Dance For The Devil

by S. Kodejs

  Gil Vandercamp was in an uncharacteristic panic. He strode into Jake’s office unannounced and threw a copy of Pluto’s Playground onto Jake’s desk, dislodging a sheath of papers which flew off like a tickertape parade.

  “Gil. Nice entrance. I gather you’ve heard about our little problem,” Jake remarked dryly.

  “Little problem? It’s a fucking disaster!”

  “Calm down, Gil, it’s a minor disaster and we’ll fix it. It may take a few days, but we’ll fix it.”

  “We don’t have a few days! A group of Japanese executives are flying in from Tokyo on Tuesday specifically to see this product.”

  “So, don’t take them to level six.”

  “Ha ha. Very funny. You know as well as I do that level six is a vital selling point. They need to see it.”

  It was true. The concept of Pluto’s Playground was to orbit through space, deflecting the array of usual videogame obstructions, like asteroids, black holes and a truly gruesome selection of aliens. That, and navigating your own spaceship, was the fun part. The educational part was figuring out mathematical coordinates and applying scientific facts in order to win. Children learned without realizing. That was Marvelworks motto: fun and education, and the education part set this company apart from the flock.

  Level six was particularly appealing on a visual level. Here, players explored Pluto, trading their spaceship for a vehicle which allowed them to travel across the planet surface, fighting winds and gasses, or going underground and doing battle with giant subterranean worms.

  That was the way it was supposed to work. Instead, while poised to slice off the creature’s slimy head, the player suddenly found himself back at the beginning of the game, reading the game title and being prompted to input the number of players. Highly frustrating.

  Gil was pacing antsily. “I’ve got the design team coming for the weekend, plus the full production team. No one leaves this office until the glitch is fixed, okay? They eat, sleep and shit here.”

  “Oh, damn.”

  “What?” Gil stopped pacing and abruptly ran his hands through his silver hair. “What?”

  “I’ve got a conflict. Plans for the weekend. Unbreakable.”

  “Break them anyway.”

  “No, you don’t understand, Gil. I promised the kids –”

  “Look, I don’t care if you’re having a fucking heart transplant, you’re the only person who knows what’s going on. This was your brainchild and you need to fix it. So pick up the fucking phone and cancel your fucking plans, or else.”

  Jake’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me. Pick up the fu–”

  “Yeah, I heard you, I just didn’t believe you. Are you issuing me an ultimatum, Gil?”

  “And if I am?”

  “Then you can take this shitty job and shove it up your ass. My children are more important. They’ve been through enough heartache already without me disappointing them again.”

  “You need to examine your priorities, Jake.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing. Look, I’ll take the game with me and work on it over the weekend, and I’ll keep in touch by video conferencing. That’s the best I can do, take it or leave it.”

  Gil’s eyes were cold. A chill reached out and grasped Jake’s heart, and momentarily, he felt a stab of fear. Absurd, yet there it was. “You leave me no alternative,” Gil said finally, glaring at Jake. “Do it your way. I’ll be in touch.”

  Gil left the room, and once again it seemed empty without his presence. Only this time, another feeling permeated the room. Something ominous. Dark.

  Jake thought about Skeeter’s words: ‘I don’t like them. They’re creepy’. Well, something definitely felt creepy right now.

  Your imagination is working overtime, old boy. Gil is a great guy. A wonderful boss, a good friend. Yeah, so why the sudden personality change?

  Many reasons, Jake rationalized, bending to retrieve his fallen papers. Gil has tremendous pressure on him to deliver a workable game. His company and reputation were in jeopardy. He was stressed. He was a type A. He was...

  Oh, Christ, he was grasping at straws. Next he would be chalking it up to Gil’s birth sign, Gemini, the twin personality. The fact was, Gil was pissed off and mad as hell. Pluto’s Playground wasn’t working. Jake had to fix it, end of story.

  He thought about cancelling the weekend with the kids. Skeeter would be disappointed, Amy would be furious. He would let them down... again. He would fail... again. There was no way out. They were going.

  **

  In the end, Jake should have stayed. The weekend was a complete disaster, start to finish. He stayed late on Friday, desperately trying to locate the design error. Consequently, they ended up catching a late ferry to Washington State, and the boat was packed. After searching in vain for a trio of seats, they gave up and sat apart. Not an auspicious beginning for a weekend of family togetherness.

  Usually the ferry ride was enjoyable, the beautiful scenery of the Gulf Islands keeping their attention, the three-hour ride broken by leisurely strolls on the deck, coffee in hand. A mini-cruise. But Friday, the weather turned truly ugly and it was too dark to see anything but the odd flickering of lights. Small children raced around, upsetting coffee cups and banging outstretched legs. Jake had hoped to sneak a bit more work in, but given the atmosphere, it was impossible.

  The long drive to Seattle dampened already low spirits, and the mood for the weekend seemed set. Jake tried his darndest to cheer the kids up, but even Skeeter, normally carefree, was in a foul mood. The reason for this became clear early the next morning, when Skeeter, flush with fever, vomited all over the hotel room carpet.

  “Oh, gross,” complained Amy. “I suppose we’ll have to smell that all day long.”

  “Amy, he didn’t do it on purpose.”

  It was no use trying to convince her. Amy seemed to feel that Skeeter had acquired the flu purposely to annoy her.

  Moving Skeeter was out of the question, as was leaving the boy alone. Jake, against his better judgement, bundled Amy into a taxi and sent his brooding daughter to a nearby shopping mall, his credit card in her hand. She returned six-hours later with two bags full of the ugliest clothing Jake had ever set eyes on. He tried to look enthusiastic, but his true feelings must have shown because she promptly burst into tears and locked herself in the bathroom. Skeeter puked again, Amy announced she’d just got her period, and Jake, despite spending every available minute studying Pluto’s Playground, couldn’t locate the problem.

  When they returned home, Amy wasn’t speaking to anyone, Jake had a splitting headache, and Skeeter was too sick to do anything but stay in the backseat with his head stuffed into a paper bag, trying not to barf.

  **

  “My dad is a complete asshole,” Amy announced to Jason and his friends. “He says he loves me, but he is such a liar. His idea of love is to hand me his Visa card and ignore me.”

  “Mine too,” Alex said, a dark haired boy who would be good looking if not for the virulent crop of acne marking his face.

  “It’s my mother who’s the stupid one,” Elise stated.

  “At least you have a mother,” Amy complained. “Things were better when my Mom was around, but... well, she doesn’t care either. Nobody does. I could commit suicide and no one would give a shit.”

  “I would,” Jason said. “We all would.”

  The other kids nodded, and Amy looked at them gratefully.

  “Well...” Jason began, and they looked at him expectantly. He hesitated, then began slowly. “Sometimes I go to these meetings. They’re kind of weird, and sometimes they do strange things, but you feel pretty good afterwards.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Well, church things, kind of, only more liberal. I mean, we pray and all that, but our philosophy is radically different. Positive and enlightening. You feel empowered afterwards instead of subjugated.”

  “Subjugated,” Amy echoed, sounding
unsure.

  Jason spread his hands. “Traditional churches are very negative. The priest or minister peddles guilt: society is bad, the world is evil and your every thought and natural urge should be repressed. For example, sex. The most primal, natural instinct of all and we’re told it’s a sin. Isn’t that a joke? Sex is evil, yet everyone does it. Half the priests are doing it with their congregation, the other half are busy screwing little kids. Where the hell do they get off telling you sex is a sin? Pious assholes.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Alex. “The whole point of church is to make you feel guilty. Jesus hanging from the cross, bleeding all over the place. It’s totally gross. Nails stuck in his wrists like a fucking creepshow. They try to scare you into submission.”

  “Yeah,” Jason nodded. “No matter what you do, it isn’t enough. If you give five dollars to the church, they make you feel like you should’ve given ten. If you’ve eaten a decent breakfast, you’re guilty of gluttony. If you admire someone’s new car, they call it coveting and say you’re jealous. If you’re friendly to your next door neighbor, then you’re lusting after her. Well, get real! Sometimes we do pig out, that’s the law of nature. Is a lion sinful because he ate too much zebra for lunch? And, so what if we like someone’s car? What if it’s a Porsche? Who wouldn’t admire a Porsche and feel a bit envious? Like, someone really is going to say, ‘No, I don’t want that brand new shiny Porsche, I’d much prefer to drive my shit-heap’.”

  The kids all chuckled and Alex broke in: “And if your neighbor has a great pair of hooters and looks like Megan Fox –” Amy booed and Elise whacked him on the head. Jason smiled.

  “My point is,” Jason continued, “emotions are a natural part of human nature and it’s not healthy to suppress them. People are screwed up because everyone’s always telling them how bad they are. Not only the church, but parents, relatives, teachers, television, advertising... every facet of our lives is trying to convince us that we are not good enough.”

  “I know what you mean,” Amy said. “Magazines are filled with perfect, skinny girls with great teeth and no zits–” Alex put his hands to his face self-consciously and Amy looked at him sympathetically. “Sorry, but what I mean is, no one looks like those models in real life. You’re normal, Alex, not them. Teenagers are supposed to get zits. But, even though I know that, I still feel inadequate.”

  Jason nodded. “Exactly. So, this group I belong to is different. They tell you that you’re great just the way you are. I always feel more centered when I leave. More... alive.”

  All four were silent while they thought about this. “Sounds cool,” Alex said. “Can we come, sometime?”

  Jason hesitated. “I’m not sure. They’re pretty selective. I think they’re worried about letting too many people join. It might get... well, too mainstream.”

  Everyone was quiet. “I’ll ask,” Jason said, finally. “Okay? I’ll vouch for you. Meetings are usually on Saturday nights, so I’ll ask then. Okay?”

  They all nodded. The rain spattered heavily on the window of Jason’s bedroom. “What do you guys want to do? Listen to tunes? Watch a DVD. I know, how about a game of Dungeons and Dragons?”

  “I don’t know how to play,” Amy said.

  Jason put his arm around her, affecting a Humphrey Bogart drawl. “Don’t worry, shweet-heart, I’ll teach you how to play.” He kissed her full on the lips, in front of Alex and Elise, winking suggestively. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

  **

  September 22

  Dear Mom:

  It’s raining really hard today. I bet it’s sunny in California. It rains a lot in Victoria, but Dad says at least it’s better than snow. He said we can drive to the mountains in a few months and go boarding and see the snow. My new friend Darren said that sometimes it snows in Victoria but not very often. I bet you’ll miss the snow because I know how much you love it.

  My school is okay. Dad or Carmen (our housekeeper) drives me, but mostly I walk. I like my teacher. His name is Mr. Dimple which I think is pretty funny. He likes to laugh and tells funny stories about the Great Depression. Sometimes sad stories too.

  Amy and I try not to fight because it drives Dad crazy, but sometimes we forget. I don’t think Amy is happy. She misses you. She says she’s tired of living in a houseful of penises. I’ve been trying to remember to put the toilet seat down but sometimes I forget.

  Are you a big movie star yet? I hope so. Can I come and visit when you are? I miss you and I love you.

  Your Son,

  Skeeter

  P.S. I’m going to be a punk rocker for Halloween. Dad thinks I’m getting too old for trick-or-treating, but said I can go one last time.

  P.S.S. I’m going to Darren’s house for a sleepover next Friday. We’re going to watch scary movies and eat pizza in front of the TV. Cool, huh?

  Dear Mother:

  Dad said I had to write this letter, so I am. I hope you’re not too busy to read it, but you probably are.

  Victoria is okay. At first it really sucked but it’s getting better. I made some new friends and one of them is Daddy’s boss’s son, Jason Vandercamp. He is really nice and cute. I think you would like him. I think he is going to be my boyfriend but I’m not sure, because kids here don’t really date, not officially. Mostly we hang out in a crowd.

  My school is about the same as it was in Toronto. It even looks the same, lots of red brick. It was scary going to a new school, but I finally fit in. I have one really horrible teacher, Mr. Groom. I call him Doom-Gloom, but of course not to his face. He teaches English and he makes it really boring. At my old school it was my best subject, but now it sucks.

  I don’t really have anything else to say. I think Skeeter misses you. Sometimes I hear him crying for you at night, and sometimes he sleeps with Dad. One time he crawled into my bed and I let him stay, even though it’s disgusting for brothers and sisters to sleep together.

  Oh, Dad went on a date last week. Does that bother you? I don’t think he had very good time because he came home really early and he looked kind of grim. His boss set it up. His boss is just trying to be nice and thinks Dad should be happy again. I know that because Mr. Vandercamp told me.

  Dad said I had to write a full page, so this is it. I’m sorry it isn’t more interesting.

  Amy.

  22 September

  Dear Elizabeth,

  Enclosed are the divorce papers, signed as your lawyer instructed. It makes me feel sad, although I understand now what you meant when you said the marriage was over a long time ago.

  The children are adjusting fairly well. I won’t lie and say they are happy, but I think that in time they will be. Each is handling things in his/her own way. Skeeter has regressed, slightly, but it is Amy who concerns me the most. She is sullen and withdrawn, and frequently angry with me. I’m not sure if her moods are a result of normal teenage angst (Gil Vandercamp assures me it is) or if they spring from our breakup. I have thought about family counselling, and will discuss it with the children’s teachers during next month’s interviews.

  I know you disagree, but I think it would be very beneficial for the children to have contact with you. I am not suggesting visitation, although in time that would be ideal. Perhaps a letter, or at the very least, a postcard? The children need some kind of contact with you, even if it is one of closure. Elizabeth, I cannot stress the importance of this enough, but I will not write more about it lest you think I am renewing an argument.

  The Toronto house sold quickly and for a fair price, and I’ve sunk the money, along with every other penny I had into the new house. It felt strange to make this decision alone. Gil Vandercamp assures me it’s a good investment.

  I have not yet decided what to do about the cottage. I think we should keep it for now, so the children and I can vacation there in the summer, and they can see their old friends. Please give me your input on this.

  I have asked the children to each write you a letter. I have promise
d not to read them, so I have no idea what they will say to you. It feels as if I am not doing a good enough job being their father. Perhaps I am trying too hard? Do you suppose that’s the ultimate joke? For years I tried too little. Perhaps one day I’ll get it right.

  Goodbye, Elizabeth. I hope you attain happiness in your quest for a new and more fulfilling life. I regret things ended as they did, and I am not unwilling to shoulder my share of the blame. It is my greatest wish that we remain, if nothing else, on friendly terms.

  Best Regards,

  Jake

  CHAPTER THREE

  Two weeks before Halloween, Jason invited his friends to a secret meeting. “Autumn is a special time for us,” he explained. “Tonight’s meeting will be pretty low key. Halloween is when the real action will happen.”

  “Like a party?” Amy asked. “Do we wear costumes?”

  “Yes, but nothing too fancy, just dark capes. I’ll take care of getting them, okay? So tonight, just observe, and be careful not to draw attention to yourself.”

  “How come?” Alex wanted to know.

  “Just because. Your behavior reflects on me. Since I sponsored you, I’m responsible for making sure you know all the rules.”

  “You sound like my parents,” Elise said.

  Jason laughed. “Yeah, I do, don’t I? Don’t sweat it, but remember one thing: no matter what happens, it’s all in fun. If you see something... well, unusual, keep in mind that’s part of it. The whole idea of this group is to be different.... special. That’s why I invited you guys, because you’re special too. I think you’ll fit in really well.”

  Amy felt a thrill of apprehension. “Will the meeting go on quite late? My dad’s strict about my curfew. He waits up for me.”