By T.S. Carney

Ally the Martian was dreaming of catastrophe. In the first dream, her husband Gar-knack’s head exploded, leaving her alone with the kids and zero Martian Life Insurance. In the second, Earthmen arrived in gleaming ships—muscular, loud, and ruining the landscape with their lack of telepathy.

That morning, Gar-knack sat at the table sipping a thick brown sludge.

“Gar-knack! I had the worst dream. Your head exploded, and I was left destitute.”

“That’s an awful thing to say before coffee, Ally.”

“You need to get insurance through my brother. Unless…” She narrowed her eyes. “Gar-knack, do you even have a job?”

“I scoop sand, Ally! Sort the red from the slightly-more-red. It’s a career.”

“Well, hurry up. Because the second dream was worse. Earthmen are coming. They’re coming to take our country and our support.”

“Honey, humans don’t have telepathy. They’re basically toddlers with rockets. Don’t worry—Mars is forever.”

That night, Ally screamed into the dark: “Acnalb! Acnalb! Take me away from Gar-knack! You’re so much better than him!”

Gar-knack flicked on the lamp. “What the Martian hell was that?”

“What?”

“Who is Acnalb? You screamed his name. Told him to take you away from me.”

“He’s nobody,” Ally stammered. “I was watching the news. Must’ve seen the Earthmen again. They’re migrants, Gar-knack. They need our support. It’s exciting.”

“Fine. Tomorrow I’m digging holes. Go to sleep.”

The next morning, Gar-knack was fuming. “I heard it again. Acnalb! Acnalb! Who is he?”

“I don’t know anyone with a name that stupid,” Ally said, oblivious.

“We’re calling Dr. Zo.” Gar-knack pressed his fingers to his temples. Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba. “Calling Dr. Zo…”

“Gar-knack, it’s 6:00 AM,” the Doctor’s voice echoed in their heads.

“My wife is dreaming of other men!”

“If it’s an emergency, make an appointment. Your wife is fine. You’re just insecure,” Zo snapped.

Ally tapped her head. “Thank you, Doctor.” She looked at her husband. “See? Now eat your breakfast. Oh wait, your telepathic tantrum burned it.”

At the dig site, Gar-knack complained to his friend Xylar.

“She’s dreaming of Earthmen, Xylar. It’s humiliating.”

“Can’t be helped,” Xylar said, leaning on his shovel. “They’re exotic. Two eyes? Two legs? Zing!” He thrust his hips. “They’re like a different species. Like being into a Gristle-worm. Gross, but compelling.”

“She screams for some guy named Acnalb.”

“Keep digging, you Mire-Maggots!” their manager, Mr. Grabdor, shouted. “Sort that sand!”

When Grabdor left, Xylar whispered, “It’s xenophilia. Half the planet’s obsessed. They want to see what a two-legged alien can do. If you want it to stop, you have to kill one.”

“Kill an Earthman?”

“Shoot one, and the rest will leave. I know a guy. He’s got a weapon. Point, pull the trigger. Simple.”

“I’ve never killed a thing,” Gar-knack whimpered.

“Do it at the Earthmen Depot. Tell Ally you’re out with a girl. She’ll be so mad she won’t notice the blood on your shoes.”

That afternoon, Gar-knack went to the Depot. It was crawling with humans—disgusting creatures with their single reproductive parts and loud voices. He sat at the bar, nursing a drink, when he heard it.

“Hey, Acnalb! Sit with us!”

Gar-knack froze. Acnalb. He had to lure the man away. He closed his eyes and scanned the humans’ messy, loud minds.

Pee-Pee-Who-Who-My-Mother-Said-To-Pick-The-Very-Best-One…

Gar-knack focused on a movie he’d seen on a hijacked Earth signal. His body shimmered and popped. Out came the fangs, the cape, the widow’s peak. He had transformed into Dracula.

“Hello, Count!” one of the humans laughed as Gar-knack approached.

“Bleh-Bleh!” Gar-knack opened his cape wide. “Which one of you is named Acnalb? Bleh-Bleh!”

“I am,” a man said, looking confused.

“Great! I invite you to dinner at my summer home. My wife—Mina, I mean Ally—is cooking. Bleh-Bleh!”

“Is this guy for real?” the humans laughed. “I vant to suck your blood!”

“Yes, yes, bleh-bleh,” Gar-knack muttered. “Follow me.”

Acnalb followed the Martian Dracula into the blistering sun. “Something doesn’t seem right. Why do you live in a ranch house if you’re a vampire?”

“It’s a vacation rental! Bleh-Bleh!”

They entered the house. Ally was there. “Ahh! An Earthman!”

“I’m Acnalb,” the man said.

“I thought your husband was a vampire,” Acnalb added, looking at the Martian.

“He’s an idiot,” Ally said. “Gar-knack, why is there a human in my kitchen?”

“He’s your lover! Make him dinner!” Gar-knack commanded, still wearing the cape.

Ally sighed and turned on the Electrical Combustible Food Processor.

“Is that an oven?” Acnalb asked.

“Oven?” Ally swooned. “How sophisticated! Gar-knack, he called it an oven.”

“Stop being nice to him!” Gar-knack pulled out the gun. “I’m going to kill him, but first, we eat. We aren’t savages.”

They sat at the table. Gar-knack, fueled by jealousy and Martian gin, started pounding drinks through his telepathy. Acnalb poked at a brown, coiled blob on his plate.

“What is this?”

“Chitinous Exoskeleton,” Ally said proudly.

“It looks like crap,” Acnalb said. “Tastes like it, too.”

Gar-knack was drunk now. His judgment a blur of red sand and capes. “Meal’s over! Time to die!” He stood up, swaying, and fired.

Bang! He missed.

Bang! He hit a lamp.

“You’re a terrible shot, Count,” Acnalb remarked.

Enraged and blind-drunk, Gar-knack looked down the barrel of the gun to see why it wasn’t working. He pulled the trigger one last time.

BOOM. His head exploded exactly like Ally’s dream.

“Ahh!” Ally screamed.

Acnalb didn’t wait. He ran back to the Depot. “The alien’s head blew off!” he told his friends. “WOOT! WOOT!”

Back at the house, Ally wiped blue blood off the table and dialed her brother. Gar-knack was gone, but the Martian Life Insurance payout was going to be massive.

Finally, she could afford to visit the Earth Depot in style.