by Lynn Vroman
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2014 by Lynn Vroman
Cover Design © 2014 by Sean Hayden
Cover Photo © 2014 by Kozzi/Outsider
All rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by Untold Press LLC
114 NE Estia Lane
Port St Lucie, FL 34983
www.untoldpress.com
PRODUCED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Writing is a solitary endeavor, and it takes strong people who love you to understand and give that space.
I’m fortunate enough to have people like that in my life.
To Victoria, Katherine, Olivia, and Rhys,
I’m the luckiest person on earth because the four of you call me Mom. Always, everything is for you.
There are so many people who made this book possible, and no matter how many times I might have said it, a simple thank you will never be enough.
First, I’d like to thank Jen and Sean for their faith in this project. They are not only in the business of publishing, but in the business of making dreams come true, as well. I will be forever grateful.
I must give huge thanks to my critique partner, Jadah McCoy, who has been my constant cheerleader and drill sergeant, encouraging me when I needed it most. I have no idea how I lucked out finding her, but I’m glad I did. Thanks to Diane Holiday and Madison Trevino, who were just as quick to point out what wasn’t working as they were to express love for what was. Also, my beta readers, Dave Fichtner, Jenn Wescoat, Daina Wagner, and Lindsay Gieseler, whose willingness to read this book in its many stages helped me immensely.
And lastly, I’d like to thank my husband, Steve, and our four kids for supporting me while I chased this crazy dream. I love you all.
Lena
Nothing annoyed me more than crappy best friends. The type who did stupid stuff, like grab my shoulder and scream right in my ear, “Help me, Barbara!”
I jumped and a cloud of popcorn exploded above us. The kernels remaining in the tub I threw in Zander’s face.
We sat in the back row, Night of the Living Dead on the screen. No emergency exit signs interrupted the darkness, adding a little more to the scare department. But Zander killed the mood as soon as the graveyard scene popped up.
“You promised to watch, now watch.” I chucked the popcorn tub at him when he wouldn’t stop laughing.
“Fine, but my hands are stayin’ in my pockets this time.” He rubbed the tiny crescent-shaped marks on his left hand. “I have no idea why you watch these things. You can’t sit through one without a week of nightmares.”
“Not true. The Ring was just extra freaky.”
“Ah, and so were The Shining and Paranormal Activity…” His southern accent rolled off his tongue like sap from a maple tree. “I think you like bein’ afraid all the time.”
I hated it when he was right. “Shut up.”
Fear triggered the fight-or-flight mechanism in our brains. The signal that proved we still wanted to live. That was my theory, anyway.
Maybe I was a masochist, but I did like experiencing the fear. It ensured the numbness hadn’t completely taken over. Numb could be good. A takeover, though…not so good. Zander shoved that logic in my face and smeared my nose in it every time I decided to make sure fight or flight still worked.
“All right, but when you’re lyin’ in that floating bed tonight, don’t expect dream guy to save you.”
“Don’t worry.” I slumped in my chair, focusing on the screen. During a weak moment, and after a couple stolen beers from Dad’s case, I told Zander about Him–my dream guy with gray eyes and dimples. He acted odd afterward, especially when I admitted what Him always promised: I’ll find you.
Yeah, Him was what I called my imaginary guy. No one ever accused me of being creative. Point was, for the last month Zander decided to make a joke of it. I’d never told anybody about my dreams, and I guess I should’ve kept it that way.
Hey, self, remind me again why Zander held the bestie slot? Oh, right. He was the only one who applied for the position.
The next hour we watched in silence. I’d seen this movie at least ten times already, and so his concern of me mauling him never happened.
About the time Barbara annoyed everyone in the house with her relentless Where’s Johnny question, Zander’s constant slurping and ice-crunching crawled under my skin. “It’s empty.”
He took one last noisy sip and stood, blocking my view. “I’m gonna get a refill. You want one?”
“No. Christ!” I bent and twisted to see around him while he countered every move with a grin. I didn’t want to admit it, but that grin always caused my brain to cloud. Hell, having him within a ten-foot radius caused a huge case of head fuzz. But to be clear, I wasn’t the only mountain dweller who found that smile, or that accent, hot.
“Suit yourself. Be back in a sec.” He gathered up some empty wrappers and went out the door, creating a quick flash of light in the room.
Once he left, it didn’t take long for the dark to fold me into its arms as the moans on the screen grew louder. When a particularly menacing zombie ate Barbara, I let out a tiny yelp–even though I knew it was going to happen. My face heated, and I looked around, happy no one witnessed.
I’ll go with coward for $500, Alex.
Sinking deeper into my seat, I watched the whole house get taken over by zombies, my heart pounding and the hairs on my arms standing at attention. Two minutes alone and I was already freaked out.
I gripped the armrests, stealing a glance at the exit. My nails dug into the plastic. Leaving was the obvious remedy, but my legs refused to walk toward the door.
A zombie eating black and white brains filled the screen.
Screw this.
I was out of there whether my legs were ready or not. Yes! Fight or flight still in perfect working order.
Zander was right. I had issues.
I planted my feet on the cement floor and tensed to run. As I hopped up, my arms refused to come with me. I made the mistake of looking down.
What the…?
The armrests curled around my hands, the plastic ends separating into thin, spider-like fingers. I screamed, trying to yank my hands away, but the armrests became stronger, forming rows of fingers that encased the whole length of my arms, burning them. Tears flooded my vision, the pain branding my skin.
Panic turned into terror when the theater filled with whispers that brushed through my hair like wind and hit me in the face like an open palm. The whispering slipped into my throat when I opened my mouth, gagging me while it pushed me back into the seat. I struggled as the chair sucked me in and gasped for enough air to yell, the sound coming out as a grunt.
My head stayed glued against the seat, my scalp searing as I tried to yank it free. Then the movie stopped playing. Total darkness swallowed me, the blackness stealing the last drops of my courage. No matter how hard I tugged, my arms refused to pull free. I strained to turn my head toward the exit, but it stayed nailed to the chair. All I could do was look forward and try to relax my arms to stop the burning.
The whispers grew quieter, and the hold it had on my head weakened when I stopped moving. I cleared my throat. “Zander!”
My arms loosened a fraction.
“Help me!”
Th
e hold slackened even more, and my head snapped forward.
“Let me go!”
I didn’t know who or what I was talking to, but I managed to pull my right arm free. After a deep breath, I hollered for Zander so loud, my voice cracked.
My left arm pulled out of the chair.
I sprinted to the door as it burst open. Jake, my boss, ran to me, and I fell in his arms, tears pouring down my face.
When my knees gave out, he carried me from the room. “Lena? What happened?”
I tried to find a coherent way to tell him, but words started vomiting from my mouth. “The seat… whispers…” I glanced at my arms, red and already starting to bruise, “my arms…the movie.”
Zander came up behind us. “What’s going on?” Worry flooded his brown eyes as he threw his soda into the nearest garbage can.
I gripped my boss’ shirt, ignoring Zander. “The screen, Jake, check the screen.”
Jake put me down and opened the door. Zander wrapped an arm around my waist and followed him. We all caught the tail end when the dumb cops shot the hero.
“I don’t understand.” I stumbled away from the door. “That wasn’t on. It wasn’t there! The movie stopped.” I held out my bruised arms. “I couldn’t move. The chair, it came to life. I-It had fingers.”
Chaos swarmed inside my head. The worried looks they gave me proved all that crazy showed on my face. Neither one of them said anything for a minute. Jake patted my shoulder, while Zander rubbed the small of my back. The image would’ve been funny under different circumstances.
Zander interrupted the awkward pat-rub fest. “I shouldn’t have left you alone in there, but you’ve seen it a hundred times…”
Jake piped in–and yelled. Something he tended to do when scared. “That’s it! No more movies that scare the shit out of you.”
“It wasn’t the movie. Something happened in there.” I shoved my arms in their faces. “Does it look like I’m making it up?”
“What’d you do?” Zander held my arms for a closer inspection.
“I didn’t do it. The chair tried to suck me in.”
Zander’s fingers stopped mid-inspection. His eyes hardened and his shoulders tensed. In seconds, he relaxed and continued his examination.
Strange.
He rubbed an ugly red mark on my left arm. “You need to go home, get some rest. Jake’s right. No more scary movies.”
“Get some rest?” My attention jumped between the two. “I’m not making it up.” I pulled my arm away from Zander and focused on reasoning with Jake. “Whatever happened in there wasn’t just in my head.” I held out my arms one more time. “Look!”
Jake’s face softened with pity, but he did check the bruises purpling my arms. “With the move…track season coming up…your dad…” He tilted my chin. “You know I won’t let him hurt you.”
“This isn’t about my goddamn dad, Jake.” Yelling wasn’t working, so I switched to quiet anger.
His answer was to swing open the door again and flick on the lights. Credits rolled on the screen, and the only evidence of Zander and me were the empty popcorn tub and my spilled soda cup under the last row of seats. The chair appeared as innocent as it did when we first sat down. Nothing crazy. Nothing supernatural. Everything appeared normal.
I backed out of the entryway, holding my hands up as if to fend off an angry dog. “I’m going crazy.”
“Let me take you home,” Zander said, coming closer with every word.
Jake looked at his watch. “Yeah, good idea. It’s closing time, anyway.” He went to turn on the closed sign and lock the front doors before coming over to hug me. “You’re not crazy, Lena, just stressed. One month and I’ll be around every night.”
I nodded into his chest, wanting to believe him. But what happened in that theater was real, or at least I thought it was. Either way, a huge problem.
∞ ∞ ∞
Zander gripped the wheel so tight the veins in his forearms fought to escape his dark skin as he sped down the street. Mount Pocono cops didn’t bother patrolling too much on a Tuesday night, but they were around. The last thing Zander needed was a speeding ticket. I didn’t tell him to slow down. Who’d listen to a person who swore a chair tried to eat her, anyway?
He maneuvered his car through the muddy, pothole-filled lanes of the park leading to my trailer, not even bitching like usual. There wasn’t anything I could say. Either I was going nuts or something impossible happened and no one believed me.
When we pulled up to my trailer, he let go of the wheel and turned to me. Before he said a word, tears filled my eyes. “I don’t know what’s happening.”
He wiped my cheeks, his eyes transforming back to the soft, deep brown I knew so well. He even managed a small grin. “Shh, don’t cry.”
“Whatever that was, I can’t explain, but I’m not crazy.” I wasn’t so sure about that, but he didn’t need to know it.
He shook his head, his eyes clouding over before he turned to gaze out the windshield. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you later.”
“Tomor–?”
“‘Night, Lena.” He never cut me off–ever. Maybe this put him over the edge. But I wouldn’t beg him to stay.
As soon as I shut the passenger door, Zander drove off, not bothering to avoid the potholes.
My whole body rang and my legs shook as I climbed the cement blocks that made up my front “porch.” Maybe I did need some sleep…on a frosty, broken waterbed. No chance sleep would be comfortable.
I stepped into the trailer, and the smell of stale beer and skunky dope hit my nose, turning my stomach. There was Dad, in the same chair he usually slept in, wide-awake. Mom must’ve already gone to bed, which was surprising. The bastard liked to make her sit up with him so he could remind her how much of a piece of dirt she was. But Dad sat alone tonight, looking at his Native American pictures, taking a huge pull off a fat joint–smoking the rent money, no doubt.
“Where you been?” He didn’t take his eyes off a solemn chief hanging by his chair.
“With Zander.” Two months ago, he started demanding rent, but paying him and saving for the apartment wasn’t in my budget. When I told him no, he smacked me, busting my lip. I told him shortly after I quit the theater. Now, when he was still up and sober enough to ask why I came home late, I made stuff up. I had until eighteen, he’d said, and then I was on my own.
No problem.
“Only whores spend so much alone time with a boy.” He finished off his beer and pulled another from the case.
“Thanks.” It was pointless to argue. He’d get pissed, and I had enough bruises on my body for one night.
“Better not come home pregnant. I’ll kick your ass outta here faster than shit.”
“Gotcha.” I waited to see if he wanted to add anything else to our little heart-to-heart.
He didn’t disappoint. “He hangs out with you so he can dip his stick into the wrong side of the tracks. When he gets bored, he’ll go back where he belongs, leave you knocked up, expecting me to take care of it.” He took another hit, continuing on the inhale, “Just like your mom, opening her legs to everything in the neighborhood.”
I used to yell. I used to cry. Now, I pictured the cute place above Jake’s that’d be mine in a month. “I’ll do my best to keep my legs closed.”
“Don’t get smart, girl.” He tried to stand, but must’ve thought better of it when he wobbled, flopping back into the chair. “Forget to slap on a raincoat, and this is what I get…”
I didn’t stick around to listen. He could tell his chief what I’d heard a million times already.
His ranting echoed off the paneled walls, smacking my ears, even after I made it to my room. I pushed in the knob of the feeble door, knowing if he wanted in the lock wouldn’t stop him. Since he couldn’t stand, it’d work like Fort Knox tonight.
After piling five blankets on the face of the rubber mattress, I stripped to my underwear, throwing my jeans at the end of the bed for the next day. I
t took a few more minutes to bundle into my usual nightclothes: heavy socks, a fluorescent orange winter hat, a pair of long underwear, and an old sweatshirt with the Penn State logo.
I crawled into bed and pulled a few thin blankets over my body, curling into the fetal position. Getting pulled into the chair was impossible, I knew that, but the bruises on my arms were real. Unfortunately, the expressions on Jake and Zander’s faces, and the total nonexistence of what caused the bruising, made me think my mind finally snapped.
And how Zander left…
I wouldn’t tell him about any other crazy shit. That decision wouldn’t change, especially after tonight. If I had another episode, the only person hearing about it would be the reflection in the mirror.
Breathe in…breathe out…ignore the cold…this little pep talk never works…
A subtle movement rolled the mattress. It didn’t faze me at first. My under-filled mattress always moved at the smallest twinge. I focused on staying completely still, hating the slight motion sickness.
You are not safe anywhere, Lena.
The voice blared right inside my head, sounding too close to the whispering in the theater. Worse, it seemed to trigger the mattress. The subtle roll turned into a wave, and another, until the bed roiled and twisted like the Atlantic.
I struggled to flick on the lamp, only to see the bed act as though it were a breathing, living thing. From under the blankets, what felt like fingers began to stab at my back and calves. Fear paralyzed me for a few seconds before I pushed off the bed, landing in a heap of threadbare blankets.
The mattress continued waving while I sat with my back against the wall. I shut my eyes.
It’s not real!
It’s not real!
It’s not real!
Only when the sloshing water hitting rubber stopped did I open my eyes. The bed was as docile as ever.
Tears burned the back of my lids, but I refused to let them go. If I was losing my mind…no, I couldn’t lose my mind. Mom’s life depended on it.
Wrapping the blankets around my body, I settled in for a long, sleepless night on the floor. The damn bed looked as innocent as a newborn, but no way was I putting even one finger on it again. Zander or Jake wouldn’t find out, either. They didn’t need any more Lena-is-nuts evidence.