by Mike McCarty
“There’s a cemetery near Wormwood, about ten miles north,” Apple said. “As for a jail, we’ve never had any need for one. If somebody’s acting up, we just tell them to stay home.”
This was the first time I’d ever seen all the townsfolk in one place, and I couldn’t help but notice something very peculiar. The men of Deeps were all downright ugly. They had big noses, long ears, shaggy hair, hairy moles, scars, potbellies, crooked backs and worse. The women, on the other hand, were all as gorgeous as Apple–tall Betty Crocker look-alikes with beauty-queen figures.
And even stranger, there were no children anywhere.
During the mini-parade, I couldn’t help but notice a young lady across the street who looked almost identical to Apple, except a little younger and red-haired. I kept looking at her out of the corner of my eye–because she was clearly staring at me. She must have thought I was some kind of hideous freak. My ego felt like a porcelain clown that had been run over by a steamroller, crushed to worthless dust.
That night after dinner, I went right to my little room in the basement. I didn’t feel like watching TV or talking to Wayne and Apple.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I was awakened by a sort of soft whirring noise, like a fan or toy helicopter might make. I turned on the lamp on my nightstand but couldn’t see anything stirring. I could see the entire basement from my bed. At the other side were stairs leading up into the house. The doorway at the top of the stairs didn’t have a door on it, so I could see the lights were off in the kitchen.
Again I heard that strange sound. It seemed very near.
I listen more carefully and cocked an ear toward the basement floor. The sounds seemed to be coming from below–but there was nothing under the basement except dirt.
Nothing I knew of, anyway.
Suddenly, someone slid out from under my bed. It happened so quickly, I almost yelled out–but then I saw it was the red-haired young lady from the parade that afternoon.
Up close she looked even more like Apple. “Hope I didn’t scare you,” she said softly. “My name’s Cherry. I’m Apple’s younger sister.”
“What are you doing here?” I said, totally amazed. I was glad I’m put on some clean long-johns before going to bed. It usually didn’t matter if they had a few coffee or food stains on them, since I’d never had a late-night visitor before. Or any visitor at all, really. “How did you get under my bed?”
“I wanted to meet you,” she said. “There’s tunnels leading in and out of all the houses in town. Though they’re not the kind most folks can see.”
I didn’t know what to say. I’d never had a pretty girl break into my bedroom to meet me before. And the fact she was spouting nonsense make the moment that much stranger.
“You’re from up there, aren’t you?” she said.
“Up...where?”
She flashed an angelic smile. “You don’t have to play dumb with me. I know a real live space alien when I see one! But that’s okay, I won’t turn you in to the N.B.I.A.E.”
“What’s that stand for?” I asked, more confused than ever.
“You big silly! You know–of course you know! The National Bureau for the Investigation of Alien Encounters.” She nodded as she spooled off the long name, like a teacher trying to encourage a child to remember the alphabet.
I decided to have a little fun with her–to play along with her fantasy. “Oh, yeah–them! I try not to think about them. I mean, if they caught me, they’d do one of their alien autopsies on me.” I was very serious. I didn’t even crack a smile.
“Some of the people on this planet are so mean!” she said. “We’ve had to be really careful ever since we came here from Kluggrani. There are reporters and other nosy types everywhere, you know. We picked this tiny little town as our outpost because it’s so far removed from any media attention. Plus, all the men here are so cute!”
Cherry was beginning to worry me. Was this a game, or was she really crazy? “Didn’t you bring any men from Kluggrani?”
“Oh, no. The men on our planet have roots! They’re so hard to transport. We were just lucky to find a town where the men looked so much like Kluggrani men. Except without the roots, of course. We bought all the available farms and made the regular Earth women go away. It was really easy to take their places!”
“So how did you make all those women go away? Are they...okay?” I said. I had to admit–crazy or not, her fantasy was pretty intriguing.
Cherry laughed. “Oh, we didn’t kill them or anything like that! We just relocated them. Programmed new memories into their brains and gave them new lives in different parts of the country. We sent their children off with them, too. Then we gave the men new memories to match their new wives.”
“So what about you?” I said. “Do you have a husband here in Deeps?”
“No, I really didn’t care for any of them,” she said. “There were some some fairly good-looking ones to pick from, but I’m a lot pickier than the others. I wanted one who was just super Kluggrani handsome. And then I saw you today! I knew you had to be from space, too–guys on Earth just aren’t as sexy and beautiful and wonderful as you. So what’s the name of your planet?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “My parents were exiled space royalty with a lot of political enemies. That’s all I am allowed to remember–they erased all my other memories for my own safety. They dropped me off on this world so their enemies couldn’t find me.”
“Space royalty! How romantic! I knew you had to be a prince–I knew it, I just knew it!” Cherry threw her arms around me and kissed every square-inch of my face. I’d never been kissed before, and I enjoyed it completely–and kissed her right back.
“Do you want to see my place?” she said. “We can take the tunnel under the bed.”
I worked very hard to keep a straight face. How in the world was Cherry going to pull off this part of her fantasy? “Sure, let’s take a look at that tunnel,” I said.
“Okay!” She said with a big grin. “Just be sure to hang on to me. Don’t let go of my hand for a second. The tunnel is in sync with Kluggrani energy, so you have to be with one of us. Otherwise, the tunnel will eject you and you’ll be trapped underground, buried alive! We don’t want that! Now get off the bed and help me push it off the tunnel entrance.”
I did as she asked. Under the bed was a circular area of what looked like light-blue concrete, about four feet wide. She took my hand and led me onto the circle. There was a soft whirring noise–– and suddenly we were flying down a bright yellow tunnel of throbbing energy. I tightened my hold on Cherry’s hand as we flew through the radiant underground passageway, faster and faster, until–– we were standing, out of breath, on another light-blue circle in the middle of a large, well-decorated bedroom.
Cherry immediately began pulling off her clothes. “Wasn’t that fun? Since we’re at my place now, we can make all the noise we want and not worry about waking anybody up! Now hurry up and take those long-johns off, you royal sex-god!”
That’s pretty much my story. Cherry thinks I’m the most gorgeous alien prince in the entire universe and we’re getting married tomorrow.
I needed money to start my new life, so I sold my life story–or rather, a version of my life story that didn’t mention where I’m living or that my wife-to-be is an alien–to The National Blab for fifty-thousand dollars. No one in Deeps, Iowa, reads that rag, so no one except Cherry knows where I really got the money. We tell folks around here that my rich grandma died and left me a bundle.
Cherry was thrilled when that rag reporter talked to her–I prompted her on what she should tell him. She’s spent her whole life staying away from the media, but in this case, she knew there’d be no problem. Nobody ever takes The National Blab seriously.
So now I’m writing this story. I think I’ll sell it to one of those fancy sci-fi maga
zines, or maybe some paperback story collection. I’ll use a fake name–no, two fakes, like it was written by collaborators or something! Cherry and the others in Deeps don’t read that sci-fi crap–and nobody else in the world takes it seriously, either. It’s all fiction. Made-up stuff. Fantasy.
Right?
The Pint-Sized Revenge
of Baby Caligula
“I have some good news and some bad news and some great news,” said Dr. Emil Matapathamos, the world’s most talented and resourceful fertility specialist. He also had many other talents, but those were on various backburners these days, for fertility was his current obsession. The tagline under his name on his business card said it all: If You Are Alive, You Can Be A Parent. Guaranteed.
Amber and Desmond Belmont sat in front of the good doctor’s mahogany desk, facing a stack of those cards in a silver tray shaped like an outstretched hand. They both nodded at the doctor, waiting for him to share the good/bad/great news.
But he said nothing.
Dr. Matapathamos simply sat behind his desk, languidly tapping his lips with a pencil. He was a fiftyish fellow, dark-haired and bearded. His handsomeness was marred, but only slightly, by numerous small scars on his face and hands. He was a man of adventure, and adventures always leave their marks.
“Well?” Amber said at last. “What’s the news?” Mrs. Belmont was slender and beautiful, with green eyes, wavy red hair, and the best breast implants money could buy.
“Yeah, what’s the news?” echoed her chubby, balding husband. “What’s up? Tell us the bad news first! Get it out of the way.”
“I have reviewed the test results, as well as my notes from the examinations I’ve performed,” the doctor said. “What I have to tell you is so strange, and yet so fabulous, I fear it may alarm you. So please, listen to me with an open mind. I shall tell you what I have to offer, and let you decide from there. Fair enough?”
Amber pointed at the doctor’s business cards. “I’m alive. I want to be a parent.”
“Yeah, me too!” Desmond put a plump arm around his wife’s shoulders. “We both want to be parents. Make with the baby! We’ll do whatever it takes. We’ve got loads of money.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” the physician said. “I’m sure there’s plenty of money to be made in the porn industry.”
“Adult entertainment!” Desmond said. “My dirty movies are artistic expressions of human emotions and stuff!” He smiled warmly at his wife. “When I first met Amber, she was just a filthy whore, letting guys bang her for ten lousy bucks a pop. Now she’s an international film sensation.”
“But...guys still bang her, right?” the physician asked.
“Yeah! But the movies make a Hell of a lot more than ten bucks!” Desmond pounded the desk with a meaty fist. “Now let’s talk babies!”
Dr. Matapathamos sighed with irritation. “Please try not to damage my furniture. That enormous gold pinky ring of yours could have left an awful scratch. Now, about that baby...” He sighed again. “I want you to know, I have helped women in their late seventies to become mothers. I have helped men with raisin-sized testicles to become fathers. But you two...” He shook his head and tapped his lips with his pencil a few more times. “You two...Desmond, your sperm has no mobility whatsoever. It’s asleep. I’ve never seen anything like it. Amber, you had a few abortions when you were a teenager. They weren’t performed by professionals, were they? And, your reproductive tract has been somewhat of a high-traffic area for many years. The inner scarring and stretch-marks...not good. Plus, your hormone levels are completely askew. Basically, you have what one would call a ‘hostile womb.’ All that, by the way, is the bad news.”
“My God!” Amber said. “I wasn’t expecting to hear that!”
“Yeah,” Desmond added, “her snatch ain’t hostile! It’s real friendly!”
“Now, don’t despair–for here is the good news!” Dr. Matapathamos said. “I have figured out a way for you two to actually bring forth life, as impossible as that may seem. Because it is an experimental treatment, I am willing to give you a substantial discount. I have devised a method whereby I am able to enhance the strength and mobility of a man’s sperm cells by subjecting his testicles to concentrated waves of theta energy.”
“Hey! He wants to do stuff to my nuts!” Desmond whined as his hands moved to shield his privates.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Amber hissed. “He’s a man of science. If he says your nuts need stuff done to them, then stuff is going to get done to them!” She turned to the doctor. “So what does this theta energy stuff do? And how big a discount do we get?”
“Yeah, how big a discount?” Desmond asked. “And what’s going to happen to my nuts?”
“No need to fear for the safety of your ‘nuts,’ as you call them, sir,” the doctor said with a gentle smile. “Your testicles will be gently bathed in theta energy, also known as time particles. This miraculous scientific breakthrough is the great news to which I referred earlier. Theta energy will cause your male glands to regress through past generations, to a time when your family tree was at its reproductive peak.”
Amber and Desmond blinked in unison.
“In other words,” Dr. Matapathamos said, “I’m going to send your nuts back through time.”
Amber thought about this for a moment. “Will it give him caveman nuts?”
Desmond grinned. “I wouldn’t mind having caveman nuts! Really big, hairy ones!”
“No,” the doctor replied, “it probably won’t give him caveman nuts. But with livelier, zestier semen, it should be no problem for you two to create a fetus with the strength necessary to survive in that ungodly, war-torn cavern you call a womb, Mrs. Belmont.”
“If my inside parts are so bad,” Amber said, “maybe they should get a dose of that theta stuff, too.”
The doctor’s dark, sculpted eyebrows both arched in surprise. “That thought had occurred to me–how delightful that it should occur to you, too. I’ve never given both potential parents the theta energy treatment before! I was only hesitant to suggest it because we’d be venturing into uncharted territory–”
“Yeah, yeah!” Desmond shook both fists in the air, as though threatening to punch God. “Let’s do it! Uncharted territory! We’ll make the best baby ever!”
“He’ll be great! Or she!” Amber said. “Like Einstein with muscles! Or Betsy Ross with big hooters!”
Dr. Matapathamos chuckled. “Betsy Ross? Madame Curie would be more accurate! Actually, if I recall correctly, Madame Curie did indeed have big hooters...But I digress. Since you are both being so agreeable about the experimental nature of these procedures, I think a twenty-five percent discount is in order. We shall begin the theta energy therapy tomorrow morning, eight a.m. sharp!”
Fast forward, two years.
On one side of the desk sat the doctor, tapping his lips with a pen his insurance agent had left behind. On the other side sat Amber and Desmond Belmont–but now Amber was at least one-hundred pounds overweight and her husband was sickly-thin, with twitching hands, eyes and lips. On his bony lap rested a fat, dark-haired baby wrapped in a torn blanket.
“Baby Stevie has been acting strange lately,” Amber said.
“Yeah, creepy even,” Desmond declared.
“Odd baby behavior?” the doctor said. “Is that what you wanted to see me about? I’m a fertility specialist, not a pediatrician. I’m sure all babies exhibit odd behavior from time to time. But since Baby Stevie is the result of an experimental procedure, I certainly would like to see how he’s coming along.”
Suddenly the baby jumped out of his father’s lap and onto the desk. He adjusted the blanket so that it draped his body toga-style, then pointed a plump, accusing finger at the physician.
“Cut the crap, doc,” the baby said in a high, nasal yet commanding tone. “First of al
l, my name is not Baby Stevie. It is Caligula. You may call me Baby Caligula, if you wish. When you exposed my father’s tired testicles to theta energy, you sent them back to the fall of the Roman Empire, thus channeling my own splendid nutsack from that time-period. Apparently this moronic clod is a descendant of mine! You only wanted to bring forth the sperm of that glorious era, but something went wrong. You also brought forth my memories, my intellect, my personality–my very soul!”
“So I see,” the doctor said. “Probably because Amber received the treatment as well...That must have something to do with it.”
“Yes indeed, you insipid quack!” the baby scolded. “Just look at that fat whore who, I am sad to say, is now my mother. You turned her cervix into a gaping time-tunnel! And I, Baby Caligula, am its hapless, helpless victim! It sucked me in and then spat me out as the wretched creature you see before you. Look at me: a puny drool-bucket with a wet noodle stuck in a soggy diaper! How can I be a decadent, ruthless leader when my willy is as soft as a sock? How can I have endless orgies with loyal servants when my penis is the size of a midget’s smallest toe?”
“Last week,” Amber said, “he made all the babies at the Happy-Time Day-Care Center disappear. The supervisor there said she turned her back on the kids for just a minute–when she turned around, they were all gone! Baby Stevie was the only one left. I don’t know how he did it, and he won’t tell us! Now, no day-care center will take him. He’s driving us crazy! I’m eating like a pig and Desmond has no appetite at all.”
“Amazing,” the doctor said, writing down Amber’s comments in his notepad. “Simply amazing.”
“You’ll think it is amazing when I’m through with you!” Baby Caligula walked over to the corner of the doctor’s desk and started tearing apart a small, potted fern. He quickly knit the leaves together and set them on top of his head. Sadly, his crown of laurels looked more like a Caesar salad. “I’ve been planning my revenge since my rebirth, when I realized that my new father was not my beloved Tiberius, but merely some ignorant bum who makes porno movies. And my new mother! A slut, a hooker, a common whore!”