Science Fiction and Fantasy Box Set 1: The Squishies Series

by Claire Chilton

  Clenching her jaw, she turned to face the direction of the screaming. I don’t have a choice.

  She faced the noise, which grew in volume as she slowly walked down the hall toward it. When she drew nearer to the light, her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she could make out a door on her left. If she wasn’t mistaken, the screaming noise was coming from whatever was inside that room.

  Her heart pounded as she neared the doorway. The wailing continued, and she winced every time her footsteps clattered on the floor.

  She stopped and peered around the steel frame of the doorway, trying to prepare herself to slay a monster.

  Her eyes widened as she froze, amazed by what stood before her.

  A boy of approximately fifteen years of age, wearing low-slung jeans and a t-shirt, was jumping about to some wild music and wailing along in time to it.

  It took her a few seconds to realize it was music because it was like nothing she’d heard in Derobmi before. It was an unusual sound. Unlike most Derobmi music, it didn’t put you to sleep. It kind of woke you up.

  She scanned the boy’s room. There was a jumbled mess of clothing and magazines strewn across floor, which appeared to cover every surface. In Derobmi, it was a sin to allow an abode to be this messy. By the basic rules of society, the place should have been neat and clean. However, walls adorned with posters of girls and cars surrounded an unmade bed. A myriad of colors and words overwhelmed the room itself. It was a mysterious treasure trove of secret boy-things, and she wanted to explore it.

  She turned her eyes to the boy, who so far had not noticed her arrival. He was still jumping around to the music and leaping on and off the bed, completely taken over by the music and oblivious to anything else. His jeans were ripped in places and worn away at the knee. His t-shirt was oil-stained and creased, and he had a pair of disgustingly muddy boots on his feet.

  She idly wondered where the mud had come from.

  He looked slightly dangerous, from the back anyway. She hadn’t seen him turn around yet.

  She was surprised that instead of the disgust she should feel at meeting such a messy person, as expected of all girls in Derobmi, she actually quite liked him. Well, not just liked, she was drawn to him like a magnet.

  He spun around and finally noticed her presence. He froze and stared at her with wide eyes. He brushed a lock of his dirty blond hair away from his wide green eyes, silently studying her as a surprised expression crossed his face.

  Carla contemplated the best way to introduce herself.

  “Oh, no, you can’t be here!” He ran into the closet and shut himself in it.

  She frowned. She was surprised herself. Apparently, it wasn’t a monster on the fourth floor. It was a teenage Adonis in ripped jeans. One who, by the looks of it, liked to hide in his closet from girls who showed up in their nightwear.

  She glanced down at her gray pajamas. They don’t look that bad!

  She walked over to the closet and tried the door, only to find that he’d locked it. She spoke to the door instead. “Hi, um, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Please come out,” she said to the pine door.

  “You’re not real, and I’m not seeing that therapist again, so go away!” His voice echoed loudly through the closed door.

  She raised an eyebrow. “I bloody am real!”

  “No, you’re not!” he cried. “You’re just another one of my perverted flashbacks, and I’m not falling for it this time.”

  She frowned. Maybe he is just too crazy to be near the other inmates of the institute. It was a shame because he really was a beautiful boy.

  “Perverted?” she said to herself, and then thought for a minute. “Hold on! How many purple girls do you know?”

  There was a pause on the other side of the door. Then there was a shuffling sound, followed by the door unlocking.

  The boy stepped out of the closet and stared at her. “I’ve never seen a purple person before,” he said.

  “Well, pinch me if you want. I’m real, see?” Carla said, offering her arm.

  He looked apprehensive, but he squeezed her arm. Her knees went a weak at his touch. He had big lovely hands.

  She mentally shook herself out of it. “See? I’m real. Now, can you help me? I need your help.”

  The boy stepped out of the closet. “Wow! I never have real girls up here. I’m Jeremy, hi.”

  What a waste. Real girls around the world would love you.

  “Hi, I’m Carla,” she said instead.

  Carla sat on Jeremy’s bed and frowned at him. “So, let me get this right. You’ve been up here for five years,” she asked.

  “Five years, seven months and thirty-two days, yes.” Jeremy nodded.

  “And the big crime you committed was kissing too many girls when you were eleven?” she asked, appalled by the thought.

  “Yep, I’m a bad boy.” Jeremy sighed. “But you know it wasn’t really my fault. I mean the last girl, Becky, she kissed me, and I’d been really good and avoided girls for months. But my dad just wouldn’t believe me. He said it was for my own good…” Jeremy trailed off and looked a bit sad as he peered down at his boots.

  “Then he hired that therapist.” Jeremy glanced up with anger flashing in his eyes. “And she twisted everything I said and declared me perverted. Well, I thought what you said to doctors was confidential, or I’d have never told her about the, er…” He paused.

  “The er?” Carla asked.

  “Well, we had a babysitter, and she was sixteen, and um…” He paused again. “I was curious, and…” He trailed off again, appearing helpless as he fumbled over his words.

  “You had sex with your babysitter!” Carla gasped. She moved further along the bed to put some distance between them.

  “No, eww! I walked in on her getting changed one day.” He peered at his feet. “I am sick, aren’t I?” he asked.

  Carla chuckled. “No, don’t be silly. You can’t help what you see. I mean, I think all boys are a bit weird, but you’re not any weirder than the other ones.”

  “Oh.” Jeremy frowned. “Then why am I locked up in here?”

  She frowned too as she thought about it for a moment. It really doesn’t make any sense. “Who’s your dad?” she asked.

  “Archibald Whitcomb. You might have heard of him, he used to be a judge, but I think he gave it all up to find a cure for me.”

  Carla felt a smile spread across her face. The judge who sentenced me is his dad! “I’ve just had a very good idea,” she said.

  Jeremy appeared concerned.

  “You can do that singing thing without the music, right?”

  “Yeah, but why would I?” He pointed to the corner of his room, which contained a microphone, a mixer and massive speakers.

  “Oh, that’s just perfect!” she said.

  “For what?” He frowned.

  Carla grinned, causing his frown to deepen.

  “How is this going to get me out of here?” Jeremy asked as the wind blew through his blond hair, causing it to ruffle in the breeze.

  Carla plugged the microphone into the mixer, wincing as it squealed for a moment. “The world is going to see how amazing you are. All you’ve gotta do is sing.” She glanced over the balcony railing toward the gates of the institute. “They’ll hear you. They’ll all hear you.” She nodded.

  “But my dad always said my music was bad.” He looked unsure of himself.

  She glanced back and smiled at him. “Don’t you want to find out if that’s true? I liked it, so it can’t be bad, but there’s only one way to find out.”

  He frowned. Then his blue eyes lit up with passion. “It’s like a stage.” He stared out over the balcony rail.

  “For tonight, it is. It’s your debut performance.” She smiled.

  “Thank you for doing this. Even if I end up back in that cell forever, I’ll never forget this.”

  The sadness in his voice tugged on her heartstrings. “If this works, you won’t have to go back to that cell ever again. J
ust… just promise me one thing, okay?”

  “Anything.” He beamed at her.

  “Whatever happens, don’t stop until you’ve finished all the songs in the set. Don’t stop for anything.”

  He nodded, but then frowned. “Aren’t you staying?”

  “I have to help some people out. I made a promise to them that I plan to keep.” I have a war to fight.

  “Okay.” He nodded. “I’ll start in thirty minutes. I just need to warm up my voice first.”

  “Perfect.” She patted him on the arm, and then hurried back into the corridor. With one final glance back at him, she turned and hurried down the back staircase that led into the guards sleeping quarters. It was the perfect position to be in when the riot started.

  She smiled. By pure accident, Jeremy’s roar of music would fulfill the other inmate’s prophecy while providing a message that was so loud, the parents of the missing kids would have to hear it. Tonight, Derobmi was going to be rocked awake. Her mother was going to hear it. And then she’ll come to get me out of here.

  Carla yelped when someone grabbed her in the dark stairwell. She struggled to escape as an iron grip encircled her.

  “Miss Mainston, fancy seeing you here. I think it’s time we administered that cure, don’t you?” She shivered when she heard Nick Rancy’s voice.

  He shoved her into the arms of a nearby guard. “Take her to nurses to station before she can cause any more problems.”

  “What are you going to do to me?” she cried.

  “You’re just going to get the same treatment that Nigel here got. He seems to be doing fine.” Rancy pointed to the blank-eyed guard who was holding her.

  She peered into Nigel’s blank eyes. “What does it do, enlarge every muscle but your brain? Thanks, I think I’ll pass on the steroid lobotomy. I prefer to be able to form more words than Oog.”

  “Oh, if only you had a choice.” Rancy laughed as Nigel carried her down the stairs.

  Carla tugged against the leather restraints around her wrists, trying force her hands out of them, but they were too tight.

  “Fighting really won’t do you any good,” Rancy said as he glanced over his shoulder at her while pulling vials out of the cupboard in front of him.

  She scowled at him. In her experience, fighting had always done some good.

  “You know what your problem is?” Rancy asked, seeming quite content to be working with a concoction of injections that he had planned for her.

  “My current one appears to be you,” Carla muttered, pulling her legs up in an attempt the break the bonds around her ankles.

  “No, that’s not it. Your problem is that you just can’t handle life in this society. You can’t be like everyone else, so you don’t fit in.” He turned and studied her. “Most of the inmates here don’t really fit in anywhere. It’s a bit more obvious with you. That skin color is a sure sign that you don’t belong here, but the problem you all suffer from is that you don’t really know that you don’t belong anywhere.” He walked toward her, holding a needle in his hand.

  “You all want to be different, but don’t you know that every life-form adapts to its environment. To survive here, you have to evolve.” He rolled up her sleeve, and then tightened a torque around her arm.

  “What, so I can be a douchebag like you?” Carla tried to pull away from him as he raised the syringe.

  “So you can conform to become a useful member of socie—” He froze as a roar filled the air.

  Carla smiled as Jeremy’s voice exploded through the building, shaking it to its very foundations.

  Rancy frowned at the Oog beside him. “Go and shut that kid up.”

  He turned back to face Carla. “That’s your big plan, music? In what world can a bit of loud music help you?” He shook his head. “I don’t think this is going to make you any more stupid than you already were.”

  He heart pounded as he lowered the needle toward her arm. No, no, no!

  As she watched the Oog open the door, her eyes widened when he was flung backwards by a stream of kids bursting through the doorway, armed with mops and buckets.

  A short kid with flaming red hair flung his bucket at Rancy, knocking the syringe out of his hand. He turned to charge at the boy, but three larger kids jumped on him. Yes!

  “Help me!” Carla cried when she saw Lilly rush into the room. Lilly wore a gray bandana and a deadly scowl. Her eyes widened when she saw Carla. She ran over and quickly began untying the restraints. “I thought you were dead!” she cried.

  “I nearly was,” Carla muttered. She got off the bed and stood up, glaring down at Rancy.

  He scowled up at her. “You’re still doomed.”

  She towered over him. “You know what else evolution does?” she asked as the other kids hauled him onto the hospital bed she’d just vacated and bound him to it with the restraints. “It constantly adapts and changes. Welcome to the new world, asshat.”

  Emily Mainston stared at the television with wide eyes. The news crew were filming a riot at the Cleaner’s Reformatory for Adolescent Purification. Guards were hanging upside down from windows, tied by their ankles with bed sheets. Kids were running riot all over the building, hanging from windows and waving mops in the air.

  The camera zoomed in on a burly guard, who stared blankly around as he hung upside down from a barred window, swaying in the breeze. Next, the camera scanned the front of the building, pausing when it came to the receptionists who were tied to the flagpole in their underwear. They were both loudly cursing at the camera.

  Her pulse raced. Where’s Carla? Is she okay?

  The camera zoomed to a balcony where a teenage boy was screeching out some kind of loud music that even made Emily want to rebel for a moment. He was impressive to watch as he pumped his fist in the air to the growing mass of teenage girls below him, who were all screaming his name.

  Shaking her head, she scanned the building. Where was her daughter? She snatched her keys off the table beside her. She needed to make sure Carla was okay.

  As the camera spanned the front of the building, she froze, tightening her hand around the sharp keys.

  Her eyes locked on her purple daughter, who stood proudly on top of a bed at the front doors of the institute. Carla was standing on top of a stretcher, towering over the man who lay on the bed. Her foot was on his chest, pinning him down. Her lilac skin glowed with triumph as she pumped her fist in the air. Behind her, an army of teenagers cheered as the building behind them was left in ruins.

  What is she doing? I’m going to kill her!

  Carla narrowed her eyes at the road ahead, and she folded her arms. “I did the right thing.”

  “The right thing?” Her mother shot her an annoyed glance. The judge who sentenced you was just disbarred, and he lost custody of his son!”

  “He shouldn’t have locked his son in prison then, should he? Jeremy’s aunt seemed really nice, and Jeremy was happy!” Carla snapped.

  “His aunt has pink hair!” her mother cried.

  “I liked it,” Carla muttered.

  “It’s pink!” Her mother slammed her foot on the accelerator, and the car sped up.

  “You’d have liked it if it was green.” Carla scowled at the road ahead.

  “The institute got shut down. Do you have any idea what you have done?” Her mother gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles whitened.

  “Hmm, let me think, didn’t I just save a load of kids from wrongful imprisonment and a lobotomy?” Carla shook her head.

  “There calling that music rock, and it’s going on the radio. It’ll be everywhere. It’ll corrupt our entire society.”

  “Good!” Carla cried. “I hope it rips the crap out of our society and makes it better!”

  “You don’t understand how this world works. You can’t just change things without losing something special.” Her mother glanced at her, and there was a look of concern in her eyes. “People will be watching you now.”

  Carla frowned.
“What people?”

  Her mother clenched her jaw. “The neighbors! How will I go to the rotary club after this?”

  Carla rolled her eyes. According to her mother, the neighbors were the only opinion that mattered. She drowned out her nagging as she watched the scenery passing by the car. She didn’t care what her mother said. She’d done the right thing and made some great new friends along the way. Plus, there were scientists now working on how to restore the Oogs into being normal people again.

  Nick Rancy had been arrested for crimes against children. His crazy experiments were over, and now he had a cell of his own in a high-security prison. Meanwhile, Jeremy had been offered a record deal, and he was now living with his crazy aunt. As results went, it was a win for everyone.

  Carla glanced at her mother. She loved her mother, but she was wrong about this. Sometimes, the world needed a change. Sometimes, it was the only way to evolve.

  “At least if I walk mud on Mrs. Bailey’s carpet again, I know how to use a stain devil to clean it off with this time,” Carla said, hoping to appease her mother.

  Her mother sighed. “Can’t you just try not to commit crimes instead?”

  “I can try.” Carla shrugged. “But I can’t make any promises.” She smiled as they pulled up outside their house. It was good to be home. It was good to free.

  Whatever Became of the Squishies by Claire Chilton

  First published in the Great Britain by Claire Chilton 2010

  This edition published by Ragz Books

  Copyright © 2011 by Claire Chilton

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, and the United Kingdom Copyright Act of 1956 and 1988. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.