Take Me To Your Reader: An Otherworld Anthology (13 page)

So they were starting with kids. Whatever the mission, they were going to infiltrate from the ground up. I thought of Travis, of his ability to fit in and sound so much more normal than Clarice. They were starting with their kids. They were starting with ours.

One Wednesday, three weeks after, (after what?) Travis and I were in the lunchroom eating questionable tacos and Butterfingers when I first heard the rumor. People said Mr. Fence had gone missing. A day later, it was humanities-hun Ms. Matter, and biology-biatch, Mrs. Kell. In a week, each of the six teachers who were replaced by the Fructoids went missing.

"
Travis, what's going on?" I demanded.

He shrugged his shoulders, almost naturally.
"They do not tell everyone down the food chain all the plans," he said.

"
Why do they want to mess with the teachers? They already got them out of the schools and replaced them with—" I paused, "y'all. So why mess with the teachers who already left?"

Travis seemed to legitimately think this over.
"Why do you assume the new teachers are here to educate," now he paused, "y'all, and not that they need your teachers to educate us?"

I sank back my chair. Why did I assume that?

"Trav, did they tell you what you could and couldn't tell me?"

He shrugged and licked chocolate off his fingers.
"They just told me to be your friend."

Looking around the lunchroom, I wondered how much longer Clarice & co. could keep making waves without anyone else finding out.

"So does that mean you can tell me what the deal is with the house on Maple Street?"

He thought about it and then went back to peeling pieces of fun size candy.
"It's the emergency way home."

My mind went wild. Home as in home planet? Way home as in vehicle as in . . . spaceship? I worried if I asked these questions, I
'd go too far. So instead, I kept these spinning thoughts to myself and just asked the other question on my mind. "Trav?"

"
Yeah, buddy?"

"
How come no one's worried?"

He scanned the room and then met my eye.
"Jedi," he said, matter-of-factly.

"
Jedi," I said.

They may not be worried, but I was. That night, I went to that damn giant house on Maple Street, and I knocked on the front door, prepared to demand an audience with Clarice. I was a one-man army, but I wanted to know what the hell was going on. I thought about bringing Travis with me, but I didn't want to get him in trouble. He seemed so relaxed all the time, so genuine, really, for someone who was assigned to be my friend. I didn't know if there would be trouble. I didn't know what the danger would be for him, for one of them. He answered a lot of my questions, but in the end, I didn't know the basics: Where they came from, what they wanted, or what exactly they were.

No one answered the front door, though all the cars were there. I banged on that door for a while, and then I decided to snoop. I walked the perimeter of the house, and looked through the windows. I couldn
't see much, but from what I could see, it looked like a nicely manicured home -- not so much like one that had been lived in but instead maybe like one you'd see in a magazine. I made it to the backyard gate, but it was locked. Convinced there was something I was missing, I hopped the fence. The backyard was dark, empty, and just as flawless as the house. Wooden steps with brick sides led up to a back deck.

But there was a noise. Quiet, reverberating, it sounded like the hum of an engine, and the gurgle of water. I walked around to get closer to the source of the sound. I put my hands on the wooden steps, and I felt the vibrations. On the far side of the steps, I noticed a faint glow. Coming around to it, there was a small door, maybe waist high.

I don't know if I should have been scared to be digging around like this, but I wasn't. I was just too intrigued.

I reached out for the latch, pulled on it a few times, but nothing. I was just about to give up when the door swung open. Caramel Suave — the one who so gluttonously delighted in my mom
's brownies — emerged from the tiny door and I was bathed in a pale green light from inside. He swiftly moved to his feet, his eyes a head-height above mine.

"
Why are you here?" he said. "You were not invited."

"
I came to talk to Clarice," I said. "I am helping her."

"
I am in full awareness of your compliance," he said. "But you were not invited here tonight. You must leave."

"
What the hell is going on down there?"

"
This is not your home, and you were not invited. You are beyond the bounds of your societal confines of politeness. You must go."

"
Who's down there with you?" I demanded, growing hotter.

"
Go," he repeated.

"
Not without—"

He grabbed me by the throat and lifted me off the ground until we were eye to eye. You know how that looks badass in movies? In real life, it
's just painful and terrifying and comes dangerously close to breaking your neck.

"
Go!" he said again. He dropped me to the ground, and then he went back through the tiny door.

As I stumbled to my feet, something caught my eye on the ground by the stairs. I reached down and grabbed Fence
's dog tags.

I ran back to my house and took my mom's station wagon keys off the hook by the door without waking her. I ran back to the car and got in and then realized: I had no idea where I was going. On the one hand, I could go to Travis, but on the other I could go to Dana. But she was so pissed at me! Yet she was pissed because she thought I was stupid, and now I had proof. Fence's dog tags in my hand were just what I needed.

I sped off toward her house. When I got there, she was in the backyard with her younger sisters, yelling at them.

"Fenton!" Emily, the littlest one, called as she ran to me. She was five years old, and she'd been climbing on me since she could stand up.

"
What are you doing here?" Dana said.

"
I kind of need to talk to you," I said.

"
Well I'm kinda busy being a big sister here and all," she said.

Emily grabbed a hold of my shirt and was using it as leverage to climb up my legs, which I suddenly realized was a much easier activity when she was, oh, three and not five. Squirming and trying not to let her fall, I said to Dana,
"It's important. I have proof."

"
Fenton! Fenton! Fenton's here!" Emily laughed. She was koala-gripped onto my torso, reaching hands around my neck now.

"
About aliens?" Dana rolled her eyes.

"
Yes!" I said. "Exactly!"

She pulled Emily off of me.
"Go inside, Em. Fenton and I need to talk."

"
But Sissy!" Emily whined.

"
Go!" Dana barked. When they cleared the porch, she looked at me and said, "You've got to be joking. I thought when you started hanging out with what's-his-face you'd given up on the alien theory. Are you telling me that you still think that's what they are and you befriended him?"

"
It's a long story," I said, suddenly realizing I'd promised Clarice I wouldn't say anything to anyone. She'd even given me Travis to make that easier, but . . .

What the hell was I thinking? They were ALIENS! Why did I have any loyalty to them?

"They kidnapped the teachers!" I exclaimed, and I showed her the dog tags.

"
Where did you get these?" she asked.

I told her the whole story.
"And so, like I said, they've totally kidnapped the teachers!"

She looked at them long and hard and handed them back to me.
"They did?" she asked. "Or you did?"

"
What?" I blurted.

"
That's what the police would ask. Probably what they'd say. You'd only bring speculation to yourself," she said.

I looked down at the tags.
"This is bigger than the police, Dana. You see that, right?"

"
This has gotten insane in your head, Fenton. You see that, right?" she mocked me.

"
Forget it."

I got back in the car, but I didn't know where else to go. I drove down the street so Dana couldn't see me anymore, and then I sat and stared. And got angrier. And more worried. And then angrier again.

And then I decided to fight. I drove the long and winding road to the Piggly Wiggly — yep, those are real — aimed for a single thing. And lots of it.

Weirdly, I noticed a trail of cars behind me pretty quickly. And by the time I got to the parking lot, it was nearly full. Of Fructoids. I got out of the car, aimed for the spice aisle, and no one stopped me. They just stared.

Rounding the corner of the aisle, I ran into Travis. Suspiciously. His arms were full of Butterfingers.
"Hey," he said. The store was packed, fifteen minutes till close.

"
Hey," I said. "What are you doing here?"

"
Sustenance," he said, gesturing with his candy. He didn't exactly show emotion yet, and but he looked . . . nervous? "Nestle trucks come in on Thursdays. What are you doing here?"

I deflected his gaze. I didn
't really have a plan, per se, but I imagined whatever I was up to would cause some trouble. More and more Fructoids hovered near us. Listening. Watching.

"
I just . . . needed something," I said.

"
Oh, cool." He was waiting for me to say something. To tell him. To ask him something. He knew. The question was: did he only know what had happened with Caramel Suave? Or did he know what I was thinking?

I decided to go big or go home. I walked back to the front of the store, grabbed a cart, and went to the salt. I started pulling giant containers of Morton
's salt off the shelf by the arm full.

Travis just stood there, watching, eyes wide. The crowd around us, though, pressed backward. Afraid.

He said nothing. When the cart was full, I headed to the register, walking right past him. "Fenton, wait," he said. I stopped and looked at him, hoping he could see the apology on my face. He took a flat row package of fun size Butterfingers and handed them to me. "A snack. For the road."

"
Travis, I'm not—"

He cut me off.
"Take them. You'll want them." I looked at them again: The plastic sleeve was open.

"
Thanks," I said. I paid for the salt and candy and loaded it in the back of the wagon. Fructoids hung around the car and the parking lot like zombies. Waiting. Safely in the car, I slid the eight little pieces of candy out into my hand. Written on the white paper sleeve inside -- in what looked more like computer font than handwriting — read, They sent me to stop you, but I won't. Just be careful. And make sure you're not in the house when it happens.

When it happens.

I drove straight back to Maple Street, a line of cars ahead of me and behind me, people on the sides of rural roads, some walking and some running. All to the house on Maple Street.

The street was lined in parked cars, so I pulled down the center of the street and left the station wagon in the middle of the cul-de-sac. I opened the back of the wagon and brought as many cylinders of salt as I could. I left it open so I could run back.

The lights were on in the house this time, and I could see tons of people inside. All the zombie-walking Fructoids headed to the backyard, but I waltzed straight up to the front door. I kicked it, my arms full of salt.
"Clarice!" I yelled.

You
'd think the neighbors would come outside. You'd think they'd have been watching the pilgrimage. But they weren't. They were all mind-melded.

Clarice opened the door, looking just as unreal as she always did. She looked down at my arms.
"Fenton Marsh, you were to be useful, not detrimental."

"
I don't want to be detrimental," I said. "But you have to let the teachers go."

"
They are to be useful too," she said.

"
You kidnapped them!"

"
We are preparing them. Their work will be more intensive than yours," she said, and I laughed maniacally, unable to believe I was involved with this over soft serve ice cream.

"
Let them go," I said.

"
I cannot acquiesce to your demands," she said. "You are not being useful, Fenton Marsh. I need verbal confirmation you will comply as you originally promised. The schedule of our mission has changed. I require your immediate compliance."

"
For what?"

"
For departure," she said. I thought of Travis. When it happens.