My girlfriend and I moved house over the weekend, and while we were piling four years worth of accumulated telephone bills, refrigerator magnets and toy robots into cardboard boxes, I found a handwritten copy of this (very) short story.

I wrote it on stage during this year’s Open Book Festival, at an event in which eight writers were given a few minutes to write a short story with a given style and topic. The style I was given was “Enid Blyton” and the topic was “Space”.

Here’s what I wrote.

FOUR GET EATEN BY A XENOMORPH

Harry, Suzy, Freddy and their dog Toby were on their way to visit Auntie Gladys and Uncle Ben at Penal Colony IX, known to the locals as “Agony Nine”.

“I hope Auntie Gladys gives us sticky buns!” said Harry. “I’m starving after all those months in suspended animation.”

“You’re starving all the time,” laughed Suzy. “Tubby!”

“Woof,” said Toby.

Their transport shuttle dropped slowly towards the blasted terrain.

“Wait!” cried Freddie, pointing to the view-screen. “There was movement out there, by that ice-cave!”

“Perhaps it’s smugglers,” said Suzy. “Or pirates! Let’s go explore!”

They landed the transport, and walked into the jagged mouth of the cave.

“Shh, everybody,” said Harry. “I’m sure I heard a sound. Whatever could it be?”

In the torchlight above them were two cocoons. One held Auntie Gladys, the other Uncle Ben.

“Kill Me,” said Auntie Gladys.

THE END