Becoming

by Glenn Rolfe

  “Brady, quit it, come on.”

  He opened his eyes; the vision dissipated. He pulled the ladle up out of the pipe and realized he hadn’t uncapped the cylinder. “Kim, unscrew that top. Quick.”

  She hesitated before reaching down and cranking the cover off.

  “Now back up. I don’t know what’s going to happen from here.” He watched her step back as he raised the cupped slime to the open mouth of the container and poured it in. It gave a soft sizzle as it slid down and pooled at the bottom of the thermos. “Give me the cap.”

  Kim handed him the cover. He capped the cylinder, let go of it and plopped down on his behind. He wondered about the vision. Did he just have an out-of-body experience? He’d read about astral projection in some of the old science fiction magazines he’d snuck from Bryce’s collection, boxed away in the basement. In the vision, it was like he’d seen them from above, but at a distance.

  “What is it? Are you okay?”

  He didn’t know what to tell her as he glared across the yard at the back of Mr. Packard’s place.

  Saturday morning meant that Alan Packard was supposed to open the doors to his flea market. Only today, he had no intentions of doing so. He hadn’t been outside since the night he’d taken Gus Jackson and Nat Gallant and freed them of their earthbound forms. Both men lay safely within the gelatinous corners of his living room, half the men they’d been the night he’d dragged them upstairs. Their bodies, encased in the blue slime that devoured their flesh and bone (in order to more adequately assist in their transference beyond) would soon be gone. Alan was ready to ascend, but that had not happened yet. The voices within him repeated their refrain. Take them. Bring them. Ascend. As he moved to his back window and saw the Carmichael kid and his partner in crime, Kimmy Jenner, the voices began to scream their desire.

  The lethargy of Alan’s past couple nights shed from his slowed and heavy limbs. Sparked back to life at the prospects on his back lawn, he made his way past the gel-pods of Gus and Nat and stood before the rear entrance, naked as the day he was birthed. He’d ditched the concept of wearing clothes last night. Every inch of his place was covered in the blue slime, along with every article of clothing he’d tried to wear. Once he decided to go nude, a sense of liberation, another step toward ascension, filled his mind and soul—affirmation that he was on the right path. He stood in a slick skin of slime and sweat, bare-assed, and watched the children from the window in his back door. They were up to no good out there, poking around at something sticking up from the ground.

  Alan Packard’s slimy palms grasped the brass handle and pushed the wooden door ajar. He made his way from his second-floor home down the long set of wooden stairs. His eyes on the brats, he smiled a black-toothed grin.

  “Hey!”

  Brady and Kim both jumped at the voice that boomed from behind them. It was Mr. Packard. He was stark naked and did not look well.

  “What are you two up to there?” the nude man said, walking straight toward them. His smile looked wrong.

  Even outside of the fact that he was completely naked, which disturbed her to the deepest part of her core, the closer Mr. Packard got, the easier it was to tell there was something horribly wrong. He was coated in something from a Nickelodeon slime bucket and his blackened teeth devastated any trace of normality in his awful grin. His eyes stared at them like those of a starving man presented with his first meal in months. The skin on his face looked doughy and sallow. His voice sounded strange…wet…like he had too much phlegm in his throat.

  “We’re…ah…not doing anything. I…ah…just left my thermos out here a few days ago. Just came back to get it,” Brady said. He took a few steps backward, toward the path. Kim watched him signal for her to retreat with the hand behind his back.

  Mr. Packard seemed to focus on Brady’s other hand. His eyes widened. “You two need a hand, be my pleasure. Maybe I could get you something to drink. Got some real fresh water inside,” Mr. Packard said. Mucus dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He licked his lips like Kim had seen her great-grandpa Jones do when her dad dragged him out to visit at the old folk’s home last summer, something like you’d see a cow do with its fat tongue.

  “Run!” Brady said. He grabbed his backpack and clutched the thermos and pushed her forward, urging her on. She ran as fast as her feet could carry her out of Mr. Packard’s yard.

  “What the heck is wrong with him?” she said.

  “Don’t know, don’t care. Just go. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Alan Packard walked a few more steps before he stopped and watched the children escape. His cough turned to a wheeze as he tried to catch his breath. It didn’t matter that they had gotten away; he knew who they were and where they lived. The Jenner girl lived on the other end of the path they’d high-tailed it down. He spat a mouthful of the blue mucus from his throat; he didn’t notice it fizzle and seep into the earth. The voices commanded him forward.

  Chapter Nine

  Belinda Carmichael got tired of calling up to her son. She let him skip breakfast, figuring the kid could use a little extra sleep, but lunch was another story. He would need to eat something to keep his strength up.

  She stopped halfway up the stairs to stare at a family portrait from two summers ago. Nicholas, Brady and Bryce had their arms wrapped around a happy, shining version of her. Her three boys… A fresh wave of depthless sorrow tugged at her heart. The tears had just begun to flow when the front door opened.

  “Bell?” Joanie’s voice came barking into the otherwise quiet room.

  “Up here,” she said. She wiped her tears with the sleeve of her shirt.

  “You’ll never believe this.”

  Belinda called down as she walked to Brady’s door, “What?”

  “Packard’s wasn’t open today.”

  Belinda knocked on her son’s door, gave him a second to respond and then opened it. He was gone. “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “Brady. He must have left this morning after I specifically told him I wanted him staying home this weekend.”

  “Come on, Bell; he’s a kid. You can shield him from a lot of things, but you can’t protect him from that.”

  “I know. It’s just that…with what happened earlier this week…and Nick and Bryce…” The tears spilled from her eyes. She turned and let the week’s worth—the years’ worth—of pent-up grief soak her sister’s shoulder. She couldn’t help it. She knew she hovered over Brady as though he had the worst handicap imaginable, yet he was a perfectly healthy and wonderful child. She was just so damned scared to lose him too. He was all she had left. And right now, she had no idea what he was up to, though she was sure he was with Kim Jenner.

  “I think that was the grossest thing I’ve ever seen,” Kim said as she leaned against the shed behind her neighbor’s yard.

  Brady watched her as he hunched over and panted like a dog in the mid-July sun. He dropped his backpack to the ground and leaned back next to her. Their arms touched. A fairy-tale romance fluttered inside her heart. Brady looked at her and said, “Do you think he followed us?”

  She broke free of the sappy reverie and looked back toward the mouth of the path. “I don’t think he’d run through the woods like that. Do you?”

  The look she saw on his face did nothing to ease her worries. “We should get inside your house, just in case.” He stared into the trees. She watched his eyes scan the shadow-filtered forest, just as she had done moments ago. When he was done, he shouldered his backpack and said, “Let’s go.”

  Alan Packard reached the path’s end. With his wet arm, he wiped at the blue slime running from the corners of his mouth. Without a sound, he put one bare foot before the other and followed the kids to the Jenner house.

  “Can we go down into your basement?” Brady said as they reached Kim’s back porch.

  “Why?” Before he could answer, her eyes focused on the backpack. “Oh no, you’re not bringing that stuff into my house.”

&n
bsp; “Kim, come on. I just want to get a good look at it.”

  “Uh-uh. No way, Jose. You can go back to your house to play with that alien gunk.”

  “I can’t go back to my house,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “My mom told me I had to stay home today. She doesn’t think I should be running all over creation just yet.”

  “Brady, you know she’s going to call or drive over here. Why do you do this to her?”

  And there it was, his own best friend, taking his mom’s side. He spun on her. “Just because my dad and my brother died doesn’t mean I have to be held captive in that house. I shouldn’t have to be watched over like I’m some kind of baby.” He was surprised by his own outburst of emotion. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  “It’s not fair. But you have to look at her side of things too.” Kim locked her hands in his. “She can’t lose anyone else. You’re all she’s got left.”

  He knew she was right. He always felt like a jerk after his little acts of defiance. His thoughts hiccupped as Kim stared into his eyes. Butterflies launched from runways near his heart. His mom, Mr. Packard, the ooze, all slid away. He swallowed hard, lost in her gaze. Kim leaned in and kissed him.

  “I want you to be safe, too,” she said. She laid her head on his shoulder. Not even the madness of this past week could hold back the smile that cracked his face.

  Kim held him tight. “Your mom loves you.” She looked up and into his watery eyes and thought of the night her mom left. Mom had packed up her car after she thought Kim and Cheryl were asleep. Cheryl wrapped Kim in her arms. They both cried as they watched their mom’s taillights disappear from the driveway. Kim had only spoken with her mother on the telephone twice since that night, and Cheryl had outright disowned the woman. The hurt wrenched her guts as she clung tight to Brady.

  “Are you okay?” Brady said.

  Kim wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Let’s go inside.”

  Alan Packard watched the two lovebirds from the bushes behind the Jenner property line. He waited until the back door closed and moved in to have a closer look.

  Chapter Ten

  “So you’re probably right. It won’t be long before my mom calls. Where’s your dad?” Brady asked as they descended into the depths of the basement.

  “My dad’s at my sister’s field hockey game. They said they might go out for pizza with the team afterward, win or lose.”

  His palms were slick again, but it was more from the idea of the two of them being alone in the basement than it was from the stuff in the thermos. Their kiss had been his first, and he was pretty sure it was hers too. His cheeks were hot and a smile was hell-bent on dressing his face.

  “I’ll just tell your mom you’re not here.”

  “Maybe you should just not answer.”

  “That sounds like a better plan,” she said.

  Besides the workbench in the corner and the pile of old clothes dressed up in white garbage bags, the Jenners’ basement was wide open. “This is perfect. It’s a lot better than my basement. My mom’s got my dad’s and Bryce’s things boxed up and hogging every inch of space down there.” He set the backpack down in the center of the room.

  Brady knew Kim’s mom and dad were currently in the middle of a scandalous divorce. Mrs. Jenner had left him after Christmas for some jerk restaurant owner in Madison. Kim didn’t like to talk about it, and he didn’t ask.

  The naked man on the porch didn’t bother to knock as he left blue residue on the door knob and entered the quiet house.

  “What’s your big plan?” Kim said. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she kept her distance from Brady and his goop. She wasn’t comfortable with this, but figured Brady would just do it somewhere else if she said no. At least this way, she would be here if something bad happened again.

  “I don’t really have one.”

  “You mean you brought all these instruments to grab some of that stuff and what? That’s as far as you got?”

  “Yeah, sort of.” He held the cylinder in the center of the floor.

  “Did you hear that?” Kim stared up at the wooden floor above their heads.

  “Hear what?”

  “Shhh… listen,” she whispered. Kim moved next to him. The floorboards above their heads creaked and moaned.

  “Maybe your dad’s home. Will he be pissed if he finds us down here…alone?”

  “It’s not my dad. Cheryl’s game didn’t start until noon.” Kim saw Alan Packard’s sickly, naked body in her mind.

  Chapter Eleven

  Behind Kim and Brady, the cylinder began to tap-dance.

  Ting, ting, ting

  Brady spun around first and spotted the ooze-filled thermos dancing like an excited R2-D2 on the cement floor where he’d left it.

  He saw Kim’s eyes go wild at the sight of the gyrating canister and placed a finger to his lips. “Shhh.” He pulled her behind him and motioned for her to stay put. Brady grabbed his backpack and snatched the cylinder from the floor. The container was electric in his grasp. His hand pulsed with warmth at the point of contact. Another vision erupted in his mind. For a split second, he glimpsed another room…Kim’s living room…and then stairs. He dropped the cylinder into his bag, breaking the connection. The vision faded. He sealed up his backpack as fast as he could. Inside the bag, the cylinder and its contents continued their rhythmic rattling.

  “I think I just…” He didn’t know how to tell her what he’d just seen. He wasn’t sure he understood it himself.

  “What is it? What happened?” Kim grabbed his face in her hands.

  “I…the cylinder…it…”

  “It what?”

  He looked her in the eyes. “This is going to sound stupid, but I think I was just looking through someone else’s eyes.”

  “Huh?”

  “I know. I mean, I don’t know. It was like I was going up your stairs…but I was someone else.”

  “Brady, you’re not making any freaking sense. Maybe you just shouldn’t touch that thing—”

  Brady placed his hands on his hips; head hung low, his lips pressed together. His face and arm came up as he snapped his fingers. “It’s gotta be Mr. Packard. He must have followed us, and now he’s in your house.”

  Alan Packard climbed to the top of the staircase. A trail of blue snot decorated his path. He gripped the handrail. Double vision or something like it messed with his sight. A set of pale hands holding a silver container intruded across the space where the rest of the stairs should be, and then it was gone. He shook his head wondering what he had just been shown. The silver container. The Carmichael kid had been carrying one just like it in his backyard. Those little brats were in here all right. They had to be hunkered down in the girl’s room, but which door was hers? He tried the first one. It opened to a towel closet. The next one revealed a bare-bones bathroom. If a woman lived here, you would never know it. There were no frilly carpets, no matching towels, and not a hint of style to be found. Alan Packard continued his way down the hall.

  He pushed open the third door down and found the room he desired. The lovebirds were not here. Where are you little shits hiding? He checked the last two doors, found nothing, and decided to head back downstairs. Maybe they went out another door. Or maybe they were in the basement.

  “He’s going to my room?”

  “I think I saw…it was like I was seeing through his eyes.”

  “Listen,” she said. The floorboards above their heads moaned beneath the weight of the intruder. “Touch the cylinder again,” she whispered.

  “What? Why? You just told me I had to leave it alone.”

  “I know what I said, but you said you saw him going upstairs. Maybe it will show you where he is now. Maybe we can sneak out the door.” She grabbed his hand and began to tiptoe up the stairs.

  Brady followed her lead. They crouched at the top stair as he eased his backpack off and carefully unzipped it. The cylinder didn’t just shiver in
side the pack—it was glowing. Brady reached in and grasped the center of the canister. Within seconds, he saw something that made his stomach drop. He stared at the outside of the basement door through Mr. Packard’s eyes.

  Alan reached for the basement door. His slime-covered palm wrapped around the knob and turned— He stopped. Tires crunched the gravel in the driveway. He wheezed as he rushed to the window and saw two women in a tan station wagon. They were regulars at his flea market. He could catch up with the brats in the basement later. He ran to the back exit, threw the screen door open and scurried his nakedness down the steps and toward the woods. Behind a large rock, and with a clear view of the Jenner house, he waited.

  Belinda Carmichael hammered on the Jenners’ door. “Brady? Brady?” she called. Her sister Joanie waited in the car. Belinda tried to peek inside, but was too short to reach the little windows near the upper half of the door.

  “Anybody home?” Joanie yelled from the car.

  “Nope, doesn’t look like it.” She scooted down the steps and started for the backyard.

  “What are you doing now?” Joanie said, leaning out the passenger window.

  “I’m just gonna have a look around the back.”

  Belinda caught a whiff of something foul near the back porch. She couldn’t quite place the stench, something damp and rotten. A set of wet footprints across the weathered boards of the porch led up to the screen door. They were too big to be Brady’s. She crept up the steps. The hairs on her neck stood on end. “Hello?” she called. There was no answer. Her attention turned to the gross blue slime that covered the handle to the screen door. Another whiff of the unpleasant odor assailed her nose and made her eyes water.