FICTION: Soccer Slugs from Outer Space

“I don’t remember the last time a regional championship had this size crowd.” Sandy peered out at the stands, sharp wind whipping unrestrained hair into her eyes.

Marta cradled the soccer ball under her arm. She looked Sandy up and down, pausing to assess her uniform. “When did we switch over to these?” she asked, pawing at her own skimpy shorts. “I can’t…I can’t remember.”

“Oh jeez,” Sandy mumbled with a shake of her head. She looked down at her wrists, hoping to find a hair tie but coming up empty. She glanced over at Marta’s short cropped hair with envy. “I honestly don’t remember either. But, I can’t play with this mop in my face.” She twisted the dark curls into a hopeless bun and stood, in the center of the field, feeling… wrong. Naked.

“Out of it,” Crystal huffed, sidling up beside the pair.

“Huh?” Sandy asked, eyes glued to the stands.

“I just feel so out of it!” Crystal repeated.

“Same,” Marta commiserated. “I think I forgot my allergy meds this morning.”

“And it’s so hot!” Crystal continued. “Even in these.” She tugged the thin fabric of her tank top away from her body. It clung to her like a second skin, almost sheer and dappled with sweat. “How long have we been wearing these?” she asked, fanning herself.

“I can’t remember.” Marta tossed the ball down and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Where’s the rest of the team?” she asked, but Sandy wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes were trained on the stands, a look of sharp suspicion etched across her face.

“The people in the stands are weird,” she offered.

“What do you mean?” Marta asked, twisting in a circle to take the large crowd in. “Yeah I suppose. It’s mostly dudes.”

“More than that though,” Sandy mumbled.

“What?” Crystal was crouched down, still attempting to cool herself with a useless hand. “Why is it so hot?”

Sandy continued to study the throng of fans as her long hair swirled and clung to the sweat on her back. As she watched, she saw a man slowly edge onto the field. He moved cautiously, like he was caught in molasses. She wanted to point him out to her teammates, but she was having a hard time looking away from the figure.

In addition to his laborious pace, he was also oddly shaped. Sandy’s face screwed up in disgust before she’d even realized she was doing it.

“Who’s that?” Marta asked, and Sandy was relieved someone else was watching the strange man’s journey.

“I don’t know, but he’s moving so slow. Is he okay?” When there was no reply, Sandy added, “Marta, do you think he’s all right?”

Sandy could hear Marta swallow — the gulp was audible. And so was the small intake of breath and the tiny groan that escaped the other woman’s mouth. Sandy forced herself to look away from the man and find Marta beside her.

She was frozen in place, watching as someone — something — approached from the other side of the field. It too moved slowly, but it was closer to their small group, and easier to see.

“Is that a slug?” Crystal asked from where she lay on the ground.

“Is that a fucking slug!” Marta echoed, panic turning her voice shrill and impatient.

“What the fuck?” Sandy turned in place, trying to wrap her head around the fact that a man-sized slug was inching towards them. Her messy bangs were plastered to her forehead, making her feel heavy and tired.

“I’m tired,” Crystal seemed to say the moment Sandy had thought it. “And hot.”

“What is happening!” Marta began to wail, but the slug-man raised a “hand,” and even at his still great distance, Marta’s mouth snapped shut.

“You’re guests.” The voice that came over the loudspeaker was human-adjacent. The words were clear, but they sounded wrong, like someone was speaking them backwards. “Our emissary is coming to remove the fallen one.”

The three women wordlessly shifted closer together, Sandy glancing down at Crystal’s prone form. Her “uniform” was soaked through with sweat. The small shorts clung to her thighs, cutting into the muscled flesh. “I don’t like this,” she muttered.

“Where’s the rest of the team!” Marta shouted at the large, bulbous shape still making its approach.

The loudspeaker voice replied. “I’m sorry,” it said unconvincingly. “Your cohorts have not made it to this stage of play.”

“Pardon?” Crystal slurred lazily as the voice continued on.

“Our field is not as well suited to your needs as we had hoped.”

“Where are we?” Sandy asked.

“You’re guests. You’re guests in our home,” the voice droned.

“Where is home?” Marta barked. Sandy could see her anger rising.

There was a long pause before the voice came again, and by that time, the ambling figure was mere yards away. Sandy could see its nebulous, shapeless form. She could see its viscous, nearly translucent body rippling. She could feel the bile rise up in her throat.

“Our emissary is coming to collect the fallen. We do hope this will not interrupt play.”

“What is he talking about?” Marta asked, turning to Sandy.

Sandy looked down at her feet and gasped. “Oh no,” she inhaled, covering her mouth.

Marta followed her gaze, and both women stared wild-eyed at Crystal’s glistening and motionless body.

“Your cohort has fallen. Please allow our emissary to remove the body. Game play will commence shortly.”

Sound, something close to a cheer but not quite, poured from the stands. Sandy could barely make out the packed-in figures. They looked like beige approximations of men, but they moved gelatinously, like the body that was so close it could almost reach out and touch Crystal’s foot.

And then it did. It extended its strange appendage and, much faster than it had approached, sucked Crystal’s body into its own.

Sandy could only watch in horror as the thing absorbed Crystal, taking her form into itself and holding it there like some obscene Jell-O mold. Then, it slowly began its trek off the field.

Sandy didn’t realize Marta had been screaming until she stopped. The absence of sound was alarming, and the loudspeaker voice careened in to fill the void. “Now it is time for game play. Take the ball and perform your sport for us,” it commanded.

“What the fuck is happening?” Sandy exhaled, grabbing for the remaining woman’s hand.

“I don’t want to do this,” Marta mewled. “I wanna go home.”

“As guests of our people, a demonstration of your prowess is owed to us. Commence game play,” the voice ordered in its nearly-convincing play at human speech.

“Make me,” Sandy spat, surprised by her own anger. It felt good, so she cracked her knuckles and squared her shoulders. “Make me, you fuckers.”

With panic, Marta asked, “What are you doing?”

“Going out with a fight,” Sandy shrugged.

The two women stood back to back, sweat coating their skin in a shimmering glow. Taut muscle strained against their ridiculous uniforms as they waited for the shapes in the stands to descend.

“You look good in that tank,” Marta offered over her shoulder.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it highlights your abs. Plus you look great in white.”

Sandy laughed, glancing down at the strange cropped tank that was molded to her form. “They should’ve left us naked,” she said. “Would’ve been easier to move.”

The pair could wait for the fight to reach them; they had nowhere else to be. And they owed their hosts an exhibition of their prowess, didn’t they?