by Josh Lanyon
I sneaked a peek at the object of my desire.
Hood up, hands stuffed in the front pocket of a drab sweatshirt, Jonah was decked in the unofficial uniform of the urban ninja. We all were. Mud-colored, camo athletic wear—which blended into the shadows far better than black—and worn running shoes. He stared pointedly at the door, watching Dougie. “You think we might get in sometime tonight, Chief?”
Vinnie swung his backpack by the strap. “I second that question.” He held the first-aid kit and, knowing Vinnie, he also had some kind of horrible fruit-scented juice for vaping and a delicious snack to parcel for everyone later. My money was on Pop-Tarts, for both. Humor laced his voice, and he grinned at me. “If no, I vote for tacos. Taco Tuesday.”
I reminded him, “It’s Friday, Vin.”
“Taco Friday, then. Taco any day. Taco every day.”
Litter-strewn and damply lit, the ramshackle cement path circled an island of decay and neglect—better known as Parkway Mall. Tonight marked our very first foray inside, but the volume of paint-ball stains covering the exterior said plenty of others had come before us.
As a dead mall, some people thought Parkway was haunted, or unlucky, or cursed. Some said it held a history of murder, meth labs, and hobos, but people say a lot of things, about a variety of topics, and I’m fairly certain urban legends exist just to keep private property private.
Fact was, the place was empty. And had been for a long time because Parkway had never thrived. Not even when the shiny, unblemished doors first opened in the ’70s, and not for the three decades it managed to hang on after that. From what I remembered, when the mall finally croaked, no amount of money changing hands could have pumped life into its bloated corpse.
What remained? Boarded glass and padlocked doors and not a soul to be found except for us. So if there had been a credible haunting—and I scoffed simply stringing that sentence together—the lot would be crawling with people determined to prove the existence of paranormal activity. It wasn’t.
Parkway had been yet another victim of the statewide retail apocalypse.
Water dripped from broken downspouts. Towering weeds reclaimed the cracked pavement, creeping along walls plastered with NO TRESPASSING warnings, KEEP OUT signs, assorted graffiti, and, just in case you missed one, about a thousand FOR SALE or LEASE posters.
Lonely. Bleak. Isolated. Earthy. Empty. And fucking perfect.
I cast another sideward glance at Jonah, and this time, I caught him watching me. He smiled and swiftly looked away.
Okay.
He’d asked me twice today if I was coming. As if I, boy gamer, would miss. First, he texted this morning when we were technically in class and theoretically teaching—completely off-book for Mr. Theroux. And later, he swung by the computer lab at 2:35, as the last bell rang, knocking on my door and smiling cautiously. The students cut him a wide berth as they passed because Jonah ran a tight ship over on the academic hallway, and things were a little more loosey-goosey on our wing. It was a real surprise to see him.
But when I arrived tonight, he’d been stone quiet as he relieved me of my cell phone, locking mine with all the others in the trunk of his Jetta. We’d left our cars hidden in the desolate parking garage to the west of the mall. He’d given me a weird, terse, unreadable nod, and a tight-lipped smile that fell somewhere between nervous and cautiously optimistic and nothing like the eager smile he’d worn earlier.
He smelled damn good, though, and I fumbled my hello, wishing I could be smooth and confident in this arena of my life, but I was plain awkward. I don’t know why. It wasn’t like we weren’t friends. Just lately, he seemed more everything to me, and finally, when natural charm counted, I’d turned into a tongue-tied dork.
Fortunately, Piper dove into a thick conversation about Fortnite and salvaged the moment.
Vinnie waged his campaign for El Toro. “Nachos and tequila. Just up the road.”
“Not to mention dysentery and regret,” I added cheerfully, and a smatter of chuckling followed. “Let’s give him a minute.”
Dougie strained, leveraging the way inside. “All. Most. There.” The door yielded a teeny, tiny metallic moan and about a millimeter of give before snapping closed. “Tight bitch. Maybe the hinge broke. It’s definitely rusted. Although, I snipped the chain earlier and had zero problems getting inside.”
“Hey, man. No judgment here,” Vinnie lied. “Uh…couldn’t you remove the pin?”
“Negative. This is a secure door.”
The youngest of our group, baby-faced Chris, piped in expertly, “What you need is WD-40.”
Dougie countered, “Maybe, as Tommy suggested, you could give me a sec?”
Not to mention, no one had any. We were empty-handed—first-aid kit notwithstanding—packed light, and ready to run. Everything I personally carried fit into one pocket and could be categorized as essential nonessentials. I had ChapStick, because supple lips seemed important for some reason, and a key fob that included a Nano Light and a titanium whistle, a weenie pocketknife, and a mini Bic lighter.
Carrying more seemed like cheating, and that held no thrill. Challenge, however, did. I knew everyone else agreed.
Dougie smacked the doorframe. “Jesus Christ. Maybe it locked behind me when I left.”
“That’s sort of weird, right?” Chris fretted. “Like why? Could someone have locked it? On purpose?”
“No.”
Piper pointed to a foreboding line of padlocks and sealed service doors. “Maybe we try another door?”
She rested against the stucco wall, knee cocked, a pair of carnival-colored braids poking from a brown Carhartt cap. A short, compact girl, admired for speed, agility, and strength, and now the much-appreciated splash of color in our group, she sported camouflage Vans instead of running shoes.
Jonah used his best teacher voice on Piper. “Try patience. It’s a virtue.”
She flipped him off.
I tried for patience. Despite the uncomfortable excitement of this thing I felt for him, I itched to get inside and do what I loved most. Playing a game.
Dougie had made us sign waivers, which I took to mean we had some form of permission to enter the premises, and that someone had a key or had opened the door. Apparently not. So on top of other pressing tensions, I wondered if our Chief was messing with us, you know, the way friends do.
Also, I hoped this prolonged standing around didn’t make anyone sloppy later. People could get hurt. “Maybe we should find another location. Not that I want to, but—”
Dougie sighed. “But nothing, Tommy. We’re almost in.”
A lone truck rolled along Highway 21, headed toward the crimson aura of the old 76.
Chris frowned. “I thought you came to check everything earlier? You sure we’re not going to get arrested?”
Jonah chuckled. “I think we can outrun a mall cop. I know I can.”
Dougie answered Chris. “I did come earlier, and you’re not going to get arrested. Look. The door sticks. Half the mall is rusted or broken or rotted or dead. Maybe I accidentally locked myself out.” Not likely. “Doesn’t matter. We’re going inside. I set up all those fucking lights, which was incredibly difficult, super fucking creepy, they’re on timers, and you’re going in there, and you’re going to play this game, and you’re going to like it.”
Vinnie saluted. “Aye, aye, Chief.”
Dougie ignored him. “Lights go on in about eight minutes, so shut up and let me work.”
Chris, worrier extraordinaire, stared wishfully down the walkway. “And you’re sure this is the correct door?”
“Being the only door here without a padlock, yes, I am.” Dougie poked again with the crowbar. “Having second thoughts?”
“No. I just don’t want to stand here anymore. Makes me nervous. I keep thinking about the chicken factory. You know? The one that caught fire and was filled with illegals and they couldn’t get out because the exits were padlocked from the outside or blocked by—”
Dougie hacked away, the noise awfully loud. “This mall isn’t going to catch fire.”
Vinnie exhaled a no-frills cloud of fruit-scented vapor. “Famous last words.”
Chris glared between them. “How is that remotely reassuring?”
Dougie finally got a full grip on the edge of the door, clawing with both hands, and the crowbar clattered onto the cement. “A little help before I lose all my fucking fingers. And someone grab that. Might be handy later.”
As Vinnie stood closest, he pocketed his vape pen and moved to assist.
Jonah snagged the crowbar and handed it to Chris. “Here. You’re in charge of this. Don’t lose it. And fire safety is my thing, remember. I’m not concerned. So we’re good.”
“Fine.” You could tell he wasn’t fine.
Vinnie muttered, “Fuck, this door is really heavy.”
Chris stressed on. “If we can’t contact each other once we split up, what if the door jams again and we can’t leave? What if someone gets hurt? We should carry our phones.”
I was about to say something upbeat and positive to redirect him, but Jonah ruffled Chris’s hair. I was surprised Chris didn’t bean Jonah with the crowbar. “I’m sure we can survive an hour without Instagram.”
“Speak for yourself.” I compulsively checked for my own phone, which was, as stated, locked in his trunk. Good thing too. When we first started exploring vacant places last year, we’d do the whole GoPro thing, which proved a huge distraction for low return. That’s when people really got sloppy. And sloppy people get hurt. I changed the subject for everyone. “Where’s the rendezvous?”
Dougie perked up, a twinkle in his eye. “The carousel.”
The door yielded.
A shaft of light from the parking lot beamed inside, revealing a dank, cavernous void. Cold and silent.
Naturally, adrenaline lit my bloodstream, overpowering any problematic misgivings I might have had. Fuck that noise. Game on.
I sent Jonah a happy smile, and he, unexpectedly, grinned back, his face framed by a dirt-colored hoodie, his brown eyes bright.
Hell to the yeah.
Our leader waved us in. “Single file. One at a time. Take care. Watch for debris.”
Jonah entered first. “Hey, Chief, if the teaching gig doesn’t work out, you could always start a new career as a flight attendant.” He immediately stumbled and caught himself. “Whoa. Sorry. You’re not kidding.”
Chris trailed Jonah. He palmed a small flashlight and revealed a field of debris.
Jonah stopped in his tracks. “What are we looking at?”
Dougie said, “Ceiling tiles. They’re everywhere. Garbage. Broken glass. Electrical wire. The worst is on the second level, so stay alert. There’s no power, so you’re not in danger of electrocution, but there’s plenty of tripping hazards. And watch for standing water. It’s murder. This level clears pretty quick. The bathrooms are off-limits. Don’t even try.” A surprisingly long list of what-to-look-fors. “Piss anywhere else. And avoid the elevators. The shafts are full of bat shit and ready to implode.”
That gave me pause because now we risked contracting rabies.
Piper tucked her braids under the cap and bounced on her toes. “I love imploding buildings. As long as I’m not inside one. Not so much the bats. Anything else?”
“Nope. Other than those minor details, the place is safe-ish. Use your head.”
“Roger that.”
Piper ducked in, Vinnie next. “If this place is so safe, why’d you make us sign something?”
“Ish, I said. Safe-ish.” Dougie checked his watch. “And so you bozos don’t sue my ass if you do something dumb. Now move, Tommy. Lights are coming on in five fucking minutes.”
I followed Vinnie, entering a vast room that funneled quickly into inky nothingness. My heart skipped with excitement.
We met every week, playing Capture the Flag often enough, on all sorts of terrain. Our game more like tag, if tag was an Olympic sport. We played stuff online too—because of course we did—and sometimes we met for airsoft or paintball or laser tag. We mixed it up with Cards Against Humanity, Catan, any game except the ones with sport balls. Those were not our forte.
I’d met Dougie when I first came back to Hanover five years ago. He’d introduced me to his friends, a group of buttoned-up teachers, who by weekday were overworked and underpaid, but who let loose on weekends with gaming and beer and good times.
Tonight’s good time was Capture the Flag, beer to follow.
Dougie masterminded the whole evening. He’s that D&D kid you knew in junior high, who gave up a promising career in tech to teach history to high-school students and participates in Model UN for fun. He’s also as socially equipped as a hockey puck outside of our friends group.
Apparently, he’d spent the afternoon systematically positioning small LEDs throughout the property and had more or less prepped a mazelike course for us, which gave him a slight advantage, yes, but he’d stay put, guarding his team’s flag and territory.
This particular iteration would spread over two stories of pure Parkour excellence. We’d played in a three-level shoe factory once, and that night had been epic, chaotic, and I’d permanently altered Chris’s worldview and vocal range when I kneed his nuts jumping from a balcony. An accident. I swear.
So yeah, we were friends. Long-standing. Chief Doug, Vinnie, Crybaby Chris, Hot Jonah, Piper, and me—Tommy. Never Tom. By day, Mr. Cline, computer-science teacher.
Note: I could outrun any of these lard-asses, and they’d never caught me yet.
What made tonight slightly extra? Jonah. Who, for the record, did not have a lard ass. At all. No.
If anything, he was a hard-ass. At least, his students thought so. Assume Jonah is the most thorough, list-laden, fact-based, nerdiest science nerd you ever met. And yeah, I called him a nerd twice. For Jonah, fitness was just another factor in an equation for optimal physical health. He had an A+ in that. And he gamed to maintain good mental health. I respected that.
Jonah slipped farther inside the building, blending perfectly into the background, until Chris’s flashlight cut a swath through the darkness and I tracked him instinctively.
Chris propped the crowbar against the interior wall, and Dougie coaxed the door shut, which protested vehemently.
And we were in. Good times ahead.
The place reeked of mold.
Dougie led us across a thin, shallow space, which I imagined was maybe an old record store.
“Okay,” he said, and something crunched underfoot. “Vinnie and Chris, you’re with me on Red.”
Which left Jonah, Piper, and me on Blue. Almost as if I’d told Dougie point-blank earlier that’s how we would roll. I wanted to spend time alone with Jonah, working together toward a goal, maybe engaging in some flirting, not chasing after him in the dark. I’d done enough chasing already.
I’d just have to shake Piper.
Chris fist-pumped. I wouldn’t take his reaction personally, because he was a total infant and thus a liability. He crowed, “Excellent. And you know where all the exits are in case of disaster.”
“Nope.” Dougie killed the assumption for all of us. “Listen up. This is the only exit. Don’t forget where we are. Hopefully you reviewed the map.”
He handed me our flag, a 12x12 inch square of blue fabric, which I passed to Piper. Problem solved. Why guard the base alone when I could run around the mall with Hot Jonah?
Dougie continued, “Lights coming on soon, so spread out. We start at”—he checked his watch—“seven thirty. You have ten minutes to locate a base, so boogie. Since I know the area better, we have the far end near Belks. Anchors are inaccessible. Mall center is the neutral zone—you can’t capture anyone there, no bullshit. First one back to their home base with their opponent’s flag and blows the whistle wins.”
Vinnie shouldered his pack, taking on his appropriately appointed role as medic. “I have the first-aid kit. If you need me, blow twice. Three times—rendezvous. On
ce to check in. No fucking around, Tommy.”
I’m not sure why he singled me out. There’d only been the one time I’d jumped the gun on the rendezvous.
Dougie nodded. “Blue, when you exit here, turn left. Give us a few. When we’re clear, watch for obstacles.”
He gestured “let’s go” to his team, and they took off in formation at a fair clip. Chris’s light bobbed. Sneakers crunched on rubble. And they were gone.
I’d studied Dougie’s crappy map earlier, and although I hadn’t been to this mall since I was seven, I knew where to find the basics. Escalators, stairs, food court, the carousel, the bathrooms. Like any mall, the building housed a rabbit warren of shops, corridors, offices, food vendors, kiosks, anchor stores, and open space. Some passages led to the parking lot and some to mysterious hallways and other stores. There were two sunken seating areas and a large fountain. All the exits, as stated, were locked and impassable. I supposed if I had an ax, I could chop through one. Or a chainsaw.
Truthfully, Dougie could have missed something, given the sheer magnitude of the place. He was probably scaring us so we would stay within boundaries.
I did know for a fact that the vacuous megastores weren’t only off-limits—the roofs were collapsing.
Grinning happily in the dark, I waited as we let our eyes adjust for roughly two minutes, and then, using the narrow beam of my mini flashlight, we picked our way forward.
Moist silence filled the building. The pervasive odor of poop indicated animals had made homes here, coming in through unsealed pipes and ductwork or just the open sky above. Nothing moved. Not a peep or chirp or scurry or a flutter.
We exited the small shop, entering a side corridor near a cluster of second-string stores. Overhead, massive windows roofed a long mezzanine, letting in enough light that I pocketed mine. Overturned kiosks were everywhere, offering an inspired obstacle course. While the Red Team had bustled right through this space, we halted as one.