“I…I technically broke his Walkman.”
“How?”
“On the last day of school. I ratted him out for listening to it, and the teacher made him put it away, and when he did…he knocked it on the floor, and it broke. Everyone laughed at him.”
“Anything else?”
“I stabbed his bike tire with a pen.”
“Jesus, Ben. Haven’t we raised you better than this?”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
Mr. Bauer sighed, pulled his wallet from his back pocket, and yanked a crisp twenty-dollar bill from it. He handed the bill to Benji and said, “You pay that boy for his Walkman. This should cover it. I could give a rat’s ass about his bike tire, because clearly he’s upgraded. You settle this, Ben, and from now on I don’t ever want to see that boy around here again. No more scrapping, no more fighting. The kid is bad news, from bad parents. But you’re going to do what’s right and hopefully that’ll be the end of it. Before somebody gets really hurt.”
Benji took the twenty and said, “Okay.” The bill felt like it weighed one hundred pounds in his hand; the dense guilt and shame of letting down his parents, neatly folded and tucked behind the face of Andrew Jackson.
“Your behind is going to be in my shop from the crack of dawn to closing time for all of next week to earn back that money. So enjoy tonight and get some rest.”
“Yes, sir,” Benji said, and his father firmly closed his bedroom door.
Across the street Alley lay in bed, his blankets pulled taught over him. It was very late now; the living room was quiet, so his parents must have finished watching Carson. Lauren played her stereo quietly at night, but her room was silent, too. She must have drifted off to sleep.
It had been an exciting night after Alley passed out in the bathroom. Mrs. Emerson insisted on taking him to the Emergency Room, but when Alley came to, he pleaded to stay home. He walked downstairs with his mother and sister, picked at some chicken soup and ginger ale to settle his stomach, then came to bed. He’d been watching Three’s Company reruns on his tiny black and white television unbothered, up until Rodney Frye’s less than subtle advertising of his new vehicle.
With Rodney gone and Benji unable to talk, Alley turned the volume knob on his TV to low and returned to bed.
He had nearly drifted to sleep, his head propped up on a stack of pillows, when he saw her. She was a faint outline at first; a silhouette standing in the corner of his room.
He closed his eyes, told himself that he was imagining things again, and ignored the figure.
After a short silence, the floorboards beyond his bed started to creak. Quietly at first, almost impossible to hear. The creaking came closer and louder, until Alley was certain someone was standing beside his bed.
He couldn’t stand it any longer—he had to open his eyes. She stood just inches from his bed, and he exhaled, relieved that she had a face this time and didn’t appear menacing or threatening.
In fact, she was quite pretty—she bore a striking resemblance to Melissa Tipton, a high school senior that Alley had a crush on a year or two back. He hadn’t seen Melissa in some time, not since she moved away for college, but the similarities between the two were uncanny. They even dressed alike. The girl in his room wore a faded, tattered Metallica t-shirt and worn out denim jeans.
“Who are you?” Alley asked, studying the mysterious figure.
Softly, she said: “You know who I am.”
Alley gulped.
“You remember me from the arcade?”
Alley nodded. When he played Phantasos, her face was the last thing he’d remember seeing before he fainted. He couldn’t recall it before, but now the memory was rushing back.
She crept closer to the bed, then climbed on top of it, until she was kneeling above Alley, pinning him at the waist between her knees and his mattress.
“How did you get in here?” Alley said.
The girl laughed, started swaying back and forth slowly. “I have all sorts of ways to get close to people, Alley.” She reached one hand outward and brushed her fingernails gently along his cheek. “I can be what they fear, or I can be what they want. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, I’m both. Whatever gets me close.”
The girl removed her hand from Alley’s face, used both to pull her long, dark hair behind her shoulders.
“Why are you following me?”
“Because you let me in, Alley. Just like all the others. It’s nothing personal, I hope you understand,” and she pouted her lips. “It’s just…my nature,” and in a single fluid motion she removed her top.
Alley practically choked, staring up at the girl atop him, her bare features outlined by the streetlight filtering through his blinds.
She reached down, took Alley’s hand, and guided it to her hip. Her skin was cool and soft. “Now’s not the time to be shy,” the girl said.
“I don’t like this.”
“Of course you do.”
“I don’t.” Alley recoiled his hand away.
She seemed frustrated. Impatient.
“You don’t have to draw this out forever, Alley,” the girl said, continuing to sway.
“Just—just go away.”
The girl brought her face close to his and whispered, “Oh, Alley. I’m never going away.”
Alley whimpered. Her breath smelled foul, like rotting garbage left out in the sun on a summer day.
“What do you want?” he asked.
The girl leaned back, smirked, and her flesh melted from her bones in acrid, sizzling globs. It drizzled over Alley and his blankets until all that was left was a monstrosity, a partially decayed corpse with straw for hair, bones sticking out from all directions. She stunk something horrible, the smell of sulfur and decay. Her eyes were hollowed, dark sockets that pierced through Alley’s very being, and she clicked her bony jaw open:
“You, Alley. All I want is you.”
Twenty-Seven
DANNY SAT AT A STOOL BEHIND his kitchen counter, quietly buttering a slice of burnt toast. Across the room from him Aaron lay on the couch, legs splayed over the side, drool running from the corner of his lips and down his chin.
Slowly, Aaron started to wake up. A toss and turn at first, a groan, a yawn, and then a: “Smells great. What’s for breakfast?”
Danny half smiled, reached across the counter, and dropped two more slices of bread into the kitchen toaster. He turned the dial down a degree or two—So his won’t be burnt—then said, “As long as you’re up, can you turn on the TV? I like to watch the morning news with breakfast.”
Aaron stood up, let out a roar of a yawn, and scratched at an armpit. “Sure.”
He clicked on the television then stumbled half awake into the kitchen, a zombie searching for brains. When he found the fridge he opened it, pulled out some milk and orange juice, then asked if Danny had any Cocoa-Puffs.
“I don’t, dude. I have Cocoa-Pebbles.”
Aaron scoffed.
“What?” Danny said. “They’re essentially the same thing.”
“It’s too early in the morning for me to tell you everything that’s wrong with that sentence,” Aaron said.
“Fine. You can go grocery shopping next if you don’t like my cereal options.”
Aaron shrugged. “Cocoa-Pebbles are fine, man.”
Just then, the morning news chimed in with a breaking news story. Danny motioned for Aaron to shush and chewed the hunk of toast in his mouth slowly and quietly.
“This just in from our affiliate in Portland,” the news anchor said. “The name of the victim and other key details in last week’s fatal head on collision in Irvington have been released. Samuel Veloz, a thirty-two year old husband and father of two, allegedly drove forty to fifty miles over the posted speed limit and into oncoming traffic, according to authorities, when he collided into a semi-trailer truck travelling southbound on I-84. Veloz suffered critical head injuries and died at the scene. An official spokesperson for the Irvington Police Department has stated t
hat no citations or charges will be issued to the driver of the semi.
“Veloz was a notable member of the Portland video game scene. He was the sole proprietor of the Electric Arcade in Irvington, and was also well known for his contribution to the Gaming North West computer network, where friends knew him as Portland Gamer Guru Sixty-Nine.
“In other news, a string of burglaries in North Portland were put to an end this week, when police apprehended—”
“Hey, buddy,” Aaron said, snapping his fingers in front of Danny’s face. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Danny looked away from the television and down at the cold slice of toast on his plate. “It’s…that guy. Who was just on the news.”
“What about him?” Aaron said.
“I was reading his posts on the Gaming North West message board last night. He played a Phantasos machine in Portland, and now he’s…”
“Gone.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s trippy, dude,” Aaron said, and he shoved a tablespoon of Cocoa-Pebbles into his mouth.
Danny gave Aaron a sideways look, then pushed his plate of toast away and stood up.
“What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to finish that? You gotta eat.”
Danny said, “I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Then, do you mind?” Aaron said, reaching across the counter.
“Go for it. I have to shower before work.”
“All right, dude,” Aaron said, and he grabbed Danny’s remaining slice of toast and took a bite.
Twenty-Eight
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
Lauren stood outside of Alley’s bedroom, chewing on a fingernail, waiting for her brother to open the door.
“Alley? Alley, it’s almost ten o’clock. Even for you, that’s pushing it.”
Silence.
“Alley, you’ll miss your mid-morning dose. Come on.”
Still no answer.
Lauren jiggled the doorknob to Alley’s room, found his bedroom door stuck in the jamb.
“Alley, open up. Mom’s still pissed about the number I did on the bathroom door, I really don’t want to break another one.”
Lauren pressed her shoulder into the door and heaved, spun the knob again, and with a quick click she flew into his room.
Alley was lying on the hard floor, wrapped in blankets, splayed out and asleep. Lauren knelt down next to him.
“Al? What are you doing?”
His eyes fluttered open, his face blank. He focused on Lauren’s worried face and mumbled, “Hey.”
“What are you doing on the floor? Did you have bad dreams?”
Alley shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
When he sat up, sore and aching from the floor, that’s when Lauren noticed it. Four thin, crimson stripes in varying lengths—a tiger’s mottling—running parallel with one another from just behind Alley’s ear and to his chin.
She pulled her brother into her arms and held him tight. “Alley, what’s going on?”
“I don’t—I don’t know. I don’t want to—”
“Talk about it?” She shook him. “You have to let me in, Alley. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me. What happened? Who did this to you? Did you do this?”
“No.”
“I should call mom.”
“Don’t call mom,” Alley said, in a slumbered voice. “I don’t want her to miss work. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not a burden, do you hear me? Never.”
“I’m fine. Please don’t call mom.”
Lauren pulled the stray, flattened hairs away from the side of her brother’s head and examined the wounds more closely. “Did you scratch your face? Did it happen when you fell off the bed? Do you remember falling off the bed?”
Alley stood up, yawned, and collapsed into his bed. In an instant he was snoring.
Pound, pound, pound.
Lauren beat her palm on the front door of the Bauer’s home, less like a knock and more like a drubbing hammer.
Benji quickly appeared at his front door. Before he finished opening it all the way Lauren said, “Are you still grounded?”
“No, I—I just woke up—”
“Come over to my house. Now.”
“Is everything all right? Is Alley okay?”
“He won’t talk to me. He won’t open up to any of us, about what’s going on with him. He has completely shut down. And I’m terrified. You’re his best friend, and I want you to try talking to him. Now.”
“Of course. I’ll come right over.”
Lauren opened her brother’s bedroom door and let Benji in.
“Wake up, Al. Benji’s here. He wants to hang out with you. Maybe get a few levels of Mario in.” She clapped her hands. “Come on, up and at em.”
Alley stirred underneath his blankets and groaned. Lauren raised her eyebrows to Benji—Good Luck—and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Benji sat down at the foot of Alley’s bed. The room smelled foul; it reeked of sick. It reminded Benji of how his own bedroom smelled the week that he was isolated in it with chickenpox, back in second grade.
Alley flipped sides, and Benji gasped at his friend’s pallid complexion and the dark wounds on his face.
Benji shook his friend’s foot and said, “Hey, Al. It’s me.”
“I know it’s you. I’m sick, not incompetent.”
“Lauren’s worried about you, man. She says you’re not yourself.”
“I just want to be left alone. Nobody will leave me alone.”
Benji shook Alley’s foot again. “Come on. Tell me what’s going on.”
Alley sat up in bed. “I saw her again. Last night.”
“Who?” Benji asked, and for a moment she hovered just behind Benji’s shoulder, her jaw stretched open wide, her hollowed eye sockets gazing down at Alley.
Benji turned around in the direction Alley was looking, mouth gaped, and saw that the room was empty.
Alley blinked and she was gone.
“Alley, who?”
Alley sighed. “Sometimes she looks like mom. Sometimes she sounds like Lauren. Sometimes she sounds like you on the phone. Last night she looked like Melissa Tipton.”
“Melissa Tipton? That senior cheerleader you liked in sixth grade? The one with the giant—” Benji crudely held his hands in front of his chest.
Alley returned a blank stare. “Yeah. Her.”
Benji cracked a smile. “Well that doesn’t sound so bad—”
“Shut up. It is bad. It’s very bad.”
The smile on Benji’s face faded. “I’m sorry, dude. I…”
“I’m going to say it, Benji. I’m going to say it but you have to promise not to utter a word to Lauren, or my parents, or anyone.”
“Say what?”
“I’m going to die. She showed me. We all are, very soon. It’s all part of her plan. She showed me every agonizing detail.”
“Alley, I don’t know if someone is prank calling you or what, to put all of these ideas in your head. No one is going anywhere. Especially you.”
“I am,” Alley said. “And there’s not much time to explain, so listen to me. Don’t ever, ever, ever play the Phantasos machine at the Planet X Arcade. Actually, don’t every play any Phantasos machine. Understand? Don’t let Lauren, either. Never. Do you promise?”
“Yeah, Al. I promise.”
“I’m serious, Benji. That’s how she got to me, and that’s how she’s planning on getting to you and getting to Lauren. You have to swear to it.”
“I swear.”
“Good. Then her plan can never work.”
Benji sighed. Alley looked terrible, the worst that he had ever seen him. Big, puffy, bluish half-moons hung underneath his eyes. His lips were chapped; his skin was paper white and practically translucent. He studied his friend for a moment then said, “Why don’t we get some breakfast, bud? Lauren mentioned that she was going to make pancakes to lure y
ou out of here.”
For the first time all morning, Alley smiled.
“Sounds great.”
Twenty-Nine
DANNY AND AARON SLID A KEY into the front door of Planet X, then let themselves in. Right away, they realized that they weren’t the only two in the arcade.
In the center of the arcade stood two gentlemen and a small, well-dressed child. The one gentleman—who Danny quickly recognized as Mr. Varghese—was wiping away tape and residue from the coin slot of the Phantasos machine. The other gentleman—a stranger—was muttering words to Varghese, while the child beside him spun around, dancing with a doll.
Danny cleared his throat. “Excuse me. Can I help you?”
“Ah,” Mr. Varghese said, standing upright. “Mr. Feist. We were just talking about you.”
“What the hell—” Danny caught himself, remembering the little girl twirling in front of the machine. “What the heck are you doing in my arcade?”
“We came to inspect Phantasos—”
“How did you get in here?” Danny spun, turned to Aaron, and pointed towards the office. “Go get the phone—call the police.”
“There will be no need for that,” Mr. Varghese said. “We let ourselves in here lawfully, as is our right per the agreement we have with your establishment. We used the key that Todd Prower himself provided us with.”
Danny approached the two men. Mr. Varghese was dressed as dapper as any other time Danny had encountered him. His partner, however, was one million times more fashionable. A tall, brooding fellow, hair slicked back, massive gold watch on his wrist, his tie clip and cuff links glinting in the afternoon light. Diamond encrusted. Beneath the dazzling jewelry was a three thousand dollar suit, cut at a perfect trim, framing the man majestically.
“And who do you think you are?” Danny said, but the words left his mouth unevenly and the finely dressed man simply smiled.
“My name is Dominic Bloom. I haven’t had the chance to make your acquaintance.” Mr. Bloom stuck out a hand and shook Danny’s vigorously. What a grip he had! Mr. Bloom exuded power, wealth, and confidence, and it overwhelmed him. But there was something more to him than all of that, too. Danny couldn’t place it.
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