Nightfall has come and Alice has walked to the edge of the woods.
She has come to a sandy beach. The outskirts of Wereland.
Up ahead is a blazing campfire. She can see a person, mayhaps a werePerson, with a tin foil hat bustling around.
Alice walks towards the fire and sees a wereRat sitting on driftwood with a mug in hand.
A wereSnake is napping at the edge of the fire with a steaming mug sitting nearby.
And a wereHare approaches Alice with a fresh mug of... looks like cocoa.
Greetings - schmeetings. Care to join us for a cuppa cocoa - schmocoa?
But you must pay the admission fee, says wereRat.
Yes, admission fee required - reschmired. Indeed, indeed, says wereHare.
What is the fee? Alice asks.
A tale, answers wereRat.
A tail? asks Alice.
A tale - schmale, says wereHare.
I don't quite understand. I don't own a tail says Alice in dismay.
A tale as in sssssssssssstory, pipes up wereSnake who has been awaken from all the chit chat chatting.
A tale of the alien kind for tonight is ALIEN night, says wereRat.
Yessum, it dudn't have ta be of the epic kind or fancy like, says wereCrab who was hidden behind wereSnake's mug.
Quite right - schmight. We had ghost stories last night, says wereHare.
The werePerson in the tin foil hat continues to bustle and hustle and tustle about while jib jab jabbing to herself.
Don't mind her, says wereRat, She's MAD.
Mad? as in looney? asks Alice.
Nope - schmope. Her name's MAD, answers wereHare.
OKAY, I'll give you an alien tale. But you all need to go first, Alice announces.
WereRat claps in excitement and wereCrab snaps his claws too.
WereHare finally hands Alice the mug of cocoa but first adds marshmallows on top.
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Then MAD stands stock still.
Everyone turns to her.
And she begins to speak all trance-like...
"This here be Bubba. Now, I knows you folks been worryin' and wringin' yer hands 'bout them leetle bug-eyed critters flyin' round all over t'place like saucers on steroids, they be.
It were be honest o' me t'admit that I been worried sumthin fierce, too. It be hard e-nuff to keep Six-Toes-Ted's beer cans picked up out o' my yard cos he is the laziest son of a gun I ever did see an' won't pick up after his self no matter if I threaten to tell Maybelle 'bout that time he been flirtin' with that yung gal down at the Dollar Barn like he ain't been married no dang twenty year to the best leetle woman who can bake a biskit like nobody I ever did seen.
Now I gots t' worry bout them aliens an' theys fancy schamncy flyin' saucers they parade round in tearin' up my sheet metal an' I just got the dents hammered out last month after that bad hailstorm we done had...
Go listen to more of MAD's story here...
AND
enter the Alien Tin Foil Hat Giveaway of The Host by Stephenie Meyer
offer ends: Nov 10, 2010
* image source from the Strangeling
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