The Greers’ Holiday

by James Finn

Table of Contents
Part 1 appears
in this issue.

conclusion

* * *

Stan couldn’t believe how much it cost for a home security system. He could have hired a platoon of soldiers for the same price. And he couldn’t believe the audacity of the store guy who had suggested he get someone to install it and that he knew a friend who could do it for cheap.

After telling the guy where to go, Stan loaded his vehicle with the security kit.

Pulling onto his drive and getting out Stan heard Ted and his son talking from behind the hedge. They were washing the car. He decided not to remove his package until they’d gone inside. He didn’t want to incite suspicion. It may cause Ted to stop altogether and more than likely relocate; and Stan didn’t want that. He wanted to know. Wanted to catch them in the act.

No, it would be no good if they were to cotton on to his plan. Stealth was key.

Sitting in his arm chair in between smoking a cigarette and drinking Whiskey Stan stewed. He couldn’t believe they were taking so long to clean the car. They’d finishing washing the outside they had now begun on the inside.

He was becoming increasingly impatient and agitated. But he knew he couldn’t allow his emotions to get the better of him. That’s what the enemy wants; for him to slip up and blow his cover, give his position away. No, he was smarter than that.

The Germans had tried the same approach during the war. While he was freezing in a fox hole, they were all shacked up in some warm farm house eating ample provisions whilst telling jokes, in between bombing their positions. They hadn’t been joking in the end though. His patience had prevailed. In the end it was they who were cold. Their bodies peppered with gunshot holes lying lifeless in the snow.

Patience, that’s all he needed, he told himself empting the glass.

He didn’t know why they even bothered cleaning the damn car, they weren’t using it for their holiday. Their holiday involved electrical gadgets and chemical solutions. He’d seen Sue coming back from the shop with it earlier that day. No normal family buys stuff like that for their summer holiday.

Through the open window Stan heard the shutting of doors then the sound of an alarm activating. He waited a further five minutes listening to the silence, then he went and collected his goods.

Now it was his turn to make noise and carry out his plans. Opening the box Stan removed the three cameras, a CCTV controller monitor, recorder and tapes.

There was no way he’d miss a trick now. He’d record the shed every second of the day. He’d find out what went on and what was inside when the door was opened. Moments later he set to work positioning his new surveillance cameras at suitable locations in his home.

* * *

Whiskey and cigarette in hand, Stan sat in front of the monitor watching the Greers’ backyard. It was late evening and the sky had cast a gloom over everything. There hadn’t been much activity so far; the Greer girl had come out and played with her skipping rope, but that was all. Ted Greer hadn’t so much as showed his nose; but he would. If it was like last year’s supposed holiday he’d be out in his shed every night until they finally were ready to leave.

Stan emptied the glass before going to the kitchen and refilling it with another liberal amount of amber fire. He cursed himself when he saw the shed door shutting on the monitor.

“Christ!” He slammed his drink down on the table spilling half of it. He couldn’t believe Ted had decided to come out when he wasn’t there to witness it. Taking a seat Stan waited, hoping for Ted to come back out; maybe go and collect something he’d forgotten. Then he remembered, he was recording it.

He rewound the video. He watched as Ted carried a clear bottle containing a pink solution up the garden. After Ted had unlocked and opened the door Stan was able to make out vague objects but nothing of any real form or character, it was useless, the cameras had offered him little more than a fleeting glance.

Two hours passed. The sky turned to night and the usual glowing corona around the shed door was burning but that was all. It wasn’t enough. He needed to get a camera inside the shed, or at least somewhere where he would be able to see exactly what was going on inside. The short opening of the door wasn’t enough to establish what kind of work Ted Greer was up to.

Stan went up to the back bedroom and surveyed both his and the Greers’ garden. He had fixed a camera in his front bedroom facing down on the Greers’ drive way to see what kind of materials they were bringing in and one here. Which left one spare. Looking down he had to find a suitable place for the third. Somewhere with a better vantage point.

It was as he was scanning Ted’s garden that he became aware of a very bright pink glow around the shed. At a closer look Stan saw that it didn’t surround the shed, rather, it emanated from every fissure. From around the door and between the gaps in the wooden slats; it was as though the place were ablaze inside. It remained this way for about a minute before appearing to burn out, with only the electric light corona around the door giving sign to Ted’s presence.

It was decided; tomorrow he would position a camera inside Ted Greers’ shed.

* * *

Not since his last mission in nineteen forty-four had Stan Perks felt so anxious or so eager. He’d taken out and donned his old camouflage uniform and had applied green face paint from his old kit. He sat patient in his kitchen, smoking, waiting for the cover of night to be his ally on his mission. He sat silent with only the glow of his cigarette burning like a star in the room. Stubbing it out, he rose to his feet. It was time. Picking up the small camera and roll of wire he opened the back door and set out.

He had watched Ted go into his shed only minutes before. It was the perfect time to carry out his plan. Ted always made some sort of noise when at work which in turn would cover his own furtive actions.

It took Stan ten minutes to position his camera. Twenty minutes later he was back inside watching Ted Greer at work. Stan had opened a bottle of fine malt to celebrate his success. Ted was constructing some kind of doorway built up of wires and tubes containing the pink solution he carried in the day before.

“I know your game,” Stan slurred in front of the screen. He was drinking from the bottle. “Yes, I know what you’re up to. Think you could pull the wool over my eyes do you? I used to think it was speculation, but not any more. Aliens exist and watching you at work confirms such a fact, Ted. Though I’m not ready to expose you yet, oh no. They’ll think I’m crazy with just the doorway as proof. I’ve got to get pictures of you on your travels, and I’ll get them. Don’t you worry; I’ll get the damn pictures.”

* * *

Stan was woke from his alcohol induced stupor to an incessant knocking at the font door, which had merged into his dream as mortar fire. Rubbing a hand across his bony face, he climbed out of bed the same way a turtle climbs out of its shell. Seeking support from the banister handrail he warily made his way down stairs.

The knocking continued.

“All right, all right, I’m not deaf!”

Opening the door his was face to face with Ted.

“What the hell do ya want? I was sleeping,” he snarled.

Ted dangled the small camera with its cut cord in front of him like a dead rat. “Shouldn’t I be asking the same question?” he said evenly. “This is an invasion of our privacy, Stan. I could go to the police.”

Stan was silent for a moment. “Yeah... well, so could I. I’m sure they’d be real interested in what you’re up to in that shed of yours. I bet they’d love to know your schemes,” he said grinning, revealing his stained teeth and breathing his stale breath.

“So why don’t you call them then?”

“I may just do that... Yeah, I may.”

“Then what? They come around look inside my shed and see what? What have you seen, Stan?”

Stan flushed, then stuttered. “Things... that you’ve been doing.”

Ted smiled. “You haven’t seen yourself have you? What did you do, fall asleep in a drunken state as usual? You’re nothing but a nosey old man with nothing better to do. Oh, and as for you old army tactics and running the camera down and under the fence into my garden, then wedging the camera in a small hole, I saw you do the whole thing. I didn’t say anything because I wanted to see your face this morning. You’re a pathetic old man, Stan. Stay away. This is business you can do without knowing.” Ted dropped the camera on the doorstep, leaving Stan with his troubled thoughts.

* * *

Stan felt deflated. He couldn’t believe he been foiled; he had well and truly lost it. Ted was right, he was an old man, creeping around wasn’t for the likes of him. He’d been careless. Now the Greers knew he was watching them. Which meant they’d also take extra precaution. What ever he did between now and their holiday they would be aware of.

Lighting up a cigarette, he went into the lounge and rewound the tape of the previous night. Ted had been right, he’d fallen asleep half way through watching. He thought he’d positioned the camera in a pretty good place, it was low to the floor; but part of the view had been blocked by boxes, revealing only part of the constructed doorway.

He stopped the video at where he thought he’d fallen asleep then pressed play. He got the picture of part of the doorway then things changed. A foot came into view, moments later the boxes were moved aside and he was able to see the complete doorway. A large electronic structure with wires and tubes going into some kind of metal box. Then the doorway was gone, replaced by a note positioned inches away from the camera blocking out everything else. It read: Hi, Stan. Don’t you wish you were able to know exactly what I’m doing? I will see you in the morning.

Ejecting the tape he glared at it then threw it across the room.

“Okay, Ted. I may not have the skill any more, but one thing I’ve got in plenty is patience. I’ll meet you at the arrivals, then we’ll see who’s pathetic.”

* * *

Stan still left his other cameras connected and watched and waited until, like last year they all came out with their bags and cases. He would then follow with his video camera and have the proof. He’d make sure the alien scum would be dissected alive. He’d have the last laugh.

The days passed and Stan waited with his usual company: cigarettes and whiskey. He knew they would take a night journey like always, so every night he wore his uniform with medals. He wanted to do this probably, with pride and dignity. And he wanted to see the look on their pathetic faces when he did it.

The night came. It was on a Friday. Dry and the air balmy. Perfect travelling conditions.

Stan stood and watched as the Greers made their way across the lawn towards the shed. The two children were jumping around excitedly, while Ted had his arm around his wife. Their clothing looked worn and shabby, they looked like peasants.

Stan made he was down stairs and looked at himself in the mirror. Just like the day I received my medal from the Queen, he thought with a feeling of pride and just for what he was doing.

He watched as the Greers entered the shed closing the door behind them. There was a couple of minutes of muttered words among then, then an electronic buzz filled the air and the familiar pink glow burst from every gap. Then the light faded and silence fell.

Stan climbed the five-foot fence and approached the shed. The door had been locked. He looked about for something to jimmy the door with and found a garden fork speared in the earth. Perfect. Jamming it in the gap he pushed his weight against it. The door groaned. He pushed harder until the door made more strained noise then finally gave: he was in.

Closing the door behind him, Stan saw no sign of the Greers. There it was, the doorway. Tentatively he touched the wire and tube frame; it was warm. They had gone through. He suddenly felt anxious. He lifted the video camcorder from around his neck and turned it on. He pressed record, filming the doorway. He moved the camera forward into the doorway half expecting his arm to disappear into an alternate dimension or reality, but nothing happened.

It needs to be activated, he thought. He surveyed the box that had all the wires and tubes connected to it. There was one button on it, it read: Departure. Surely that can’t be it? he asked himself. Then he saw wires coming out from the box to a laptop. It had the Greers’ destination on the screen. Well, he thought, if they were aliens they came from Earth.

He pressed the Departure button and the shed began to hum and glow pink. Pink was the colour of the doorway, the solution used. Holding the camera out in front he slowly moved his arm into the doorway: it vanished. Ever more tentative he moved forward an inch at a time.

Suddenly he was pulled into the doorway by something strong. He emerged on the other side, where it too was night time. The first thing he heard was load explosions in the distance, then voices, but not English: German.

The German had him by the wrist, two others stood by dressed in uniform. They were pointing guns at him.

Christ! He tried frantically to pull away. He seen the destination but not the year. Struggling, he freed his wrist and as he did so he pointed the camcorder at one of the Germans who shot him dead. In the distance young Claire jumped with fright.

“What was that, Daddy?”

“It’s history, honey. Just like the gladiators in Rome and the slaves in Egypt, it’s all history. Now keep moving, I know there’s a place up ahead that the Germans don’t touch or go near throughout the entire conflict. It will be a lovely place to stay and watch.”

“Well, Dad, I’m happy. This was a nice surprise. And I’m sure it will be the best holiday ever.”