Chasing the Moon (9 page)

“The short answer is because of your connection with me, you aren’t quite in tune with your native reality anymore. It’s not a big deal, doesn’t really have a big effect on the universe. But it makes you a beacon, a shining light that draws the attention of certain misplaced inter-dimensional entities, such as myself and Smorgaz, seeking to reorient themselves in a confusing, unfamiliar world.”

“He was confused and frightened and that made him want to kill me.”

“He wasn’t trying to kill you. He was just attracted to the nearest thing that reminded him of home. It’s like he’s a lost rat that stumbled into someplace he doesn’t belong and he scrambled toward the nearest… rat hole he came across.”

She snarled.

“Maybe that came out wrong,” he said. “These rules aren’t universal. Plenty of alien things slip into your reality and either perish quickly or adjust without need of an anchoring force. But some are like me or Smorgaz, we don’t die, but we also function at such different levels that without something to ground us, we’d eventually probably do some very bad stuff. Mind you, most of that stuff would be the unintentional damage of a bewildered animal thrashing around in an ill-fitting cage.”

“So you must have known something like this was going to happen,” she said. “Otherwise, why would you have followed me?”

“I expected it sooner or later, but I had figured later rather than sooner. Just the same, I tagged along because… well, it’s not like I had anything better to do. And I like you. I like being around you. Being near you keeps me focused, relaxed, like a soothing melody.” Vom snapped his fingers. “Hey, that sounds a lot better than the rat-hole metaphor I tried earlier, doesn’t it?”

“Just a bit. Let me guess… now that I’m Smorgaz’s reassuring tune I’m stuck with him just like I’m stuck with you.”

“I’d avoid using the word
stuck
when Smorgaz is around. He’s a little sensitive. And when he gets this insecure he starts spawning like mad. We’ll be up to our eyeballs in clones before you know it.”

“You don’t have eyeballs.”

“Figure of speech.”

“That’s his thing then?” she asked. “Spawning?”

“Yep. That’s his
thing
. Nobody does it better.”

The sound of tearing carpet drew her attention to another pint-sized Smorgaz.

“Yeah, you should probably get used to that,” said Vom. “Even when he’s trying to keep it under control, he usually spits out at least one Smorgaz Jr. every ten minutes. The unintentional ones tend to dissolve after about an hour, but they can be a handful.”

The small creature raised its head and smiled at Diana as it shredded some carpet with its claws. Vom leaned forward as if to spring off the couch and pounce on the creature.

“Oh, I forgot the new policy. Is it okay for me to eat Smorgaz’s half-formed spawns? Or are they on the puppy list?”

She mulled it over.

“Oh, come on,” said Vom. “You can’t seriously have a problem with that? They’re destructive little bastards who were never meant to exist in this slice of reality and have a shelf life of an hour.”

His argument was hard to counter aside from some squeamishness on her part. But of all the things he could request to eat, this seemed most reasonable.

“Okay, okay.”

The small Smorgaz yipped and dashed behind the entertainment center.

“Just as well,” said Vom. “They have a weird aftertaste.”

There was a knock on the door.

Vom perked up. “Is that Smorgaz? Are those the pizzas?”

“Down, boy.”

“I call dibs on the four biggest slices.”

She suspected it wasn’t Smorgaz. He wasn’t a fast creature,
and even if he had returned with the pizzas she wouldn’t expect him to knock. He lived here. She didn’t know what to expect, but it wouldn’t have been surprising to discover yet another weird monster entering her life. Instead it was a tall, goodlooking stranger.

It was weirder than a monster.

“Hi, I’m Chuck. Chuck from Apartment Number Two. Down the hall.” He glanced to his left, then his right, then down, then up. Then, just to be perfectly sure, he looked behind himself and double-checked his right flank again. “Could I borrow a cup of sugar?”

“Number Two?” she said. “Oh, that’s the apartment with the… dog in front of it, right?”

He nodded, put his finger to his lips. “Keep your voice down. It’ll hear you.”

She peeked out into the hallway. The scaly creature was curled up outside Apartment Two’s door, and it appeared to be sleeping. But it didn’t have eyelids, so its bulbous dark eyes were always wide open.

“Do you want to come in?” she asked.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I just need some sugar. I’m baking a cake, and I’m a little low.”

“Cake?” said Vom. “What kind of cake?”

“Does it really matter?” asked Diana.

Vom scowled. “We get it. I’m a voracious omnivore. You don’t have to keep pointing it out.”

“Sorry. Didn’t realize you were sensitive about it.”

“It’ll only be a few hours,” said Sharon. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

Calvin didn’t look up from his book. “Think I’ll skip this one, if it’s just the same to you.”

“Everyone will be disappointed.”

He dog-eared the page and set the book aside to help her put on her coat.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.” She winced.

“I am the lord of beautiful anarchy, aren’t I? So I don’t use bookmarks, and I don’t attend every annoying pep rally Greg feels like throwing just because he’s bored.”

“Now you’re just being snarky.”

He helped her on with her coat.

“You know how he adores you,” she said. “How they all adore you.”

“Have you ever been adored by four dozen people at once? Trust me. It’s not as cool as it sounds. Anyway, if I showed up to all of these events, it’d stop being special.”

“I guess you’re right.” She leaned in, gave him a polite hug. “Try to stay out of trouble now.”

“I think I can manage on my own for an evening. Just going to hang out with the guys.”

She paused. “So soon? Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“I’m not allowed to have friends now?”

“You have friends.”

“Greg and his loonies are not my friends. At best, they’re coworkers. Although really I do all the work.”

“Yes, you do. It’s just… you know how crazy things can get when you get together with the old gang. Just promise me you’ll take it easy.”

“You worry too much. Not like it’s the end of the world.”

She patted him on the chest. “Make sure that it isn’t. Not yet anyway.”

An elderly woman with wild gray hair, the nub of a green crayon clutched in withered, clawlike fingers, scrawled an endless string of numbers on the hallway just outside Benny’s door.

She glanced up from her work and smiled. Her eyes glinted with madness.

“Hello,” she croaked.

Calvin nodded at her. Benny’s mere presence had this effect on people. He improved the efficiency of their squishy biological brains until they functioned like obsessive-compulsive
supercomputers. This poor woman was working on an equation that disproved the universe. She had at least forty more years of scrawling to do, though.

He knocked on the apartment door, and a fat worm with translucent skin showing pulsing, multicolored veins answered. Limbs ringed his body in peculiar asymmetry. Most ended in hands, though two were just stumps and one served as his nose. He wore a baseball cap secured to his “head” with masking tape. The rules for greater eldritch horrors varied. Calvin had no trouble passing for human, but it had less to do with his appearance than with his separation from his more otherworldly self.

The worm, on the other hand, required a disguise to avoid driving mortals mad. It didn’t take much: a T-shirt, a hat, sunglasses. Just something for the human mind to grab on to. Calvin wondered if the disguise itself created an illusion or if humans found the idea of a Benny, a giant, glistening maggot in a Raiders cap, so absurd that their peculiar brains decided to just accept it and move on. The end result was the same.

Benny said, “Cal, what kept ya?”

Calvin held up a grocery bag. “I stopped off for snacks.”

He stepped inside, but before Benny closed the door Calvin told the woman, “You dropped a decimal point around the corner.”

Frowning, she shuffled off to correct the mistake.

Calvin handed the snacks to Benny. “You should probably move before you cause irreversible damage to that poor woman.”

“I’d like to, but where am I going to find another place this good? Plus, it’s got rent control.”

Benny slipped into the kitchen to put the beers in the fridge. Calvin had a seat next to Swoozie, who was playing video games.

Even among eldritch horrors, Swoozie was one of the most incomprehensible. Her body was little more than a random collection of colors and alien geometries. She’d molded a pair of mismatched hands to hold the game controller, but the twisted fingers had a hard time reaching all the buttons.

“Shit,” she said as she guided her pixilated hero off a cliff.

Swoozie was lousy at video games. Hardly surprising since she was barely connected to this universe to begin with. She was like a puppeteer trying to control a marionette via a very, very long string and a telescope. And right now she was like a woman trying to use that marionette to control a second puppet composed of a few electrons dancing across a television screen. Sometimes Calvin envied Swoozie, who was almost free of the trap they were stuck in. And sometimes Calvin figured it had to be worse for Swoozie than for any of them. Like having to walk around with a bucket on your head for eternity.

“Press the A button to jump,” said Calvin.

Swoozie’s digital protagonist jumped the chasm. She hooted, and the sound caused the wallpaper to peel.

“Hey, watch it,” said Benny.

“Sorry.”

A virtual gargoyle swooped down and decapitated Swoozie’s hero. The corpse collapsed in a heap.

“What the hell?” growled Swoozie. “Get up, you stupid bastard.”

“Humans can’t live without their heads,” explained Calvin. It was easy to forget that.

“That’s crap. I don’t see why I have to be saddled with such a silly weakness just because humans don’t have the imagination to realize that their limitations are not required for a video game character.”

“These games are marketed with a human audience in mind,” said Benny.

“It’s discrimination.” Swoozie reached around space and grabbed one of the beers from the fridge without getting up from her seat. The hole in space she pulled the beverage from didn’t disappear right away. It just hovered there.

“Hey, hey, hey,” said Benny. “What the hell did I tell you about respecting the space-time continuum in my home?”