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Lars versus Space Aliens

by Ásgrímur Hartmannsson

Table of Contents
Table of Contents
parts: 1, 2, 3

Part 3: The Birthday Party


James was applying some spirits to his girlfriend’s wounds while the midget sat beside them with his computer.

“Anything yet?” he asked the midget.

“Surprisingly, yes,” said the midget, looking up. “This guy has made no attempt to hide his trail. He’s in Denmark right now.”

“Okay... that’s interesting. Who is he then?”

“It is probably Lars the Hammer,” said the woman.

The midget agreed.

“Why could he be calling me?”

“Maybe he has a contract out on you and wants to give you a warning for old times’ sake?”

“I don’t know. I think we should play it safe and have someone waste him. While he is still so far away, I mean.”

The midget nodded.

“Who do we have in Denmark?”

“Well... we could use either Henning the Axe or Dire Wolf Carsten.”

“Send both of them, to be sure,” said the woman.

The midget nodded.

“Now, time for that happy ending.”

* * *

Henning the Axe and Dire Wolf Carsten were on holiday, one slightly drunker than the other, when they got the call. The midget informed them that they were both on the job but would both get paid, whoever made the kill. They needn’t start competing and kill each other like idiots.

They each got into their respective vehicles. Henning had a convertible and Carsten, a motorbike. They started homing in on the signal sent them by the midget.

* * *

Lars slowly made his way to Jørgen Moes Vei. It was a two-hour trip, at least, from the gas station. Miraculously, he did not meet a policeman on the way. Any would have stopped him about the car. It had no lights. Or a roof. Or general structural integrity.

He stopped twice on the way, once to have a hotdog and once to wrap the space-gun in some festive wrappers. He figured he’d give it to the kid as another present. For no reason.

He finally found the house. It was a brown building, two floors in name only. There wasn’t much to see from the front, but there definitely was a party going on in the backyard. There were balloons and everything.

Lars climbed out of the car, and took the porno mag and the parcel with him to the door, ringing the doorbell. A woman with a great deal of puffy hair came to the door. She looked at Lars, and she asked, “Who are you?”

“I’m Lars. I’m here for the party,” he said and barged in.

“You can’t come in here! I don’t know you!”

“Yes, you do,” said Lars, “and I have proof. Look here.” He produced his phone, showing her the received-call history.

The woman looked at it and gaped. “But I didn’t—”

“Too late. Now, where’s that kid, whatsisname?”

Lars strode through the house and into the back yard, where there were several children at play. He noticed that one stood out, looking more birthday-boyish than all the others. “There you are, kid! My long-lost relative going back centuries!”

The kids all looked at him.

“I want to give you this!” He handed the magazine to the child.

“Anders, don’t take anything from that man!” yelled his mother, who was storming out to intervene in whatever was about to transpire.

She grabbed the porn from Anders’ hand and threw it away. It was immediately picked up by two boys who started reading it. Well, actually just looking at the pictures.

“Who do you think you are?” she asked him in a loud and commanding tone.

“I’m Lars, the man you called six times to invite to Anders’ birthday party.”

“I know that, but who are you?”

“I told you. Who gave you my number?”

She was about to have a fit when the doorbell rang. “I have to get this. You stay here.”

“The hell I will,” said Lars, looking around. The yard wasn’t fenced off, and he figured he could escape through the bushes beside the house and get back to his car and go someplace else. He was feeling more annoyed than before and as unwelcome as can be.

Maybe he could drive that jalopy against traffic? That would have been a bad idea in the BMW, since he would have survived and whoever he hit would have been killed. He shook the idea off. No, better just find more rope.

He handed the kid the parcel, smiled at him, and left. He got through the bushes just as the kid opened the parcel and saw what was inside. The kid had never seen such a thing, but it looked very exciting.

As Lars came through the bushes, he glanced to his side, and saw a couple of sinister-looking men barge into the house, violently pushing the woman before them. Then there was a great noise of battle. But that interested him little.

More interesting was the Mustang convertible now parked in front of the house. And the motorbike behind it. They had not been there when he arrived. He looked inside the Mustang and saw the keys dangling in the ignition.

“Why not?” he said to himself, shrugging.

He got into the Mustang and drove away. Behind him the house suddenly exploded quite violently. He stopped the car and looked around. That was an oddly soothing sight to see, somehow cathartic. And there, from around a corner, came a beat-up and burnt pickup truck with some large, beat-up and burnt-looking space aliens aboard.

He felt cold. He turned to face forward again and noticed, at a great distance, numerous spaceships flying in formation. And he could but grin. “Let those rat-bastards follow me now,” he said to the world. And he sped off, burning rubber.

Copyright © 2017 by Ásgrímur Hartmannsson

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