This isn’t your grandmother’s bingo game.
One day, mysterious fliers appear on all the doors in the neighborhood, announcing a new bingo hall, Big Time Bingo. Players are lured in by the promise of free money and big prizes. Like all the other kids, Chris and his friends Oscar and Jay are dragged along by their moms and other relatives, but Chris gets the nagging feeling that something is very off about the strange man who runs it, Mr. Big. As the nights at the bingo hall pass Chris and Oscar realize something horrible is going on. No longer are the patrons there to have fun. They now play bingo to WIN, and become extremely sore—and violent—losers when they lose. As the adults get hypnotized by the game, it’s up to Chris and his friends to stop Mr. Big before their town is driven completely crazy by greed and chaos.
This book has been previously published.
The Bingo Hall
Shane McKenzie
Dedication
For Travis.
Remember that time we had to battle demonic forces and save our town from plunging into the bubbling depths of hell? The good ol’ days…
An Introduction
By Bryan Smith
The Bingo Hall was my introduction to Shane McKenzie’s work, but I knew only a little ways into it that this nastily effective novella would not be the last thing I would read by him. Shane is a newer writer on the scene, but he crafts his prose with the sure hand of a veteran wordsmith. Though madness and monsters lurk within these pages, these horrors are conveyed with a deeper resonance than one too often finds in the work of newer writers. This is because Shane McKenzie is a writer who understands the importance of properly setting the stage before unleashing horrific assaults on the senses.
Some years back my late wife and I spent a long weekend partying it up at several casinos in Tupelo, Mississippi. In these parts, that’s where people who can’t afford a trip to Vegas go to throw away big chunks of semi-disposable income. We had a high time playing blackjack and dumping coins into the one-armed bandits. Because going gambling wasn’t a thing we did very often—and because we were about the furthest thing from high rollers possible—we had a set spending limit and managed to more or less stay within that. Mostly we just had a good time throwing some money away and getting hopelessly hammered on all that “free” booze. But a sight we would see in the mornings there was somewhat sobering. The casinos were quieter during those hours, but they were still going, were always going. There were fewer people around in those morning hours, but what really struck me was that a high percentage of those people were elderly. And slovenly. Many of them would sit in front of the same slot machine for hours with a big plastic bucket filled with coins sitting at their feet. They would endlessly feed the coins into the machines, obviously hoping to hit some unlikely jackpot. The looks on their faces was nearly always the same. Bland. Blank. Staring. Almost like drooling zombies. Like human shells under the control of an alien intelligence. And I recall thinking, “Hmm, there’s a story here…”
It’s a story I never quite got around to writing.
In a way, Shane McKenzie wrote it for me with The Bingo Hall.
The Bingo Hall is a tale of horror. It is rife with blood and pus and exploding bodily fluids, particularly in the latter stages. But The Bingo Hall is more than just a wildly creative bloodbath. In these pages, Shane compellingly explores very human themes of greed, poverty and sloth. He examines the ways the lives of poor people are frequently compromised and complicated by the allure of big money attained through games of chance. In the early stages of this story, he evokes the quiet desperation of these people without ever explicitly spelling it out. And that’s because spelling it out isn’t necessary. You know what you need to know about the lives of these characters because it is so vibrantly just there, oozing between the lines of people who seem to live and breathe on the page because they are so vividly rendered. The world they inhabit feels as real and believable as the punishing heat of a hot summer’s day in Texas burning the back of your neck. Feels as real as the hot, gooey taste of the nacho cheese sold at Big Time Bingo’s concession stand as it slides in a strangely unsettling way down your gullet.
This is the stage-setting I spoke of earlier. It is all very well-crafted and is precisely the reason the horror that unfolds later in the novella is so effective. The reader is deeply invested in these characters and so when tragedies inevitably befall them, it is all the more devastating. Because this is a horror story. And when the blood begins to flow and the body parts start to fly, Shane’s descriptions of these things is delivered with an admirable level of gusto. He holds nothing back. And when you have reached the end of this tale, I feel certain most of you will agree you have experienced the work of a writer working at a level several notches above average.
Shane McKenzie is a big new talent in the genre and I look forward to seeing where he goes with that talent in the future. I suspect many of you reading this will soon feel the same.
The Bingo Hall
“N 35.”
The audience murmured. Every set of eyes raced over their cards, firm hands tapping them with their mutli-colored daubers when appropriate. Some bared their teeth, slapped the end of the table, cursed under their breath.
Chris leaned against the wall and took slow sips of Dr. Pepper. Oscar stood next to him, exchanging glances with the group of girls across the hall, and Jay sat at the table in front of them, licking the nacho cheese off his fingers.
“Quit that shit, Jay,” Oscar said. “You’re making us look stupid in front of the girls, motherfucker.”
“Man, fuck them,” Jay said, sliding another goopy chip into his mouth. “I’m hungry.”
“You always hungry.”
Jay just shrugged and continued to chew.
“B 11,” the old man muttered into the microphone. It looked like his lips tried to wrap themselves around the letter and number, but they stumbled out anyway. The man blinked slowly and reached across to grab the next ball.
“Bingo!” An obese woman with curlers in her hair hopped up and down, waving her card in the air. The rest of the patrons moaned, some tossing their daubers away, others rubbing their fingertips across their various good luck charms so they could win the next round.
“If I don’t get out of here soon, swear to god I’m gonna kill myself,” Chris said, sucking up the last remnants of his soda. “I hate this bullshit, man.” He stretched his neck to get a look at his mama, who shuffled her cards to get the clean ones on top for the next round. She licked her lips, rubbed her hands together. “Shit.”
Oscar smiled at the Hispanic girl who stood with three others about the same age. “It ain’t all that bad.”
“The food tastes like shit, though,” Jay said, swiping the leftover cheese from the checkered paper tray and sucking it off his finger.
“Why the fuck you eating it then, fool?” Oscar said.
Jay shrugged, wiped his hands off, stood up and joined his friends as they all glared at the group of girls who giggled, whispered to each other and stared right back.
“Come on, y’all. We gotta go over there, holler at them real quick,” Oscar said.
Chris caught Sasha’s eye, and they held each other’s stares for a minute before she smiled and looked away. Chris’s stomach did backflips. “Nah, man. Don’t feel like it.”
“What? You crazy, fool.” Oscar ran his fingers through his slick hair, licked his lips, tugged his pants down another couple of inches. “I’ll be back, you pussy-ass motherfuckers.”
Chris chuckled and shook his head, elbowed Jay in the side. “Bet five bucks this dumb-ass gets dissed. Watch.”
“Hell nah, you ain�
�t gettin’ five bucks outta me. I know he gonna get dissed.”
“Round three will begin in fifteen minutes,” the old man announced, each word sounding painful and forced.
Oscar strutted toward the girls, licking his lips and rubbing his palms together. The second he reached the group, they all burst out laughing and turned their backs on him. Even from where Chris stood, he could see his friend’s skin glowing, like he’d been tossed in an oven on full blast.
“Retard,” Chris said.
“I’m bored as hell,” Jay said. “Still got some of that shit?”
“A little, not much though.”
“Come on, man. Let’s sneak out back.”
“Chris!” His mama stood, facing him, both hands cupped around her mouth. “Chris, come over here!”
A quick glance toward Sasha and he saw she was laughing, her eyes rolling from Chris to his yelling mama. His face flushed and he rolled his eyes, hung his head as he weaved his way through the tables and chairs.
“Mama, you didn’t have to yell. Damn.”
“Boy, if you don’t watch your mouth. And how the hell else was you supposed to hear me from across the room, huh?” Her eyes bore holes into his face, so he just nodded and bit his bottom lip. She handed him a couple of dollars. “Go on and get me a Coke, and you can use the rest on whatever you want.” Before waiting for a response, she was back in her seat, arranging her bingo cards.
Chris wanted to glance back at Sasha, but forced himself to keep his eyes straight. Oscar and Jay stood a few feet away from their original spot to make way for the line that had formed at the concession stand.
“You get a spanking?” Oscar said and elbowed Jay.
“Don’t try and act like you didn’t get played, motherfucker. We watched that whole thing,” Chris said, then stood at the end of the line.
Oscar’s ears reddened. “Man, fuck them bitches. They know they love me.”
Jay snorted and shook his head.
“Whatever, man. Just watch, bet I don’t get with one of ’em.” Oscar took another long look across the hall. “Sasha lookin’ good as hell tonight, ain’t she?”
Chris squeezed his hands into fists, crushing the money into a ball. “After I get my mama a Coke, we goin’ out back, cool?”
Jay clapped Chris on the back, nodded. “Hell yeah.”
The old man’s voice was barely audible through the wall, a low baritone sound every minute or so. As long as the man kept talking, Chris knew they were in the clear. He took a long drag from the cigarillo, held in the smoke as he passed it to Oscar.
“This some good shit,” Jay said, plucking the blunt from Oscar’s fingers. “Get it from your pops?”
“Yep. He still don’t know I know where he keeps it.” Chris pulled out the Butterfinger he bought with the remaining money, broke it in thirds, handed it out. The boys chewed on the candy as they continued to puff and pass.
“Oscar?”
“Oh fuck, man. Put it out, put it out.” Oscar waved his hand over his face, sniffed his shirt, furrowed his brow.
“Oscar, andale!” The old woman appeared from the corner of the building, squinting toward the boys. “Que estas haciendo?”
“Nothing, Abuelita. Just talking. Did you win?”
She shook her head, raised an eyebrow at Chris and Jay. “Vamonos, Oscar. Estoy consada.”
Oscar nodded, jammed the rest of his candy into his mouth as he locked hands with Jay, then moved to Chris. “See y’all tomorrow, aight? We gonna hoop, or what?”
“Meet at the park at twelve, same as always,” Chris said.
Oscar shuffled along until reaching the scowling old woman, held his arm out so she could take it, then the both of them disappeared around the front of the building.
“Guess we should probably get inside,” Chris said. “My mama’s probably gonna be looking for me soon.”
“Yeah, cool.”
They walked back into the hall together, and an elderly woman was on her feet, bingo card in hand. One of the employees walked over and checked her card, the other players’ faces twisted and contorted as they watched the woman celebrate.
Jay’s mother and aunts stood, the legs of their chairs screeching across the floor, and made their way toward Jay and Chris who still stood just in front of the entrance.
“Come on, Jay. We goin’ the fuck home,” his mother said.
“Mmm hmm,” the first aunt said, turning her head and sizing up the little old woman whose gapped smile looked like an ax wound in her face.
“Fuck these ol’ raggedy ass people,” the second aunt said, pulling her keys from her purse with her long, hot-pink nails.
Jay exchanged a look with Chris, sighed, said his goodbye with a quick nod of his head. He followed the three large women out of the building and into the parking lot.
Chris’s head buzzed and his mouth had dried up. His tongue was like chocolate-coated sandpaper. His mama gathered her things, the same look of defeat she had every Tuesday and Friday. Chris remembered the one time she ever won, a five hundred dollar prize. She had talked about it for months, though she gave it all right back, little by little, week by week. He knew his dad didn’t care, anything to get her out of the house.
Sasha walked by, her mother ushering her along, the same disappointment and frustration written on the woman’s face. The girl curled her mouth into a slight smile, but all Chris could do was look away. He hurried toward his mother to avoid any more awkwardness.
“Hey, baby,” she said. “Lost again.”
“It’s cool, Mama. Don’t worry about it.”
She smiled, reached out and cupped the back of his head. “You hungry? I sure am.”
“Yeah, I could eat something.”
“Let’s go somewhere I can get a strawberry shake. Think that’ll ease some of this pain in my chest.”
Chris smiled. Not only did he have the whole summer vacation to look forward to, but Friday night was the longest possible moment before more bingo. He wanted to just stay home, but his dad wouldn’t let him. “Need to spend time with your mama,” he would say. “I got work to do, and I don’t want you in the house alone.”
On their way to the Dairy Queen, Chris rolled down his window and closed his eyes as the cool night air swept over his face.
Hoarse laughter erupted as they walked into the small house, and Chris smelled a light tinge of weed smoke in the air. Chris’s mama sighed through her nostrils, then flashed Chris a slight smile. “Why don’t you run on to your room, baby?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Hold up, now.” His dad’s voice had a bit of a slur to it. “Chris, come in here for a minute.”
Oh shit. He knows I’ve been pinching.
Chris looked up at his mama for support, but she nodded toward the kitchen and pursed her lips.
Chris trudged through the living room, the marijuana smell growing strength as he went. His dad sat at the table with two other men, a jagged arrangement of dominoes on the table resembling a broken cross. His dad sipped on a beer, smiled wide as he wrapped his arm around Chris’s neck.
“My boy, he gonna be in the NBA someday,” he said, then took another drink, patted Chris on the back. “Ain’t that right, Chris?”
“I don’t know,” Chris said. The same two men were always coming over, getting fucked up and playing dominoes, but Chris never talked to them. He kept his eyes on the table. “Guess so.”
“You guess so? Shit, you gonna make it. This little nigga got a shot like MJ, I’m tellin’ you.”
Chris smiled, rubbed the back of his head with an open palm. His mama walked over, kissed him on the forehead. “Go on to bed now.”
“All right, Mama.”
“You win?” Chris heard his dad say as he rushed toward his bedroom.
“Nah, not tonight.”
&n
bsp; “You’ll get ’em next time, baby.” Then loud smacking kisses.
Chris slid into his room, kicked his sneakers off and hopped onto his bed. He clicked on the TV and changed it to ESPN so he could catch the basketball highlights, turned up the volume to drown out the shouts and laughter in the kitchen. The cool sheets felt good on his skin, and before long, the images on the television became a blurry puddle of color and movement. His thoughts quickly turned to Sasha, and he held her face in his mind, hoping she would make an appearance in his dreams.
He awoke to the smell of eggs and toast. The TV was still going, now showing some tennis highlights. As he picked the crust from the corners of his eyes, he reached for the remote and cut the TV off. Through the walls, he could hear his mama watching The Price is Right reruns in the living room.
Chris yawned, stretched and shuffled out of his bedroom and into the kitchen. Mama sat on the couch, sipping a cup of coffee, and shouting out bids at the television.
“Two fifty. Two fifty, you dumb-ass.” She turned as Chris walked in. “Hey, baby. Scrambled eggs and toast in there for you. We outta bacon though.”
“That’s all right. Thanks, Mama.” He sat at the table, pushed the dominoes aside and shoveled eggs into his mouth. His dad’s snoring rumbled through the walls.
“Damn,” Mama said and shook her head. “I need to get on this show here, I’m telling you. I could win us some real money.”
Chris laughed as he crunched a mouthful of toast. “You always say that.”
“But I mean it. You don’t think I could win?”
“Nope.”
She furrowed her brow and smiled. “Whatever, boy. When I do win, guess I’ll keep it all to myself since you don’t have no faith. How ’bout that?”
A knock at the door.
“You get that, honey?”
Chris scooped up the rest of the eggs with the last piece of toast and shoved it into his mouth as he made his way toward the door.
“Who is it?” he said. No answer. He checked the peephole, but saw only an empty porch.
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