Little Green Men

This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright 2011 Plot Roach.

Little Green Men

By Plot Roach

“Hello, this is 9-1-1, please state your emergency.”

“There’s someone in my house.”

“Have you seen the intruder, ma’am? Can you give me a description? Is he armed?”

“I know someone is here, because I can hear him -or maybe them. It sounds like two or more different voices. It’s like they’re chatting away like friends watching a ball game, but I can’t see them.”

“Have you moved closer to the vicinity of the voices to get a better look?”

“The voices are all around me, but I can’t see who is talking.”

“Have you been on any medication recently or taken any illegal substances?”

“Damn it! I’m not stoned or having a hallucination. There are voices in my apartment, and I can’t see who they are coming from.”

“Ma’am, please stay calm. If you continue to use profanity or escalate in tone, I may have to hang up on you.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m in my home, with unseen attackers and you’re going to just hang up on me?”

“Have any of them actually ‘attacked' you?”

“Well, not specifically, but they have destroyed my property. And they refuse to leave, even after I’ve told them to get out.”

“Did they speak with you?”

“No, they just got silent and then laughed. That’s when I ran into the bedroom and called you. Can you send the police?”

“Are you sure that there is someone in the house with you?”

“Hold on, maybe I can get closer and you can hear them.”

“Don’ be botherin’ wit’ polishin’ tha gold on tha lamp, Shamus. Tis naught real.”

“By the luv o the emeral’ isle! Why bother havin’ it then?”

The conversation was followed by the sound of a heavy thud and the tinkling of breaking glass.

“Did you hear that? I’m not making it up. They’re here. There’re real. I didn’t invite them in and I want them to leave!”

“I’m not sure what I heard ma’am. Just stay calm and I will send the police.”

“Please tell them to hurry!”

Then the sounds of laughter filled the phone line just before it went dead.

When the police showed up, they found the occupant of the house sitting in the front yard drinking a Long Island Ice Tea and jerking visibly when a sound of breaking glass emanated from the house.

“You called for us ma’am?”

“Oh, yeah. But I don’t think you’ll be able to help. In fact, I think you better just turn around and go on to the next call. You don’t want to have to file the paperwork from this one, you really don’t.”

“But if your home has been invaded and you feel threatened…”

“Threatened, not so much. As for my house, they can have it as long as they want it.”

“But-”

“It was all my fault. Don’t worry about it. Everything will be fine when the clock strikes midnight.”

“Why is that?”

“Because then it will be march 18^th and not ‘today.’”

“’Today?’”

“St. Patrick’s day.”

“But shouldn’t we check it out?”

“No, it was a false alarm. Everything will work itself out in time. No need to be concerned. Thanks for stopping by.”

The sounds of laughter and singing threaded out of the broken front window and onto the street. The officers left at the woman’s request, warning her that they might be back if the noise continued past ten that evening.

“Do what you feel you need to officers, but I won’t be here if you show up.”

“Where will you be?”

“At a nearby hotel until my ‘guests’ decide to leave.”

Once again alone on the front porch, she poured herself another drink. She winced as she heard what could only be the antique Tiffany lamp her great Aunt Beatrice had left her in her will crashed against the front door of the house. It’s all okay, she told herself. She emptied the glass and dialed a number on her cell phone, making arrangements for a cab to take her to a hotel. By morning her place would be back to normal, spotless even. That’s what Patrick, leader of the Green Clean Troop had told her when she finally caught him in a pillowcase.

It seems that her mother’s advice of leaving out milk, honey and bread in a bowl on her back porch had attracted their attention. They saw her as one of the last ‘true believers‘, and as such thought of her home as a good place to spend a night of frivolity before returning to their daily lives as woodland protectors, cobblers and emissaries of good fortune. Patrick promised that every item smashed would be repaired before morning to better than new condition and that she would be given more than ample compensation for her time, stress and possessions. Then she released the small man from her grip, trusted him to his word and left the forty or more miniature marauders to their destructive revelry.

So she sighed and poured herself another drink, waiting for the cab and chuckling to herself. She smiled, even as her hands would not stop shaking. It was not everyday she was witness to a Leprechaun rave.