Charlie Buyers

Life has been a little weird since that portal opened up. At first everyone was all “Oh my God! Hell Beasts are flooding the earth, seas, and skies! We’re going to die!” and the government was telling us to arm ourselves to the teeth. I’d never bought a gun in my life, but it seemed like the thing to do at the time.

Then it became “You can’t kill them, they’re too strong! Stay inside! We’re gonna die!” So, we did. I stayed inside for three whole days before I thought I was going to lose my mind. After that, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I took a walk on the end of that third day (with the gun of course).

A lot of people were being eaten, but the monsters were way too focused on their current meals to eat me. That was about when I started to have my doubts about things. I went walking every night after that and was totally fine. My eyes didn’t even get sucked out by one of the smaller eye sucking monsters.

After that it was decided even staying inside wasn’t working, and we were all doing it wrong anyway. I called bullshit. How could anyone expect us to stay in all the time anyway? Everyone needed to work so they could buy groceries and ammunition. Congress wasn’t going to pay our damn rent, that’s for sure. The blame game that came after was pretty rich too. Like, yeah, of course some of us are going to benefit from the monsters. Moving up in the office because your boss was vaporized by a mysterious rolling fog isn’t some kind of unforgivable sin. It’s just business. Just because his soul ended up damned to roam in that same fog for all eternity doesn’t make it your problem. He couldn’t even answer phones anymore, anyway.

They even came after people like me who were simply enjoying our evening gun walks. Why should I risk my life—or my evening!—to try and save one of the people getting eaten? They were going to die anyway; they just weren’t built to escape the monsters like I am. Plus, if someone did try to play hero, they would become a target for the Hell Beasts too. Rushing into danger wasn’t going to help anyone.

After a few weeks, the government started suggesting end of life alternatives for the people who didn’t want to die violently. One of my neighbors took themselves and the whole family out, even the dog, after a live news broadcast of someone having the skin licked clean off of them by a half-dog-half-cow flesh-creature. I mean, the lengths some of these channels will go to for a story is disgusting. You could clearly see the guy’s skull was CGI, and skin ripping doesn’t sound that wet in real life. It’s a real shame the panic got to my neighbor, because he still owed me gas for borrowing my lawn mower.

Then after only a few more weeks, they changed their minds again! The government was telling us “We’ve made contact with the aliens, there may be a chance for negotiations.” And everyone was all “Aliens? I thought you said Hell Beasts? Are they from space or from Hell?” Those jerks on Channel 6 couldn’t even keep their story straight.

To be fair, things did slow down a bit after that. I mean, they were still eating people, but they didn’t seem to be having as much fun with it anymore. The eating was a lot faster from what I could see, which is great for the victims, I guess, but really made my evening walks tough. It took the sport out of the shooting.

Now, here we are. Apparently, the Hell Beasts have agreed to stop eating humans in exchange for assistance in reopening the portal. Great. So now we’re helping to reopen their stupid portal. What good is that going to do? How are you sure they even want to get home and aren’t just looking to let more of their tentacled friends through? Are we even sure they’re actually Hell Beasts? Space Aliens? For all I know they could be messengers of the Old Testament God.

These things have us by the balls. What’s next? We supposed to live with these fucking monsters? Invite them to the neighborhood barbeques? Turn our old folks’ homes and hospice centers into their restaurants?

Come to think of it, that last thing might be a good idea. I’ve got to get on that before some other bozo does—I wonder if my uncle would spot me for another startup?

Colleen Grove

Not this asshole again.

This guy comes in here every. Single. Day. He just stares at me from the ceiling for hours, doesn’t even blink. I don’t even know if he has eyelids. So maybe he can’t blink? It’s creepy either way.

I don’t know what his problem is, like, is he going to eat me or something? I wish he would just do it already. I hate it when guys stare—and I’m pretty sure he’s staring at me. He has way too many eyes for me to tell exactly where he’s looking, but my gut says it’s definitely me.

Usually, he just hangs up there in the corner of the building, leaking clear goop all over the floor. My manager says they can’t remove him for it, because it would be a violation of the Corporeal Forms Equal Access amendment.

“We just have to respect his differences and clean up once he leaves,” she said. He always buys a ton of things before he goes too, so she won’t even take him out for loitering. As if it takes eight hours to pick shitty gas station snacks?

I even asked if the goop might be some weird reproductive thing, maybe we could ban him for sexual harassment of an employee. She didn’t want to take me up on that either.

“Too much risk for the company, we’re in a gray area with all these new kinds of people,” she told me.

So, I said, “They aren’t people, Brenda. They’re monsters. Portal dwelling, Hell Beast, Space Alien monsters. They were just eating everyone, like, three years ago, remember?”

She threatened to write me up for that one. Fucking Brenda.

I asked around and my other coworkers said he comes in on their shifts too, but not for as long. Jenna said she thinks he’s looking for me specifically, and that that’s why he stays for my whole shift and no one else’s. Gave me the heebie-freaking-jeebies. She might be right, but she didn’t have to say it—I’m stressed out enough about it as it is.

I’ve managed to get away with skipping the night shift since it started, but two different people called out this week and now I’m screwed. Not a whole lot of people stop for gas or cigarettes this late at night, and mine is the only car in the parking lot. It’s just me and this gray, gooey, Gumby looking bitch.

I can’t wait anymore. He’ll eat me, he’ll eat me not… he’ll eat me, he’ll eat me not…

The whole thing is exhausting. I sit back in the rolling chair I stole from Brenda’s office and kick my heels up onto the counter. I might as well read a trashy magazine before I die.

I’m just about to find out if celebrity actor number one is having an affair with the mother of celebrity actor number two when the bell above the door rings. The customer is a short, skinny white man with greasy hair. He could be seventeen, he could be twenty-eight, just one of those faces.

I give him a quick nod, but don’t put my magazine down. He doesn’t seem to notice me much anyways, as he makes a beeline straight for the coolers in the back.

Almost immediately he screams, “Shit!” His voice is deeper than I thought it would be.

Looks like someone finally slipped on the goo pile, I think, and I’m right. The man has fallen square on his rear, feet over tits.

I try not to glance at my friend on the ceiling, but I can’t help it. He’s sitting there, as gray and squishy as ever. I bet he’s feeling pretty proud of himself right about now, I can just imagine a smug-ass grin on his face.

Okay, maybe the dude falling was kind of funny. But I don’t like that he gets to enjoy it too.

I go back to my magazine only to find myself disappointed. The author waited until the very end of the article to explain that the rumors were unverified and likely untrue. What’s the point of the article then? ‘Yeah, but wouldn’t it be weird if it did happen’? Bummer.

Before I can flip to the next page, skinny dude clears his throat. I guess he’s ready to check out.

He’s fidgety, but not like crackhead fidgety. More like unattended-friend-at-a-party fidgety. The whole transaction he keeps looking around at the ground, at the door, at the soda, but never at me. Not even when I hand him his change. He just holds his hands out like a cup, refusing to take the damned cash from me. I drop it into his hands, careful not to touch him. I’ve had weirder customers, and at least this one paid for his shit.

I’m settling back into my chair as he walks out the door. Just as the bell rings, he stops and turns on his heel. Now, he looks directly at me. There is something I don’t recognize in his eyes, close to anger but less focused. We stare at one another for what feels like ages, and I find myself unable to break away.

The thing in the corner clicks softly and the sound must pull the skinny man out of his trance. He turns away and crosses the parking lot with a fast, determined stride.

I glance up at my gooey friend, unsure if I should thank him or not. Instead, I choose to pick up my magazine and go back to reading about this year’s hair faux pas.

***

My replacement, Michael, still isn’t here, but my shift has been over for nearly an hour. I’m not sticking around any longer, Brenda can suck my clit and cry about it.

“You better get out or you’ll be locked in here. I’m leaving,” I tell the slimy patron. I’m not sure if he understands English, but I want to give him a chance. Last thing I need is for Michael to come into work and find an angry trapped animal ransacking the place.

He cocks his head at me, but eventually comes down the wall and onto the floor. When he stands on his back two legs he can nearly hit the ceiling with the eyes on top of his head. He starts to fill his four arms with snacks and drinks, but I stop him.

“Oh, no you don’t. I’m clocked out dude, you’ll have to come back and buy those when Michael gets here. You had all night to do this.”

He swivels back towards me slowly, and I feel my mouth go dry. Shit, did I piss him off?

The monster gives me a slow nod, and puts the drinks and candies back on their respective shelves.

I sigh, a bit out of relief that he didn’t put up a fight and a bit out of frustration that all of the things he touched are now coated in clear slime. Brenda’s definitely going to make me take care of that tomorrow.

I shake my head and gesture towards the door. “Come on, Goopy, let’s go.”

The monster leaves as soon as he is out the door, bounding on all six of his limbs with a frightening speed. I lock the door behind me and start to mentally prepare for the ass reaming I’m going to get from Brenda’s tomorrow. Michael is late, but I’m the one leaving the store unmanned, and we can’t miss those twenty dollars from the late night weirdos. The store’s entire budget is hanging by those pocket pennies, you know.

Fucking Brenda.

I’m almost to my car when a hand clamps over my mouth. It smells like gasoline. I try to bite down onto it, but the assailant doesn’t let go. I taste blood and dirt and something bitter. Spitting doesn’t help either.

I’m struggling against the arms that have snaked around my waist. He is pulling me backwards. I thrash my head into his chin– the impact’s not enough to slow him down.

My hands are prying at his, trying to free my mouth to scream or bite or spit. He laughs at me—laughs at me. Fucking laughs at me.

My fear and shock quickly morphs into hot anger. I fight harder, my feet lifting clean into the air, contracting and stretching my legs to try and throw off his balance.

And it works. We’re falling. He lets go of me to catch himself and I waste no time crawling to my feet. My car is so close. I only need to find the keys.

A hand grabs my hair and yanks me back. Splitting pain shoots through my neck, and I worry that he has broken it. But my limbs keep moving, turning me around to fight against him. I can see his face now: Skinny guy. Asshole fucking tweaker.

“Screw you!” I’m all fury. I swing my leg up to kick him in his stupid balls, but I miss. Hot tears are clouding my vision, and I feel so incredibly stupid. Stupid and angry and scared.

But then he’s gone.

I feel his hand release its grip and slump to the ground. Just his hand.

My heart is pounding in my chest. I stare at the hand on the ground, at the ripped and jagged stretches of skin that hang off of it. I feel something warm on my face, and I don’t know if it is blood or sweat or tears.

The slimy, goopy, gray monster has come back. A mouth I didn’t know was there licks its teeth.

I want to run, but my legs won’t listen. Oh god, did I piss myself? I think I pissed myself. Why am I even worried about pissing myself right now?

The beast crawls over to me and extends his hand, as if he is offering something to me. I open my hand and his slender fingers drag against my skin as they open to reveal… a candy bar?

A second of his arms holds out a pinched five-dollar bill.

“You came back… to pay for your candy bar? You pinched a candy bar?”

The beast cocks his head at me, his many eyes still unblinking. I grab his hand with mine, gentle and shaking, and I place the candy and the money into his palms. Then I carefully close his hands with mine. I try to rub my now-slime-coated hands off on my jeans, but it doesn’t help much.

“This one’s on the house, dude. Keep it.”

The beast looks at me in that way it does, 3 dozen eyes at a time, before opening its large mouth. “Thanks,” he says. Then he runs off into the night.

Zingar and Ollie

I’ve just moved in with my boyfriend, Zingar, and life couldn’t be any better. Ever since we met in the park six weeks ago, I’ve just known we were meant to be together.

Zin was there, walking his eye sucker. I was playing fetch with my dog. It was just like an honest to God fairytale, the way his eye sucker and my dog started chasing each other, playing like old pals. They led us right to each other, actually. I felt like the costars of one of those old movies: the two owners tangled up in the dog’s leashes, bound together by fate and puppy love.

You know, those two pups have been inseparable ever since, and not just because his eye sucker latched onto my poodle. They’re always purring and cuddling. My dog’s tail hasn’t stopped wagging once since they became attached!

Obviously, we had to exchange information since our two pets were now one living body. After the second custody swap, when Zingar asked me out, I was SO nervous. I had never been with a hulking mass of shifting shapes, somewhere in between the states of fluid and solid, before meeting him. But I’ve always told myself that love is a process, and that sexuality is a spectrum, and I wasn’t about to put myself in a box.

Our date was so romantic. We went to that Brazilian place, the one that serves meat off of medieval swords and encourages you to shoot cheese bread cannons at the staff. Absolutely to die for. I thoroughly recommend it for any cross-dimensional first date.

I stuffed myself silly on meats and cheese and Zingar was over the moon with his dish. He chose to eat the chef’s hair color and to absorb the genetic memory of the lady sitting at the next table over. I got to drink this lovely, dry red- really full bodied. It paired with the red meat perfectly. Zingar chose something a little more refined, and each sip from his cup stole an early memory from one of the staff member’s future children.

That’s all to say that the date was heavenly. I’ve never laughed so much in my life. Zin is amazing at impressions of deceased celebrities! We even got a little rowdy and played a game of charades. He won every round, and I didn’t mind one bit. I loved that he respected me enough to put real effort into the game, he didn’t make himself smaller just to make me feel better.

Well, some of the items he turned into were on the smaller size, but you know what I mean.

Unfortunately, we got kicked out after Zin morphed into a haunting outline of the waiter’s dead mother. I don’t think it would have been too much of a problem, it was actually a pretty funny joke. But a certain someone had to take it a little too far and Zingar just had to start reciting the waiter’s sins in the dead mother’s voice. He goes a little too far with the jokes sometimes, but hey, no one’s perfect.

The restaurant was kind enough not to charge us for our meals though, which I think speaks to their professionalism. We are going back again in a few weeks. I doubt they’ll even remember us, since they get so many hundreds of customers every day.

I remember being so sad that our first date was over, but Zingar morphed a small section of his body into an arm and held my hand. We walked all night long!

We even went down to this little pond behind my house. Zin turned into a rowboat and ferried me back and forth for nearly an hour under the full moon. The world stood still. Even the crickets stopped chirping while we were out there. I think that counts as our first time, right? I was technically inside of him. I’m not normally a sex on the first date kind of guy, but Zingar felt special.

Things fit together seamlessly after that night. After our third date, Zin stopped going home except for the essentials. It was easier on the pets that way too, since they didn’t have to switch houses constantly. Actually, I officially asked Zin to move in permanently last week, and he accepted! I mean, he didn’t say ‘yes’, he doesn’t really speak unless he is acting as a conduit for the voices of the damned. But the old condemned building he had been staying in burnt down that same night, and I just knew it was his way of showing his total commitment to me.

I’m going to ask him to marry me soon. I know what you’re thinking, ‘Ollie, it’s only been six weeks! How can you be sure?’ And to that I say, when you know, you know.

Literally everything about him feels like it was made for me. His sense of humor, the way his body literally– and I do mean literally– morphs to better suit mine when we cuddle, how effortless living together is… Plus, he is such a clean roommate! He even goes as far as to absorb the dead skin cells in the air as he oscillates between the state of being and not-being, pulling from the matter surrounding him to create a new form each time he reforms and reshapes himself. Which means no dusting for me!

The sex is great too. I hope you don’t mind my saying so. Zingar can be anything at all, and he always tries to surprise me with the body of old movie stars or ancient kings. I think I’ve finally gotten him to understand that, while those can be fun, what I really want is him.

Figuring out how to actually have sex in his purest form was a tough one, but my god was it worthwhile. We’re even experimenting with having him straddle the line between dimensions during the act. If you can ever get to try that, I highly suggest it. At first it felt so perverse, like an affront to God and the very nature of existence, but I think that was just the Catholic school guilt talking. Zin is really helping me to become more comfortable with pushing my boundaries.

I can sense him pooling under the front door and across the threshold right now. God, we are so connected. The hairs on my arms stand straight up when he gets near, and every cell in my body is screaming “Run!”

Yes, run! Run to him, embrace him, love him. When he leaves it’s like this immense weight lifts from over the entire house. Like a beloved weighted blanket being ripped away.

I get so anxious when he’s gone.

Anyway, that’s all to say that I’m going to introduce him to my parents tomorrow. My mom is going to cry so hard. She never thought I would find the one. After my last three boyfriends kept going missing under mysterious circumstances, even dad told me I should take a break from the dating pool for the safety of the general public. They are going to adore him—especially his Doris Day impressions.

————

Carrie R. Hinton is a Maryland based writer with an unfortunate penchant for decrepit sailboats. Her work has previously appeared in Dread Stone Press and Sand Hills Literary Magazine.