Dave was having a shit day. His head throbbed with a massive hangover, he was up late and his arse hurt from the probing that the aliens had given him on his way home from the pub. It was getting pretty bad for those little grey fuckers around his estate. You'd be minding your own business, say walking to the shop to buy some fags or whatever, then bam ! Beamed up in a circle of bright white light. Next thing you know your up to your earlobes in anal probes, having your DNA filched and your sperm stolen.

It wasn't even like they bought you a drink first. He switched on his TV to check out the weather report.

"Kill your husband Alison. . . "

barked a harsh robotic voice from the telly.

"He is an imposter. Everybody is laughing at you Alison . . . you have no real friends . . "

Dave hit the side of the set.

"Fuckin' mind controll interference again eh ?"

He muttered as the picture cleared. He switched onto the weather channel in time to catch the last few moments of the local report.

"In the Ludlow area, light rains of frogs are expected in some places, so watch out if you are driving any distance ! Across the Cheshire this evening watch out for an incoming isobar from Norway which could indicate a high chance of fishfall. So if you are venturing out tonight, remember to wrap up warm."

He switched off the TV muttering about the weather and wandered into his hall to grab his coat. v As he was reaching for his favorite black denim jacket Dave's dad popped his head through the front door. Literaly. Daves dad was a ghost. Actualy, these days, the post deceaced prefered to be called the **insert joke not stolen from simpsons here**, because it's rude to discriminate on basis of faith, colour, sex and generaly being alive or not.

"How's it going Dave ?"

His incorpreal father asked.

"Fuckin' hung over, my bum hurts because I was had off by intergalactic arse jockeys on the way home from the Black and I'm late for going down the Jobcenter . . all in all Dad, not that great. You ?"

Daves dad stood half way through the door, and shimered slightly and cocked a cheeky wink.

"Well son, you know that Mrs. Jones down the road, lives at number 42 ? Weeeeeel, she and I have got sort of a thing going on . . you know I have not had much luck with the ladies after your mother . . "

he said and looked down at his feet.

"Yeah but Dad, mum shot you and ran away with Uncle Tony, and you have been . . umm . . kind of DEAD since. . and anyway, just what the hell can you and Mrs. Jones get up to ? You don't have any physical body . . "

Dave shook his head in puzzlement.

"Well, see, . . "

His dad started, and looked shiftily embaressed

"I'm not strictly meant to mention it to you liveys, but . . umm use your imagination . . you've heard of ectoplasm havn't you ?"

"EEeew, fuckin gross. Just stop right there dad . . I don't wanna know . . ugh. See you later on"

he said and walked out of the door through his dad and headed down to the train station.

Dave walked down the road and took in the sights of his neighborhood.

Pretty usual for a Thursday realy. The big blacked out van was parked outside the neighbors house again, microwave dish rotating on the roof. Dave tipped the suit in the front seat a cheeky wink and tapped his nose.

"Broadcasting a bit off to one side there fellahs !"

he shouted to the driver and carried on his way. A few doors down from his a giant octopus faced winged demon sat atop of number 17's roof looking slighty ashamed. Below this behemoth stood a scrufy haired figure in a dressing gown shouting abuse and hurling beer cans at it.

"Ask you to paint my shed, and WHADYA DO ? WHADYA DO ? I'll tell you what you fuckin do. . "

at this point the guy threw another can at the creature. . .

"Send the neighbors insane and shrieking for one, and now I can't even look at my shed without getting a headache. What the fuck good is a NON ELUCIDIAN SHED you TENTICLED TWAT FACE ?!?! Can I keep my paint tins in it ? Can I fuck. Call yourself an elder god . . ."

The figure turned in Dave's direction.

"Oh mornin Dave man, I tell you what mate, fuckin squid head over there's turning out to be more trouble than he's worth."

Dave shrugged and replied

"Well Liam mate I did warn you against summoning ancient evils from beyond time and space, and you can't say I didn't. . "

"Yeah fair doo's mate, but I did need my shed painting yeah ?" said Liam, and with that walked off into his back yard.

Dave shook his head and carried on towards the train station. A few doors down from Liam's house, Dave crossed over the road. He didn't like to walk past number 23 on his own.

Number 23 was the sinister abode of Quentin Jones. At first glance the house of Jones seemed normal, but upon closer inspection it was the kind of place that you'd wake up at three in the morning, with a cold sweat trying not to think about.

The faded curtains in the window had a leathery look about them, and Dave was sure some had tatoos. What looked like a cute white picket fence, picking out the flower beds, looked too brittle and bleached to be wood. And it did you good just to ignore the shell suit clad scarecrow guarding the herb patch.

Definatly did not just move. And that low moaning sounds just the wind. Yeah.

There had been a lot of teenagers mysteriously vanish latley, and fingers pointed at the skinny pale bespecticled sight that was Quentin Jones, but Dave didn't realy mind that much, at least there were less chavs hanging around the shops. Dave looked over at number 32.

Quentin was out back digging a large hole in the back lawn.

"Man,"

thought Dave

"That fucker sure does love to garden."

Daves thoughts were interupted by a barrage of spluttering and whinnying from down the road. It seemed that the family of centaurs who lived on Valley Drive were arguing again.

"Fucking asylum seekers"

thought Dave

"coming over here, eating all our sugar lumps and hay bails, and scrounging off the state. They should send all those bloody Horsies back to their fuckin paddock."

Dave carried on down the road.