After a dream in which he was flying over Pittsburgh, Greg Petunia woke up with headache. His wife Emily was getting dressed. In his opinion, her favourite business suit looked a bit like a Nazi Party uniform but he had never told her this. He opened his mouth to say
 “Good morning”. Instead, he said the words “Silly sloppy snakes.”

“What was that?” Emily asked.

“Silly sloppy snakes,” he said again.

“Excuse me?”

Greg tried to say, “I don’t know what happened.” All that came out was, “Slick squirrels slinking.”

“What kind of game are you playing?” Emily turned from the wardrobe to face him. She immediately saw the desperation in his expression.

Greg gestured at his throat. “Squeeze, squeeze.”

Puzzled, she approached him. She took his face between her palms. “Try to say ‘today is Tuesday’.”

“Spinning spokes salivate.”

“Don’t worry, maybe this is some kind of psychological problem? Do you understand what I’m saying.”

“Sasquatch,” he answered.

“Don’t talk. Use gestures. Do you understand me?”

Greg nodded.

Emily glanced at her watch. “You know I’m giving a presentation. I don’t want to leave you like this but...”

Greg pointed at himself, then lifted his thumb in the universal ‘everything’s cool’ sign. He was flustered but he knew how important the Textile Project Presentation was to her.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this at lunchtime,” Emily promised. “Make an appointment to see a psychiatrist.”

Greg shook his head.

“Oh, oops,” she realised. “I’ll do it. You’ll be all right alone?”

Greg nodded. Emily leaned forward and kissed him. She caressed his beard with her fingertips and then dashed out of the room.

After she left he tried to speak intelligibly for ten minutes. Eventually, he gave up. He put a pot of water on the stove and began beating an egg. He was midway in his breakfast preparations when the doorbell rang. He unlatched the door and opened it. A man in a black body suit and a green cape was standing on the porch. His tight fitting costume had hundreds of silver ‘S’ icons stitched into its fabric. Greg recognised the outfit, but he wasn’t sure where from. The man’s face also seemed familiar. He had a bottle of a nose and a large square shaped jaw. The hair on his head was brown, but his moustache was red.
 
“Stray salamanders sulk scarily,” the man declared.

“Squashed spark plugs?” Greg asked. He hoped he was wrong.

“Sinister savages,” the man begged, then turned around.

Greg considered leaving Emily a note but then realised she wouldn’t understand. He followed the man around the house to the east corner of the garden. The man looked around to make sure nobody was looking and then pulled out an ‘S’ shaped metal rod. He waved it in the air and a door of light appeared. “Sickening smut,” he said to Greg sheepishly.

“Serve seconds smiling smurf,” Greg replied. He said this to reassure the man, but realised as he said it that his words were true. The fear which he had felt disappeared, replaced by determination. He patted his comrade’s back and then charged into the glowing doorway.

* * * * *

Emily came home at noon. The door was wide open.

‘Greg? Greg?’ She called out. The house was empty. She called the newspaper.

A high pitched woman answered. “The Gazette, how may we help you?”

“I was wondering if Greg Petunia is there?”

“No miss.”

“Was he there in the morning?”

“No, didn’t come in. Didn’t even call in sick.”

Emily hung up. “Wherever could he have gone?” She made herself an economical lunch and then went back to work. “He probably just went for a walk,” she told herself.

* * * * *

That evening she came home to find a grey haired man in a black body suit and a green cape waiting in her driveway. Greg’s body, also in a black body suit, was lying in front of him. Greg’s corpse was covered in burn marks and bruises. The grey haired man’s eyes were misty with tears. He walked up to Emily and hugged her hard. “Sorry,” he said and then walked away.
.