Zomz Invade!

Vol. 130: A short story

#5 in The Scary Songbook Collection

Zomz Invade!, inspired by “Astro Zombies” by The Misfits

We are almost there. Earth.

It is an enormous planet, twice the size of our planet, Pphitt. We may be smaller, but we have proven, through thousands of experiments on the humans, that our intelligence is far greater. It isn’t much of a comparison; the humans are quite stupid. We tend to refer to them as dumturz. Not polite, but very accurate. They still speak to one another out loud and they live primitively in family units with others they consider important. We see them, four or five in one dwelling, eating together and breathing the same air. Looking at each other. Ker-ker! It’s revolting to think about. The stench.

As the highest ranking crew member aboard, I am not only the leader of this mission, but also responsible for creating the facts of this journey. My esteemed opinion will go down in history. I was chosen because of my great intelligence and the level of experience I’ve had with the dumturz subjects, which is unfortunately, extensive.

It is occasionally amusing to watch the dumturz life experiences, the memories, that we pull out of these hideous creatures. They feel happiness and sadness and fear and hope and so many other useless things. Emotions. We Zomz, as we Astro Zombiez casually call ourselves, have them on occasion. For instance, I have feelings of revulsion towards dumturz, and tremendous relief that I am a Zom. Dumturz disgustingly live inside the same outer skin their whole lives, never peeling it off in its entirety each cycle in order to expose a fresh, gooey and desirable body. If I looked like them, with just one head and those tiny feeding orifices, I would welcome death. We are on our way to destroy them right now. That should make them happy.

The disconnecting of lives is of particular note among dumturz. The final disconnect from the physical body is rarely accepted with dignity by those left alive. Instead, they fall to screeching and allowing their faces to leak water. I anticipate much of this will occur today. Just when you thought they couldn’t get worse.

I give the orders to land. Finally. My gooz was cramping. Because our ship carries so much equipment, our journey took nearly three ^rrons^ rather than our normal two.

We have landed in a perfect spot, a wide, flat and empty place that we discovered in the memory of a large male we took recently. This place is his home and it is called Wyoming.

We learn useful information from the dumturz we capture. Besides their memories, we have learned what levels of oxygen we need to survive Earth’s atmosphere, how thick our suits needed to be, and the proper footwear for walking on Earth’s ludicrously hard surface. It doesn’t have the wonderful squish of Pphitt, which means it isn’t as good. We have also learned about their senses, and the reactions to heat and cold. Oh, and the dumturz digestive system. That’s what the anal probes were about a long time ago. We do it now just because it’s funny.

Well. This was unexpected. The dumturz’s memory did not have so many of them gathered here. He showed us a barren, isolated place. Why so many? Is this a ritual? All my sense apparatuses are experiencing a strange, high-pitched sound that hits the same notes over and over. I realize that this is called “music”, as I have watched their happy memories of it. This is the first time I’ve heard it. It is awful.

There are small buildings spaced over these grounds, and their mechanical toys are very large here, large enough for many dumturz to be inside them. One toy is so large it towers over all else. It is a circle standing up on end and turning. It could be an attempt to mimic our craft. If this is the case, it is a poor attempt. I take it as a sign that they will quickly bow to the Zomz.

I silently give my crew the order to put on their human skin mimicry suits, step into their Earth shoes and inflate them. I simply think and they follow my instructions to lick their sight apparatuses clean. Our ship’s portal is lowered.

I take my place in front and my crew members position themselves in a staggered row behind me because research on the dumturz subjects have told us that this presentation denotes importance. We walk down the delightfully squishy entryway to Earth. Very slowly. Their memories also tell us that this is a “dope” thing to do.

A group of them immediately encircle the entryway. They are large and small. I recognize the difference between the males and females. The females wear smaller coverings.

Being the highest ranking Zom to ever put all six balance growths on Earth, it is my duty to make an address. I knew some of their language already, but I became fluent on the way here. That is also why I will deliver my speech as loudly as I can, as most of our subjects have been from this area known as America, and deafening volumes are part of their language.

“Human people of Wyoming! I address those of you who understand my bellow, which is the most perfect example of your language!”

“If I thought that seeing members of your race one and two at a time was horrible enough, the sight of many of you together is so awful that I want to project my most recent sustenance everywhere! But listen to me! Pay attention to me!”

“We have come to show you how intelligent we are! Could you build this ship to travel the skies?! Could you learn our language of Pphitt-Pphuc?! No! You are beneath us in every way!”

As I spoke through one feeding orifice, the one on the other head smiled in a reassuring way, showing all the sharp teeth. The dumturz memories tells us this is friendly.

“Do not be afraid! Your deaths will be swift! We will see that you are unconscious before we kill you, just as you humans call “the best way to die”! Please form a line!”

The dumturz did not move. Perhaps I said the wrong words and they didn’t understand. No, this is impossible. But they are just standing there with their feeding orifices hanging open. This is the dumturz expression of horror. I have always enjoyed it, but right now I am carrying out an important mission. I am on a tight schedule.

I see a very, very small dumturz standing nearby, what they call ‘a child’. It is looking at me and breathing through its open feeding orifice. Revolting. It doesn’t look concerned, and it is possible that it is too immature to realize what I want. I extend my middle balance growths out. The dumturz gasp as my appendages keep extending until I have grasped this very small dumturz and drawn it back to me. I hold it up to examine it. I have only seen the dumturz of this size in memories. The adults carry sentimental thoughts and feelings about those of this size. I know that this tiny monster is ‘loved’ by a larger dumturz who will screech when I squeeze its small head so hard that it caves in.

I just want to provide a demonstration of how easy their deaths will be. The small dumturz looks at me with its two eyes and pants for air, and then it makes a slurping sound that I don’t like. I see that it has crusty air holes and a green liquid is seeping from them. I have never seen green liquid from a dumturz before. What could-

Ker-ker! This dumturz has exploded right in my faces! It drew its head back, brought it forward forcefully and unleashed an explosion that splattered my handsome and beautiful faces with thick green liquid. Ker-ker!

My second in command tries to help by letting off a wail of great grief, but this doesn’t remove the green goo from my orifices!

I drop the dumturz and it runs through the crowd and is gone. I will not give it the kindness of crushing its skull. I will kill it the old-fashioned way, by telling it sad stories until it curls up and dies.

Now I see that other dumturz are also exploding. They draw their heads back and forth, expelling green and yellow liquid towards my crew and I. Some of the dumturz are roaring, their bodies shaking, the sounds vibrating from their throats as they make violent “Cah! Cah!” sounds. We have never seen such dumturz behavior before.

Now that I think about it, our dumturz subjects are always unconscious as we carry out our investigations. Perhaps this violent behavior is why they have yet to be conquered. I don’t know. I don’t feel well.

I glance at my crew and I’m worried to see the same dull glassiness in their many, many sight apparatuses. It is time to make like the wind.

I silently give the order of retreat. My crew back-walks up the entryway in our perfect formation. As their leader, I back-walk last, and as I do, one of their surly almost-adults throws a ball of thick coldness at my second head, where it burns as it slides down. I would take a sample so that we can study it and learn how to disarm this mighty weapon, but it has changed into a liquid form.

Anyway, I really don’t feel well.

November’s Pick of the Month: It’s a toss-up between the 2024 Fangoria Chainsaw Awards on Shudder, which is hosted by David Dastmalchian and is some good cheap fun, and Sweetpea on Starz. This dark-comedy series follows a woman who was so bullied in school that she came to believe she was practically invisible. Her version of a life overhaul includes killing the a-holes she meets.

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Next week: meet a fixer in old Italy, and visit one of the most infamously haunted hotels in the US.