The Mary Shelley Club

by Goldy Moldavsky

  “Thank you, Ms. Chavez!”

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Hello to you, too,” she said, and twirled. “I came to get you for the party.”

  “I told you I wasn’t going.”

  “Yeah, but you always say that.”

  “And I always mean it.”

  “And yet you always end up at a party.”

  “Only because you drag me.”

  “Exactly,” Saundra said. She walked across the living room and back, as if determined to show just how far latex could stretch. Like, there was really no need for the leg lunges (in fact, they looked kind of dangerous in those stiletto boots), but Saundra went to town anyway. “This costume is too sweet not to be seen.”

  “The attention to detail is really something,” Mom said. “Rachel, I think you should go!”

  “I always knew I liked you, Ms. Chavez.” Saundra pointed her toes and ran her hand up and down the length of herself like she was both the model and the prize on a game show. “So let’s go find you a costume already!”

  * * *

  I almost twisted my ankle stepping out of the Lyft, which was majorly pathetic, as I was in kitten heels barely an inch off the ground. Saundra, surprisingly surefooted in her boots, helped steady me.

  We stood in front of one of the many warehouses in Industry City, a part of Brooklyn I’d never even heard of that sat right next to the Gowanus Bay. Looking around, I saw there wasn’t much to the so-called city, just rows upon rows of the same boxy buildings, packed neatly like extra-large shipping containers with walkways between them. Some of them were stores, others looked like office buildings. The one we were in front of had no signs of any kind. It could’ve been an abandoned loft where serial killers disposed of bodies. Which I guess made it the perfect place for rich kids to party.

  At home, Saundra had rummaged through my closet, flinging clothing around until she declared everything basic. My mom offered up her closet, and that was where I found it. As soon as I saw the frilly periwinkle dress, the idea for the costume materialized in my head.

  “It’s hideous,” Saundra had groaned.

  “It’s perfect.”

  My mom’s beloved Cincinnati Reds baseball cap had been shoved into the corner of her closet, unworn since about 2016, but tonight it was coming out of retirement. I had the dress, I had the hat, all that I had left to do was plait my hair into two neat braids.

  “What are you supposed to be?” Saundra had asked when I stepped out of the bathroom, ready to go.

  “I’m P.J. Soles.”

  “You’re BJ Souls? Is that, like, an appliance store? A law firm?”

  “What? No, I’m P.J. Soles, the actress. You know, from Carrie? The mean girl who wears a baseball cap the entire movie? Even to prom?”

  Saundra stared at me blankly. “Carrie? The movie?”

  “Yes!”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Okay, let’s just go.”

  At the warehouse, I couldn’t stop fidgeting, but I didn’t know if it was because my dress itched or because I was about to step into uncharted territory. I’d already been to a couple of parties this school year and it’d been weird, to say the least. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to whatever fun surprises might jump out at me here. But there was no turning back now. Saundra had her claws in me—literally: Catwoman’s black-polished nails were digging into my wrist. I had no choice but to follow.

  It was dark inside the warehouse, and empty too, with peeling damp walls straight out of Saw. But we followed the sounds of booming bass to a stairwell at the back. The second floor was a totally different vibe, with bodies bathed in strobe lights, and house music that sounded like wild animals thrown into a ball pit. On a little platform was some kid whose ticket to this party seemed to be the fact that his parents had clearly paid for DJ lessons. He stood behind his equipment and bobbed his head while his Beats headphones rested uselessly around his neck.

  But the cherry on top was that there were masks everywhere. The familiar tingling started crawling up my arms, my neck, my cheeks. Flashes of my nightmare from a few nights before pushed their way to the front of my mind. It was hot in here, too noisy, too many people. Now I was the one digging my nails into Saundra’s wrist.

  This happened to me sometimes in large crowds, the sense that the walls were closing in. But it was ten times worse with everyone wearing disguises. I could feel the panic coming. It threatened to swallow me up.

  “Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea,” I said. But of course it was too loud to hear anything well, and when Saundra turned to me, she just nodded enthusiastically.

  “I know, right?!” she shouted over the noise.

  We made our way through the throng and I tried again, louder this time. “Can we find a quiet corner or something?”

  “Quiet corner,” Saundra snorted. “Do you want people to start calling you Quiet-Corner Rachel? Because they will!”

  I tugged at the hem of my frilly dress. What kind of unbreathable fabric was this, anyway? And then, a darker thought: What if I fainted? What if they didn’t call me Quiet-Corner Rachel, but Faints-at-Parties Rachel? The corners of the room started to get hazy and white. The fear was settling in. “I need to go.”

  “What?” Saundra’s voice came distant.

  “I need to—”

  There was a tap on my shoulder and the jolt was just the defibrillator I needed. I spun around, breathing hard and suddenly very alert, the edges of my vision crystallizing back into focus.

  Felicity stared at me. “Excuse me,” she said.

  She wore a towel secured tightly under her armpits, the rest of her bare skin painted in various shades of gray. Her usual bob was tucked under a slick pixie wig. But the pièce de résistance was the shower curtain. She must’ve been wearing a harness beneath the towel that held the rod over her head, and the white curtain itself was spray-painted with the shape of a shadowy figure, knife in hand. She looked like she’d just walked out of a silver screen.

  “Psycho.” If there was a touch of marvel in my voice, it had been fully earned. Felicity not only had the best costume here, she had figured out a way—thanks to that shower curtain—to kept people at arm’s length. Everyone had to clear a path so she could pass by. It suited her. And it made me jealous.

  “She didn’t mean that,” Saundra said quickly, misinterpreting what I’d said, but Felicity ignored her. Saundra and I both stepped back so that Felicity could get by. She looked me up and down before saying, “Nice costume.” Then she was off, swallowed up by the crowd.

  “That was mean,” Saundra said. “There’s no reason to be sarcastic.”

  “Who invited Norma Watson?” Thayer was suddenly beside me, looking approvingly at my outfit.

  “Who’s Norma?” Saundra said. “She’s supposed to be somebody named Carrie. And who are you supposed to be? A toddler?”

  Thayer’s costume consisted of overalls, a rainbow-striped thermal shirt, a rubber butcher knife, and his hair sprayed with red dye. He was obviously Chucky, and I obviously needed to introduce Saundra to some horror classics.

  Thayer shot Saundra a horrified look.

  “I didn’t know how badly you needed the club,” he whispered in my ear, hand on my forearm. “But it’s clear to me now.”

  I felt oddly defensive about Saundra. We may not have had anything in common, but she had stood by me even when Lux was breathing down my neck. And unlike the rest of the club, she actually spoke to me at school. I would’ve told him as much, but he was already on the move.

  “Gotta go—my Bride of Chucky awaits.” I watched Thayer walk toward a boy wearing a blond wig and a leather jacket over a white dress and realized I was smiling. And that was a pretty good sign that whatever panic and anxiety I’d been feeling before had subsided.

  The masks around me weren’t menacing. With a clearer head, I could see that there weren’t that many masks anyway. Mostly face paint, headbands with animal ears, and
the occasional glued-on open wound. Nothing was out to get me except my own imagination.

  I turned to Saundra. “So are we going to dance, or what?”

  “Hell yeah!” Saundra giggled and jumped into my arms. Her delight was infectious.

  28

  SAUNDRA’S STILETTOS DID not impede her dancing at all, and I grabbed onto her just to stay afloat in the crowd. I let the music wash over me, let it fill my ears and head and stomach, feeling it thrum through my skin like I was a human speaker. Just as my feet were getting tired and I was running out of breath, I felt a tap on the shoulder for the second time tonight.

  Freddie’s grin was wide, and I could feel my cheeks stretching with my own smile. He wore a homemade costume, too: a fedora, a red-and-green-striped sweater, and a glove with plastic silver knives taped to the fingers. He also had a name tag, in case it wasn’t obvious who he was.

  HELLO my name is Krueger.

  “Well if it isn’t the man of my nightmares.”

  “My friends and I were supposed to dress up as famous directors but I was like, nah!” he said over the booming voice of Pitbull telling us to get wild. “Anyway, you came!”

  I’d texted him from the Lyft to let him know I was on my way. It felt good, knowing he had been on the lookout for me. “Saundra needed me!”

  “I’m glad! You look great! P.J. Soles?”

  “See?” I said, rapping my fingers against Saundra’s arm. “People get it!”

  Saundra nodded, but she was distracted by trying to teach an astronaut how to dance.

  I looked down at my outfit. “It was the best I could put together on short notice!”

  “Maybe this tardy will burn out butter for two.”

  Huh? The bass had ticked up a decibel or four, and I couldn’t make out what Freddie had said. I leaned in, positioning my ear closer to his mouth so he could repeat himself.

  “Maybe this party will turn out better for you!” he said. Then he winced and rolled his eyes. “It was a Carrie reference. Sorry, that was lame!”

  I laughed. “This party is slightly better than Carrie’s prom! But only slightly.”

  “Quick, you wanna pour a bucket of pig’s blood on someone’s head? I’ll be your John Travolta.”

  My lips curled. “You’re the sweetest.”

  “GET A ROOM!”

  Freddie and I both turned to Saundra, who was currently draped over the spaceman and had apparently heard every word of the too-obvious effort we were putting into our witty banter. But this was the first time Freddie and I had seen each other since the night in his room, and I couldn’t be sure anymore if my skin was vibrating from the music or from being so close to him.

  Saundra said something indecipherable but clearly inappropriate and began to slink away with the astronaut.

  “Wanna dance?” Freddie asked. I nodded and pulled him into the crowd.

  It was amazing how different I felt now compared to when I had first walked into this place, with my anxiety threatening to stifle me. Dancing with Saundra had taken my mind off things, allowed my thoughts to go blank, but dancing with Freddie—his uncoordinated jerking moves and carefree bobbing—made me want to stay in the moment.

  I watched the way the strobe lights set the edge of Freddie’s jaw ablaze with silver, could see the tip of his tongue as he parted his lips because the dancing was making him pant. I studied a bead of sweat forming above his top lip until it spilled over his Cupid’s bow and disappeared into his smile.

  The crowd made us occasionally bump into each other. His hip against mine, my elbow in his side. But I couldn’t blame the others for the way my fingers reached for him. Clutching the stripes of his sweater. Grazing the belt loops of his pants. They were tiny touches of torture. A tease—a taste of what I wanted when I was dying of hunger.

  “We probably shouldn’t be dancing,” I said, swallowing. “Fraternization rules.”

  “You’re right.” Freddie took my hand and led me away.

  * * *

  I’d found a quiet corner in this warehouse after all. My back was against the polished concrete wall and Freddie was against me, fraternization rules shattered. I gripped the back of his neck, my fingertips tangling in his hair. I guess he did like my kissing style, because his mouth lingered on mine, careful and urgent. I nipped his lips with my teeth. With my eyes closed, there was nothing but the feel of him and the muted, pulsing bass.

  Making out with Freddie was like watching the best scary movie. Every nerve ending felt raw, exposed; my stomach flipped, shaky. He was both the thing seizing my heart and the air all at once. I put my palms against his chest and pushed him just far enough for me to catch my breath. I could feel Freddie’s chest expanding beneath my touch.

  “What happened to the unofficial no fraternization rule?” I said.

  “‘Unofficial’ being the operative word.” Freddie brought his index finger to my bottom lip, like even if he wasn’t kissing it he still needed access. “And anyway, everyone breaks rules at parties. It’s all about crossing social divides.”

  “And what social divides are we crossing?”

  Freddie tilted his head from side to side, thinking. “The somewhat geeky but inherently suave guy dances with the mysterious, beautiful new girl.”

  I could feel a tingling in my cheeks. “Mysterious?”

  Freddie leaned in again. “Not the operative word.”

  I would never again resist when Saundra suggested we go out. I would stay here all night.

  But then a gaggle of wannabe film directors rushed toward us, all flanking Freddie. He tried to catch my eye over their heads but Scorsese (the costume was mostly eyebrows), Tarantino (chin), and Spielberg (Jaws shirt) all grabbed hold and more or less lifted him off the ground. Tisch Boys liked to go hard-core.

  “We’re going to finish this conversation later!” Freddie called, but the directors had already dragged him a significant distance, and he was too far now to hear my answer.

  I grinned as I waved him off and began searching for Saundra. Maybe because I was actually enjoying myself for once, the universe chose to knock me down a peg. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an actual ghoul coming my way.

  Lux was dressed as some sort of sexy farm animal. Given the height of the ears on her headband, she could’ve been anything from a bunny to a jackass. It was anybody’s guess. She approached like an unexpected gust of wind, ready to blow my candle out. I was as good as fizzle and smoke.

  Lux flicked the bill of my red cap. “Trying to make Halloween great again?”

  She was lucky there weren’t any scissors within reach.

  “You know, I almost forgot about you, freak. But then I remembered how much I hated you when I saw you sneaking around my boyfriend’s house. So I did more research.” She paused dramatically, savoring my reaction.

  “We know Matthew Marshall is dead,” she said, counting this point off on her finger. “And we know you’re obsessed with him because you go instantly psycho at the mention of his name.” She ticked this off on another finger. “But the details of his death are what’s really interesting.”

  “Stop.” I said, even though I knew my distress was her ammo, the lighter fluid to her raging flames.

  “No,” she said. “We’re just getting to the good part. He was stabbed to death.”

  She would never stop. I understood that now.

  “Did Bram tell you?” I blurted out.

  Something in Lux changed, a minuscule flicker that made her go rigid.

  “What does Bram have to do with this? You two have talked about this?”

  I didn’t know what she was playing at. What she and Bram were possibly playing at, but I didn’t have to stay to hear it.

  I turned to leave but Lux’s viselike grip dug into my elbow. “Stay away from my boyfriend.”

  It wasn’t clear if Lux knew everything, but she knew enough to concoct an epic rumor. And if she was worried about me and her boyfriend, I could count on it being the kind of rumor t
hat would destroy me.

  I yanked my elbow back, my walk turning into a brisk run. The claustrophobia was back, worse than before. There were too many bodies in my way. Ghosts and athletes and sexpot puppies, all gyrating to the music. I weaved around them but still bumped into most. I’d been in this world a minute ago and now nothing felt more incongruous than this party.

  But then I stopped, frozen in place by what I saw. Amongst all the costumed partiers there was someone else. Another person in a costume but not like anyone else’s. He was just standing there, watching me. All in black, and wearing a mask.

  The same white mask from my nightmares.

  The one from my past.

  No. I was seeing things. It was my fear, my anxiety, my mind playing games. I was panicking and my mind was just taking the thing I was most afraid of—the thing that had crawled into my nightmares—and convincing me it was real.

  But I needed out. I started moving again, but everywhere I turned, there he was, always just a few yards away, always still and watching me. The beating lights were knocking me off-balance. I blinked and whipped around, looking for the other lights, the ones that spelled out the exits, but soon everything was a dizzying display of flashing red.

  I quickened my pace, but so did the masked figure. No matter how far from him I got, he got closer. Now I was pushing past people, arms knocking against shoulder blades, elbows in ribs. The guy in the mask, he moved faster, too. He shoved through the crowd just as I did, and everyone he pushed out of the way glared or shouted at him. Which meant they saw him, too.

  Or was that just my mind again? All the faces around me began to morph together, ghosts and mummies and dirty looks from behind face paint bleeding together into the same rubbery white.

  I was getting closer to the back of the warehouse, closer to where I thought the stairs were. But every time I turned my head, he was right behind me, three yards away, then one yard away. He swiped at me and missed.

  I ran faster. My breathing hitched, coming shorter and shorter, the red flashing in my eyes. I reached the edge but there were no stairs, no exit, just a high gray wall. I spun, looking for a way out, kept spinning, searching, until someone grabbed my upper arms. I would’ve screamed but I was petrified.