Madness at Madison Mall

by Jon Athan

  The guard frowned and shook his head, disquieted by the silence. He glanced at the door to his left. Although he was a young man, he had forgotten most of his childhood. In order to proceed with his life, he blocked the depressing memories, burying his childhood with his disappointing adulthood – it seemed like a fair trade.

  He opened the door and shined his light into the room – it was a bathroom. The room was small but effective. There was a sink and a medicine cabinet to the left, a toilet to the right, and a bathtub-shower combo on the parallel wall from the entrance. Since the shower curtains were open, he could see the bathroom was empty.

  Isaac sighed in relief, then he turned towards the door to his right. The door had blinds installed into it. He pulled the door open and found himself staring at several coats, hats, and shoe boxes – a storage closet. Aside from a skittering spider and piles of dust, the closet was empty. No one was playing hide-and-seek, no one was preparing to leave.

  Isaac whispered, “It's the same house. The same rotten house...”

  He trudged down the hall, then he opened the next door on the left. He nervously smiled as he stared into the bedroom. A wave of bittersweet emotions overwhelmed him, hitting him like a tsunami hitting an oblivious surfer. His skin crawled, causing the hairs on the nape of his neck to stand and waver. The jitters were uncontrollable.

  The child's bedroom was simple. There was a dresser with a CRT television to his left. A stack of PlayStation games sat next to the TV. There was a mountain of dirty laundry on the right. A twin-sized bed with blue bed sheets sat at the other end of the room. The bed was illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the neighboring window.

  Isaac bit down on his knuckle and whimpered. Tears streamed down his blushed cheeks as he leaned on the doorway. The bedroom ignited the memories of his past. He remembered the physical abuse he had endured from his stern father. He could feel a twinge across his back as he remembered the past. The pain across his back reflected his childhood.

  As a child, he was whipped with wire hangers and leather belts, deprived of food and water, and slapped and kicked due to his bad behavior. 'Bad' was defined by his abusive father and the circumstances at the time. Whenever his father was mad, for example, Isaac was also 'bad.' It gave the man a reason to hurt his child and release his rage.

  Isaac also suffered from emotional abuse as a child. Addicted to sleeping pills and afflicted with depression, his mother was a cold, distant woman. Her pain and frustration were often taken out on Isaac. In turn, Isaac's self-esteem and self-respect plummeted. How could you be a good boy if your mother never loved you?

  The guard staggered down to his knees, saliva dripping over his bottom lip and mucus pouring from his nostrils. He wheezed and groaned as he cried.

  He said, “I hate you. I hate all of you. You–You deserve everything you get – everything you got. You're responsible for... for everything. I hate you so much... but I... I still love you. I'm sorry...”

  Isaac covered his face with his trembling hands as he bellowed. He was not an emotional man. He was hardened by his tough childhood. Yet, he couldn't contain his emotions. Crying helped him push through the pain – it was a natural pain reliever.

  ***

  Isaac sniffled as he wiped his eyes and nose. He rubbed his moist hands on his pants as he stood from the floor. He cried for a minute, releasing the poison in his system. Although painful, the trek through his old home helped him confront his greatest fear – a fear of the past. His vision was finally cleared.

  As he leaned on the doorway, a creaking sound emerged from over his shoulder. The creaking was shrill and rhythmic. The sharp sound and pattern resembled the noise of a rusty swing swaying with the wind. With a furrowed brow, he glanced at the door behind him – the final room. He recognized the ruckus from his past.

  As he stared at the door, Isaac whispered, “That's my mom's room. Tha–That's my parents' room, isn't it?” He glanced back into his room and whispered, “What day is it? What... What day is it here?”

  To his disappointment, he couldn't find a calendar in the room. His phone displayed the day of his first shift at the mall. Although it was a bizarre concept, he wanted to believe he traveled back in time. A memory, he thought, I must be inside of an old memory. The theory was outlandish, but the night had already taken a toll on his psyche. He was willing to believe anything.

  Isaac inhaled deeply, then he approached his mother's bedroom. He planted his ear on the door and listened. The creaking sound continued to echo from the sealed room. He sniveled and trembled as he remembered a day from the past. He fought hard to forget the day of his mother's suicide. Although he despised his mother and her foul mouth, the tragic event took a toll on his mind when he was a child.

  Hatred aside, she was his mother – and he couldn't change that fact.

  The guard whispered, “It's that day, isn't it? That day...”

  Isaac clenched his jaw, then he shoved the door open. His breath was vacuumed from his lungs as he stared into the master bedroom. Sickened by his discovery, his legs wobbled and his breathing intensified. The horrific revelation made him feel lightheaded. Wheezing and groaning, he struggled to keep his composure. He held the doorknob and took a knee, trying his best to stay conscious.

  The master bedroom was simple – like any other domestic bedroom. There was a queen-sized bed to the right, a dresser and a television to the left, and bay windows on the wall across from the entrance. Of course, there were two nightstands beside the bed, too. An open bottle of sleeping pills, a bloody straight razor, and a lamp sat on one of the nightstands.

  There was one anomaly in the room, though: the woman swinging from a noose tied to the ceiling fan.

  Isaac was shocked by his mother's appearance. He was tormented by her suicide – the suicide he tried to forget.

  The raven-haired woman's neck was black and blue due to the thick rope. Her wrists were cut vertically, sliced across her forearms. The cuts followed her veins, forming deep, wide gashes on her arms. The blood from the grisly lacerations was smeared on her white nightgown. Blood dripped from her fingertips, too, plopping on the ground with each twitch.

  Sobbing and shuddering, Isaac stared up at his mother and said, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know what to do. I–I... I didn't know how to stop it. I was only a kid...” He glanced around the room, searching for a way to change history. He said, “I can... I can still change it. I can save you and I can... I can get you the help you need. We can stop him from beating us, too. Yeah, we can be a happy family for once.”

  Isaac stumbled through the room. He grabbed the straight razor from the nightstand, then he turned towards his mother. He rubbed his forehead as he watched her, stunned. She swung with each slight draft in the room. The wooden ceiling fan and rope creaked with each swing. Her eyes were sealed, her body was stiff.

  Eyes brimming with tears, Isaac gently touched his mother's mutilated forearms. He caressed the skin around the lacerations. Although the blood was relatively fresh, the woman's skin was already pale and frigid – colder than ice. Her lips were completely discolored and her cheeks were blue.

  Isaac stared at the rope and whispered, “I can cut you down, right? We... We can get you some help. We can fix this.”

  ***

  Before he could even touch the rope, Isaac gasped and hopped as his mother's eyes opened. Wide-eyed, he teetered in reverse, struggling to keep his balance. He could feel his heart pounding across his limbs, as if he were feeling the ground-shaking bass at a concert. He stopped as his back hit the wall near the door.

  The strangled woman grinned from ear-to-ear as she watched the security guard. She blinked in a kittenish manner as she tilted her head left-and-right. She had an unusually impish demeanor – mischievous like a misbehaving child. She wasn't the lethargically depressed woman from the past. She had evolved into a malevolent being.

  In a raspy tone, the woman asked, “How's my baby doing?” She simpered as she swung fr
om the noose. She mockingly pouted and asked, “Is he feeling better? Are his feelings still hurt 'cause mommy said some 'bad' words? Aww, my poor baby.”

  Isaac sniffled and shook his head. He stared down at himself and said, “This isn't happening. It's not real. It's... It's all in my damn head! I'm crazy! I've gone crazy! Fuck!”

  “You're not crazy, Ike. You're sane and that's the problem,” the woman said. She kicked her feet, swinging faster as she hung from the ceiling fan. She said, “Don't worry, sweetie. It's so much fun around here. I adore living the same damn day over and over. I love dying like this... because of you. I think you'll like it, too. You'll fit right–”

  “Stop. Please, just stop this.”

  Isaac glanced up at his mother, terrified. He was already haunted by the past that he tried to bury and he didn't want his mother to open more wounds. He was willing to travel into the land of the forgotten on his own, but he didn't want to see his mother. At heart, he felt like she wasn't worth remembering. Yet, he couldn't help but feel guilty. He was conflicted by his contradicting emotions.

  How could you feel guilty for hurting the person you hate?

  Isaac said, “This is wrong. It's all wrong.”

  The woman said, “You don't have to pretend to feel 'guilty,' little Isaac. I know you let me die on purpose. You did it to help yourself. I don't blame you. If I ever saw the opportunity to help myself at your expense... I would have taken it. Like mother, like son... Right?” Isaac stared into his mother's hollow eyes, saddened – don't say that, mom. The woman said, “It's a beautiful sight, isn't it? Watching your mother die again... You must be so happy.”

  “Stop it. Please, just stop this. I'm sorry. Okay? I've apologized for this over and over. I've apologized a million times already, damn it! I... I never meant to hurt you or anyone else. That's the truth.”

  “Oh, shut your mouth, you damn brat. Grow a damn spine, you little faggot. Don't come into my room with your pissy attitude. What have I told you about that? You were raised better than that, boy. You man up before I take your manhood away. Understood?”

  Isaac nervously chuckled as he staggered towards the door. Faggot – the word was disgusting, but it didn't bother his mother. She used that word to insult her son when he was a boy. His mother had returned to her vile self – a wicked witch without any respect for anyone or anything. She was indifferent to social norms, she didn't care to present herself as 'politically correct.'

  Miserable people spread their misery like a contagious disease – inadvertently or purposely.

  Isaac said, “You... You don't control me anymore. You can't hurt me. Look at yourself. Huh? You're dead. You can't do anything to stop me. I'm... I'm going to leave this place and I'm going to find my daughter. When I'm out of here, I'm going to find your grave and piss on it, you sick bitch.”

  Grinning from ear-to-ear, his mother said, “Oh, I like the sound of that. Please, make sure you're drunk. I might be able to taste some of the alcohol through your piss.” She held her hands over her mouth as she giggled and kicked her dangling feet. She huffed, then she said, “Don't kid yourself, stupid boy. You're a worthless piece of shit. You always have been. You want to know something else? Hmm? You're not going to find that little cunt because she's already dead! She's dead, Ike! You're too late!”

  “Shut up! Shut your mouth! I'm going to find her and–”

  “She's dead, boy, and Bugaboo is going to make you pay for that.”

  Isaac froze in fear.

  The woman said, “That's right. Bugaboo is coming for you! Bugaboo is coming!”

  Isaac held his hands over his ears as he stumbled out of the room. His mother's devious cackle seeped past his hands and drilled into his ears. He lurched down the hall and pushed through the door. The guard tumbled into the maintenance corridor. He quickly crawled towards the fleshy wall, then he glanced back at the home's hallway. He could still hear his mother's sinister laughter as the door slowly closed by itself.

  Staring at the sealed door, Isaac whispered, “Bugaboo... It can't be. She–She must be lying. She always lied to me when I was a kid and she's still doing it now. She... She's evil. He can't be back. I... I got rid of him for good... didn't I?”

  Isaac was overwhelmed by the uncertainty. He was terrified of the man with the cow head. Merely thinking about the man caused him to shiver. Yet, his curiosity got the best of him. He wanted to confront his inner-demons – once and for all. He slipped and slid towards the door. He turned the knob, but to no avail – the door was locked. He tugged and pushed, trying to pry the door open, but his efforts were in vain.

  Mystified, Isaac stepped away from the door and whispered, “How is this possible? Who's doing this to me?” He stared down the corridor to his left and shouted, “Why are you doing this to me?! What did I do to deserve this?!”

  Isaac shook his head and sobbed as he waited for a response. Much like the rest of the night, he found himself talking to shadows. He was alone in the abandoned mall, trapped with his innermost demons.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Second Door – She Wanted It

  A shrill creak echoed through the corridor, meandering down the desolate hall. The high-pitched squeal, like the cry of a pig in a slaughterhouse, served as an invitation. The invitation was personalized, too. It could only be used by the tormented man in the shopping mall – Isaac Luna.

  Isaac glanced towards his left, staring over at the origin of the noise. He could see a slit of light down the hall. With the creaking sound, the light spread through the corridor. The neighboring door was slowly opening, calling to the guard. The invitation was too difficult to ignore.

  As he shambled towards the light like a man having a near-death experience, Isaac asked, “Where are you taking me? What are you trying to show me? Huh? What is all of this about?”

  Isaac didn't expect an answer – and he didn't receive one. The world had abandoned him long ago, pushing him deeper into a pit of despair. Even his nightmares refused to acknowledge his questions. He shook his head and whimpered as he approached the door.

  The security guard stood in the doorway, squinting as the light blurred his vision. As his eyesight adjusted to the light, he found himself staring into the hallway of a dilapidated high school. From the cracked, vandalized walls to the flood of trash on the ground, the building had clearly been abandoned long ago.

  There were tall lockers on the walls to the left and right. Most of the lockers were broken, left without doors or locks. Festive banners hung on the walls above the lockers, announcing a homecoming dance. The banners were tattered, riddled with holes as if they were shot with machine guns. Garbage wrappers, ripped clothing, crumpled papers, and torn fliers were scattered across the floor.

  Yet again, Isaac was baffled by his discovery. Feet firmly planted in the mall corridor, he leaned forward into the school hallway and examined the new area. He glanced at the blue door to his left, then at the parallel door – classrooms. Sunshine poured through the shattered windows above the doors, dousing the filthy hallway with a reassuring warmth.

  Bewildered, Isaac whispered, “This isn't my school, is it? I don't... I can't remember. I didn't leave it like this. No, it wasn't like this. It can't be. What's going on here?”

  From the first classroom to his left, a woman with a sultry voice said, “Isaac, I'm so happy to see you again. Come to me, sweetie. Please, come see me again.”

  Isaac stuttered, “Wh–Who's there?”

  The woman did not respond. Isaac trudged into the hallway, lunging over the trash. He glanced at the broken lockers and ripped banners, confused. With each step, he began to recognize the area. The school was certainly not the same, but certain objects caused images to flash in the guard's mind – memories of the past. The celebratory banners reminded him of the school dances from his time as a teacher.

  Isaac stopped at the first door to the left. There was a sign on the left side of the door. The sign read: Class 108A. Although the dilapidate
d status of the school didn't ring any bells, the number and letter alarmed the troubled man.

  Isaac said, “This... This is my classroom.”

  He grimaced as he took his first step forward and entered the room, overwhelmed by his bittersweet memories. Teary-eyed, he glanced at the whiteboard to his right. He ran his fingers across the dusty board as he approached the large desk at the corner of the room – his desk. From his desk, he could see the entire classroom.

  Like the rest of the tumbledown school, the classroom was vandalized. The walls were decorated with vibrant graffiti. The windows were also scrawled with the street art, cracked and even shattered. There were seven desks in the room. Three of the desks were overturned, the others remained in their rightful positions.

  As he slid his fingertips across his desk, Isaac coughed to clear his throat, then he said, “Listen up, kids. Today, we'll... we'll be heading to the computer lab to work on your papers. I'll be around to help you out if you have any questions. You know when they're due, don't you?” He glanced up at the remaining desks and said, “I thought so. Remember, late papers automatically drop your grades. Talk to me before the due date and we can work something out.”

  Isaac sighed as he reminisced about his days as a teacher. Work something out – he would never admit it, but the phrase was more beneficial for the females in his class. He served his time for biting the poison fruit, though. As far as he was concerned, his deviant urges were strong and he suffered from a moment of weakness.

  There was something about teenage girls that attracted weak men. There was something about older men with power that attracted naive girls.

  The security guard took a deep breath and walked towards the desk at the back. The desk was one of the four remaining on all of its legs. He ran his fingers across the table as he walked around the attached chair. A heart and two names were carved into the chipped wood. The message in the heart read: Isaac + Karla.

  Isaac knocked on the table and said, “I'm sorry about everything, Karla. Like I told the judge, like I told the world, it was all a mistake. I hope you're doing good, kiddo. Shit, I hope you're doing better than me.”