not sure he’d help us.”

Mrs. Constellation slept on the couch rather than go home, which did not surprise me. We had decided our best shot was to go by midnight, and I was the only one who could not sleep. We worked for a further hour on plans and crazy schemes, trying to figure out the best way to get that holy water into the creature’s food supply. Not interested in killing them outright, we were detectives, not superheroes, but merely to free those we knew from them and make statements. Assuming we weren’t dead in the morning anyway, maybe we could make a difference.

I’d sent Arthur a message, with no way of knowing it got to him, telling him where we’d like him to meet us at midnight. We could do it without him, but his help might make things smoother.

Mrs. Constellation helped us get our gear together, fresh suits, because fresh suits, shoulder bags to carry salt, and holy water. It turned out we had two boxes in the townhouse. If I found more at the bakery, I’d take that too.

Mr. Curtis sent another note to Argus, his cab driver. We would need a good and fast getaway if I was right. No idea if he got that message, either.

Mr. Curtis always kept a network of younger frogs to help him gather information. He called them the tadpoles. They seemed clean. I just hope the dog or the owl doesn’t eat them.

Mr. Curtis went to his room after that. Soon I heard his regular chanting. Each night he meditates. He usually talked to himself tonight about our business kicking off and being more successful than it was. He was carefully going over the plan, over and over, including waking up at a proper time, and everyone getting their messages well and on time.

After that he passed out on his desk, snoring loudly, his tongue lay loosely at his side in the inkwell, and one of his knees was up, pointed into the air. He remained fully dressed and ready to go but otherwise looked as relaxed as possible. One of his arms lay curled around his magic hat.

After checking on him, I returned to my room across the hall from his. It was quiet, aside from the random scrapings of the possessed people out learning how to drive their bodies out there on the streets.

Light snow hit my window, and I kept little more light than a single candle for journaling, which I did most nights. Most nights, I was usually occupied with thinking over our cases and documenting them. I’m not sure why anyone would be interested, but then again, this one…

I put my pen down and took a drink of tea. Both Mr. Curtis and I laced everything we drank or ate now with little drops of holy water.

When someone tapped on my windowsill, I put the glass down.

I went to the window, waving my candle a little too much, and opened it. I could see owl talons.

“Fool!” said Arthur. “What are you coming out early for?”

“But you scratched on the…”

“I did not. Is the frog ready?”

“He will be.”

“And you?”

“I haven’t slept since the war, at least rarely enough to talk about. I don’t even keep a bed in my apartment.”

The owl leaned for a quick look. “Nice plush chair.”

“It’s good for sleeping when I can get some.”

“Night owl like me?”

“Good time to write.”

“I love you, Dr. James. You’re stupid.”

“I say.”

“You do?”

“Look, I’m in love with the night, but after what I’ve seen lately…”

“Experienced…”

“Right. It’s all over the place. Never thought I’d be helping anyone do anything like this.”

“It’s good to know you will tell us.”

“Of course, I will. I like it here in town, and I don’t like calamari. “

“Arthur does that mean…”

“No, I don’t hunt the likes of you, Dr. James. I only hunt the dumb, and I mean people that are still animals, not the intelligent.”

“It’s almost time.

“Get suited up.”

I closed the window, left, took my candle with me, and opened his door again.

“Mr. Curtis?” He was right in my face, hat on his head, and eying me through his monocle.

“Is it time now?” He had me by the lapels of my jacket and swung me around. I backed up to a dart board he commonly used for practicing his knife throwing.

“What? Yes.” He threw a knife. It landed by my left hand, pinning my jacket. “It’s time to get ready.” He threw another. It came close to my head. Where was he getting them from?

I quickly detached my wrist and got down from his target.

“Good goose then, Let’s get going,” he said, putting another one into the practice target, in the middle.

“That was a good one.” He took the lead and headed downstairs. “Mrs. Constellation, we’re ready.”

She quickly saddled him with the holy water, two gigantic bags of little bottles that clanked. She stuffed them with cotton. They still clanked, it just wasn’t obnoxious. For me, two-shoulder bags full of salt. It was a combination, of rock salt, some kosher, and some table salt.

“Nice.” I put some on my tongue.

“Still not possessed?” said Mr. Curtis.

“Seems like it.”

“Good then, do me.”

I held out some salt. He licked it off my hand and thought for a second. “Me neither?”

“No, I suppose not. The owl’s upstairs.”

“Let’s go.”

“Get out of here, you two idiots.”

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