Homecoming

"To a crazy fucking day." Harold raised a glass of red wine as he toasted the table. Spunk sat across from him at the other end of the burnished oak dining table; Harold's wife June and his two children sat along the sides of the table. The chandelier brightened the otherwise dark room, and Spunk was thankful for his adopted family.

"Harold." June chided. "Language. Children."

"Oh, we live in the middle of nowhere and we're going to homeschool. Where will they embarrass us if a curse word slips out every now and then?" He responded with a twinkle in his eye.

"To a crazy fucking day!" Spunk cheered before June could respond. If he didn't stop it then, it would be going on all night. June rolled her eyes and raised her glass.

"Indeed." She said, and they all took a sip. "Thank god you're okay, Peter." June swallowed and spoke again. "You could've been seriously hurt or killed."

"I know we don't know much but.." Spunk trailed off, "There were ten missile hits and none of them hit buildings or people. Lots of fires, but zero deaths. I think it was intentional. A warning of some sort."

"It's possible." Harold agreed as he set his glass down and picked up his knife and fork. "It does seem odd that they wouldn't strike populated city centers. Not that there are many on this desolate rock, but still. They couldn't even hit one? They're either the most incompetent combatants ever, or, Spunk's right. It was a warning of some sort."

"And don't believe for one second that they don't know who did it." Spunk waggled his eyebrows at them. "This planet's government must've done something somewhere to piss some race of aliens off, and now we're about to pay the price for it."

They passed a moment in silence as they all took bites of their Epsilon Five "meat special" steaks. The children amused themselves by throwing little green spheres that passed as peas at each other. June was too tired or worried to stop them. Plus, the dog seemed to enjoy it, as he reaped the benefits of their tomfoolery.

"Do you think we should evacuate, Peter?" June asked in the uncomfortable silence. "Do you think there will be more?"

"What a heavy question." Spunk said. He didn't mind, for some reason, when June called him by his old name. Old habits die hard, and she meant no harm. "I don't know. But I don't think so. I mean, obviously -- you have children. It's a different choice for you than it is for me. But the way I see it, this first volley.. it was the warning. The next time, if there is a next time... they're going to hit a city. Megrun, perhaps. Or Oscilla. But they won't hit our area again unless they're nuking the whole planet. What's here? Shitty little shops like mine and maybe some small government. We don't have any military here. We don't have any crowded spaces. Why would they even waste the ammo?"

The other two adults digested this information as Spunk took another bite of his dinner. He wondered idly if Edie and her family had found food for the evening. He felt a little guilty that he had not offered them some food from his own fridge. So many places, including the Kinkporium, were closed for the rest of the day because of the attacks.

"Would you? Will you?" Harold asked finally, and Spunk shook his head.

"Why would I? My life is here. I would rather die on my feet selling toys than on my knees..." He trailed off. "Sorry, the analogy kinda fell apart and well... I'm thinking of your children." He gave a hearty wink to June, who rolled her eyes at him.

"The martyr of the adult industry?" Harold asked with a deep-bellied laugh. Spunk did a little bow in his seat.

"That's me. Grizzled old war veteran, driven by fate to sell toys on a forsaken planet, with an untimely death ahead."

"Oh, stop. You." June hushed Spunk as her eyes darted towards the children. "Sex toys are one thing. Death is another. You're going to corrupt them well before their time."

"Oh, he's fine, June." Harold said. "Nothing wrong with a little morbid joke here and there."

A noise thundered off in the distance and the three shot worried looks at each other. It faded quickly.

"There are storms rolling in tonight." Spunk said, almost too confidently. "I'm sure it was just a roll of thunder." The other two nodded, but the thought of another round of bombings was clearly heavy on their minds.

"Thanks for dinner." Spunk broke the awkward silence. "I know you didn't have to, with the events of the day. But I obviously wanted to check on you, and the comms lines were still down."

"You know you're welcome on our doorstep anytime." June said and Harold nodded in agreement. "You've done too much for this family to ever be turned away."

"You say that now, but when the kids are a little older..." Spunk gave a devilish laugh. "Someone will have to corrupt them. It may as well be me."

Spunk rose and grabbed his plate, moving into the kitchen to deposit it into the sink. June would've shot him if he tried to wash it himself. He returned to the table.

"I'm going to take off, I think. I want to make sure those Lightbringers are doing alright. I think they usually buy or beg dinner and well... buying is out."

"Let me walk you to the door." Harold offered and Spunk moved to let him pass. Clearly there were things to discuss out of earshot of the children.

"You haven't had anymore... episodes, have you?" Harold asked in a low tone.

"I don't think so." Spunk said, keeping the truth to himself. There had been four, and with each, the ghost had grown more violent. "Actually... here. Come outside with me." Spunk said, holding the door for his friend. He followed.

"Listen. What I'm going to say will sound crazy, but I want you to have a little bit of faith in me. Just hear me out, okay?"

Harold shot a worried look towards the shutting front door, but nodded.

"You remember the liquefied reptilian customer we had last week?" Spunk asked.

"That was the strangest shit I've seen in twenty years." He said, and Spunk nodded in agreement.

"Well, here's the thing. When I went to go get the shovel that day... in the basement. Something, I think it was that something... locked me in the basement with it for a few minutes. It just kept telling me it was hurting and then it disappeared and let me out. You sent me home. Remember?" He could tell Harold was starting to get freaked out. He wondered if Harold was superstitious.

"So then it happened again. And then it happened in the store when you found me. And that time... man. You know I'm too old to start showing signs of schizophrenia... this thing gave me a vision of its dad beating him. And later. When I was alone. I had welts on my back. No, Harold. Wait."

He could tell Harold was about to flee.

"Look." Spunk reached down to his waistband and pulled his shirt off. The cool desert air hardened his nipples immediately. He turned his back towards the porch light. "Do you see the fading bruises?" He asked, cranking his neck to watch his friend's face. The man was squinting. A moment passed.

"I can see something for sure, Spunk. But how do we know it's not from your fall?"

"Does our floor have stripes in it?" He asked. He slipped his shirt back on.

"Anyway..." He continued before Harold could try to talk sense into him. "I don't know what it wants from me, but I have a feeling things are going to keep getting worse until we get rid of the body."

"...which has now been delayed indefinitely. Because of the bombs." Harold finished the thought for him.

"Sure seems that way. Look. You might think I'm going crazy, and that's fine. The way I see it, my life was not boring enough to add a ghost to. But that's what I've got and I'm not..." He swallowed, letting the fear settle in his heart. "I'm not sure what to do. You can't shoot a ghost, you know?"

"Was there footage?" Harold asked suddenly, remembering the other day.

"No." Spunk responded bitterly. "The camera got crazy static and then just blacked out. All of them did. They're a total blank slate for a full five minutes."

"Fucking weird, man." Harold said. "Do you want to stay here? I'm not a big fan of you staying in or near the store when the comms lines are down. Whether you're truly going crazy, or you're actually haunted."

"I don't want to impose. It hasn't really tried to kill me, you know? It just seems to want to share it's pain. Have someone understand."

"What if it wants to relive melting into the fucking floor, Spunk?" Harold asked, not joking in the least. "Will I find a bloody puddle in the morning?"

"I'll call around in the morning. Try to find a... medium? Psychic? It's just one night."

"I'm coming in as soon as I wake up, then." Harold said. "And if comms are back up before I fall asleep, I'm ringing you to make sure you made it home."

"Deal." Spunk said. "You're a good friend."

"I know." Harold gave him an unusually long, tight hug. "Be safe, brother."

Spunk walked away, climbing into his personal hovercraft with the ease of greeting an old friend. The display lit up as he settled into his splitting leather seat and fastened the harness across his chest. It was an older buggy, but was reliable and perfect for this crusty, out of the way planet where everything was hundreds of miles apart. Or so it felt.

"Let's get going then," He said as his voice activated the computer. It was no Amalyn, but it knew how to get him back home. "Home, please." He said and the machine whirred into action. Autopilot was great for nights like these, when he didn't want to have to concentrate. He could be lost in his thoughts.

The starry landscape spread out before him as he rode. The sands seemed to shimmer even at night, but the scientists' explanations were wholly unsatisfying. They claimed that the starlight caused it. Spunk thought it was some new, unknown element. Something valuable that they didn't want the regular folks to get their hands on.

"Radio on." He spoke into the system and the radio turned on. He wasn't on the emergency broadcast station, and he half expected static to roar through the system. Instead, he was met with excited voices. Good -- comms must be back up.

"The military has released information about the perpetrators of the Epsilon 5 bombing today. Hidra Isel reports." The man's voice came across loud and crystal clear. A feminine voice with a gentle, lilting accent responded.

"Thanks, John. An anonymous source in military leadership has told me that the bombs had minerals within that originated from the planet Grefinkii, on the edge of this system itself. Grefinkii is home to the reclusive and tribalistic Neval race. The source, who did not agree to be named, said that the Nevals have had little to no contact with the supreme government, and have not yet signed into the United Planets and Nations agreement. John, if this report is confirmed, there is a real possibility of conflict returning soon, as retaliation against the Neval occurs."

"Hidra, we have about thirty seconds -- before we go, can you describe the Neval for us? What do they look like?"

"Sure, John. I've never seen a Neval in person, but I've been told they are humanoid with blue-ish tint to their skin. They have diamond shaped eyes that slit closed and open. They have a jerking, awkward movement that can make watching them unsettling for some species, especially humans."

Spunk recognized the description almost instantly. It was his ghost friend. A Neval. But why had he come into the shop just days before his species was set to attack the planet? Spunk reached forward to spin the volume dial.

"Thanks Hidra. We're about to wrap up. Any last words?"

"One last thing, John. Neval, like some other alienoid species, have three stages of life. An egg stage, the humanoid stage which is most common, and a goo-like stage that they attain when they're ready to reproduce. They can affect electrical currents in any stage, but their unpredictable effects are most noticeable in the goo phase before death. My informant has indicated that any sightings of Neval should be reported immediately."

"And that's all we have time for. That was Hidra Isel, reporting from Epsilon 5. Now that the hour has wrapped up, we'll be moving into our country classics hour with Hruptkin Fellows at the helm. Listeners, if you've got comms access, be sure to call in and request your favorites. I'm John Neply, and this is EFPR -- Epison Five Public Radio."

The outro music chimed in and Spunk turned the volume back down. His heart was racing. One of those things that had tried to incinerate -- or at least scare -- the planet was in his shed, horny and ghost like and driving him insane. But why?

The craft came to a sudden halt, jarring him from his thoughts. He was home.

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