Last Playground

by Geoff North

  “Eighteen hours?” Selma said. She kicked Reginald’s treads. “You brought us to this fricking place knowing we would all die in eighteen hours?”

  “Eight hours, young lady,” Reginald corrected. “Perhaps less.”

  “Relax, Selma,” Brinn said. “He just has to transport us out of here back to Earth again.” The robot remained silent. “You can transport us away from here, right?”

  “Oh, sure,” Reginald offered hopefully. “As soon as my ten-hour recharge has completed.”

  Brinn sunk her face into her hands and Selma cursed. The ground rumbled.

  Gunnarson stepped forward. “You’ll have to risk an early transport. Six hours from now…at the most.”

  Brinn looked around. The moon had already set over the crater’s far side. The Milky Way was now directly above them. She could actually see it moving like a great bank of clouds, its bright center cluster of a million plus stars drifting across the intergalactic background.

  The galaxy isn’t moving. We are.

  The effect was dizzying and Brinn feared it would only get worse. Their spin would increase, and the eight of them would be caught at the center of it all. Like being stuck on a galactic-sized merry-go-round readying itself to fly apart.

  She looked to the ground. “Can’t we leave any sooner?”

  The surface between her feet broke open. Brinn jumped to one side and watched as a four-foot-wide chasm split the ground in two. It ran off into the shadows towards the crater rim.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Selma said. “I don’t want to be a part of this adventure.”

  Reginald’s arms snaked around the girls’ waists and pulled them gently back towards the fire. “Be careful, ladies. The tremors are becoming more frequent. Another shake here or a tremor there, and the two of you could fall in.”

  Brinn went back to the edge of it. She sunk down onto her knees and peered into the chasm’s darkness.

  Selma knelt next to her. “What do you expect to find down there? Another imaginary friend?”

  “Funny you should say that. It reminds me of a big hole burrowed into the side of a hill back on my grandparents’ farm. I think it was used by wolverines. I used to sneak out there when Mom and Dad would go to visit Gramma Erin.”

  “You’re weird, Brinn. What kid knowingly plays in a wolverine hole?”

  “I said I thought it was used by wolverines. Maybe I just liked the idea of something scary living there. It was probably never lived in by anything more frightening than foxes and raccoons.” She sat back a few inches from the opening and crossed her legs. “You know what I mean. It’s fun to scare yourself.”

  “Well if I had the ability to imagine all that scary shit into reality, I wouldn’t be playing at all.” She pointed to the others gathered back around the fire. “It must run in the family. Your uncle created homicidal cowboys, creepy robots, and androids with glowing red eyes. You like to play with wizards and women with swords. If I could do what you can do, I would probably imagine a suitcase to appear stuffed with a billion dollars in cash.”

  Brinn smiled at that. Her gaze never left the black opening in front of them.

  “So what was it?” Selma asked seriously. “I’m sure you pictured more than just wolverines living there. What did you really imagine lived in that hole?”

  They heard something hissing from below. A white face with glistening black eyes appeared in the shadows. Selma rolled back, screaming.

  Brinn reached down into the chasm. “Do you need a hand?”

  A thin arm shot out and wrapped around her wrist. Brinn pulled. A pale girl with short cropped black hair and deathly white skin scrambled up and sat next to her.

  Marshal Lowe drew his rifle and sprang up from the fire.

  “It’s okay!” Brinn shouted. She positioned herself in front of the figure and held her hands up before Lowe could fire. “She’s with me.”

  Selma was pushed up against a rock behind them. “She’s with you?” The black-eyed girl was grinning. Her mouth was lined with long, sharp fangs. “Who… What is she?”

  “My name’s Esme.”

  Brinn looked at all the shocked faces. “Esme’s a vampire.”

  The marshal still had his rifle raised. “Step on over to the fire so’s we can all get a good look at you.” Bertha was now standing behind him, her sword half-drawn from its sheath.

  Esme did as she was told. “Fire your weapon if you wish, cowboy. You can’t kill the undead.”

  Selma had crawled back beside Brinn. “And I thought I was screwed up. Why a vampire? You could’ve imagined anything.”

  Brinn shrugged. “Vampires were cool at the time.”

  “You watched way too many movies as a kid.”

  Gunnarson kept his distance from the new arrival. “Warrior women and vampire girls. Your world is a lot different from the one Neal lived in thirty-seven years ago. I suggest you ladies try and get some sleep while I try and manually recharge Reginald’s batteries. God only knows what kind of trouble you’ll face when you leave this place.”

  Esme sat back down beside Brinn. Selma crawled towards them and read the pink words printed across the girl’s tee-shirt—PLEASE DONATE BLOOD. Beneath that, in smaller letters— don’t make me do it for you. “Sounds like you may have picked a bad time to join us.”

  “Brinn’s thoughts are what brought me here.”

  Brinn offered an apologetic smile. “Yeah…I guess they were.”

  “It’s been over two years. Look at you…you’re not a little kid anymore.”

  “You haven’t changed at all.”

  “Why would I? When you imagined a teenage vampire, that’s what you got. The undead can’t die, and they certainly don’t age.” She looked to the stars. The Milky Way was beginning to rise once again over the crater’s horizon. “Where are we?”

  Commander Gunnarson was searching through the mess on his work table for tools and listening to the girls talk. “The Canis Major Dwarf Galaxy—25,000 light years from Earth.”

  Esme thought on that fact for a moment. “How could I travel this far in an instant?”

  “There is no speed limit on thought.” He looked at her with newfound interest. Any fear for what she was evaporated in his mind. She was curious about what he knew best. “The universe can be immensely vast—hundreds of millions of light years in any direction—and it is incredibly close at hand. Turn the right atom over and you can gaze upon the furthest quasar.”

  “I guess it all depends on who’s turning the atoms over,” Brinn said.

  “Exactly. Both Esme and Paris were but a thought away for you.”

  Esme looked over at him, her black eyes open wide and questioning. “Paris? Paris is here with you?”

  Esme knew Paris? Brinn tried to picture a time when the vampire and the wizard could’ve possibly met. She couldn’t recall a single time any of her imaginary friends had been together. None of them had anything in common. “In the tent…he’s not doing very well.”

  Esme sprung up and ran to the tent. Brinn followed and watched as she knelt beside the sleeping boy. “His face—what’s happened to his face?” She brushed back a strand of sweat-moistened hair from his forehead and stroked the smooth skin where his eye had been.

  “I don’t understand,” Brinn stammered. “How do you know him?”

  Esme turned to her and glared, then her thin blue lips drew back and she snarled, “What’s happened to him?”

  Brinn felt Oscar’s hand on her shoulder. “His life essence is being drained by an incredibly powerful being back on Earth.”

  And Brinn here doesn’t care enough for him to try and stop it.

  That’s what she imagined the android was thinking. She stepped forward and placed a hand on Paris’s chest. “I’ll do my best to slow it down…try to picture him as he was, as he should be…but I just don’t know what else I can do.”

  Esme swatted the hand away and placed her own there. She could see guilt in Brinn’s eyes. “Well, yo
u had better start picturing things harder. If my boyfriend dies—”

  “Your…boyfriend?”

  “Do you think our world simply winks out every time you stop imagining us? Didn’t you ever wonder if it was possible for us to find each other? Do you believe we’re incapable of loving anyone but you?”

  “Come on, Brinn.” Oscar started to pull her out of the tent. “Let them be for a while.”

  Esme watched in silence as they left. She turned back to Paris, her eyes now filling with tears. A single drop fell to his cheek and trickled down behind his head. She wiped the wet path it left away, and sat there for a few more minutes, summoning the courage to do what she knew had to be done.

  Esme leaned forward and sunk her fangs deep into his jugular vein.

  Chapter 11

  2011

  “Quit biting my neck!” The sensation made Brinn giggle but she wasn’t happy.

  Paris pulled away and licked the end of her nose. “You’re no fun.”

  “Gross.” She grabbed a handful of his red robe and wiped the saliva away. “I’m fourteen years old—way too young for that kinda stuff.”

  “I’m a boy, you’re a girl. What else are we supposed to be doing?”

  Brinn shoved him from her lap into the dirt rut at her feet and pushed off on the swing by herself. Paris ducked as she swung back and rolled off to the side into the grass. “We’re supposed to be playing. That’s what kids do.”

  Paris brushed the dirt from his robes as he stood. “We’re not your average kids, my love. You’re my princess…my queen, and I’m your knight in shining armor. And aren’t we a little old to be playing? Shouldn’t we be experimenting in other…activities?”

  She kicked off harder on the return swing and stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Don’t be like that, Brinn. You’ve been shutting me out for months now.”

  “I shut you out because every time I want to talk, you just want to start making out.”

  “So let’s talk.”

  She kicked the ground harder; the swing went higher. “I don’t know if I want to see you anymore. You’re more interested in my girlfriends.”

  It was out. And it wasn’t so hard. Paris remained quiet and Brinn kept swinging. She kept her eyes peeled on the dirt and the grass and sky spotted with clouds in front of her. She didn’t see him pull the marker-wand out.

  “Vellakaluu-Vellakalee!”

  The clouds came up into view again and Brinn lurched to a stop in the canvas swing. She tightened her grip on the chains to keep from falling out backwards. “Very funny,” she said, straining for a harder grasp on the cool links. “You look silly enough wearing those ridiculous robes—what are people going to say if they see me sitting up in the air like this? Let me down, Paris. Now.”

  “Not so fast.” The wizard sauntered beneath her, lifting his robes so they wouldn’t drag through the dirt. He wandered out in front of her and cocked his head to one side as if studying a strange bird suspended in mid-air. “I may look silly to you now, but you thought I was something pretty special a few short months ago. What gives you the right to throw it all away once you get bored?”

  “It wasn’t like that.” Her arms were getting sore. “I had a crush on you… I thought you felt the same way towards me…not me and everyone else.”

  Paris shrugged his shoulders and walked slowly beneath her. “I think maybe you became jealous of my popularity. You always were a bit of a nerd in school. Once your friends took a liking to me, it started to drive you crazy. You closed back into that antisocial shell of yours, spending more time with your mothe—”

  “Leave my mom out of this. She’s sick.”

  Paris dropped the arrogant act. “What I’m trying to say is you can’t have your cake and eat it too. People have their own lives to live—even imagined ones.” He nibbled on an end of the marker, searching for the right words. “If it seems we’ve drifted apart, you’ve got to seriously ask yourself why. I’m still here, Brinn.”

  Her bum was slipping out of the canvas. Her arms were shaking with the effort of holding on. “Not for much longer.”

  He tapped the marker against his blonde locks. “I’m the wizard and I have the wand, remember? If I want, I can leave you hanging there all afternoon and night.”

  “Your shoelace is undone.”

  Paris glanced down. “I wear boots, not shoes.”

  The swing resumed its normal descent without a sound. Brinn braced herself and turned her shoulder into the boy’s lowered form. The collision hurt, but all the pain in the world was worth seeing the conceit knocked out of him. It took Paris a moment to catch his breath. “How… How did you do that? I’m the magician, not you!”

  “I created you.”

  Brinn sat down on the grass across from him and rubbed her shoulder. They studied each other in silence for a full minute.

  Paris spoke first. “So this is it?”

  Brinn had heard every word he’d said, and she understood the message. She was jealous and over-protective. And she was exceptionally stubborn. She couldn’t—she wouldn’t—let him win this. The days for imaginary friends was coming to an end.

  Paris Pureheart winked out of existence before her eyes.

  “Yes…it is.”

  Chapter 12

  Logan Addam had stood in front of the busted window for half an hour before summoning up enough courage to climb through. He had watched as the girls sped away from home in Selma’s Mustang and saw the strange man run after them. How could any grown up move so fast, he’d wondered. It wasn’t hard to guess where they were headed. Their home was on the outskirts of Hamden. The dust kicked up from the speeding car had headed west—out onto the only gravel road leaving town—towards his grandmother’s farm a mile away.

  Logan wolfed down a piece of his dad’s pizza and told his father he was going to play in the backyard.

  It took him forty minutes to walk-jog to the abandoned car at the end of the farm lane. Fortunately, no adults had driven along in that time to put a stop to his adventure. He almost wished someone had. The empty car spooked him and the walk down the twisting, forested lane had made him even more uneasy. But then he’d seen the old house. Those empty black windows on the second floor had invited him to explore further. Brinn and her friend were up there. They had to be. And the man was after them. He had to warn her.

  Logan made his way through the opened veranda door and picked his way through the moldy ruins and black shadows inside, terrified of ghosts and wild animals laying in wait. Had Brinn and the others been gobbled up by them? A timid search of the bottom floor revealed nothing. Did he have the courage to climb the rotting staircase to the second floor? He had. And he found just enough more to step around the gaping hole halfway up. Logan had called his sister’s name down into that black opening. There had been no answer, which he was disappointed and relieved by at the same time.

  And now six-year-old Logan sat on the shingles of the veranda overhang, looking back through the bedroom window where reality ended. He kept one hand planted on the jagged wooden frame, and stared out to the spot where he knew his grandmother’s trailer had to be.

  It wasn’t there.

  Nor was the forested lane he’d snuck down. It was all gray rocks and brown sand. He rubbed some of the grit from his chubby little face, and the wind deposited more into his eyes. Logan whimpered and started to crawl back through the window. He hesitated for a third time when he saw the faded poster lying, wrinkled and yellowed, on the old writing desk. The man’s eyes glowed red and his clothes were mere tatters. His hair was disheveled, and there were great gashes across his chest and down his arms, revealing mechanical insides. The sight of him crashing through a brick wall terrified Logan. And the fact that it was the same man he’d seen following his sister and Selma frightened him even more.

  What if it was the man that had torn up the hole in the staircase and dragged Brinn below? He certainly had the strength to do it. Logan couldn’t go back int
o the house by himself. As much as he loved and needed his sister, the fear of the mechanical man kept him planted on the veranda rooftop.

  The sun—if that’s what the marble-sized orb in the distance could be called—bobbed on the horizon like a sick Christmas tree bulb, ready to pop out of existence at any moment. At least it was warm, he thought.

  Logan smelled the air and wondered what it reminded him of. He was building up his courage to attempt a fourth go through the window when he heard a loud snap from inside the house. He scrambled away from the window, dangerously close to the roof’s edge, and stared back. He waited for half a minute, praying that Brinn would poke her head out. He began to whimper quietly again and hoped his dad had set out after him.

  There was another snap, louder this time, followed by an awful groan. Then someone screamed—a horrible, pained sound.

  Logan yelped and backed away. His arms shot out instinctively as he felt his upper body falling back through the air. The heel of his shoe caught on an old eaves trough, slowing his descent enough for him to twist himself around. He landed hard in the sand on his hands and knees. His small body was able to withstand the impact without much more than scrapes to his palms and an unsettled feeling in his gut that made him want to throw up. He leaned up against a boulder and tried to catch his breath. It was tough, since he was also fighting the urge to cry at the same time. The queasiness started to pass. He looked up to the edge of the roof which he’d fallen from, waiting for the mechanical man or some other horrible creature to peer back down at him.

  When he felt well enough to stand, Logan started away from the old house. He walked backwards, keeping his gaze fixed on the black opening of the bedroom window. He stumbled on a rock and fell to his bum with a grunt. Logan jumped up quickly this time and started to run in the direction where the sun was now a half-melted smudge in the faraway hills.

  He ran until the house itself was a small gray smudge on the darkening horizon behind him. Finally his energy started to wane and he slowed to a jog. After a few more minutes he was walking with his little scraped hands tucked into his pants pockets.