Madness at Madison Mall

by Jon Athan

  The troubled man vigorously rubbed his eyes and swiped at his face, hopelessly trying to awaken from his nightmare. He hoped the simple motions would clear his vision. He wanted to see Melanie's innocent face again. To his dismay, her face remained thick and droopy. She was no longer a remnant of reality.

  She was part of the mall. She was always part of the mall.

  Isaac asked, “How... How do I end it?”

  Melanie responded, “It's easy, daddy. It's very easy.”

  The child pointed to her left. Isaac glanced towards his right, then he furrowed his brow. A decrepit confessional hugged the wall, residing below a mosaic stained glass portrait. The small structure looked as if it would crumble from the slightest touch. The structure conjured nothing but skepticism in the guard.

  Isaac asked, “What does that have to do with anything? What do they want? Huh? How do I escape the damn mall?” Although he knew the answer before even asking the question, Isaac stuttered, “I–Is there a secret passage in there or something? Is that it?”

  Melanie explained, “If you want to leave this place, you have to confess.”

  “Confess? I have nothing to confess. You hear me? I've already apologize for my past actions, I've already been punished. I served my fucking time! You know that, though, don't you? I'm sure your mother and Tracey have told you all about that, Melanie. You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for them. You wouldn't have betrayed me if it wasn't for them...”

  “I know what you did, but you're wrong. I'm not Melanie, daddy.”

  Isaac's breath was stolen from his lungs with the simple statement. A simple sentence knocked the wind out of him like a blow to the stomach from a heavyweight boxer. He stared down at the floor, eyes brimming with tears as he contemplated the possibilities. His thoughts were muddled, stampeding over each other in his fractured mind.

  He turned towards the child and asked, “If you're not Melanie, then who are you?”

  Although her lips blended with the rest of her distorted face, the child said, “I'm the one you didn't want.”

  A tear streaming down his cheek, Isaac stuttered, “I–I see. And... And, what do you want from me?”

  “I've already told you, daddy. I–”

  “Please, don't call me 'daddy' anymore,” Isaac interrupted. “I'm sorry, but don't... just don't call me that.”

  The child lowered her head and took a step back, disappointed. She said, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you angry again.”

  “Don't apologize. It's not your fault. Please, just tell me how to get out of here.”

  “I told you already. You can leave after you confess.”

  Isaac glanced at the confessional and said, “I don't see how that would work. I'm agnostic, kiddo. This... This won't help me.”

  “It's not about religion. It's about you. Bugaboo wouldn't be chasing you if you didn't want him to.”

  Isaac was baffled by the explanation. He scratched his eyebrow as he stared at the confessional. He wasn't a religious man. He didn't pray at night, he didn't go to church on weekends. Frankly, he likely spent less than a minute a month thinking about religion. He didn't mean any disrespect by it. It simply wasn't a priority.

  Isaac said, “I don't understand. If I didn't want him to? What does that mean?”

  The girl explained, “You're doing this to yourself because you know you're guilty. You're hurting yourself and it won't stop until you let it all go. You can only leave after you've confessed. You can only break free when your conscience let's you.” She pointed at the confessional and said, “Go. Free yourself and let us rest.”

  Isaac sighed and shook his head, unnerved. Although doubt dominated his mind, he figured it was worth a shot. In his shattering mind, the outlandish theory seemed logical. He took another deep breath, then he trudged towards the confessional.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Confessions

  Isaac opened the door on the right and examined the confessional. To control the madness, he had hoped to find a priest inside of the booth. He wanted to test the theory and prove he was the creator of the mall's inhabitants. Unfortunately, the booth was empty. His guilty conscience might have created a sinister plot to punish him, but his conscious mind did not have the ability to do the same.

  Isaac said, “I can't stop it on my own. It's... It's impossible. Right?” He glanced back at the girl, disappointed. He whispered, “I guess she's right. I don't have any other options anyway.”

  The security guard nodded at the child, then he closed the door. He approached the door to his left. He was reluctant to barge into the room, but he couldn't think of another idea. He knew no one would be able to hear him, but the idea of confessing made him feel giddy. Confessing meant he had committed a sin. His lawyers' advice reverberated through his mind again.

  Always uphold your innocence, never self-incriminate.

  As he opened the door, Isaac muttered, “Damn it. There's no other way. I... I have to do it like this. I have to go through all of it again if I want to end this. There's no turning back. Shit.”

  He entered the small booth. He took one final glance at the girl. He couldn't read her facial expression, but he could see the child waving at him. She didn't seem to harbor any resentment towards him. He waved at her, then he closed the door. He carefully sat on the creaky wooden chair, as if he were afraid it would crumble under his weight. He shuffled in the seat and glanced at the partition to his left.

  Teeth chattering like a wind-up toy, Isaac stuttered, “Wh–Who are you?”

  Through the latticed partition, the young guard could see a man sitting in the neighboring booth. The man was veiled by the shadows, but a few of his features were visible. He clearly wore a cassock. A bowler hat was firmly planted on top of his head. The gnarled wrinkles on his chin and cheeks were visible, too. His eyes couldn't be seen, though.

  Isaac knocked on the wall and asked, “Where... Where did you come from? Are you a priest? Are you... Are you real?” The man did not respond. Isaac said, “I don't know what to do. You... You're not real, are you? You're probably just another figment of my imagination, right? I guess she was right about everything. I'm going crazy and it won't stop until I confess. Shit, I don't even know where to begin.”

  Isaac stared down at his lap, downhearted. He flicked the clinging lint off of his pants as he contemplated. His trip through Madison Mall – the journey through his conscience – revealed a life of hatred and despair. The guard was on the receiving end as much as he was on the giving side. However, most of his adult life was immoral.

  Isaac said, “I suppose I should start from the beginning. You know, the first thing that comes to mind. My mother... My mother was a bad person. She was addicted to sleeping pills. Her body was 60-percent alcohol instead of water, you know? She was a cutter, too. It was the depression – the disappointment with life – that made her that way. She hit me a few times, but never as hard as my father. She preferred to abuse me emotionally. She'd tell me I wasn't worth shit, she'd wish I were dead...”

  A quavering breath escaped his lips as he paused to compose himself. He was on the verge of tears, fighting to contain his pain. He wasn't too proud to cry, but he wouldn't weep unless it was absolutely necessary. Above all, he didn't want to give his deceased mother the satisfaction of seeing him in such a pitiful state.

  Teary-eyed, Isaac continued, “Anyway, one day, when I was about 11 years old, I woke up to this... loud noise. Bang. I walked over to my parents' room and found my mom trying to... to kill herself. She cut her wrists, she swallowed her pills, and she hung herself. She... She was still alive when I walked in, though. She begged me to cut her down, I guess she got cold feet, but I refused. I let her die. You know why? Huh? It was because I knew my dad would beat the shit out of me for letting it happen. He would take it all out on me. I knew that. I figured I could endure a few broken bones, then social services would take me away. That's what I wanted. That's why I let it happen. I wanted to escape my family an
d move to a foster home.”

  Isaac held his hand to his face as he whimpered. He never spoke about his role in his mother's suicide. He was partly responsible for the death of his mother. The fact haunted him, regardless of how he tried to rationalize his actions. At heart, he felt like he murdered her.

  The first room is off the list, he thought, now for Karla's room. Of course, there was a reason he needed to confess. Their relationship wasn't simple.

  Always uphold your innocence, never self-incriminate.

  Isaac nervously chuckled, then he explained, “I had a relationship with a high school student, Father. Although I convinced her to say otherwise, it was not consensual. I mean, she loved me and I cared about her, but I... I forced her into sex. I was so sick and tired of my ex-wife, the mother of Melanie, and I couldn't control it anymore. I needed something fresh, I needed someone young. I raped Karla Garcia. And, when she told me she was pregnant, I forced her to have an abortion. I did that. I convinced her to claim it was consensual, too. That was me. That was... That was all me...”

  Isaac rocked back-and-forth in his seat. He couldn't sit still, he couldn't calm his nerves. He had lived comfortably with the secret for years, but hearing his own confession was overwhelming. Hearing the words come out of his mouth made him hate himself more than anyone on the planet. He was a monster beyond those conjured in nightmares.

  Tears gushing from his eyes and saliva dripping from his lips, hysterical and deranged, Isaac said, “But–But–But wait... Wait, Father, there's more. There's always more, isn't there?” He wiped his face, as if he were trying to make himself appear presentable before an important interview. He confessed, “I learned to love Melanie. I really did. I just... I couldn't have another kid. It would ruin my life. That's what I believed. So, I... I did push Tracey down those stairs that night. I pushed her and I ran. I don't know how she recently found out, but she was right. I didn't have anything to do with her second miscarriage, though. Maybe... Maybe it was because of the fall, but I didn't do that one on purpose. I guess I know why she didn't believe me. Hell, I wouldn't believe myself, either.”

  Isaac sniffled as he leaned on the partition, resting his head on the old wood. He wept and wheezed as he thought about the vile nature of his actions. He was sincerely disgusted by his past. His conscience wouldn't allow him to justify his decisions. He could only whimper and beg for forgiveness.

  The guard groaned as he turned his attention to the latticed partition. He stared at the silhouette, trying to identify the mysterious man. In his mind, he imagined a compassionate and merciful priest sitting in the neighboring booth. He thought of the man as a symbol created by his subconscious mind. He required the silent priest's forgiveness in order to proceed.

  Isaac knocked on the partition and said, “That's it. I'm sorry for everything I've done. I'll repent for my actions. You have my word. I–I'll change for the better. I've... I've learned my lesson.” There was no response. The young man asked, “Father, am I forgiven? Is it over?”

  Isaac examined the small booth, hoping he would return to reality. He figured the booth would change into a bathroom stall on the first floor of the mall and the hallucination would end. Yet, he still found himself inside of the confessional. The world didn't shift with his heartfelt confession or plea for forgiveness.

  The guard gritted his teeth as he glared at the silent silhouette. He sternly said, “I did what I was told to do. The girl... she said I only needed to confess and it would end all of this. I confessed. Now, let me go.” The man in the neighboring booth remained silent. Isaac knocked on the partition and shouted, “Let me go! Let me leave this damn place! I confessed! I served my time in prison and in this damn hellhole! I did what I was told to do! You can't keep me here, goddammit! You can't do this to me!”

  Isaac breathed heavily as he stared at the shadowy figure, baffled and infuriated by the silence. He was insulted by the mysterious man, he felt betrayed by the child. He kept his end of the bargain, but he was still trapped in his nightmare. His mind was flooded with hundreds of ideas – endless possibilities.

  He thought: if the nightmarish world is a product of my conscience, then only my conscience could set me free. However, if he couldn't trust his conscience to hold its end of the bargain, then he couldn't trust anyone. The thoughts of deceit and betrayal caused his blood to boil. If he were a cartoon, fumes would have spewed from his ears.

  Isaac punched through the partition with one swift jab. He struck the partition with all of his might, releasing the rage swelling within him.

  As he continued to punch the wood, Isaac shouted, “I confessed! I spilled my heart and told you everything! Isn't that enough? Huh? What else do you want from me? What else can I say! Answer me!”

  Upon destroying the entire partition, Isaac stumbled back and waved his fist. Out of breath, he glanced at his bloodied, stinging knuckles. Splintered wood protruded from the web between his fingers. Blood streamed across his hand and dripped towards his wrist. He sighed in disappointment, then he peered into the neighboring booth.

  To his utter surprise, the booth was empty. The shadowy figure vanished during the loud, violent assault. A priest did not listen to the guard's confession.

  Awed by his discovery, Isaac whispered, “I've been... I've been talking to myself the entire time. He was never there. No one was there, no one was listening. I can't escape this place. It's never going to let me go. The only way out is... is death.”

  He fell to his knees, enfeebled by the horrifying truth. He was abandoned in the abyss, stranded in a pit of despair. His confession did not help in his search for an escape route. The forgotten child misled him. He wondered if he should blame himself or the entities wandering Madison Mall. Regardless, blaming the situation on anyone else didn't seem to help. Shifting the blame couldn't quell his pain. His soul was already tormented, ravaged beyond repair.

  Isaac tilted his head towards the ceiling and bellowed in regret. His cries seeped through the cracks in the wood and echoed through the nightmarish realm. The cries announced his defeat to the world. He groaned as he punched the ground with all of his might. The floor vibrated with each punch, his bones cracked with each collision.

  Through the pain, the tormented man shouted, “I'm sorry! Just let me go already! Let me leave! Please, end it!”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Bugaboo

  Madison Mall was abandoned by the world. Through neglect and abuse, the desolate shopping center was reborn as a gateway to another world. The mall harbored sinister secrets and entities. It was not evil on its own, though. The structure served as a reflection of humanity's wicked ways – a realm of conscience. As long as mankind was sinful, the mall would remain evil.

  Sitting on the floor in the corner of the booth, Isaac realized the powers of the mall. Like a ray of light from the heavens above, an epiphany dawned onto him. He was a victim of the mall as much as he was a victim of himself. He confessed to his dastardly deeds, but he couldn't escape himself. He needed permission from the mall. An inanimate building needed to release him.

  How do you convince a shopping mall to save you?

  Isaac shook his head and muttered, “It's pointless. I can't do it. I can't leave. The... The damn mall won't listen, it won't talk back. I've lost my mind...” He nervously chuckled as he wiped the tears from his cheeks. He said, “I'm lost in my mind.”

  Isaac groaned as he staggered to his feet. He wiped the dust from his pants, then he tried to clean his bloodied hands on his shirt. He couldn't tell reality from fantasy, but he knew the blood was real. He could feel the stinging pain on his sliced and bruised knuckles. He gritted his teeth and shook his head as he rubbed the wounds. Disappointment dominated his mind, shame sat on his shoulders.

  Staring at the confessional door, the security guard asked, “What's next on the agenda, Madison? Hmm? Since we've been through everything I can possibly imagine, I'm guessing we've reached the end, right? We're finally at the grand finale.
Well, give it to me. I'm ready to finish this nightmare. I... I don't care how it ends, either. Give me your worst.”

  Isaac shoved the door open. He furrowed his brow and tilted his head as he examined his newfound surroundings. The tumbledown church vanished during his heated confession. He found himself staring into his childhood bedroom. The room was solely illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the window.

  The security guard stepped in reverse, then he hopped as he heard the sound of scraping metal. He glanced back and found several wire hangers swinging on a metal pole. There were several heavy coats and t-shirts dangling from the pole, too. He didn't blink when he opened the door. Yet, the confessional miraculously transformed into his closet. The neighboring booth also vanished.

  Teary-eyed, Isaac whispered, “So, this is where it ends? This is it, huh? You brought me back here for... for him, didn't you? I should have known.” He rubbed his forehead and sniffled. Slurping his saliva and snorting his mucus, he stuttered, “He–He's the only one who can punish me. The... The courts... The courts didn't do anything, did they? I just went back and did more wrong. He's the only one who can set me straight.”

  Isaac stepped out of the closet. He ran his fingers across the surface of the dresser to his right as he stared at the old tube television and video games. The bedroom door was located directly to the right of the dresser. He could see light seeping into the room from the gap under the door – someone else was home. He glanced at the window above the bed and considered a leap of faith.

  He crawled across the bed and whispered, “No, no, no. I can't let this happen. I can jump. I can still run. I–I don't... I don't have to face him like this.”

  The young security guard placed his hands around his head as he planted his face on the window. He stared at the neighboring house, hoping to call for help, but all of the lights were off. The neighborhood was unusually quiet, desolate and ominous. He turned the lock and tugged on the window, but to no avail – it wouldn't budge.