"Ah, Mr. Toad! Great to meet you at last!"
The producer came out from behind his desk as the receptionist ushered the funny-looking visitor
into his office and offered a hand to shake, before thinking better of it. Do aliens shake hands?
Do they have hands?
"Just Albert," Albert said diffidently. He wasn't at all comfortable about this whole situation. It just
wasn't how he normally operated. He blamed the Internet. It was all too easy to become
embroiled in hare-brained schemes when corresponding with beings at a safe distance, another
matter entirely to meet them in the cold light of day.Well, hot light actually. And bright. It never
got this bright on Aldebaran IV. He was glad he'd brought sunglasses.
"Albert it is, then," boomed Jack heartily. "Call me Jack. Drink? Michelle, two coffees here, quick
smart."
The receptionist made a noise of assent and turned to go.
"Cream and sugar?" Jack went on.
"Beer, please," Albert said. "Just a gallon or two. Bit thirsty."
"Gallon or two....? Ah, right....Michelle?" The girl paused in the doorway. "Suds for
Mister...uh..Albert." To Albert: "Bud or Coors?"
"No, beer," Albert said patiently. Translation problem? He kicked himself mentally. That usually
did the trick. "Ah. Yes. Samuel Adams. Sam Smiths. Timothy Taylors."
"Foreign beer?"
Samuel Adams was American but Albert wasn't going to get into that. "Yes, please."
"Got some German stuff in the cooler..."
"That will do," Albert said.
"Snack? Sandwich, pizza?"
"No, thanks." Albert hadn't eaten since supper last night and he was a bit peckish - the Chinese
girl had been delicious but rather small - but he wasn't about to risk indigestion.
After several bottles of the brew had been poured into a bucket from the props department by the
long-suffering Michelle and Albert had drained half of it, the dialogue resumed.
"About your book," Jack pressed on. "I think it's got potential."
"Book?" Albert hadn't openly published anything on Earth that he was aware of. It would not have
been a wise thing to do, the Bureau of Extraterrestrial Affairs might have taken an interest. He
had leaked a few excerpts from his 'Musings of a Galactic Gourmet' on a rather strange Internet
site under the assumption that everyone would believe them to be as fictional as all the other
stories and anecdotes published there. It had come as a surprise to him when the head of a film
studio had contacted him, and an even bigger one when he realised that the man actually
believed that he was in fact an alien. Or seemed to.
In fact Jack hadn't been entirely sure until Albert had squeezed through his office doors. He still
wasn't, but that didn't really matter. What mattered was the potential blockbuster he saw himself
making.
"Book, story, whatever," he said, "I want to film it."
Albert was far from sure about this. Curiosity had brought him this far, along with a dash of vanity
and greed, but he didn't see how this would work. "A documentary?" he asked dubiously. He
imagined a film crew following him around as he stalked and ate his prey. Not a chance. "An
educational piece?" He imagined himself lecturing to camera on the perils of interplanetary
dining. The nasty men in the dark suits would be all over him.
"Science fiction," Jack said. "Old style horror SF. It'll be like all those classics from the 1950's,
you know? 'The Man Eating Thing from Outer Space'". His hands spread the title on the air.
"Woman Eating," Albert corrected.
"Better yet," Jack said enthusiastically.
"I suppose that might work," Albert said. Horror, indeed. Once he would have felt just a little
insulted, but he realised that different people have different perspectives. "Would I have script
control?"
"Well..." Jack looked a little shifty. "Not exactly. We'd welcome your input, of course..."
That brought up the other point that had been bothering Albert. He had in fact seen a few fifties
monster films and they weren't usually overburdened with plot or witty dialogue. "If you don't need
me to write, why did you ask me at all?"
Jack gestured widely with his cigar. Glancing at it, he offered Albert one. Albert declined. "The
idea," he said enthusiastically, "We'd never have done it without you..."
Really? Never come up with the idea of a people eating Space Thing? "I'm sure," Albert said with
some irony. "But why ask me here? I published the sketches on the Net. You could have just - "
he shrugged "-stolen them. I'm not in a position to sue over copyright, am I?"
"My dear friend, we don't *steal* ideas," Jack lied indignantly. "Besides, we envisage another role
for you. We want you to feel personally involved.."
"As technical consultant?" Albert ventured wth merely a soupcon of sarcasm. He doubted this
sort of film would require technical consultants, assuming any of them could spell the term.
"We want you to star in it," Jack said. "As yourself, of course."
"Oh, of course," Albert muttered. Should have seen THAT coming. They could hardly have a
human actor play him. Maybe three or four of them in a suit, like a pantomime cow. He
suppressed a smirk. "I don't know. Can't you use whatsits...animatronics?"
"We could, sure but would that be authentic? We want this to look real. That's the drawing card,
don't you get it?"
Which means you don't have the tech in this studio and you can't afford Henson's lot. "Can't you
do it with computers?"
"Sure, we could, but that stuff always looks so phoney, don't you think? Everybody knows it's just
a glorified 'toon. Roger fuckin' Rabbit." He pantomimed spitting on the floor.
Albert thought about it. The Bureau of Extraterrestrial Affairs would certainly be alerted, but would
they mind? They did nothing to prevent studios producing Space Monster movies, of course.
Everybody knew they were just fantasy. He had been careful not to detail their operations in his
little essays. Long exposure to Earth culture had taught Albert a thing or two about conspiracy
theory, though it made his head spin at times. Presenting the truth as fiction was a classic
disinformation technique perfected by the devious British intelligence services during the last
major planetary war and enthusiastically adopted by every covert agency worth its salt ever since.
Maybe, just maybe, they'd buy it. He'd have to check in with them, of course. Still....
"How real do you want it?" he wondered.
Jack looked uncertain at last. "It has to look good," he said. "That's all."
Albert stared at him. "How good?"
Jack looked around and then leaned forward confidentially. "Level with me," he said. "You
really..." he paused and looked around again, "..do it? All those chicks?"
"Sure I do," said Albert airily. This, he realised, was dangerous ground. "Lots of them."
Stealth and cunning were his permitted weapons. Two were his weapons, stealth and cunning
and empathic projection. Wait, three were his weapons, stealth and cunning, empathic projection
and his tongue. No, four were...
Albert wished his neural net translator module hadn't taken all those Python shows to heart. The
damned thing seemed to have a mind of its own. Well, technically it did.
"I'd like you to do a screen test," Jack said. "You know, show me how it looks."
Albert shrugged again. "I don't see how," he said. "We'd need a live subject..."
Jack did something with his desk intercom. "Michelle? Get yer ass in here."
Michelle came in. She managed to look attentive, dutiful, bored and harrassed at the same time.
Not bad for somebody who mainly sat at a desk answering the phone and sending people in to
the boss, or not. It was obviously a required job skill.
"We're doing a screen test," Jack said. "We need a chick to get eaten by a space monster. Got
anybody?"
Michelle shook her head. "Nobody here for auditions right now."
Jack looked at Albert, at Michelle, back at Albert. "She do?"
Albert assessed Michelle. Businesslike white blouse and short, severe black skirt. Hair tied back,
glasses with (he'd guess) nothing but plain glass in them: props to make her look professional. If
you took off the specs, let down the hair....beautiful. "I suppose so," he said. "But.."
"Okay, here's the scene," Jack said, framing it with his hands. "Um...there's this space monster
running 'round eatin' good looking chicks. You're it."
Michelle stared at Jack, then at Albert. "That's a space monster? I thought he looked kinda
funny."
Albert sighed. "I'm just an aspiring actor," he said. "From Aldebaran."
"Is that in Europe?"
Not one of the world's great minds, Albert decided churlishly. "If you'd just take your clothes off.."
Michelle opened her mouth to protest, but seemed to be struck with a thought. "Do I get to be in
the movie?"
"Sure, whatever," Jack said. "Walk on role, anyway. It's a start."
"I'm not doing nudity," Michelle said righteously. "Not without a contract."
Albert tuned out the spirited and doubtless fascinating debate between producer and aspiring bit
player. The gist of it was that the girl stuck at keeping her bra and panties on. Finally she stood
stripped off but for the undies (charming confections in pink that hid almost nothing) and her
shoes, ready to proceed. "What do I do now?" she asked.
"Take your shoes off," Albert suggested. "It's more fu...more authentic if you go in feet first."
Great legs, he thought. Shapely, smooth and just a little tanned.
Michelle complied reluctantly. "Where do I..."
"Just lie down, I'll do the rest."
"Should I scream or something?" She sat down on the carpet. Albert lashed his tongue around
her ankles and pulled her feet into his mouth. Tasty.
"Yeep!" she exclaimed. And then, "Oh fuck...hey! What.."
Albert gulped her halfway down. Now she was in him up to the hips, face upward, bracing herself
on her elbows. She tried to pull her feet back out but only succeeded in separating her thighs
and tickling Albert's fancy. His stomach rumbled. Control, he told himself sternly.
"What happens next?" Jack wondered. His face was avid. He was breaking into a sweat.
"Well," Albert said, "Usually I get them all the way in, then I swallow them." His tongue seemed to
have a mind of its own, too. It was playing with Michelle's submerged undergarments.
"Stop that!" Michelle squealed as she squirmed and tried to kick.
Not difficult to slip his tongue under the lacy nothing, hook it and pull it down her legs. Michelle
kicked and squealed some more. She toed her panties off somehow. Why had she done that?
An accident? It hardly seemed likely. She gasped...
It's all right, Albert told her. His pheromones adjusted to hers the way the human immune system
adapts to threats. The low-level psionic link depended on chemistry to do its best work. To Albert
it was a skill as natural as walking is to a human, or lying to a politician: part natural, part
acquired.
Jack was taking shots with a phone camera. "Beautiful!" he crowed. "Do the next bit."
The 'next bit' would involve swallowing Michelle. Albert wasn't sure if that was really a good idea.
This is crazy, Michelle thought frantically. A strange idea occurred to her. What if this isn't a
prop? Why had she thought he was one? Above all, confusion reigned.
Because, my dear, that's what I do, Albert told her. Contact. Three are my weapons...
Oh, fuck that. It's simple. Yes, I'm really an alien. I do eat people. None of this was in words.
Translator not required.
Oh, right, Michelle thought. I'm...no...overload...something penetrated her. Slipped inside.
Tasty people. People like you...
Get me out of here, she mouthed at Jack, but what came out was 'Gaaaahhhh.."
"You want me to eat her?" she heard somebody say. It must be the alien. How could he speak
with her sticking out of his mouth? (As readers of these chronicles well know, Albert can't speak
English without a vocoder-translator that....oh, figure it out..).
"Just slip her in a bit further. You can get her out again, can't you?"
Take off your bra, Albert instructed. Michelle squirmed around, fumbling at the fastenings. She
had suddenly realised that it was very uncomfortable. She immediately felt better with it off.
From Albert's point of view, Michelle's slender torso sticking out of his mouth, was an awe-
inspiring sight. He never got tired of it. Two nicely plump little mounds, firm, ripe and juicy,
mounted on a lean rib cage. Nipples pointing heavenward.
It's not so bad being eaten, he told her. It's perfectly natural. You're food. GOOD food. Feeling
just a bit of resistance, he added: Method acting, he supplied. Humans loved to rationalise.
Contact. De Niro. Whatever.
It's not so bad being eaten, Michelle thought. It's perfectly natural. I'm food. The tongue slipped
further inside her. She moaned...
"Brilliant," Jack said. "Just a bit more..."
Albert gulped Michelle inside. She writhed and gasped in a decidedly authentic manner as he
rolled her about his mouth, savouring her. With an effort, he delayed the departure that would
send her into his stomach, never to return.
"Great!" Jack said. "Now let her out."
"Um..." Hungry. Tasty lady...
"Jesus! Let her GO dammit!"
Albert snapped out of it. "Sorry," he muttered.
Michelle emerged from between his lips in a groteque parody of rebirth. Think 'Species'.
"Oh fuck," were her first words after she stopped gasping. "Oh fuck." She glared at Albert. "You
were...you..."
Going to eat you? Albert sent. Well, yes. "Sorry about that," he said aloud. Later, maybe? Do
lunch?
Michelle put her skirt and blouse back on hastily, despite being coated in Toad saliva. Her
underwear was beyond recovery. "Sure you are," she snarled. She left in a huff.
"So," Jack said, "Do we have a deal?"
Contracts were not Albert's strong point. All he could think about now was eating Michelle. His
lost love. Playing hard to get...so enticing...
"Albert?"
"Oh, all right," he said. "I'll do it." He paused. "Of course, there is the matter of remuneration.."
"Re-what?"
Albert pulled his thoughts together, such as they were. Had his translator glitched? Or was it just
having a joke with him? Bloody smartarse neural nets, he muttered to himself. Of course, he
wouldn't know a neural net AI from a hole in the ground if he didn't have one that knew what it
was. Fugue. Recursion. There was a warning about this in the manual, he recalled. Pity he hadn't
read it.
"What do I get out of it?"
Jack's face exuded a false bonhomie that barely masked the usual simple-minded animal
cunning of his kind. Albert saw right through him, it was about as difficult as looking through a
plate glass window.
"What do you want?"
What do Space Toads always want? Hadn't he read the stories? Albert decided to exercise a little
cunning of his own. "Fifty per cent," he said.
Jack laughed out loud. "Playing hardball, huh?"
"Without me, there's no film," Albert pointed out. He watched Jack take that in. "Or..."
"Or?"
"Well, you wanted this authentic, didn't you?"
"Yeah, right, so?"
"How many actresses can you get? Playing the victims?"
Jack shrugged. "Any number. This town is full of starlet wannabees waiting tables."
Albert had his number. "How many of them wouldn't be missed?"
Jack looked offended, or tried to. It didn't fool either of them. "What are you suggesting?"
Albert wasn't skilled in making empathic contact with unattractive males. Still, one does what one
must. "You know what I want," he said.
Jack's mind engaged with the problem. Waivers? Contract clauses with small print? 'Should you
come to harm during the filming you will hold the studio blameless..' Fuck. He'd have to ask the
legal department. Or at least the alcoholic shyster he usually consulted. He had to know the
bottom line.
"How many?" he asked.
"You can do it?" Albert pressed.
"I'm sure we can work something out. Look..."
"I'll be in touch," Albert said.
"But we could do something else..."
"A Toad's gotta eat," Albert said. He turned to go, wishing he had a fedora. Whatever that was.
"Make it so," he added. He'd always wanted to say that.
On his way out, he saw sweet, wonderful, tasty Michelle at the reception desk. She looked a tad
distracted, though she seemed to have showered and changed somewhere. "See ya later,
sweetie," he said.
She glared at him.
Albert dropped the gangster aspect. Bugger Bogart, his NN feedback sniped. "Sorry about the
underwear," he said contritely. "I just couldn't help it."
"Sure you are," she snapped again. "You wanted to eat me, don't try to deny it."
"Yes, that's true," Albert said. "I did get a bit carried away. It's just that you're really very edible
and I do like to eat women. I'm a woman-eating monster, after all. It's what I do. No offense
intended."
"Uh.." Michelle almost said 'none taken' but she was still a bit miffed. "All right then," was all she
could come up with.
"Later, then," the Space Toad said.
"Later," she echoed faintly. She shook her head. This was beyond ridiculous. What had just
happened? She couldn't quite take it all in. Space Toads? Woman eating monsters? This sort of
thing only happened in....
...only happened in movies, duh! Hollywood. It would drive anybody insane. She tried to think
about it, but her mind kept veering away. It wasn't real. Nothing here was real. There were no
Space Monsters. It was all some sort of trick. Special effects. Jack had cooked it all up just to see
her naked. It was an audition, that must be it. Casting couch.
Jack was in a quandary. How was he going to make this work?
Albert was in a van. A modified Volkswagen camper. He'd had one rigged up with remote
controls and darkened windows. Driving it was accomplished by CCTV while he sat in the back,
he'd got the idea watching Captain Scarlet reruns. The actual engineering he'd subcontracted to
cleverer people. Humans could build vehicles out of bathtubs at the slightest provocation, he'd
observed. They'd do it for money or, at a pinch, just for the fun of it.
Albert hated driving. It was scary. Everything moved far too fast. He was relieved when he got off
the road and back to his Fortress of Solitude. Actually, an interstellar equivalent of a modified
Volkswagen camper. Slow, reliable, unobtrusive. Hidden under a pile of earth, out here in the
scrub.
He poured himself a modest gallon of beer to calm his jangling nerves. He needed to sleep.
Some supper might help. He sighed heavily. Supplies were running low. Never mind, needs
must...
Pop that little beach bunny he'd been saving for a rainy day out of storage? Gulp her down?
It was a measure of Albert's unease that he actually considered it. Not to savour her fully would
be a waste. He steeled himself to eating Aldebaranian food. Preserved primates, the equivalent of
a corned beef sandwich. Swamp salad on the side.
As he composed himself to sleep, he made a mental note to do something nice for Michelle.
Two days later, Michelle unwrapped the surprise package. There was a little label on it, an image
of a smiling frog. Inside, there was a nice little bra and panty set in lacy cotton. The colour was
turquoise. The note said. "It sets off your eyes."
Goddamed frog, Michelle thought indignantly. Just like a man. Try to go all the way on the first
date and think they can make it all right with a bunch of flowers, a box of chocolates or some sexy
underwear. Thinks he can get away with nearly eating me just because...well, he DID call back,
he'd made the effort. He hadn't forgotten her. That was nice, but...
Underwear. Sexist pig. Frog. Whatever. She looked at the card again. Cute little smiling frog with
big appealing eyes. Smarmy bastard. Cheap trick. He (it?) wanted to EAT her. He had admitted
it. Forget him. It. Whatever. Put the package in the trash.
The colour was nice, though. The fabric felt...enticing. It probably wasn't even her size, she
admonished herself.
That evening, she put the turquoise underwear on. It was a perfect fit. She modelled it in front of
a mirror. How had he known? It was better than the stuff he'd destroyed.
Making films - movies? -skinflicks? - Albert discovered was intensely boring. Fortunately, he
wasn't even in most of the scenes, which seemed to revolve around gratuitous subplots involving
the romantic liasons of his potential victims. The general rule seemed to be that any young
woman who appeared on camera naked or had sex was the next to go. It bothered Albert just a
little that his memoirs had been reduced to a cliche, but it bothered him more that he hadn't
eaten any of the actresses yet. He hadn't really got to grips with the terms of the contract, such
as it was.
"We've just got to iron out a few details," Jack had told him. Why had he let that slide? Every time
he turned up at the studio to consult on the script, Jack had prevaricated. He should have seen
the writing on the wall then. He should be out there in the woods, doing what he did best: lurking
in the shadows and eating unwary female joggers; sneaking into people's homes, catching tasty
young girls in their bathrooms; gobbling up swimmers in pools. Not talking some halfwit out of
having him speak lines like, "Now, foolish Earthling, you are mine." Worst of all, Michelle was
being decidedly stand-offish. Her manner towards him, on the rare occasions that he saw her at
all, was coldly polite and dismissive. Oh well, matters might improve once he had some scenes to
play.
"What's my motivation again?" Kandi wanted to know. She was buxom, ripe and dim. Perfect for
the part she had to play.
Jack suppressed a sigh. "You've just tried to get it on with Rick. You get naked, well, down to
your skivvies, go to his room. You see him in bed with Alli and you're royally pissed. You run
outside and jump in the swimming pool. The audience is with you, right? Then the space thing
gets you."
"How does that go again?"
"You jump in the pool. The space thing gets you. What part of that don't you understand?"
"How does that work?"
"We'll fill it in as we go. Trust me."
"But.."
"But me no buts. Do it. Improvise."
Kandi ran around the set in her sexy underwear for long enough for the camera crew to decide
she'd done it enough. With a little coaxing, she managed to jump into the pool in such a manner
that her upper garment fell off. She was treading water and spluttering when she felt something
grip her ankles. She screamed convincingly.
"I hope you got that," Jack informed the sound tech. The film crew watched as Kandi
disappeared below the water.
"That's a wrap," Jack said. "Time out, people."
"But what about..." The sound tech was worried.
"Forget it," Jack said. "It's under control. SFX department. Out of your league, sonny."
"But.."
"One more 'but' and you're off the set. Out."
The bit players left the stage. The crew departed. Albert the amphibian emerged. He heaved
himself heavily out of the water.
"Didn't I tell you you could trust me?" Jack asked.
Albert had his moments of insight. Or possibly his neural net translator did. "I'm sure you told her
the same," he replied. Hard to be too acerbic when he was digesting.
"I promised you a meal, you got one. How was she?"
Albert had to be honest. Not the best meal he'd ever had but, "Okay, she was pretty tasty. Got
any more like that?" It had been too long since he'd eaten a woman alive. She was still twitching.
REAL food.
"Stick with me, kid, you'll get all you want," Jack said smugly.
Albert wondered whether Michelle was wearing the funny little things he'd bought for her. Silly,
really. What did it matter what she wore? She was going to be naked when he ate her. IF he ate
her, he reminded himself. This stalking thing was more complicated than he'd originally
imagined.
Later, back in his den, Albert found himself oddly dissatisfied. The girl in the pool had been tasty
enough, certainly, and she had wriggled quite enjoyably on the way down but there was
something missing. He hadn't really had time to establish a rapport with her. Was that really the
problem, though? It wasn't as if he hadn't done that before. Being perfectly honest with himself,
he had to admit that not all of his meals had really wanted to be eaten. He hadn't regretted doing
it then and he didn't now. Still, something about it didn't sit well with him. It took him three gallons
of Old Peculier, imported at great expense and by means it would be tedious to explain, to shed
a dim glow of light on what troubled him. Unfortunately, by the time he reached solency (the state
of supreme self knowledge imparted by being extremely drunk) he was about to pass out, and in
the morning the insights had slipped into his subconscious. All he could recall was that he was
uneasy about something. Over a light breakfast of sardines on toast he tried to remember. He
was too duntish (mentally incapacitated by a serious hangover) to put it together.
The girl, whatever her name had been, hadn't taken all her underwear off. He had eaten her with
her panties on. That was - what was the term? - gauche? Disrespectful? There hadn't been time
to get them off before she'd have drowned. He'd barely had time to savour the nice, springy
sensation of her plump and juicy breasts slipping through his lips. Not that the panties would
poison him, they were just cotton. Fibre.
Albert imagined himself on a psychiatrist's couch trying to explain his anomie, weltschmertz,
angst or whatever. He closed his eyes. What he saw was Michelle wearing turquoise underwear.
She hadn't called. She didn't like him. He'd thought...silly. Forget her, he told himself sternly. Eat
a few nice young ladies. Move on. He stiffened his resolve. And don't let Jack get away with..
With what? Once asked, the answer was obvious. Using me. Solution?
Albert, it is well known to readers of these chronicles, is not a Toad of vast intellect. He is a
creature of impulse and appetite. However, he does have his moments. "I'll decide who I eat
next," he resolved. "Me." Thus fortified, he set out. Albert the Mighty Space Toad was nobody's
puppet.
The problem was, it wasn't going to be easy. Whenever Albert had a scene with any of the female
members of the cast he was on camera. Jack didn't believe in lengthy rehearsals; not
unreasonably given the rudimentary nature of the plot, script and dialogue. Each actress was
instructed on what to do and say (few of them were overburdened with talent but they weren't
mentally incompetent either, a child in a school play could have mastered the lines in five
minutes) and the interactive scenes were shot in one take, or as few as possible. Jack didn't want
the actors or the crew to get the whole picture. Of course, the best laid plans of mice and men
gang aft agley. Or so Albert's NNT told him.
Gang aft agley?
"What the fuck are you gibbering about," Albert asked the NNT in Aldebaranian. The pseudo-
sentient implant snickered. "That's not English. Well, the first bit was, but then you glitched."
"Glitched?" the NN sneered. "That's English?"
Albert vaguely remembered reading the manual. Well, not the manual, just the colourful
brochure that described the translator's features. It was supposed to interface smoothly with his
speech centre, transparent to the user. It wasn't supposed to get bolshie. "Just do your frelling
job," Albert snapped.
"See me merge into the shadows," the neural net translator implant intoned. "My mind to your
mind..."
Albert ignored it. But somehow he got the drift. Sooner or later, Jack would fuck up.
"Albert?"
The Toad looked up. Oh, Jack. "Yes?"
"Still with us? Who were you talking to?"
Albert shrugged in Aldebaranian. "Nobody," he said. "What's next?"
Marci had read the script, it seemed simple enough. What else had she expected, the lead role
in a Spielberg movie? All she had ever wanted was to be in the movies. The glamour, the fame
and, more important, the money. Anything but waiting tables for the rest of her life. That's all you
need to know about her background, this isn't a doorstop blockbuster. She'd done all the intro
scenes by rote, now the denouement. The obligatory shower scene, then she went to bed.
This was the clever bit. There was a closet in the bedroom and the door was half open. Marci
heard a noise, she got up to investigate. Was there something lurking in there?
There was. Albert the deadly Space Toad was on the other side of the door. The wall was just a
partition on the set. All Marci knew was that she had to open the door, looking nervous, and the
special effects team would do the rest.
She opened the door.
Albert saw her do it. She looked so sweet in her filmy negligee. In American films, he had
learned, women almost always wear clothes in bed, unlike normal people. He slipped his long,
prehensile tongue under the hem of it. Marci squeaked. The lights came on.
"What the fuck?" Jack bellowed. "Who did that?"
Marci was fumbling at her crotch and squealing. "Whosthefuckingbastardgetoffwhatthefuckis
that..."
When she got her breath back she saw a big froggie thing staring at her.
"Hello," the big froggie thing said, or seemed to say. "I don't think we've been properly
introduced."
"Oh fuck" Jack muttered. "Here we go..."
"I'm Albert," the big froggie thing went on. "Albert the Space Toad. At your service."
"Cut!" Jack yelled. That wasn't in the script at all.
Marci goggled. "Space Toad? That's the monster?" She turned to Jack. "Shouldn't its lips move
when it talks? And which of you creeps goosed me?" She stared around suspiciously.
"That's just a friendly greeting on Aldebaran," Albert said.
Marci couldn't work out what was going on. Aldebaran? Was that in Albania? Why was she
standing here on a movie set in her not very much at all being addressed by an animatronic
froggie thing? Jack was clearing the set of all non-essential personnel. That left the three of them.
"What the fuck IS that?" she asked again.
"I'm Albert," the big froggie thing said again. "Albert the Woman Eating Space Toad. Your co-
star, so to speak."
Marci stared at the froggie thing again. Suddenly, it didn't look like a prop at all. It looked like a
Woman Eating Space Toad. A real one. Not that she'd ever seen one before, but sometimes you
just see what's there.
Albert, having sampled Marci's scent, had added her to his ideal menu. She did look a treat.
Nicely muscled legs. Juicy tits, as far as he could see. Delicious pheromones. His educated
metabolism adapted to her chemistry. He sent her a subliminal message: I'm going to eat you
and thoroughly enjoy it..and so will you. He felt her respond on a level she wasn't aware of. He
could smell it.
Shivers ran up and down Marci's spine. Faint echoes of arousal and terror. "Get that out of here,"
she told Jack angrily. "It gives me the creeps."
Jack glared at Albert, later for that. He ushered Marci out, leaving Albert in the Wardrobe.
It's fast, it's flexible, just feel those frets, Albert thought. Well, not exactly. His implant was
listening to Jeff Beck. Oh well, listen in. He was just getting into it when Jack returned. Search,
reselect, he instructed the NN. Scramble.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" the irate producer bawled.
"And search in vain by candlelight..." Albert hummed. Procol Harum was next.
"What do.."
"And though it seems they smile with glee
I know in truth they envy me.."
"What did you think you were doing?"
"Translator problem," Albert said. "I know what I like and I like what I know."
"Searching," the NN commented. "In your wardrobe? I mean, come on, it was obvious."
Nothing seemed appropriate. Albert resorted to default mode. (shut the fuck up, he instructed the
NN)
"I told her I'm going to eat her," he admitted. "Hinted, anyway. And I am." Well, he admitted to
himself, I hope. "It should add verisimilitude."
"Very what? This is a fucking nightmare," Jack muttered, clutching his hair theatrically. "The story
will be all over the place tomorrow."
"Hearing your wonderous stories?" Albert/NN fusion teased. "Isn't that what you wanted?"
Of course they were both right. Stories proliferated. There was a REAL space monster on the
set. Women had mysteriously disappeared. Dozens of them. Or one, possibly. Or not. Maybe
they'd been eaten. Of course, most sensible people wrote it off as a hoax. Like snuff movies and
the Blair Witch business it was just a publicity stunt. Like all ridiculous stories, some people half-
believed it.
Which was exactly what Albert wanted. Disinformation. Never let it be said that the Toad didn't
learn. Half the people in the USA believe in flying saucers precisely because the Government
says there aren't any. Others believe that the Apollo programme never really went to the Moon
because the Government says it did.
Albert had a visitation that night. Nothing supernatural, it was much worse than that. He came
home to find one of the people you don't talk about waiting outside for him. A man in a black suit
and shades with a poker face. "AlBB**/!! Knplok'' TTssskk $$9?" he inquired. It wasn't really a
question.
Oh, bugger. There was no point denying it. "I haven't done anything illegal," Albert protested,
hoping it was true. "Under the terms of my hunting license..."
"Yes, I know. No use of illegal weapons. As far as we know..."
"It's a legitimate strategy," Albert said. Like any normal person visited by the fuzz, whether they've
done anything or not, he was nervous, defensive and faintly guilty.
"It's a borderline case," the agent said. "You're walking a fine line here. Disclosure. One
misstep..."
Albert didn't need to ask if that was a threat, it was. He felt an urge to babble about his master
plan. He was just about to (abject cowardice has its place as a survival strategy) when the Man in
Black cut him off.
"Be very careful," he said. "We're watching you."
Albert almost sighed with relief. Did they know about Kandi?
"We know everything," the agent said enigmatically.
After he left, Albert poured himself a really big drink and got most of it inside him before he'd
formulated the questions he should have asked. He sighed. All he wanted to do was eat a few
nice young ladies. Why did it have to get so complicated? He thought about refining his plans,
but settled for getting pissed as a newt instead.
The next day, Jack had printed up copies of his photos of Michelle half inside the Space
Monster's mouth. He called all the actresses together and handed them out. He explained that
the girl in the picture was his receptionist, who was still alive. Michelle was introduced to
emphasise the point. She confirmed verbally that she had done the test pictures. She didn't tell
them how it had felt, or what she half suspected. There are some things you just don't talk about
to strangers. She did notice one of the starlet wannabees looking at her oddly, but she ignored it.
Albert awoke to a thumping head. His NN was listening to Beck, Bogert and Appice. One phrase
caught his attention. "Lady, I'm down on my knees...I'm begging you please.."
Beg? He, Albert the Great and Mighty Space Toad? No way. Then again, if it got him some prime
girlflesh....he envisioned himself appealing to Michelle's sympathy. Poor hungry me. Just let me...
No, she wouldn't go for it. Put that on hold. On the other hand, Marci had definite potential. Okay,
he decided, eat her first. They had to reshoot the scene today.
The details were complicated and boring. Marci finally agreed to do the bedroom shoot again.
Unfortunately for Albert it was all on camera. Everybody was watching as he emerged from the
'closet' and tried to gobble up the Hollywood-standard half-naked chick. She fled to the bed,
squealing in protest. Albert loomed over her. This was where the scene was supposed to end.
Jack was just about to call 'Cut' when Albert went into improvisation. Performance art, if you like.
Live Theatre.
He slipped his long, slippery tongue under Marci's lacy fantasy negligee and tickled her
essentials. She squealed again. Or squeaked.
Oh fuck, Albert thought. Go for it. He went in. The entry was open and moist. Well, what do you
know, he thought. Preparation works. I'm going to eat you and thoroughly enjoy it, he had said.
He'd felt her respond on a level she wasn't aware of. Or maybe imagined.
Marci was face down on the bed with Albert's tongue sniggling around inside her. Her half-naked
rump was in the air.
"Or maybe not cut," Jack said. "You getting this?" To the cameraman. This was worrying on
some levels, the scene was almost too pornographic for American snuff movies. Marci was
supposed to be an unwilling victim and now she seemed to be in the throes of a rising orgasm.
Not the fuzzy softcore stuff you see on the Playboy channel either. Really dirty.
When Marci went too far, Jack pulled the plug.
"CUT" he yelled.
Albert obediently slipped his tongue out of Marci, leaving her sprawled on the bed in her own
juices, and a few of his. He gave her a fond lick on the sole of her left foot as a farewell.
"Ah'll sithee," he said gruffly in Yorkshire. Fortunately, Marci didn't speak the lingo and nobody
else was close enough to notice.
After Jack had dismissed the crew (it didn't take long, there were only two of them this time) he
rounded on his actors. "Marci..." he began. What was he going to say? The girl was sitting up at
last, pulling the negligee around herself and looking dazed, bemused, slightly angry and faintly
embarrassed. She stared at Albert, who was now motionless. How was he going to get out of
this? Bluff. "Problem?" he asked mildly.
"Uh.." Marci seemed to have trouble speaking. With a visible effort, she gathered herself. She
resorted to indignation. "What the fuck was that about?" she managed. "Nobody told me this was
a porno flick. He..." she glared at Albert again, "..that thing..." Words failed her at last. Well, not
quite. "That wasn't supposed to happen," she ended lamely.
The scene, in fact, had not gone as planned. Jack couldn't deny it, but he couldn't give too much
ground either. "Those tech guys in effects," he said vaguely. "I'll have their asses.."
"Why's it talk British?" Marci wondered. In fact, Albert hadn't said anything in this scene, she
must have remembered her previous encounter.
Jack seized the opening. "It doesn't talk," he improvised. "You see its lips move? No. Like you
said. It's a speaker in the puppet. The guy who does it, he's a British special effects guy. One of
those people Lucas used."
Albert, sitting innocently motionless, did his best to imitate a piece of high-tech animatronics. He
listened with professional interest to Jack's...what was the word? "Flim-flam," the NN supplied.
"Flummery. Spiel."
"But.."
"But me no buts." Jack sighed with theatrical patience. "You did okay," he allowed. "Take a
break. We'll see if we can use this."
Marci left, muttering. A pregnant pause ensued. Finally:
"What the fuck was that about?" Jack snarled at Albert.
"I was about to say 'Bravo'" Albert murmured. Jack looked nonplussed. Albert took pity on him. "I
knew I could count on you."
"What the f.."
"You're getting redundant," Albert noted politely. "To amplify, I was impressed, amazed, almost
agog at your spontaneous production of semi-plausible...(NN don't fail me now)...um..how do you
say? Bullshit."
"Thanks a bunch. That and a dime..." Jack forced himself to calm down. "You weren't supposed
to do that," he said.
"I am an artist," Albert said archly. "I saw a different potential in the scene..."
"Cut," Jack said, "The bullshit. This is me."
"Precisely. I told you," Albert said. "I'm going to eat her."
"You can't just..." Jack's mind raced. "We've got scenes for her to shoot tomorrow. She's got a
contract. People will notice. Anyway, she isn't supposed to get eaten on camera. She's one of the
'buildup' scenes, you know? Hitchcock. We get to the heavy stuff later. Where you get to
swallow..."
"I'll eat her off camera, then," Albert said.
Shit. That would be a complete waste. He'd already fed the fucking toad a girl and all they had on
film was some hokey shit out of 'Jaws'.
"Or we can rewrite," Albert said helpfully. "Here's the deal: I get Marci or I'm off the film."
Jack tried to outstare him. No good, the damned Toad just stared back impassively. He might as
well try to outstare a stuffed owl. "I'll think about it," he said.
"Do try hard," Albert said. "Without me, there's no...um...movie."
Try to use the Mighty Space Toad, would he? Albert chuckled to himself all the way home. He
was in such a good mood that he decided to treat himself to the last cheerleader in his larder for
dinner. There would be plenty of actresses to come, he reassured himself as he popped the poor
girl out of storage. Her last words for a while were "You're gonna do WHAT with me?" Last
printable and coherent words, anyway. Albert politely ignored her rather unladylike imprecations
and invective as he began to eat her. She might have a dirty mouth, but her legs were superb:
lean but firmly muscled. He swallowed her slowly, feet first, savouring every slurp as she went
down, like the connoisseur he was. Feet, calves, thighs, and then the midpoint. At this stage the
curses gave way to pleas and in turn came less articulate noises. When the still-struggling girl
was halfway in, Albert remembered his manners. "Oh, sorry, what's your name?" he inquired. He
wasn't quite sure why he even wanted to know, but he'd become prone to irrational impulses. It
just seemed rude not to at least ask.
"Cynthia," the girl gasped.
"Very pretty name," Albert said pleasantly.
"Thanks a lot." Cynthia replied with some irony. Her insides seemed to be convulsing, there were
snakes inside her, doing naughty things. "Look, couldn't you just...uh...not eat me? I've got
cheerleading practice on Saturday..."
Albert didn't think it would be helpful to mention that she'd already missed it while she was in
stasis in the larder. "Sorry, no." he said. "You'll be digested by then."
"Oh, shit," Cynthia said resignedly.
"I ate a girl called Kandi recently," Albert said sociably. "Not bad at all, but you have nicer legs.
Really tasty..."
The dinner conversation wasn't exactly sparkling after that but Albert did offer Cynthia a glass of
wine, which she accepted, before he finished her off. She put the glass down just before her
head slipped into his mouth and Albert settled down to digest her, musing that he really must
pick up a few more cheerleaders. All in all, it had been a good day.
The dressing room was alive with gossip when Marci went in to change for her final scenes. All
the starlets filling the roles of eye candy and/or potential Space Monster victims were there in
various degrees of deshabille.
"Oh wow, it's the star," somebody said.
Marci might have felt flattered under other circumstances. "Yeah, right," she muttered.
"How was it?" somebody asked.
"How was what?"
"You know, doing a scene with the creepy thing. Space monster. Whatever."
Marci shrugged. "Just a scene. No big deal". Right. Keep thinking that.
"It really eat you? Like in the pics?" It was a source of frustration that the receptionist wouldn't talk
about it.
"No..." Marci hadn't actually been swallowed as Michelle had. It hadn't 'really' eaten her. If it had...
"Hey," somebody else said, "Maybe it's gonna eat all of us. Like a real horror flick, y'know? Like
we're all thinking this is just a movie and then..." she pantomimed shock, grabbed her throat and
stuck her tongue out, gasping. "It's got me...It's...aaagh..."
"Very funny," Marci said, thinking I'm getting out of here the very first thing tomorrow morning.
"Ha ha." She suddenly flashed on the whole group of half-dressed women as...
As Albert would see them. Livestock. Food. Meat on the hoof. He really would eat them all. But,
of course, there was no 'Albert'. The Space Toad was just a special effect.
"I wonder what it would be like," one of the starlets mused, a voluptuous Latina morsel with
caramel skin. She was staring dreamily into space, exercising her imagination. Her minimal
underwear left little to speculate about, but enticingly little. It was an art some women were born
with or learned at their mother's knee.
"What would what be like?"
"Being eaten alive," the starlet mused on. "It's so..." she touched herself, "Primal? Doesn't it
make you go all gooey inside?"
"You'd be all gooey inside him soon enough," Marci pointed out. "Then you'd just be goo."
"Oohmmm..." the starlet sighed, trying not to finger herself surreptitiously. Obviously Marci's
remark had not had the desired effect. Quite the opposite, in fact. She'd probably be delighted to
be served up to Albert on a plate, dressed in nothing but whipped cream.
Stop this! Marci reproved herself sharply. There is no Albert. It's just a fantasy. Yes, a part of her
persisted, the part she caressed late at night, but a fantasy with a certain perverse appeal. She
shrugged it off. Her scenes today would have nothing to do with that damned froggie toy, thank
Christ. As in most movies, they were being shot out of order to fit in with production schedule.
The last thing she heard on the way out was the Latin starlet continuing dreamily "I've read about
this kinda thing on the Internet. It's supposed to be fantastic..."
Meanwhile Albert spent a frustrating day pretending to eat several delicious looking young
women in a variety of improbable situations. By five o'clock he'd had enough, which is to say that
he hadn't had anything, unless you count a boring sandwich of preserved Aldebaranian primate
that he'd choked down at lunchtime. It was tantalising beyond belief. It was Hell, or at least
Hades. He even brooded on what 'tantalising' meant in the classical sense. Tantalus, as his NN
module had informed him, was doomed to spend eternity thirsting while water lay just out of
reach. He could feel his powers of self control starting to crack under the strain. Then came the
final shoot of the day. Albert was waiting in a set that was supposed to be a bedroom with a door
to a bathroom when the final 'victim' walked in, wrapped in a towel. At this point, he was almost
delirious with frustrated appetite. At first he was irrationally disappointed that the girl wasn't Marci,
though he knew he'd already had his 'eating' scene with her, but then something focussed his
attention. This girl, a juicy little number of the variety the locals described as Hispanic, was
smiling at him in a manner he could only interpret as seductive. Vaguely he recalled that she was
supposed to look shocked and frightened.
"Hello," he said in his best Leslie Philips voice. "I'm Albert. And who might you be, you lovely
creature?"
"Estrellita," the lovely creature purred. "And you're going to eat me, aren't you?" There was a
world of teasing emphasis on 'eat' that made Albert's head spin. "So what are you waiting for?"
She dropped the towel, revealing a luscious body that begged to be eaten.
There's only so much a Space Toad can take. "Yes," he managed to croak thickly and shot out
his tongue. In the background he could hear muttering. ("Is this in the script?" "Lets go with it,
we can always reshoot.") He ignored it, wondering briefly if he was having a marmalade
flashback, but it didn't matter. He was in love. His tongue didn't take its usual course but just
lightly caressed her stomach and breasts. Perfectly delicious breasts with nipples that hardened
with arousal as he licked them. His mouth watered.
"I'm not a special effect," he told her when he'd established empathic contact. "I'm a Space Toad
and I'm really going to eat you." His heart was pounding, but he felt compelled to be honest with
her. What if she panicked?
"I know," she said softly, "Or at least I suspected....and hoped." Her expression was angelic.
"Devour me!" The way she enunciated 'devour' was positively pornographic.
It's rare to experience true love, a true meeting of minds. Of course, true love between a human
and an Aldebaranian usually ended with the former in the stomach of the latter, but that didn't
mean that it wasn't real. Estrellita was Albert's One True Love and would be forever, or at least
until he'd digested her. The love-besotted pair set about consummating their passionate
relationship immediately. If you've ever seen 'The Tall Guy' with Jeff Goldblum and Emma
Thompson, you'll get the idea. If you haven't, hard luck.
The foreplay done with, Albert's tongue penetrated his partner's nude nether parts and slid inside
her until it tickled the neck of her cervix, aided by her copious lubrication. Estrellita gasped and
moaned as her body came almost unstrung by her desire, barely managing not to collapse into a
quivering heap. With the laborious care of someone very drunk, she sat down on the bed and slid
her bare feet into Albert's waiting mouth. I suppose you could call it the missionary position of
vore conjunctions, but Albert wasn't jaded enough to crave the avant garde. You know how it
goes, or at least I hope you do. When you're having sex, your body takes care of the awkward
physical details automatically, while your mind is away with the fairies. "Talk dirty to me," Estrellita
growled huskily.
"I'm going to consume you," Albert sent. "Completely and totally. I'm going to turn you into a
quivering mass of goo."
Estrellita orgasmed so violently that Albert thought it would kill her, but she was just getting
started. Their communion after that seemed to take an eternity, but they were beyond time and
space. Albert came down to the real world eventually, barely aware of where he was, as Estrellita
settled down in his stomach. Afterglow.
"Cut!" Jack said. "Okay, that was pretty good but we'll have to shoot it again just in case. There's
such a thing as too fuckin' hot."
"What?" Albert replied dreamily.
"Bring her back out," Jack said impatiently. "We've gotta do another take."
Bring her back. "I can't," Albert said. He was enjoying the digestion process and the nagging
voice was irritating him. He wished it would just shut up.
"Whaddaya mean 'can't'," Jack nagged on. "Why can't you?"
Albert sighed. "Because I've eaten her," he explained as if to an idiot.
"You've what??"
"I ate her," Albert said patiently. "I'm a Space Monster, remember? That's what Space Monsters
do."
"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Jack expostulated. "You can't just....you mean she's..."
"Being digested," Albert said with satisfaction. "And it's no use telling me I can't do that because I
just did. Best meal I've had in ages."
Jack stared at Albert, momentarily speechless. He gestured at Albert's distended stomach.
"She's...." he choked on the word 'dead'. "In there?"
"A quivering mass of goo," Albert supplied with some relish. "She won't be back for a reshoot.
That's the verisimilitude you wanted, isn't it? I could always eat another one if you like."
"Jesus wept. What am I gonna tell..." Jack tailed off, probably trying to remember who he was
supposed to tell. "Them," he finished lamely.
"Tell 'them', whoever they are, that it's what she wanted and that she was delicious," Albert said
with callous indifference. "Say what you like, I'm finished for the day. It's your problem." If he was
a bit sharp with Jack it was because he suspected that he wasn't so much concerned about poor
dear Estrellita as his own skin. He probably didn't even know her name. Estrellita was still with
him in spirit, he felt, as she dissolved slowly into nutrients. "I hope you enjoyed it as much as I
did," he told her mentally. "Farewell, my sweetheart. We'll always have Hollywood." As he mused
on that, his thoughts were already straying to Michelle and Marci. As he left, he wondered if
they'd be free to have lunch with him tomorrow.
The next day, Jack was still looking harrassed. "So you turned up," he greeted Albert rudely. "I
hope you can get through the day without eating anybody else. You wouldn't believe the trouble I
went through for that girl you gobbled up. Hush money for the camera crew and I had to pay one
of them to say he'd taken her back to Venezuela or wherever she came from. Thank God she
was illegal or I'd be in a shitload of grief. Didn't think about that, did you?"
Albert hadn't, but he responded with spirit. "Good job I didn't report you to immigration then, isn't
it? Look on the bright side, you'd have been in a bigger shitload of trouble then. Got any more
illegal floozies you'd like me to gobble up?"
Jack subsided, still grumbling sotto voce. Albert went about his work patiently, the hardest part
being pretending to be an animatronic prop. Most of his remaining scenes were mere fillers, part
of the setup for the movie. He didn't have to 'eat' any more starlets which was rather a relief. He
didn't see Marci until halfway through, when she popped her head into one of his sets and gave
him a dark and suspicious look. Albert was puzzled. What had he done to upset her? Later, he
found out. He was having a quiet lunchtime sandwich in a deserted corner of the backlot when
Marci appeared again looking angry.
"Where's Lita?" she demanded. Albert considered playing dumb, but Marci wasn't buying it.
"What have you done with her?" When had she decided that he was real? "Don't play dumb with
me."
Albert glanced about furtively, trying to see if there were any pointed sticks in the vicinity. "How
did you know?" he responded feebly. "When...."
Marci tossed her head angrily. "I've known since you tried to eat me and I've been kidding myself
since then, or trying to. Now I'm sure. You ate her, didn't you?"
"She went back to Venezuela," Albert tried half-heartedly.
"Ecuador," Marti said, "And she hasn't been there since she was five. I asked around."
Damn, these humans were cunning. And their females talked to each other, all the time. He
should have remembered that. "Getting soft headed in your old age," the NN sniped sarkily. "It
must be love."
"Oh shut up," Albert said aloud and then "Sorry, I was talking to my translator. Long story. All
right, I give up. I admit it. I'm an Aldebaranian Space Toad, really. And yes, I did eat Estrellita.
She wanted me to, honest."
Marci had been ready for a fight but Albert's frank admission took the wind out of her sails. A
sarcastic "Oh yeah?" was all she could manage.
"Yes, really. She practically begged me to but, okay, she didn't have to twist my arm too hard.
She looked so delicious I couldn't resist, and she was."
Marci didn't want to believe it, but she couldn't help remembering what Lita had said in the
dressing room, and how she had said it. Damn it, the sexy slut probably HAD been willing.
"Well.....you still shouldn't have...."
"Why not? I'm only hum....erm...flesh and blood after all. Suppose you were a woman eating
Space Toad and she came on to you like that, what would you have done?"
"Fuck," Marci said. "I guess I'd have eaten her too." It wasn't the first time the thought had
crossed her mind. Lita could have converted her to lesbian cannibalism. Hot is hot and she was -
had been - smoking hot.
"Well, you can't because I got her first. Sorry about that. So, how about dinner later?"
"With me as the main course? Thanks, but no thanks."
Albert shrugged in Aldebaranian. "Can't blame a Toad for trying. I prefer willing vic....partners
anyway." True, but not the whole truth. He'd eaten Kandi readily enough but that was still a
secret, he hoped.
Marci didn't know what to say. "Have you tried not being a woman eating Space Monster" would
have been inane. "Well, don't try any more of your tricks on me," she said.
"I won't, I promise," Albert lied. "But if you ever change your mind, I'll be happy to have you for
dinner. You're pretty tasty yourself, you know."
Marci didn't know whether to be indignant or flattered, "I'll pass," she said, but she couldn't help
smiling as she left. Tasty, was she? Take that, Lita, you gorgeous sexy bitch.
That night, Albert had another visit from one of the MiB. "Greetings, Mighty Space Toad," he
began with a perfectly straight face.
"Oh, stuff it, spook," Albert responded wearily. "What have I done now? I'm not out of bounds,
not using illegal tech, not..."
"It's about this film you're making," the spook went on impassively.
"It's just a frigging monster movie," Albert said. "You knew that already. What's the problem now?
I'll stop if you insist, but..."
The spook cut him off. "We want you to finish it."
"I was going to anyway. Get to the point, will you. And just out of curiosity, why do you want it
finished?"
"I was coming to that. We want the movie made to expose the rumours. It's all a hoax, get it?
Albert the Mighty Space Toad is just a Hollywood publicity stunt. There will be rumours that it's a
real ET snuff film and then the actresses you supposedly ate will appear in public alive and well
and the producer will explain how it was done. You haven't eaten them all, have you? I hope not
or you're going to be in very hot water. Who knows you're a real alien? Jack Rosenthal, I assume,
and who else?"
"Jack knows, of course," Albert admitted. "And some of the camera crew, probably. And the
receptionist, but I could always eat her, then she won't be able to tell anybody." He didn't mention
Marci."I only ate a couple of the actresses and they won't be missed."
"What about this receptionist?"
"I don't know. I'll check and I suppose you will too. Anyway, you can always use those flashy
thingies of yours and make them forget."
The spook nodded. "It's not quite that simple, but I'm sure we can cope. Just don't make any
more of a mess than you can help. Be very careful, Toad, or we'll be back for you. You're skating
on very thin ice."
Albert was tempted to ask how he could be in hot water and skating on thin ice at the same time,
but he bit back the retort. You don't smart mouth the MiBs if you know what's good for you.
Albert's 'production conference' with Jack the next morning was a bit tense. "You had a meeting
with who?" Jack spluttered. He was turning puce.
"People you'd rather not have to know," Albert said with satisfaction. "If you don't believe me, ring
this number and ask for K." He started to recite a number. Jack put his hands out defensively
and shook his head. "No spooks," he said vehemently. "So what do they want us to do?"
"Finish the movie," Albert said, "Then they'll dispose of anybody who knows who I really am." He
paused to let that sink in. "Oh, don't panic. They'll just condition you to believe it was all a
Hollywood hoax. I'll eat Michelle and that will be that."
"You'll eat...." Jack was struggling with his conscience. It was a pushover. "They won't kill me?"
"No, too public. You'll have been seen by everybody who watches the film and the press
conferences. Michelle is expendable."
"How?"
"Simple. You give her a part in the film, but it won't be in the final cut. I'll pretend that I'm
pretending to eat her, but I really will. And I want another expendable actress."
"What for?"
"What do you think? For my larder. Do we have a deal or not?"
Jack sighed. "Deal. You've got me over a barrel. What about Marci?"
"No, Marci and I have reached an understanding. Leave that to me. Find someone else." Playing
hardball was fun, he decided.
Getting Michelle to do the scene wasn't hard at all. Of course she knew that Jack was a bullshit
artist but she believed because she wanted to.
"Albert says you've got potential, kid," Jack bullshitted. "And you'll get the usual bonus for full
frontal. Just do it like you did before."
"Where's my contract? I want to see you sign it."
Jack was prepared for that. He brought out the contract and let Michelle see it, and put his own
signature on it. "You sign here," he said, handing it to her. It wouldn't matter, of course, once
Albert had eaten her.
Michelle read it carefully before signing herself. Now she was covered. She'd seen a few of the
bimbo 'actresses' the Space Toad had 'eaten' walking around afterwards, so there was nothing to
worry about, was there? She handed it back and gave Albert a wry smile. "Potential, huh?
Thanks, I think. Try not to get carried away this time, okay?"
"I know what I'm doing," Albert said stiffly. "I've had plenty of practice lately."
"Come on, come on, time is money," Jack urged. He wasn't a bad actor himself. "Get your rags
off. It's in the contract you just signed and we've all seen everything you've got anyway."
Michelle shot him a dark look as she began to strip off. Albert experienced a twinge of guilt as he
saw that she was wearing the pretty turquoise underwear he'd given her. A small twinge of guilt
but a whole barrelful of gluttonous lust, too. She looked delicious. The scene they'd sketched out
for her was based on one of the others they'd already shot. Michelle would get out of bed having
heard a suspicious noise, see Albert and react in shock. Her half-donned dressing gown would
fall off, and then...
Albert's tongue did its stuff. Contact. Michelle squeaked and then realisation dawned. "Oh fuck,"
she said. "You're really going to do it, aren't you?"
"How did you figure it out?" Albert wondered. She couldn't move far, he had her nailed.
"It was too easy. I know too much, don't I? So you're going to eliminate me." She glared at Jack.
"Him I can understand, but what's your excuse?"
"He had me over a barrel," Jack said, spreading his hands in apology.
"I wish he had," Michelle said. To Albert, "You're smarter than you look, aren't you?"
"So are you," Albert said. "He was easier to twist round my finger."
"Hey," Jack protested. "What?"
"Shut up, Jack, just keep the crew filming," Albert said. "Better yet, just leave the cameras
running and leave us alone. Show some respect."
"Why? It's not gonna be..." Jack caught himself. "What's goin' down here? And why isn't she
moving if she knows what's going on?"
"Not going to be filmed," Michelle guessed sadly. "So much for my dreams of fame and fortune."
Here's where I explain my Master Plan and gloat over it, Albert thought. "She's not moving
because it's my second contact and I now have full control. She's already subconsciously
prepared to be eaten. I guessed when I saw the underwear and her turquoise toenails. That's
also partly how she knew I was going to do it. The empathic link works both ways, to a degree.
You were an easy mark because you thought you were using me." To Michelle, he said "You'll be
very famous on Aldebaran. You won't be in the public release on Earth, but you will be in the
director's cut - mine. Don't worry, Jack, you'll get your blockbuster movie and you'll walk away - if
you do exactly as I tell you. Otherwise, with what I'll tell the MiBs, they'll scrub your brains with
wire wool."
"Like anybody would notice, you dumb fat fuck," Michelle said without heat. To Albert, "I really
thought you liked me. What an idiot I was."
"No, you're not. I really do like you. I just couldn't resist the chance to eat you. I'm a Space
Monster, remember? Ready now?"
"Ready, I guess," Michelle said. "Let's do it. And let's make it good; I deserve that much don't I?"
The maddeningly teasing tingling in her loins was starting to suffuse her whole body.
"Yes," Albert said. "Relax and get into it. Method acting, remember?" Your mind to my mind.
Your body to my stomach....To Jack : "You still here?"
It's not so bad being eaten, Michelle thought. It's perfectly natural. I'm food. GOOD food.
Beautiful food....The tongue slipped further inside her. She moaned...this was going to be the
performance of her life...
"Confessions of a Space Toad" was a runaway success. The critics, of course, loathed it, one of
them calling it 'sleazy, cheesy horror porn' and another 'The worst so-called SF film ever since
Plan 9 from Outer space'. Numerous bloggers commented on the 'laughably talentless cast' and
'more plot holes than swiss cheese'. One critic lauded it as the funniest spoof of Z-grade creature
features since Mega Shark vs Giant Octopus. Albert himself was described as a ridiculously
unconvincing special effect. The spooks had cleverly 'cheesed up' the SFX to make the film look
even sillier than Jack's threadbare script and sloppy production had. Jack didn't care, the film
was making him pots of money. All of this brought the fans in by their millions. They could watch
it 'ironically', mocking it out loud while privately enjoying the sight of luscious naked girls being
gobbled up alive. The female audience enjoyed it too, for their own inscrutable reasons. Some
diehard nutcases still insisted that there WAS a real Albert, calling the movie government
propaganda worthy of the X-files, but hardly anybody took them seriously. Albert privately
deplored this travesty of his 'Musings of a Galactic Gourmet' but it never hurt to win Brownie
points with the fearsome Men in Black.
Gabrielle, the 'expendable' actress Jack had provided with amazing ease, watched it with Albert
from the comfort of his shabby spaceship. She was an elegant long-limbed black girl with pert
breasts and 'Shakespearian' on her CV, now comfortably naked in the warmth. She'd already had
a couple of tongue treatments and was resigned to her place in Albert's larder. "Will I really see
Aldebaran before you eat me?" she asked, not for the first time.
"Definitely," Albert said. He wouldn't be able to resist showing her around first to make his fellow
Toads even greener with envy. Before he'd finished the film he'd stocked up on cheerleaders and
joggers in his spare time while the spooks were doctoring the film and subtly re-educating Jack
and the crew, so he wasn't short of food. Marci would keep for another day. "It's a bit boring,
though. Lots of swamps. You might prefer to watch my video collection. I've got every episode of
Baywatch." He could watch them all again with her, getting starry eyed over his beloved
Alexandra Paul and snacking on the occasional cheerleader between seasons.
Gabrielle shuddered delicately, making her firm, springy breasts quiver enticingly. "Thanks, but if
you don't mind, I'd rather you just ate me now."