Illustration by Andy Paciorek
HONORABLE MENTION, Fall 2023
The Ghost Story Supernatural Fiction Award
BY SPENCER BOYD
I pulled some Camels from my pocket and tossed them across the concrete table. Sam sat mouth open, staring at the ravens overhead. The pack hitting the table broke her trance.
Me: Are you going to tell me what happened to Tommy?
She reached for the cigarettes and put one between her lips. I leaned across the slab with my mini lighter.
Sam: Can I get some chocolate milk?
Me: Chocolate milk.
I stared. Her blonde hair had been hacked unevenly above the shoulders and the state’s standard gray sweats were too big for her vegetarian-thin body.
Sam: You won’t believe me.
Me: Try me.
Sam: My chocolate milk.
I twisted in search of the clinician, ultimately flagging down a guard. I reached back across for my cigarettes and lit one up as we waited on the milk. A few minutes later, the milk arrived and I pressed the red dot on my recorder. She set down the tobacco and tore into the paper milk cartridge, gulping down every last drop and then emitting a belch too loud for her tiny frame.
Sam: All right, Anderson Cooper, I’ll tell you about Tommy.
Me: It’s Stephan, but okay.
Sam: He was abducted.
Me: By whom?
She took a big drag and looked me dead in the eye.
Sam: Aliens.
Me: That story.
Sam: No story, that’s the truth, hetero-douche.
I bit my tongue before slipping the cigarette back in my mouth.
Me: Okay, Sam. Tell me how he came to be abducted.
Sam: It started last summer on our paper route through Seadesert.
Me: The new urbanism project outside Palm Springs.
She grabbed another cigarette.
Sam: Bingo. Our families moved there along with every other bored suburbanite looking for something culty.
She paused to catch her breath through her tobacco.
Sam: Tommy and I were like brother and sister. He, the blonde-haired blue-eyed surfer. Me, the angsty little lesbian. Anyways, we had this paper route we did together. Made the days pass quick, ya know? Like, who bikes by themself? Kill me now.
I looked over at the old aqua Schwinn I had ridden to the state hospital as it rested against the fence. I bit my tongue again and nodded.
Sam: So, we’d cruise. And all was normal until the Johnsons.
Me: Yeah, we all know he—
She flicked her burning bud at me.
I jerked up and stomped on the embers.
Me: What the—
Sam: Are you telling this story or am I?
I sat down and waved my hand as a gesture for her to continue.
Sam: They were weird, but it was mainly him.
Me: Richard?
She nodded.
Sam: I don’t mean like my dad saying bussin’ weird, I mean like weird. The first time was when we caught him drinking from the birdbath.
Me: Birdbath?
Sam: Yeah, dude. Birdbath. Shirt off, khakis on. No hands. Mouth to water like a dog. Tommy and I paused in front of their house and just watched. He finally looked up through his glasses. With a smirk on his face, he waved. We waved back. He said he liked to share what nature shares. Real hippie shit, ya know?
I nodded as I reflected on the hippies in my life, including the boyfriend my mom brought to my college graduation last spring.
Sam: So, we’re in the street, leaning on our bikes, still not sure what to do and the wife comes out. And she’s stunning. Like, no childbirths, late twenties, healthy hair, and perky tits, stunning.
I blushed.
Sam: What? Lesbians can’t talk crudely about other women? She yells over to Tommy to have some iced tea, like I’m not even there. Tommy shoots me a wink, drops his bike and jogs over to take a glass. He chugs it while Jodi stares up at him, and Rich goes back to flicking his tongue in the birdbath. Meanwhile, my jaw is so close to the pavement it nearly burns me and I whip my neck around to all the cookie-cutter houses and there’s not a soul in sight. Tommy hands her back the glass, she brushes some curls out from in front of his eyes, and then walks back inside. Tommy being the jock that he is, runs back out to his bike looking like he just met god. I asked him what the hell that was and he says nothing the rest of the route.
Me: All right, so the husband’s a weirdo, all of America knew that. Give me something else, kid.
Sam: Kid. Isn’t this what’s going to send you into the upper echelon of your career? I want more chocolate milk.
I rolled my eyes and yelled back at the guard to bring over two more cartons. I figured it couldn’t hurt to see what all the fuss was about. I pulled out two more cigarettes, lighting mine and then lighting her’s with mine before passing it over.
Sam: Now you’re getting it. The next day, we ride past the Johnsons’ and hear neighing, like they just adopted a fucking pony. We slam on our brakes and give each other a look. Tommy whips his bike back around and rides it across their Bermuda grass. I follow and he signals for me to come over to the fence as he peeps into their backyard. I bend down and look through a hole to see Rich naked, loping around in circles. We both cover our mouths to hold in the laughter and then look back at him again. Jodi sneaks up behind us and offers Tommy a brownie.
Me: Weed?
Sam: You’re a natural, detective. Yes, weed. They’re hippies. Tommy gladly accepted. I tried to give him a hard time, but mainly because I was jealous. Like, I’m cool too, ya know?
The guard came over with the two cartons of milk and told us we had ten minutes before she needed to go inside for therapy. Sam flipped him the bird and told him to suck her dick.
Sam: Day three. We cruise our usual route and Tommy’s daydreaming about having sex with Jodi. I pretend to ignore him but also think she legit might sleep with him and am weirded out by the whole situation. A few houses away from theirs, who do we see? Rich. He’s standing in their flower bed taking a massive shit. We watch in disgust and he sees us. He waves his arms up and down with his pants still around his ankles, signaling us to come over. We pedal over, walk onto the lawn, and he tells us he’s fertilizing the soil.
I put down my chocolate milk and shook my head.
Sam: Like who does that? The front door was open and we heard Jodi’s voice. She yelled for Tommy and of course he scurried to her. I backed away from Rich and played with my phone until Tommy returned. I told him I was shocked he didn’t want to stay and take poops with Rich out front. He gave me a half-hearted laugh and I knew something was up. I poked, poked, poked. Finally he folded. She wanted him to come back that night. Rich would be out in nature, whatever that meant, and she wanted Tommy.
Me: Now we’re talking.
Sam: I tried to tell him it was a bad idea, but he was psyched to lose his virginity before college, so I rolled my eyes and went with it. I told him I’d wait outside as backup. That night we rode back. The street was dark aside from the Johnsons’ porchlight. I told him ten minutes tops before I called the cops and I ended up calling them in six. After he went in, I saw their silhouettes go past the windows from one room to the next. I’m no voyeur, so I went out to the street. Rich came toward me on the sidewalk. He had rung a chicken’s neck and was rubbing its blood all over himself. He started plucking the feathers and putting them on his body. When he saw me, he ran over, excited to share. He said he couldn’t eat the chicken unless he knew what it felt like to be the chicken. When I heard banging coming from inside, I ran back to the house, looked through a window, and saw the truth. Jodi was gone. Her skin lay shredded on the bed and another life form was choking Tommy with six tentacles wrapped around his throat. I screamed and the alien broke away and sprinted through the house and out the back door. I opened the front door and charged in, but I was too late; a beam of light from the sky pierced the roof, Tommy was sucked up through the air and into their ship, and you know the rest.
On my way home, I stopped by the Lickety Split for a six pack of Milwaukee’s finest. At the register, the cashier’s radio talked about a boy over in Arizona who had just videographed his parents being abducted by aliens. I thought, That boy’s gonna be famous.
Spencer Boyd is a writer from the mountains of Colorado. “Chocolate Milk and Cigarettes” is his first published short story. He tells us: “I’m a sucker for cheeky horror, so I’m honored to be included! I’m currently working on publishing my first novel, a dark contemporary western with goth undertones, explicit sex scenes, and a cowboy bucking his environment of toxic masculinity.”