Chameleon Magazine

For two solid weeks, my wife and I have been under siege.

Alien wasps—yes, teleporting alien wasps—have chosen our living room as the launch point for what I can only assume is an intergalactic invasion. I’ve searched every crevice of the house with military precision. Floorboards, vents, window frames, skirting boards. Nothing. No breach. The only logical conclusion?

They’re teleporting in.

I believe we’re dealing with a forward scout unit—the kind that sets up a base and signals for reinforcements. We’ve been forced into a two-person resistance team: my wife leads the front assault while I bring up the rear. It’s an unconventional strategy, sure, but we’re working with what we’ve got.

Training the Troops

We’ve had to initiate emergency training drills. I’ve drawn up floor maps, identified “hot zones,” and initiated a daily recon sweep. My wife, though fearless, is still relatively new to counter-wasp warfare. Yesterday, her inexperience showed—she took a sting.

Casualty reports were filed. Ice was applied. Morale dipped.

I spent the rest of the morning tending to her wound and retraining her on evasive maneuvers. She’s recovering now, bravely resting on the sofa, while I man the perimeter. I only hope she took my advice: never let them flank you through the curtains.

Breakthrough Discovery

Today, during my fifth recon sweep (standard protocol), I discovered what may be the wasps’ entry point: a tiny, sinister-looking hole behind the bookshelf. Too small to be a traditional nest, too well-placed to be accidental. This is not something I can assign to my wife—it’s a high-risk zone. There’s only one course of action now:

I’m going to have to blow it up.

Probably with filler foam, maybe fire. Possibly both.

What Comes Next

Will we survive the invasion? Will the alien wasps call in reinforcements? Will we be discovered lifeless and swollen on the living room floor by our children when they visit at Christmas?

Only time will tell.

Keep reading to find out if we hold the line—or fall, gloriously stung, in the line of duty.