“Gazpacho” - A Sci-Fi Story

The screening of “Egad! Spiders from Jupiter” was top notch and the theater people even allowed the boys to sit-in for a second viewing, completely free of charge.

Mesmerized by the alien movie, Ruebin and his two buddies passed around tubs of overly buttered popcorn and sixlets and ja-ja-bees and oh-yos and slices of pizza, and many other things thanks to Tubber’s oversized sweatshirt. The XXXL hoodie pouch was infinite. The teenage boys kept quiet aside from the munching of their treats. The spiders from Jupiter were easily the best sci-fi creatures in all of movie-media history. They called them Arachnids.

Ruebin was a guy who’d seen every space movie that had come out in the last decade. He owned all the DVDs (bootlegs too) and he even had original film reels that cost him hundreds of dollars. His mom took him to see the movie “War of the Worlds” on its premiere when he was five. They had to fly across the country to see it but she did it for him. There was always this infatuation he had with space. His obsession was something he prided too. His friends were the same way, maybe not so much into the alien stuff but they were nerdy film slobs all the same.

They were on track to watch the flick a third time and everything was dandy; but then Tubber farted so bad that they were asked to evacuate the cinema. The staff thought something died. They had overstayed their welcome and spoiled the screening for everyone else in the theater. Without another free viewing, the boys headed home.

“Well, in retrospect, I found the film a little overrated and the purpose for the spiders invading was opaque at best. Little to write home about. Even little-ler to write on my blog.” Tubber said, sucking on the leftover ja-ja-bees that were stuck in his teeth. This kid liked to pretend he was some big-shot movie critic, a fair one that gave “honest and true” takes. This particular movie earned its review, a “two out of five”, one that will go unnoticed on the hefty kid’s website.

“Say what you want, that was peak science fiction. I’m going back after school tomorrow.” Marco said. He was lying about going again, he had spent all his money on the food they snuck in and was flat broke. Marco’s mom gave him thirty bones for the month, but all of it he spent today. Tubber ate most of those snacks too.

As for the last boy, Ruebin, well, he too wished to see the movie as many times as his eyes could bear. It wasn’t just the cool spaceships or the bloody carnage that hooked him; it was the aliens, that is, the spiders from Jupiter that intrigued him the most. It was interesting because these creatures were not much different than plain ‘ol house spiders, well, except they were blown up fifty times their size, and it was easier to make out their chattering fangs and beady black eyes. Nothing too out of the ordinary, just big and scary.

These eight-legged atrocities dwindled on his mind the full twenty-minute walk home. Tubber held the group up, stopping one too many times to clutch his heaving chest. Tubber had to lose weight or he was sure to die prematurely.

“Fellas…” Tubber moaned.

“Take your hoodie off!” Ruebin yelled from a block away. He and Marco were getting tired of stopping every couple of steps.

“Shut up, I never take it off. Just…slow…up…idiots.” Tubber puffed.

It was an OCD thing. Tubber wore the same hoodie every damn day. He never washed it and mixed with his body odor, he smelled worse than a decaying corpse. Kids at school knew this and ridiculed these three for their hygiene as they stuck together most often; but nobody ever did anything since Tubber could eat them alive. As long as he was there, Ruebin was saved from beatings. Things smelled better a block away.

Maybe it was the savory scent, because it dawned on Ruebin that he was supposed to be home for dinner hours ago. Communicating his situation, Marco let him take off so he wouldn't be scolded any worse. Tubber was completely soaked with sweat. He saw Ruebin start to leave.

“Wait! Don’t ditch me guys!” Tubber yelled.

“Nobodies ditching you dingus! I’m walking with you.” Marco said.

“Good,” said Tubber with a sense of relief. It was getting dark out and as “mediocre” as the spiders from Jupiter were, they certainly had his nerves in a stranglehold. Marco just rolled his eyes.

When Ruebin got home he realized he completely missed supper despite his late efforts to be in attendance. His plate sat at the dinner table, cold, and looking worse for wear. Who knew pot roast could form a shell like that. His glass of water had bits of dust floating on the surface. Supper was probably hours ago but at least he didn't have to feel bad in facing his mom. She was already asleep. So he left it there.

There was school tomorrow as well as a pop quiz in his history class. Word had spread around the halls and those who had the class today suffered its wrath first. It would be Ruebin’s turn tomorrow. Instead of studying like he should've been, and instead of eating dinner with his parents, Ruebin chose alien movies.

Carefully closing his bedroom door so as not to wake Mom or Pop, Ruebin clicked on his PC and began cramming as much information about the American Colonial Period as he could. A stint of time, where maybe for three hundred years Europeans discovered a freshly foreign world. White men discovering these aliens that nowadays were referred to as Native Americans. Or Indians, but only pop quiz flunkers knew them as so. The Natives were there first, so in a way the white men, with their strange fireballs and golden hair, they were the real aliens. But who’s to say it wasn’t the other way either. How truly different were they from each other? A conscious, mindful thought sprouted from the young teen. This wasn’t a fact he learned but a connection he drew. His history teacher would call it a waste of time.

It was hard to study since the only thing dominating Ruebin’s brain were theories of alien life and ideas for fictional species. He liked to draw them. At this point, he felt he was surely screwed as no matter how hard he tried to make room for history facts, that sci-fi movie had filled all the spaces and cracks of his brain. He was reading his digital textbook but wasn’t absorbing it’s words.

After a futile attempt of last minute studying, Ruebin clicked off his monitor and slunk to bed.

That night Ruebin had no dreams but he did have things going on in his head - literally. While he wasn’t dreaming, there was a dialogue of sorts playing out. Call it a conversation. To him, it was like his inner monologue was running rampant. Despite conking out, his brain hadn’t turned off, or so it seemed. Whether at first he was consciously responding back was unclear, although the conversation would ultimately follow him into the morning - literally.

Ruebin was just entering the first sleep stage (a snap of the fingers could wake him) when he found he was talking to himself.

“Boy, when was the last time you cleaned your ears out?” Said this voice in his head.

“After every shower…” Ruebin said out loud. Kinda like he was sleep talking.

Then, like he was pinched, Ruebin jolted upright and looked to whoever was bedside to him.

“What the? Clean my ears?” He said, drowsily and smacking his mouth around. He looked at his alarm clock which read 1:03 AM. “What do I care?” And he fell back down.

“Pleck! Tastes like shit too!” The strange voice returned. “Well, It’s shit might not be so bad…”

Just like a second ago, Ruebin shot up from his mattress, except this time he was wide awake and sure that someone was talking to him. He scanned his room only to see the shadows of his dresser and desk. His computer monitor displayed a dimmed blue frame with the occasional screensaver photo. The radio by the window was unplugged. He was alone. He was absolutely alone.

“If I keep this up I won’t get any sleep and I'll definitely fail the quiz tomorrow.” He said. Ruebin shook out his sheets to cool down, letting the musty, hot air escape. He even flipped his pillow. He lay awake a bit before trying to sleep. Might as well let my thoughts run. Just for a sec…get it all outta my system.

It wasn’t exactly surprising that he was awake. He was stressed about that quiz and deep down he knew better than to blow off his studying for some movie. A fantastic movie albeit. Lately, he had the pressure of his parents to do well and they were riding him more than ever. Come 11th-grade, if you weren’t looking and applying to colleges, you’d be one to fall behind. This was a daily reminder from his pop. Not only that but he had the science fair next week and he hadn’t done any planning nor any thinking for it. So it was natural for his mind to be running, surely it was.

“I wonder if there's anything better if I go deeper…”

He definitely heard that. It was clear and it was loud, like someone was speaking to him directly through a headset. Ruebin fiddled a finger in his left ear hole, instinctively searching for an earbud. No earbud.

“Who’s there?” Ruebin whisper-yelled. He looked to the corner of his room to see if he left on his Boog Cube or maybe the TV set. It wasn’t any of that.

He thwapped his head with his palm in an effort to recalibrate his brain. Not hard, but a stern tap like you would to unclog a vacuum to get it to suck harder.

It felt the tap. “Gee, this kid is jumpy.” The voice said. 

He broke into a cold sweat.

“Hello?” Ruebin asked. He had caught it again, and this time immediately he responded, looking for the voice to react back to him in some way. He was starting to feel real uneasy. “Grandma?” He whispered. Maybe it was her ghost. In some way, a ghost seemed better than an intruder.

“Grandma?” The voice said. “Who are you calling grandmother?”

Now he was sure it was the ghost of his seventy-seven year old deceased granny. He thought about how once his pop told him spirits and ghosts could see everything - when you shower, when you pick your nose, when you touch yourself…

“Gram I’m sorry!” He cried. “I didn’t…I had no idea you could…”

This voice, whether in his head or not, was not his own. That was for sure.

Suddenly, he was having all these weird thoughts, he could hear them, audibly, like the voice (or his own) was teasing him, and bringing about these thoughts in an out-of-character sort of fashion. He was going with the grandma-thing truthfully because there was no other explanation to the crystal clear rambling going on inside his brain. Schizophrenia? At sixteen? Well it happens, he supposed.

“Ha! Call me grandma again boy. Do it. I double dog dare you.” The voice said, almost jeering.

He couldn't escape it. He couldn't just stop the ‘thinking’ either, and not because one can’t simply turn off their brain, but because it didn't appear like this was his thinking - someone or something was speaking to him. If it was his Grandma's ghost, where the Hell would he go? Run away? She could float through walls for all he knew. And that would be rude to dear Gram.

Now he was wide awake and committed to freaking himself out. He sprang to his feet and stood in the middle of the room, waiting for the voice (was it voices?) to say something else. For a second he thought about running to his parents to wake them and inform them that he was losing his mind. But he wouldn’t because it was past midnight and his pop would throw a fit if woken up. Silly reasoning, but this fact forced him to deal with whatever was happening on his own.

Before he could make it halfway to his computer (where surely WebMd would help him out), he heard the voice again. When it reached it, this time he focused on it. It’s tone, its dialect. When it spoke he could feel the syllables ring and buzz against his ear, like someone invisible was whispering with their lips pressed tightly against his head. It was not gram-gram, it was male.

“Say something again.” Ruebin spoke softly and with caution. 

“So you CAN hear me.” The voice said, almost amused by this. “Huh, and I thought I was going mental.”

Yeah, you are going mental. I’m fucking skitzo! Without moving further, very carefully, Ruebin sat down on the carpet, criss-cross applesauce, and continued listening, self-diagnosing his insanity.

“Well, it looks like you can. I’m not sure how, but you can.” The voice said.

“Where are you?” Ruebin asked. He moved his eyes around. It was eerie speaking aloud like that. But this was good: either the voice gives him no answer to its location and that proves he’s schizophrenic, or he does get an answer and it proves he’s not crazy. Unless it’s my mind making that up too.

The voice took its time to respond. There was dead silence for almost a full minute but eventually, and because Ruebin was an apparent “special case”, the voice revealed its identity. Kind of.

“I’m inside your left ear canal.” The voice said. “I told you where I am, but maybe it’s best I don’t tell you what I am.” The voice said. It chuckled some. It sounded like the clothes dryer. “This is amazing!”

“You must.” He was dead serious, his voice said so too, and whatever was going on wasn’t funny at all.

“Don’t freak out boy.” The voice said.

“I already am.” It was true.

“I’m an alien from a planet you humans have never heard of. Congratulations Earthling, you're the first to communicate with our kind.”

And just like that, mankind made contact with extraterrestrial life through the means of a boy and his ear. No speculations, no conspiracies involved. True contact.

Ruebin’s mouth hung open and his eyes seemed to sink into their sockets when he heard this. While this was shocking, Ruebin couldn't help but spew a fountain of questions and nerd wonder. The voice left it all unanswered, nodding to the notion that this thing wasn’t particularly friendly. Adrenaline filled his body and he quite possibly was experiencing shock, but in a weird way he was also estatic. Half, totally horrified, but half, engulfed with this discovery. It was a sci-fi fanatic’s wet dream come to life…in a way.

“Aliens exist.” Ruebin said, quoting the title of a familiar blink track.

“In flesh and gunk boy. In flesh and gunk.” Said the alien.

“Are you doing some kind of cloaking technique? I heard you people can do that sort of thing.” Grouping this voice, this ‘alien’ in the ‘people category’ was a stretch.

“I told you, I’m in your left ear canal. Not too bad in here…smelly and sticky but dark enough for my liking.” The alien chuckled some more, like a contraption, like rusty gears shifting. What was so damn funny?

The mechanical laughing made him more uncomfortable. The alien did a lot of it. So he was past the initial feelings of intrigue and he cut to the chase. “What could you possibly want? To harvest my organs? Perform sick testings on my butt region?”

Oh God, oh God it was surely true. This epiphany destroyed his composure. Ruebin had seen all the movies. He read all the H.G Wells books the school library had. He was an avid browser of the internet forums of people claiming they too had experiences with E.T’s.

The scariest part was the realization he was a dead man. Either this alien would get him or the Secret Service would.

“Ew, that's disgusting. I’d say that's a generalization, maybe even racially inclined.” The alien replied. “What makes you think I do any of that…let alone…with YOU?”

“You’re an alien! I shouldn't be talking to you, let alone know you exist!” He was forgetting to keep his voice down. He was losing his breath, a few moments away from total hyperventilation. “Oh my God! You’re going straight for my brain!” He clutched his noggin.

Ruebin was completely frantic now. The revelation of aliens existing and the fact one was crawling around his head was ready to make him snap.

“Wow! You’re a total spacist!” The voice said. “Calm down boy and listen to yourself? I have a name you know!” The alien quipped.

“What? ‘Goonga-Boinga from the outer realm!’” Ruebin snapped back in the same snarky fashion.

“Wow, you’re good.” The voice said.

“Huh? F’real?”

“No you gummy idiot. My name is Gazpacho. That's what they call me…at least in your tongue.”

So it was an Alien named Gazpacho that was hiding away in Ruebin’s ear. By now Ruebin had gotten to his feet and turned on all the lights in his room. He wanted to see it to believe it.

“Ok…well…I’m gonna need you to show yourself.” Ruebin said. He worked up the courage to ask.

“No need. I have everything I need right here. For me to reveal myself, well, that would reveal everything to you humans. So I cannot. I will not…yet…he-he-he.”

Gazpacho’s logic was strange. For some reason this alien either had no problem making contact or it was accidental, that was clear since It was camping out in his ear; but the fact It wouldn't show itself only made Ruebin wonder. There were apparently tons of alien species, all of which could be easily found and described online, neatly organized into wikipedia-like columns on websites crammed packed with viruses. He knew of the Grays, the Reptoids, and some believers would even rope in the Angels from Heaven. It’s refusal to show itself almost annoyed Ruebin. What right did It have to hide away in my head?

“Gazpacho. What do you want?” Ruebin quivered. Knowledge? A vessel? That was what he kept circling back to. This wasn’t a dream, this was real.

“Well…I suppose nobody has ever asked me that. Certainly not from a human. What do I want…hmmmm. Gee, I guess this is a better time than ever!”

There was nothing exciting about this (aside from the alien part but really it was just scary). Ruebin interjected. “...and what do I have to do?” He snapped.

“You need to relax boy, I can feel the blood rushing to your head.” The voice said.

It was a freudian slip. So It wasn’t lying about actually being in his ear and not only that but this meant Gazpacho was an actual, real, physical being, one who could feel. By saying this, this meant Gazpacho was just small enough to fit in his ear. It occurred to Ruebin that this was potentially why It refused to show himself. If the alien was small, Ruebin could easily crush It. Right? They always said if aliens were real they’d be microscopic.

“Why won't you show yourself? Are you scared?” Ruebin goated the alien. The voice had to be the size of a gnat. A puny, pathetic space creature.

“By the beating of your pulse, I’d say you're the one who's scared. Now I’ve thought about what I want.” Gazpacho said deviously.

He felt his hands go numb and they curled up into balls. In an instant, all his stress peaked and this was the icing on the cake. It wanted something, all aliens want something, their curiosity is what is most terrifying.

He couldn't open his mouth and he strained to reply. He was experiencing helplessness. He shook gently, doing his best to come down from his panic. No matter the size of this thing, it had the control. Fully. It could read him. It was like a gun pointed at his head. A phaser.

Surely at any moment the alien could: a) expand and split his head into pieces, b) go straight for the power source and eat his brain, or c) do something incomprehensible, something that all those sci-fi movies couldn't even come up with.

His words were spaced out. “What. Do you. Want. Please.” Ruebin didn’t want to beg but he was about to. No, he was going to. It was just like dealing with his bully at school, except Tubber wasn’t around to defend him.

It answered rather quickly. “I want a nice, cold one.” Gazpacho said.

It was the last thing Ruebin would’ve ever thought. A cold one, like a beer? For a brief second Ruebin couldn’t help but think Gazpacho meant his cold, dead body; but nope, It seriously meant beer.

“We don’t have any in the house.” He was staring at the wall, his eyes glossed over from looking at nothing. “My parents don’t drink.”

“I didn’t ask if they drank.” There it was again, that devilish, almost cynical tone. “I’m asking for a cold beer. And you are gonna get me it boy. Otherwise-”

“It's the middle of the night and I'm in highschool! Plus I’m not old enough to touch that stuff!” Ruebin reasoned.

This was an almost impossible task and Ruebin couldn’t help but feel he gave a poor answer. This alien would extract his guts and eat them for sustenance, no doubt about it. So why was he even thinking about debating it? Sure. It was possible but tricky. To his sparse knowledge, there was no way he could get any tonight because they stopped selling liquor at eleven.

He began thinking of ways. How hard would it be to find a can of beer? He could try checking the fridge (as well as the one in the garage) for hopefully he might get lucky and find an expired can. But he knew there was nothing, and he knew for a fact. The only thing he ever saw his old man drink was milk and the occasional cup of coffee. His mom was a tea drinker. He was too young to buy any himself. Maybe he could ask a local bum to buy some for him; but that would be tomorrow, well after it was too late. If he couldn't find a bum, then…I guess I’ll just steal some.

He was begging for his life. “Please. Can you wait until tomorrow? I can get you some by the morning, I swear I’m good for it.” Ruebin choked back tears.

Now quiet, Gazpacho dwindled on the thought, hopefully focusing on the beer and not the fleshy innards of Ruebin.

“Tomorrow it is then. But I warn you boy, if you don't get me what I want then I'll lay my eggs in your head. I’ll use your body as a host for my spawn…and my babies will eat you inside out. What about that boy?”

Oh woe was Ruebin. He started to cry. “Ok.” He sobbed. And that was it. After promising, the voice went away. He lay awake for hours, sleepless, fearing God, the unknown, and the darkness that followed death. Surely it wasn’t as simple as that. Not after this. All he knew was he had a good feeling that he was going to die tomorrow.

It was unclear when he finally dozed off.

The next morning Ruebin woke up twenty minutes before the first school bell was supposed to ring. He was running horribly late and he couldn’t shake this nightmare he had. Horrible alien creatures came down from space. Sick lanky things that could shrink in size and lay 1,000,000 eggs a day. The last bit of the dream had something to do with planetary takeover or something along those lines. A good comic idea. He figured it was brought on by yesterday’s movie.

He was happily oblivious for a good minute, smacking his mouth and yawning. Something itched and he gently touched his ear. Without holding back, he couldn't help but dig around in there too. He stuck his pinky finger in deep. And then his memory came back to him like a polaroid picture slowly developing.

He accidentally woke Gazpacho with the prod of his nail, an almost fatal mistake.

“YEOW! What the! Oh…good morning.” Gazpacho said, seemingly snapping from a slumber. It’s leathery voice reminded Ruebin of snakes or something blood sucking. When he heard this, instant dread refilled Ruebin.

Shit. “What's so good about it?” Ruebin said. He put his face in his hands.

“We have a lot to look forward to today.” Gazpacho said. “I’m parched.”

He didn’t care that he was gonna miss school, as sometime last night he was already set on it. At least I'll dodge the quiz. What luck. That was the least of his worries. He looked at his alarm clock and sighed. He pulled on a blue zip-up jacket, and combed his hair back, tucking it behind his ears, the left side being more delicately handled. After that, he walked through the kitchen where his mom saw him off and kissed him goodbye.

“Have a good day sweetheart. Dinner’s at six, your father wants you home on time tonight.” Mom forewarned him. It was clearly important to her.

“Ok.” He said, avoiding eye contact. And that was it. He was too busy enduring the yammering of Gazpacho to attempt holding any other sort of conversation. Plus looking at her would make him cry. He couldn't explain it to her. It was always listening. It could end him whenever It wanted. The whole time in the kitchen, Gazpacho kept rambling on, asking questions like “whose that lovely voice” and speaking threats like “I’m predicting a big litter, hopefully boy, you’ll be enough food to feed”.

The school bus rolled up to the bus stop but Ruebin didn’t get on. Instead, he pulled his hood up, shielding his pimpled face. The bus driver briefly gave him a sunken look but then cricked his neck forward, and shut the electric doors. A bunch of kids on the bus, familiar faces, and some classmates eyed Ruebin from the windows as he casually walked down the street. Maybe it would earn him some popularity points. A real skipper, how cool huh.

It was about two miles from the seven-eleven.

To other passerbyers, he was simply walking to school. This was actually the first time he’d ever chosen to ditch. A police car passed. The cop smiled and waved at Ruebin. Ruebin lowered his head some.

Of course Ruebin thought about going to someone for help, that is someone who could actually do something to save his life. That cop was practically greeting him with an open door. But think about how crazy you’d look. They’d all laugh, then they’d detain him and send him to some cuckoo club. He thought about emailing someone from the forums, an expert, or shit, if he had to he’d contact the government, but he was just as scared of the men in black as he was of the alien in his ear. They were no different. Those people would also cut him open, Gazpacho included, and eventually they’d both ‘disappear’. Write it off as misadventure. Call it an ‘accident’. Since last night he was alone in dealing with this and he would stay alone.

The seven-eleven was just up ahead.

The whole walk Gazpacho hadn’t shut the hell up and the alien showed no signs that he was going to. It liked talking to the human. It was the first time for the two species to talk, ever, in history. In fact, It was talking more. Ruebin’s head was aching.

As Gazpacho yapped away, Ruebin tried imagining what the alien might look like. It had to be smaller than a grain of rice. Where were the sounds coming from? It’s mouth? Was it a hole? It had vocal chords but did It have eyes? Or was It one of those ‘light-beings’? Surely if this thing just emerged, that is from his ear hole, like some worm from the ground who shares a love for feeding, then he could size up the thing.

There's always that question. What would YOU do if you encountered an alien? Run away? Keep it tight-lipped like your life depended on it. Befriend it with reeses-pieces? Or how about kicking the snot out of it. Kill it. Wring its little tubed neck. Of course it depended on the person, but if it was out of self-defense, fuck making first contact. And fuck keeping it.

“My babies will start by feeding off your wax and then reproduce. Once the wax runs out we’ll eat your brain boy. Then your connective tissues, then your eyeballs, and then we will expand outward and eat your organs.” Gazpacho said.

“Shut up.” Ruebin said. “Just shut up. The store is up here, after this leave me alone. I don’t care where you go.” And then for safe measure, “and I’ll never tell anyone about this.”

The little bell attached to the door jingled. A man with mason jars for spectacles squinted toward the swinging glass. He was something like eighty, way too old to still be a clerk. It clearly meant a lot to him. He did his best to look at Ruebin, but like the other couple shoppers in the store, he was just another blob of colors and shapes shifting about.

When Ruebin saw the old clerk weakly picking through the cashier's drawer he felt more confident for what he was about to do. Without breaking a step and without missing a remark from his hidden accomplice, Ruebin approached the beer fridge. It was freshly stocked with boozers. In fact, the delivery truck had just dropped off a fresh shipment.

“Choices, choices…” Gazpacho said after Ruebin quietly murmured to the alien all the options. Gazpacho pondered. So he listed off the beers again. 

“Can you just pick one?” Ruebin said. He didn't like standing in front of the liquor, it was drawing attention.

“I want to party. What do you think does the trick? I’m trying to get loaded.” Gazpacho said enthusiastically.

Ruebin didn’t care whatsoever. He settled for something called a Maller-full. It was the biggest bottle apart from the others. “Ok. Got it. No changing.”

He wondered if Gazpacho would emerge to drink. Surely that was the way how. The bastard would have to come out and after that, Ruebin would plug all the holes in his body forever-and-fucking ever. Home stretch. After this was over, Ruebin vowed to show no further interest in the sci-fi stuff. Trying out for basketball sounded good.

However they planned on getting the beer was up to Ruebin. Since he didn't have an ID saying he was twenty-one and not sixteen, he knew he would have to steal it, another thing Ruebin had never done before. His morals were jacked today up no thanks to Gazpacho. Since the clerk already saw him walk in, he had to buy something. You know, to avoid suspicion. He slipped the Maller-full in the front of his waistband and then pulled down the jacket's pouch over his bulging crotch. He tightened his belt so it wouldn't go anywhere and grabbed a chocolate bar. He put the chocolate bar back and grabbed a cereal bar instead. It made more sense.

He walked up to the elderly clerk. The man was still squinting, appearing to size up the hooded Ruebin. It was easier now that he was closer. As he stepped to the counter the clerk realized it was a young man after all (and not “riff-raff”) and he flashed a brown, popcorn kernel smile. Encounters with the youth brought a smile to the man's decaying face.

“Hello sonny. Gee, ‘whatcha got there.” The old man trembled as he reached to check up the cereal bar. It was a weird food to him, something he didn't know they sold. Ruebin wanted to be honest and say “an alien in my head”. But he didn’t.

“Just some breakfast.” He said. “I have a quiz at school today.” That was true and he felt good being honest. The cold beer bottle shed beads of condensation, lightly dotting the front of his pants like pee. It felt like it was slipping. The old clerk chewed on his tongue and could not get the scanner working.

“Darn thing. Let's try it the old-fashioned way.” The clerk said fiddling with the red light.

“Geezer.” Gazpacho grunted.

Taking out a ledger, the old man took his time writing down the item number, price, and details of Ruebin’s purchase. It was seriously taking forever.

His belt abruptly gave way and the bottle slipped from his waist, and fell down his pant leg. Quickly Ruebin blocked it from hitting the ground using his other foot. He kicked his shin real good, catching it before disaster.

The old man, despite being blind as a mole, noticed the sudden movement.

“You ok there sonny?”

“Yeah. I’m ok.” He was sweating through his teeth.

“You ok boy?” Gazpacho chimed in.

He accidentally answered that too. “Ok.” He said an extra time.

The old clerk gave Ruebin a funny look but he seemed to always look at things funny. His face was permanently inquisitive. Once recorded, the old man gave Ruebin his snack back and Ruebin paid the two fifty-five.

As careful he could, he wobbled out of the store, still clutching the bottle against his leg. After getting out of sight, he released the bottle from his pant sleeve, took it, and ran behind the seven-eleven.

He looked no different than a crackhead talking to himself. Luckily, behind the building was deserted; so Ruebin made no effort to try and conceal his ‘mania’. He set the forty ounces down on the pavement. It smelled like hot trash back there. Gazpacho had gone mute since then.

“Hello? Gazpacho? Hey! So you’re just gonna shut up now?” Ruebin said. Man, how nice it would have been for some peace and quiet earlier.

But unfortunately, It was still there. “Apologies, human. I went on a little walk.” Gazpacho said.

Ruebin shuddered. “I’m not some hikers trail. Stay put.” Ruebin’s voice shook. This alien could do whatever It wanted and go wherever It wanted - long as it was a part of Ruebin. Who's to say It didn't lay It’s eggs yet. Were those boogers or eggs crammed in his nose? Didn’t matter now. “You can come out. I have your stupid beer.”

“No. Not yet.” Gazpacho said. “There's still one other thing I want.”

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. So far the teenager already went out of his way to please the extraterrestrial. This was his life at stake, and as anybody would know when a psychopath starts pushing their limits, starts reaching for more, well, it's never a good sign. The intentions, It’s intentions were twisted at best. Ruebin thought about his head popping like an overinflated tire and then finally, just finally, mankind gets a glimpse at the otherworldly. Too bad Ruebin will miss it. Too bad.

There was no arguing, but he was pissed off. “I got you what you wanted! You aren't being fair!” Nearby was a gas can. He wanted to stick its spout in his ear and drown out the spaceman. But that would make him sick and he’d die too. Well…

“Quiet boy! You humans…you drink, you party…you seek…companionship. As do I…” Gazpacho said, It’s voice returning to that evil snarl. “This deserves a pairing. Of women…”

Of course, the cliche. It was just like in all the invader movies. Usually in those flicks they suck up attractive women into their saucers and do just want any sadistic, depraved man would. Inflict their sexual desires unwillingly on the helpless victim. This was too far.

“Absolutely NO.” Ruebin had trouble talking to girls at school let alone figure out how to seduce one. “I can’t help you. I stole you beer and that's as far as I go. Please. You have to understand.” A fear struck him, he thought about his mom.

It was like the alien had read his mind and could tell exactly what he was thinking, possibly based on some sort of internal, chemical reaction. It could read his mind and in doing so…

“Your birthgiver. She’ll do nicely. Then I'll reveal myself to the both of you…of course I'll do you the honors of eating your eyeballs first. I’ll leave your ears…so you can hear the sound of her cries…pleasurable cries.”

Gazpacho the alien, since It’s invasion of Ruebin’s head, had slowly grown more and more evil and it was evident in It’s unpleasant expressions. Not like he did before, but now, Ruebin clearly couldn't trust the alien’s word. What once felt like bullied threats, almost delivered jokingly, had warped into serious accusations. Terribly descriptive horrors.

Ruebin sank down, put his head into his knees and growled. He was about to blow his top.

He shot up, unable to keep his cool. He had no choice. A rat ran under the nearby dumpster. “FINE! YOU WANT A WOMAN! YOU WANNA FUCK?” He screamed. Ruebin’s heart was racing and his lips were curling into his teeth. “FINE!” He picked up the beer, now with no shame in holding its contents in the broad daylight.

“Yes! Take me to her boy!” Gazpacho cheered. “This is going to be so sweet.”

The glass bottle would’ve shattered if he had gripped it any harder. Leaving the same way he came in, Ruebin left the back alley and with an increased pace walked further into the commercial district. From what he once saw, and he wasn’t even too sure of it, there should be ladies of a certain caliber lurking behind the movie theater.

He was gonna gonna burn in Hell for this.

Gazpacho had grown stupidly excited about getting drunk and scoring. It was chattering on and on to Ruebin with no breaks in between, describing the things It was going to show him and the things It now swore on doing. That is if I can trick her into sex with an alien. Like I’d stick around for any of that. It was like Gazpacho was promising these disgusting things, with It’s whole, ten hearts (or however many it probably had); and Ruebin knew that with the first chance he got, when he knew he was free from the grasps of this creature, he’d flee.

“Keep that out of your palm boy, the woman is gonna need something to ice off with…inferior warmbloods, you will ruin a good time…”

He was done responding. Ruebin clenched his teeth, stuffed the beer back in his jeans, and started taking longer strides. This was gonna be done soon, as long as he could figure out the right words and as long as he had the right amount of cash.

“Excuse me.” Ruebin said, quietly and carefully to the nice lady waiting by the theater's exit door. The lady turned and looked down at the teenager who was maybe a foot and a quarter shorter than her.

“What does she look like?”

She was smoking a cigarette and scouring for lonely men looking to fix their insatiable urges. The movie theater didn’t just show sci-fi’s and box office blunders, but adult movies as well. It was a hotspot for this line of work.

“How about her rack? Is it BIG?”

As you can imagine, he had never approached one of these ladies, only in his video games, and usually in those games it ended with some outlandish violence. That’ll be my fate soon, probably hers too. This was a dying effort, literally, and after all Ruebin was no Tom Cruise and this certainly wasn’t like “Risky Business” (whereas while we’re talking 80’s, Ruebin much preferred “Weird Science”). The geek.

Her purple lipstick stained the corners of her fingers from smoking the cigs to their very ends. She blew smoke out the corner of her mouth and trails of it disappeared up into her curled hair. She looked the awkward boy up and down. She smelled like a wet wipe.

“Scram kid.” She said. She fished around in her bag for something.

“Tell her to get naked and I’ll come out…I promise…I do…I doooo…”

He had to think of something to say. He wasn’t just gonna give up.

“Ma’am…I know what you’re thinking, I’m just a kid, but hear me out,” he paused to think up a lie. “...I only have a week to live…and…I…”

“Ha, a week is pushing it boy…I would say you have an hour tops…I’m feeling an egg crowning…oooh…”

Creeped out, the hooker stared at Ruebin. She looked unsure but not totally dejected to the idea. She pulled out another cigarette but this one had a funny smell. She sparked it, eyeing him from the corner of her layered mascara.

“No. Sorry about that. Get lost kid.” She said.

That wouldn't do. His ear tingled.

Blushing, “...gosh…I’m not asking you to do…” and he mouthed the words, almost as if to hide it from Gazpacho. “...I was wondering if you’d maybe…maybe just dance for me…and maybe let me kiss you?”

He kind of nodded toward the bushes. He didn’t care where. Ruebin felt his face turn shades. The smelly cigarette was a quarter burnt before she put the rest out with the bottom of her heel. She straightened her green tube top and exhaled the last of the smoke.

“I don’t dance, kid. And I don’t do kisses. Go ask your Mommy.”

“Mommy…she’s sounding better and better boy…let's jet home…before I lose this wonderful spark…”

He couldn't help it anymore.

“NO! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP! GET OUT OF MY HEAD! GET OUT OF MY HEAD YOU FREAKIN’ MONSTER!” Ruebin cried.

He started slapping his hand against his head, trying to flatten the invisible. Frightened, the hooker backed up and clutched her belongings. Though he was a shrimpy, little guy, right now Ruebin was acting like a complete looney.

Before she had the chance to pull out her mace, a police car winded the theater and blocked the adjacent exit. It flipped on it’s lights and almost immediately someone hopped out of the driver's seat. It was the same police officer from earlier, the one who was smiling and waving at Ruebin as he walked to the seven-eleven. The cop began taking heavy steps toward the two to confront the clear wrongdoing.

“Oh shit! Fuck! You got me screwed!” She yelled.

She dug through her purse and dumped out a bunch of miscellaneous things like pills and trash. The arrival of the cop surprised Ruebin enough to cool him down. The hooker shoved him aside and took off in awkward strides. The cop picked up the speed but she was gone.

Ruebin didn’t run, he just stood there, forty ounces in his waistband, ready to accept his death.

“What's going on? What happened? Where's the woman? Is she with you? Is she?” Gazpacho asked. Clearly it meant a lot.

The cop approached the frazzled boy and then said something into his radio receiver, something probably related to the woman who just fled the scene.

“Are you alright young man? Did that woman touch you?” The officer asked. He was as friendly as he looked.

Right now he couldn't speak, and he couldn't even tell the officer “no she didn’t”. Instead, all Ruebin said was, “I’m crazy. There's voices in my head.” That was all he had to work with. Get it over with. Maybe you can eat the cop too. He’s plenty fat. Call it dessert you sick space-oid!

“You should be in school son.” The cop sighed. He really was a nice guy, a real public servant. “Look…I won’t get you in trouble.” He put his arm on Ruebin’s back, who was crying softly. “I’m gonna take you back home. Tell your folks it was a half day. I’ll tell them if you want.”

“...naughty boy…naughty boy…yes let's go home…it's party time…I’ll wait…my babies yearn for flesh…and I yearn for the birthgiver…what a delight…” and then the mechanical laughter erupted.

The police officer said a few other things into his radio and then walked Ruebin to his car. He let him sit up front. Concealed, Ruebin still had the beer. Better he kept it hidden, like other things.

“Just kill me.” Ruebin mumbled.

Along the drive home the cop tried asking Ruebin some questions, important things like what he was doing talking to prostitutes or why he wasn't at school. For some reason the officer avoided the fact the boy claimed he was crazy. He was a nice cop, a good one, but that didn't mean he was good at doing police work.

You can only imagine the things Gazpacho was uttering to the boy.

The police car pulled in front of Ruebin’s house. He let the boy out and walked halfway up the walk before leaving him with a few words.

“Stay outta trouble son. You look like a good kid. There’ll be a girl for you one day. ‘Dontcha kids got a dance coming up?” The police officer said light-heartedly. Ruebin gave no response.

The cop did his wave, smiled, and turned around to leave. Ruebin didn’t reciprocate it, he only dug his toes into the soles of his shoes, trying to ground himself to this batshit reality he was living.

“So.” Gazpacho said flatly. “Shall we go inside, and be careful what you do or say from here on out. I can tell you’re one hot wire.”

“I’m taking you to my room. You can have me there.” He unveiled the Maller-full to look at it. “You can have this too. Celebrate for all I care, but you leave my mom alone. Kill me, eat me, and leave Earth forever.”

Gazpacho roared in laughter.

In the kitchen, Ruebin’s mom was preparing dinner. Crockpot pot roast, the leftovers from yesterday. It would take a couple of hours until it’d be soft again. Next to the pot was an assortment of spices and sauces. There was also homemade gravy, specially made from the roast’s juices. A turkey baster was half dipped in the bowl.

“Hi honey!” His mom said.

She didn't even seem to realize it was four hours until school was supposed to get out. She was in her own happy world. She loved her son and her house and her life. It was early lunchtime for pete's sake and it didn't occur to her, not one bit, as to why he was home so soon. Even being busy cooking, her attitude was as peachy and warm as ever. He didn’t have to make up a reason or waste her time, so he cut straight for his room. He wanted to be as far from her as possible when Gazpacho finally came out and reaped It’s bounty. He choked back tears as he thought about her discovering his skeleton later, picked clean of the meat.

Ruebin shut his door and locked it. Then he set the beer on his desk. His computer flashed screensaver pictures like the iconic fishing one with his pop and then an old one of when he, Marco, and Tubber were in middle school. It made him even more sad.

Nothing was fair. Despite doing all he could it wasn’t enough to satisfy the alien. It was a one-sided engagement and it made him so angry. He wished he tried harder with the hooker but then he would have only hurt her too. He wished he grabbed for the cop’s gun. His head was pulsating from the constant talking and distress. If I died…it would be better than this. It was accepted.

“Ok. I failed. I fucked up.” Ruebin cried. This was all so backward. “I can’t be crazy. This is as real as real gets.”

“Yes boy…Yes.” Gazpacho said.

“If I’m going to die…please…at least show me what you are…show me that you’re an alien and not just some figment. Please, I need to know. I want to know. Otherwise I’m just gonna…I’ll kill myself before you can!” He screamed, but not loud enough for his gentle mother to notice. “I want this over. I want you gone! And I wanna be the one to do it! And fuck-it, you can have me then anyway.”

Gazpacho belted a laugh again. It was like after all this time, the fact Ruebin still doubted Gazpacho was an alien was amusing.

“You know I never anticipated this either boy. Let me say, you really are the first to make contact with us…well, maybe just the first to have a conversation with me…I suppose first contact is obsolete to you humans....”

There it was again. The dodgy words of Gazpacho. The alien spoke frilly-nilly about what It was. It’s obvious minuscule size was interesting. It’s eggs were terrifying. It’s power and It’s threats were vulgar. But Ruebin deserved to know the truth. He had to.

“Show me something. Prove to me you’re from another world. I’ll see it and die with it.” It was his one, last wish. Be fair you bastard…

The alien really pondered it. I mean, the boy was about to have his head filled with eggs and eaten.

“Get the beer ready. I will show you something. You want to see something boy?” It bragged.

With what little energy he had left, Ruebin took the neck of the beer and held it out in front of him. It felt heavy in his grip, much heavier than earlier.

Then Gazpacho did something incomprehensible. It verified to Ruebin that he was indeed dealing with something from space. The bottle of beer remained the same physically but the liquid inside seemingly vanished within milliseconds. All forty ounces disappeared in the blink of an eye without the bottle being opened. Like it was teleported.

He dropped the empty bottle and it shattered on his bedroom floor. From inside his head he felt the vibration of a blech.

“Buuuuuurp! Aw fuuuuck. That is gooooood.” Gazpacho said, the creature’s words were stretched and slurred.

“How did you?- Where did the beer…how did you do that?” It was the most bewildering thing he’d ever witnessed.

He felt Gazpacho burp again, it was like a little snap in his left temple. Gazpacho didn’t explain how, the alien just kept burping. The alien was burping like crazy and every so often Gazpacho would crack a “oooh” or a “yeeeeh”. The alien was drunk as a skunk. Considering It’s tiny size, the space creature’s blood alcohol content must've been through the roof.

Just when nothing phased anymore, the disappearing beer shocked him back to life. With one hundred percent certainty, it really did prove he was dealing with an extraterrestrial with God-like powers. Now he was even more scared shitless; but he had mustered up a last stand within himself. Deep down he didn't want to die. He didn't want his mom to be enslaved for sex either. He just wanted it to stop. He had to act and luckily…he realized he had some control now.

“Gazpacho?” Ruebin said.

“Weeee! Weeeeooooo!” Some noises they were.

“Wanna see my Mom?”

“Oooooohhhh meeee, yaaaa let's partay!” Gazpacho gargled.

He finally had a good idea. There had to be some way to pull Gazpacho out. Right now, the alien was drunk and stupid and surely wouldn't know what was going on. If It was laying eggs, It was definitely too drunk to initiate a hatch now.

There was one thing that might work, he spotted it minutes ago, something that would act better than a picking finger.

Robotically he crossed the kitchen and as his mom was basting the roast, moistening it of delicious juices, Ruebin snatched the baster out of her hand and stuck it in his left ear. He made a face and gave the thing a good couple pumps and before he knew it, he extracted something that was loitering in his head. Something was sucked out and spat on the counter. The voice was finally gone. The drunken moaning had left him.

“Ew! Ew! Ew! Look out honey!” His mom yelled. She snatched a wooden spoon from the nearby utencils jar.

An itty-bitty wolf spider spun around on its back in a pool of pot roast juice. In a swift chop, she brought the spoon down, crushing the spider into nothingness. It’s legs flayed out, twitched a little and then it balled up, void of movement.

A spider. A runt of an Arachnid species. Naturally, humans fear such bugs because they’re creepy and icky and they’ve got eight spiny legs and a bundle of eyes. Usually they’re killed on sight. They spin webs and catch other bugs to eat. They lay eggs in the masses. Spiders are insanely intelligent too, and some say they possess similar intelligence to dogs and children.

They are also space aliens that enjoy beer and intercourse.