Carl bobs for more mints, and more bottle caps bounce on the pavement until the movie finally advances to party night. Stan’s farmhouse sits dramatically on the edge of the crater. Carl recognizes the two-story wooden farmhouse as belonging to the Fullers. It was one of the many places his mother used to clean before her back got too bad. Stan and Sam are in the kitchen spiking a bowl of punch. It’s not the same kitchen Carl’s mother used to scrub. Based on the stucco walls and Spanish tile, the interior shots were done somewhere in southern California. That doesn’t bother Carl at all. He knows a movie as great as this one can’t be judged by such details. Something serious bubbles under the surface of the story. Something in the subtext. He knows it’s there, though he can’t quite put his finger on it. “How’s the summer treating you, Carl?” Carl is slow to notice the voice. When he pulls his eyes from the screen, Becca Cline is standing right next to him, a box of popcorn in her hand. He didn’t even notice her going to the concession window. “It’s a hot one,” he says. She tilts her head. “Hot one?” “The summer. You asked about the summer.” “I asked about you,” she says. “Still working at the video store?” He nods. He can’t remember the last time she’s talked to him. “I work in the back most days, but if you ask for me, I can find the best movies for you. Ever seen Trout Rodeo? It’s a good one.” Before she can respond, Wade shouts, “Show us your tits!” at the newest brunette on screen. Andy laughs hysterically. The shouts of keep it down accompanied by irritated honking only makes him laugh harder and louder. Becca shakes her head. “Classy, aren’t they?” Carl figures silence is enough of an answer. Becca takes off Andy’s cap, curls the bill, and shoves it in the back pocket of her Jordaches. “Some days, I really have to wonder what I’m doing. Hey, you’re friendly with Scar-y Joe, aren’t you?” Carl shrugs his shoulders. “I mean you come here every week, right? You probably know him better than anybody.” “Maybe,” admits Carl. “Did you see his headphones?” Carl nods. “They’re not plugged into anything. The cord is just dangling.” “So?” “Isn’t that weird? I was curious to see what he was listening to but I didn't see his Walkman. The cord runs to nowhere.” Carl swats at another moth. “I guess that is strange.” “Ever notice how nobody ever talks about him? My parents, they’ll talk about what a shame it is he turned out like he did, but they never say what actually happened.” “Maybe they don’t know.” She rolls her eyes. “Please. You can’t fart behind a tree without everybody in town knowing about it. Anyway, good talking to you.” “Same here,” he says, though what he wishes he could say is, “Don’t leave.” Using the back tire as a step-stool, she climbs into the truck. Carl’s eyes turn to the screen. The party is in full swing now. A reverbed guitar blares through the speakers, and the camera zooms in and out before turning upside down — the director’s way of saying, Rockin’ party. The view cuts to a girl, topless, of course, and in bed with Sam. Her name is Mimi, and she and Sam pass a joint back and forth while saying things like groovy and far out. Suddenly annoyed, Mimi jams a finger in her ear. A concerned Sam asks what’s the matter, and she whines that it itches. The camera zooms way in, so close all you can see is finger and ear and hair. A vaudevillian sound effect whistles through the speaker, and the view zooms back out. “It’s better now,” she says in a dull monotone. Somebody knocks on the door, and she answers it, naked. It’s another girl, a cheerleader who has shown up in several of the previous scenes. Mimi stabs her in the chest, and the cheerleader collapses. “No way!” shouts Andy. “You saw her, she didn’t have a knife a second ago.” Carl tunes Andy out. He’s starting to understand what’s going on. The teens in this movie, it’s like some of them are possessed. Not in control of themselves. The alien parasites that rode that meteor to Earth must enter through the ear. That itching sensation is them breaking through and latching onto the brain. One of the kids goes Van Gogh and slices off an ear. Another boy fires up a John Deere and runs over a pair of lovers. This movie is so awesome! Still, the party continues. Andy grumbles about how Sam and Stan seem oblivious to what’s going on. “He watched his girlfriend kill the cheerleader, and he’s acting like nothing happened,” he says. True to form, Sam keeps cranking the Hi-Fi and adding more spike to the punch. The scene cuts to town. The sheriff is at his desk, and the phone rings. He’s an actor, of course, but the police station is the real one on the corner of Walnut and Shade. The sheriff picks up and gets an earful from a panicked teen, but Carl doesn’t hear a word of it. His jaw is dropped and his root beer is in danger of slipping through his fingers. In the background is a maid. She empties a trash can and rests a hand on her belly. “Isn’t that your mom, Cramer?” calls Andy. It is, and inside the rounded belly is Carl himself. He can’t speak as a cold chill falls over him. This isn’t a coincidence. He knows it down in his core. Jasper Reid, the director, did this on purpose. He knew Carl would be watching one day. The message is unmistakable. Incontrovertible. That is his mom. That is him in her belly. On screen, more murders plague the house
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