Rachel M. Shannon is a lover of storytelling who harbours a fascination with all things spooky and macabre. An English teacher by day, she occasionally feels compelled to write fiction, and will take pen in hand to satisfy the Muse. She lives in South Texas with her husband, teen, and two cats.
WE CALL HIM CLARK
by
Rachel M. Shannon
Nica and Javi sprawled on twin beds at either side of their shared room, scratching fresh mosquito bites and debating whether tadpoles are nocturnal. Their families rented this cabin by the lake every year, and for one blissful summer week the cousins were cocooned by the wholesome impenetrable magic that was summoned by wet bathing suits, sticky s’mores, and weathered deck wood hot from the sun warming bare feet.
The cousins spent much of their time exploring a nearby patch of woods. Nica pretended she was a superhero, a beach towel tied around her neck like a cape and the dark curls that sprouted from her ponytail bouncing as she ran down the paths. Javi followed at his own pace, playing naturalist while he sketched observations into a worn spiral notebook, squirreling interesting rocks and seedpods into the pockets of an old fishing vest of his father’s. The adventures kept them happy and kept them out of range of Nica’s sister Camila, a perpetually moody teenager who threw objects as often as barbs at the two, provoked or not.
Their license to roam did not extend to after dark.
Nevertheless, Nica talked Javi into settling their debate by sneaking out and checking the creek in the woods by flashlight. Instead of tadpoles, their beams lit upon a strange creature they at first mistook for a small plastic bag. Transparent and wormlike, it pulsed as it locomoted through the water. Javi captured it in a mason jar from his backpack and screwed the lid shut. Nica shone light into the jar, and they watched as it swam in circles.
“What is this thing?” Nica whispered. “It’s like a jellyfish and a snail had a weird looking baby.”
They scurried back to the house with their discovery. The creature in the jar spent the night under Javi’s bed.
The next morning it floated lethargically, occasional ripples of movement across its torso the only indication it was still alive. Javi insisted it was hungry, so Nica smuggled toast and strawberries back to their shared room.
“I don’t think something that lived in a creek would eat that,” Javi said.
“You don’t know what it might eat. It’s probably an alien.” Nica tapped at the glass. “I bet that’s what it is. I’m going to call him Clark.”
“Why Clark?”
“For Clark Kent.” Nica rolled her eyes. “You know, Superman? Because Superman’s an alien?”
Javi shrugged and screwed the top off the jar. The band slipped and the metal lid sliced the tip of his finger. Drops of blood plopped into the water. Agitated, Clark swam in vigorous circles that splashed water over the rim. Nica took the jar, dropped in a strawberry, and refastened the lid. Ignoring the fruit, Clark deployed dozens of short, hair-like tentacles from its underside and swam through the dissipating blood. As it did so, it pulsed and doubled in size.
“Wow, are you seeing this?” Javi said, fascinated.
Nica wrinkled her nose. “Gross, Clark.” She took the jar and put it on the windowsill, where it wobbled precariously. “C’mon, I’m still hungry.”
The cousins had just settled at the dining table next to Javi’s four-year-old twin sisters and Nica’s baby brother when a shrill scream descended from the bathroom, followed by a thud that sent Nica’s father pounding up the stairs. Nica and Javi followed at his heels.
Camila emerged from the steamy bathroom wrapped in a towel, hair dripping.
“I’m ok,” she said. “I thought I saw a big, weird spider, and I slipped, but it’s ok. I’m ok.” She went to her room and closed the door.
No one noticed the broken glass on the floor of the cousins’ room.
That evening, the family gathered for dinner. The long wooden table was laden with the standard burger condiments, as well as potato salad and a platter piled high with steaming corn on the cob.
Camila emerged from her room looking dazed. As she fixed herself a plate of food, her mouth hung slightly open, her eyes unfocused. She dug into her burger, chewing sluggishly. After a few bites she began to cough.
Her coughs grew louder and rougher. Worried adults scraped back chairs. Camila gripped the edge of the table with both hands, the force of it making the dishes clatter. Her face went dark pink as she spit out hunks of partially masticated food, gasping for air in between yelps of choking. Her mother wrapped her in a Heimlich hug. Camila convulsed, clawed her throat, and barked a long, guttural gag.
A grey, spongy, spittle-covered sphere the size of a baseball ejected from her mouth, shooting into in the middle of the corn platter with a smack. The object rolled until rested at the far end of the table. Then it unfolded itself. A dozen spindly legs extended from its body like inverted Vs balanced on pointed hooks, the surface of the appendages a crablike shell. Two stubby stalks ending in black orbs took in the astonished humans in a silent standoff.
The creature skittered down the table toward the baby.
Shrieks and chaos erupted. Nica’s mother shoved a dazed Camila as Javi’s parents corralled the twins out of the dining room and into the kitchen. Nica’s father ran to the high chair, barely stopping to unbuckle the harness as he scooped the baby into a football hold and followed.
The creature jumped to the floor with a thud and scampered in the direction of the commotion, sharp ends of its needle feet clattering against the hardwood floor.
Nica grabbed a broom and smacked it, sending it tumbling toward the back door. Javi opened the door, and with one more blow from Nica’s broom it toppled onto the deck. Javi slammed the door, and they watched through the window as the creature righted itself and skipped down the deck stairs into the world.
They slid to the floor in unison. The broom clattered down between them.
“I told you Clark was an alien,” Nica said.