Almost everyone in our town worked at the army base. Even my parents did, despite their weedy frame and permanent spectacles. They had picked our home based on the commuter distance rather than amenities, and often got home long past the rising of the moon.
We lived on the edge of a roundabout with small pavements. The local shop closed at five on a Saturday, and our local walk was a trip round the alleys of an industrial estate. White trucks drove by at all hours.
None of this bothered me. Our video collection took up six shelves. Mum kept the freezer stocked with ready meals. The moment when I closed the curtains to embrace the glow of the television was the best part of my day.
Tonight my dinner had been a frozen pizza, and a box of nuked microwaved chips. The bang from outside was loud enough to make me knock the plate off the sofa. Down went the food onto our magnolia carpet, staining their threads forever.
Brakes screeched. A babble of voices called to each other outside, the words fuzzy through our double glazing. The logical choice was to remain in my seat, and keep the movie going. But nothing happened in our town. I had to see what was happening.
Autumn had arrived, and the air was crisp. Masked soldiers made frantic hand gestures. White vans larger than municipal buses clogged the roundabout, their headlights pointing to a shape on the floor.
The animal lying in the gutter resembled a large deer. Some kind of stag far away from its natural habitat. But the more you looked, the more various body parts lost their logic. The eyes were silver spheres with no obvious pupils. Each hoof was longer than sleeves on a hoodie, and jagged teeth bent over each other in a wonky slash of a mouth. A tarpaulin made a vague attempt to cover the body, but the torso alone was the length of a Great White.
This was nothing compared to the herd trotting towards us from the main path into town. The twisted ears of the two nearest the front were in line with our neighbour’s top floor windows, their horns ending somewhere near the chimney. This pair was perhaps the father and mother of the animal on the floor. If so, they had brought a lot of relatives.
My parents sprinted past the advancing horde, their clothes stained purple. I tried to speak, but Dad grabbed my collar, and dragged me back through the door. A spiderweb of cracks ruined the right lens of his glasses.
Gunshots mingled with the crack of breaking tiles. Something howled long and loud. Mum listened to a walkie-talkie, the static loud and chaotic. Dad fetched a carving knife. I did not mention the upside down pizza. The television was still on. Two men fished together in an advert, their lines delving into the ocean, hidden within a land of unknown giants.
Line: If so, they had brought a lot of relatives.
