Alien on a Rampage

by Clete Barrett Smith

  I watched all of this from the sidelines. I spent most of my time taking Snarffle for hikes in the forest, where he found all sorts of berries and roots and bushes to chow down on.

  That led to another minor confrontation with Scratchull before I left, however. Snarffle and I were sitting in the shade of a maple tree at the edge of the backyard, resting after a long hike, when the little purple alien’s nose tendrils snaked out of his face and sniffed the air. Then he hopped up on all six legs and strained at his leash, whistle-growling deep in his throat. I let him pull me around to the side of the house.

  And sure enough, there were Scratchull and his wobbly green assistant, sneaking around, each carrying a wooden crate. They were walking right up against the side of the house; Greenie was glancing furtively in every direction as they made their way to the backyard.

  No more sneaking around or eavesdropping. Who cared if anything bad happened to me? In fact, it might make Grandma snap out of it and at least be a little suspicious of Scratchull. I ran right up and confronted them.

  “What are you guys doing?” I said. Snarffle whistled angrily in agreement. I glared at Scratchull but jerked my thumb at Greenie. “What did he bring you this time?”

  Scratchull’s eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. “Oh, no! He has found us out!” Scratchull gaped at Greenie. “Behold Earth’s greatest underage detective. He has foiled us yet again. Quick, hide these dangerous supplies!”

  Greenie shuffled back and forth, his jelly body wiggling all over. He seemed very confused.

  “What’s going on back here?” Tate marched around the side of the house. He stopped and crossed his meaty arms over his chest.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Tate,” Scratchull said. “This is the associate I was telling you about.” He inclined his head toward Greenie.

  “He don’t exactly look capable of fitting into an earthling disguise.”

  Scratchull chuckled. “No, you are certainly correct about that. But I will keep him shielded from the natives. He has been good enough to bring me something that will help with the great baking experiment.”

  Scratchull set the crate on the ground and pried off the top. The wooden box was filled with what looked like tiny grapes, except they were bright yellow. “These exquisite fruits are the pride of the planet Mooglah. They make a jelly that will go perfectly with the Kerntaberries being used in the festival treats.”

  “Kerntaberries? Mixed with Mooglah fruit?” Greenie said. “Really? But won’t those—”

  Scratchull elbowed Greenie hard enough to dislodge a few wobbly chunks. Greenie had to set the crate down to pick them up off the grass and smooth them back into his head. Scratchull addressed Tate again. “We were just taking them to the ovens. David here was offering his assistance.”

  “Sure he was,” Tate said. “Come on, I’ll help y’all carry those. The girls are baking out back right now.”

  Tate bent over and lifted one of the crates with a grunt, then walked toward the backyard, all without so much as looking at me. Greenie and Scratchull followed.

  I peered around the side of the house and watched as the little procession approached Grandma and Amy at the ovens. I told myself I was doing it for security purposes—what if those were, you know, pieces of exploding death fruit?—but I guess it was really more so I could wallow in self-pity or something.

  Grandma and Amy applauded when Scratchull swept the lid off the top of the crate to reveal the fruit. Everyone tried a few bites, even Tate, and they were all clearly enjoying themselves. Scratchull even put on a big, corny chef’s hat and a kiss the cook apron and helped Grandma with the baking.

  It was a disgusting train wreck of a spectacle and I couldn’t look away. That is, until Scratchull looked over to where my head poked around the side of the house. He offered me a broad smile and a finger-waggling little wave.

  I couldn’t wait to get out of here.

  When my last evening in Forest Grove rolled around, I knew I should probably stop hiding and take care of a few things, even though I didn’t really want to. Everyone would be up early and in town for the festival, so I was going to be on my own in the morning. And there were a couple of things I had to say to Amy before I left.

  It wasn’t hard to find her. She was leading a music class for aliens of all shapes and sizes, and I just followed the noise.

  She was sitting on a rug in the middle of the third floor lounge with a guitar on her lap. Surrounding her was a circle of Tourists, all blowing or banging or plucking at a variety of thrift-store instruments.

  Amy was trying to strum her guitar and conduct the action at the same time. “One-two-three-and-now you come in.” She nodded at a black alien holding a battered trumpet. “No, I meant you, Mrs. Farkwell. One-two-three-and-now you start to—no, no, hold off on striking the triangle until the second part, Xeeneehardeen. I know you’re excited.” The musical instruments all bonged and popped and tooted at seemingly random intervals.

  Maybe “harmony” and “rhythm” were earthly concepts, impossible for visitors from beyond the stars to grasp. It’s the only thing that would have explained something sounding that bad.

  Amy saw me watching from the hallway. She set her guitar on the floor. “All right, take five, everybody.”

  “Five what?” said one alien.

  “Take them where?” said another.

  “Just rest for a few minutes,” Amy said. “I’ll be back soon.” She stood and motioned for me to join her in the alcove at the end of the hall.

  “That’s quite a band,” I said. “Sounds like they’re ready for a national tour of all the big arenas.”

  “Aren’t they funny?” Amy said. “They mostly come from planets where instruments are rigged to be played by mind control. You know, like thought rays or something? Anyway, they get the biggest kick out of actually holding the instrument in their hands.”

  “All part of the roughing-it experience Grandma provides here at the B-and-B, huh?”

  “Exactly,” she said.

  For a minute there it felt natural again. Comfortable interaction that came easily, just like old times.

  But then there was a lull in the conversation. Amy chewed on her lip and watched the floor. And I was reminded just how awkward and messed up everything was now.

  “I never thanked you the other day,” she finally said to the rug. “You know, taking the blame for the illegal language translator in that monitor.”

  I shrugged. “Not much point in both of us getting in trouble, right?”

  “I guess.”

  More silence.

  “Besides,” I finally said, “I never apologized to you for taking it without asking.”

  She sighed. “I guess we’ve both done things the last couple of weeks that we’re not too proud of.”

  “Yeah.”

  I studied the little patch of freckles across her nose. She got more of them when it was sunny out, like it had been this week. I loved that.

  But something about the sight made it hit me for real this time: I was never going to see those freckles again.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “I know.” Although her tone of voice was neutral, I thought I heard a little catch in her throat, a sign she might be at least a little bit sad to see me go. But maybe I just imagined it.

  I decided to just get through what I had to tell her. Stick to the basics and keep it businesslike; I definitely did not want her to see me start crying, especially if it was going to be her last memory of me. “I need to ask you for a couple of favors before I leave. First, can you feed Snarffle for me? Until his rightful owner comes to pick him up, I mean?”

  “Of course.”

  I gave her the rundown on how many times a day he had to be fed, and how much he needed. Her eyes got a little bigger at that. I don’t think she realized what a chore it was to keep that little guy satisfied. I don’t think anyone around here did. Then I got to the most important point.

  I took a deep br
eath. “And I need you to keep an eye on Scratchull,” I said. “I know you don’t exactly trust me right now, but you really are the last line of defense when it comes to that guy.”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you, David. You know that.” Hard to believe when she wouldn’t even look me in the eye, but whatever. “It’s just…a lot of weird stuff happens around here, you know? It’s so easy to take something the wrong way. I’ve done it myself a thousand times.”

  Yeah, I know that, Amy. You can spare me the lecture. Man, did anyone even remember that I worked here all last summer?

  “Look,” I said. I tried to keep my voice even—nothing good was going to come out of getting into a big fight right before I left. “Let’s assume the whole thing’s just in my imagination, okay? It still wouldn’t hurt anything for you to keep an eye out for that guy. Or for any other alien that might try to mess things up around here. Would it?”

  “You’re right. I can do that.” Amy nodded. “I will do that.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  We had an Awkward Silence Contest then, and we both won. Or maybe lost.

  Finally Amy gestured back to the lounge and her music students. “I should probably…”

  “Yeah, me too,” I said. “Time to feed Snarffle. Maybe take him for one last walk.”

  “Okay.” Amy let out a long and shaky breath. “I’m really going to miss you, David. I’m sorry we didn’t get very much time together, and I’m sorry things got so messed up, and…Well, I’m just sorry.”

  “Me, too.”

  We both sort of reached for each other at the same time. But it was as awkward as the silence had been. Felt like hugging my mom. And then it was over.

  Amy wiped at her eyes. “Good-bye, David.” She turned and hurried down the hall to the lounge.

  Girls. No matter how many females I meet from however many millions of planets all over the universe, I swear I’ll never understand them.

  Back in my furniture-free room I found a sleeping bag laid out across a series of couch cushions with a note on top:

  Dearest David,

  I wish I had known sooner about your bedroom. Please tell me that you haven’t been sleeping on the bare floor———I would lose my grandmother license over that one for sure! I hope the makeshift bed I set up will suffice.

  I’ve missed you at mealtimes around the communal table. (Truth be told, I’ve missed you at every other time, as well, my dear. I deeply regret having to tend to all of these preparations for the festival, especially when things have gone so wonky around here.) Have you been getting enough to eat? You’ll find a special dinner wrapped up in tinfoil in the refrigerator. I hid it in the vegetable drawer so there would be no chance that Tate would stumble across it. :)

  Love and Blessings,

  Grandma

  I managed half a smile as I tucked the note in my pocket. At least she was trying. I was going to miss that about her.

  Snarffle licked at my hand. He seemed to sense that something was wrong. For one thing, his appetite was down—he only had four sandwiches, two bags of chips, and a single gallon of ice cream for dinner. He was also pretty clingy; he followed so closely while I was gathering up my stuff that it was a constant struggle not to trip over him, and whenever I sat down he wanted to jump up on my lap and stay there.

  “I’m going to miss you too, buddy.” I scratched at the patch of bright blue polka dots on his back while his little tail twirled like crazy. “I wish I didn’t have to go. But I do.” It was still hard to say it out loud.

  When I was all packed up we sat on the cushions, looking out at the nighttime sky. The rest of the house was quiet; the guests had gone to bed hours ago. “You know, even though I’ll be three thousand miles away this time tomorrow, we’ll still be looking up at the same stars. At least that’s what my parents used to tell me when they went away on business trips, so I wouldn’t get too lonely.” Snarffle looked up at me with sad eyes and gave me a halfhearted lick. “I know. It never really worked when they said it, either.”

  I let my gaze drift over the sweep of stars overhead. I wondered what Ursa Major would look like from Snarffle’s home planet. If he were seeing those stars from a totally different angle, they probably wouldn’t resemble the big bear at all. I suppose his planet had their own constellations with their own matching stories. I suppose all planets did.

  A flash of movement and light caught my eye. I leaned out the window and looked up. There. That little TV satellite dish thingy on the roof. The contraption I had seen Scratchull affix to it was coming to life. The silver handle rose up until it was pointing straight at the sky, and then the tip of it extended—an antenna?—until the whole thing doubled in size. Then a pattern of bright green dots shot up the length of it, like lights on an airport runway. They kept doing that, over and over.

  “Stay right here, guy. I’ll be back in just a minute. I promise.” Snarffle whistle-whined at me shrilly. “It’s okay. I’ll bring you back a treat or two. And yes, I’ll be careful.” I scratched at his sweet spot some more until he calmed down.

  I eased my door open and tiptoed down the hall. When I got to Scratchull’s room I inched as close as I could and laid my ear against his door. I could hear Scratchull in there, talking to someone, but he was using the screechy, knife-against-glass language from his home planet. Without a translator I had no idea what he was saying, of course.

  Then someone answered him. It was also in an alien tongue, but this was lower and more guttural. It sounded like the words were deep in somebody’s stomach and had to be dredged up and retched out to carry on the conversation.

  Who could be in there with him? It certainly didn’t sound like any Tourist I had met around here recently.

  The conversation went on, with Scratchull’s voice getting louder and more insistent. And I noticed something different about the other alien’s voice. Even though it was harsh, it sounded tinnier than Scratchull’s, and maybe there was a slight echo to it, almost as if the person were standing in a tunnel rather than a bedroom. Or kind of like they were talking long-distance with a bad connection to—

  That’s it! The satellite thingy with the flashing lights—Scratchull had built some sort of interstellar phone! But who could he be talking to? It certainly wasn’t Greenie, with his soft, underwater vowels. Maybe I could—

  I half fell into Scratchull’s room as the door was jerked open wide. The tall white alien towered over me and sneered, all of the hate that he had been hiding so well finally painted all over his face.

  But then he composed himself and smiled politely. He was holding some sort of jury-rigged microphone, which must have been the receiver for his phone. He opened his mouth, and the high-pitched screech that came out felt like a cold dagger jammed in my ear. I winced and backed away several steps.

  Scratchull’s eyes went wide in mock surprise. “Oh, dear me. I must have forgotten. You can’t speak my language, can you? I suppose that renders your favorite hobby quite meaningless.” I just glared at him. “However, it’s your last night here, so you might as well enjoy it. I am not familiar with this particular earthling custom, but if it brings you pleasure to stand out here and caress my bedroom door with your ear, then be my guest.” He said a few more parting words in his squealy native tongue and then slammed the door in my face.

  My next move came to me in an angry flash of inspiration. He wasn’t the only one around here who could communicate with people from distant planets. I marched down to the sitting room and grabbed the paper and pen from beside the telephone.

  Dear Commander Rezzlurr of the Intergalactic Police Force,

  We met a year ago on Earth when you came here on an emergency distress call. I work at the secret transporter location, an inn that caters to off-world guests.

  I wanted to alert you to a possible dangerous situation down here. There is a new employee at the Intergalactic Bed & Breakfast. He is going by the name “Scratchull,” but that might be an alias. I have reason to be
lieve he is a rogue scientist, banished from the Collective and forced to spend time on this planet. He hates all earthlings and is determined to escape from here, even if it means causing great harm to the planet.

  Please come right away. He has already brought powerful illegal technology to Earth, and I am afraid he will do much worse soon. He has fooled the humans who work here, so they will probably not be much help to you. But he needs to be arrested and taken off-planet for detainment and interrogation immediately.

  Thank you,

  David Elliott

  Milky Way Galaxy

  Earth

  Latitude: 48.8 degrees north

  Longitude: 121.9 degrees west

  (Near the snowcapped mountain)

  I reread the letter half a dozen times, making sure it sounded official, believable, and urgent. And not like a kid wrote it. Was it going to mean trouble for Grandma? Would Rezzlurr shut down the transporters, like last summer? I decided that I didn’t care.

  Well, okay, I cared about Grandma and her business, obviously. But I had to at least try to do everything I could to protect her. Along with everyone else in the whole world, I suppose. If Rezzlurr had to make things uncomfortable for her to do that…well, she should have been a little more careful during the whole interview-and-checking-references thing. That might sound harsh, but I didn’t really have any other choice.

  I found directions for getting in touch with IPF headquarters—kind of an interstellar 9-1-1 call—in Grandma’s storage closet, then used the transporter on the first floor to send the note along. If last summer was any indication, it would probably take Rezzlurr a month or so to show up, but at least I could leave with a conscience that was a little more clear.