Lights, Gamera, Action: That’s awful. You shouldn’t be a teacher if you make a joke of people dying.
Phil Meehan: I’m not a teacher, you should have seen I’m a lecturer, and I rather think students can cope. Anyway, Frye died long before I should think you were born.
Lights, Gamera, Action: You don’t know how old I am and you won’t be finding out either.
All To Reel: Don’t let the sissy shut you up, Phil. You carry on sharing your brains with us.
Phil Meehan: House of Dracula reunites the monsters and keeps some of them the same. Now that Karloff has reclaimed his brain he’s gone elsewhere, leaving Onslow Stevens to carry on the operations. Stevens means to cure the wolf man by brain surgery and give Dracula blood transfusions to turn him into a man. They’re Chaney and Carradine again, and Glenn Strange shows up in a cave under the doctor’s castle. Though he’s still the monster, some scenes turn him into Karloff or Chaney, and you have to wonder whose brain has ended up in him. Atwill has kept his police job but he’s changed his name from Arnz to Holtz. Hunchback Carroll Naish is now hunchback Martha O’Driscoll. Are these films really about the impermanence of personality? That’s how they seem to fit together.
Getagrip: No they aren’t and no they don’t. Rather play with films than stand up for people, would you, Phil? If you’re supposed to be a lecturer you’re meant to look after them.
Phil Meehan: I’ve already told you I’m better than supposed, and who am I meant to be defending against what?
Getagrip: Too busy pumping up your brain to read what someone else said about sissies? It isn’t homophobic just to say it, not caring is as well.
All To Reel: There’s no fucking homophobes round here. That’s just what your lot call anyone that wants to stay normal.
Phil Meehan: I didn’t realise the comment about sissies was intended to be homophobic, which I’m absolutely not. I thought it was about sensitivity even if it wasn’t called for.
Karloffann: Don’t say any more or you’ll be tying your brain into a bigger knot. You’ve got no more ideas, so go away. Even you couldn’t make anything out of Abbott and Costello.
Phil Meehan: I’ll have to disagree with that. This time the brain surgeon is Lenore Aubert, who plans to transfer Lou Costello’s brain to Glenn Strange’s head. Chaney is the wolf man and tells Abbott and Costello they’re in the house of Dracula, perhaps thinking he’s still in the last film. Lugosi is Dracula but forgets at one point and shows up in a mirror. Costello turns into the wolf man at a masked ball. Perhaps Aubert is Frankenstein, since the film is Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein and she’s stored his research in her brain. Enough for everyone?
Karloffann: You’re getting desperate, aren’t you, crippling a comedy so it’ll fit your brain. If you’ve got any students I hope they’re laughing at all this.
Phil Meehan: Anyone can laugh. I said it was about having fun.
Lights, Gamera, Action: Then stop trying to ruin ours. Like Karloffann says that’s a comedy, so don’t try making it something else.
Phil Meehan: Let me point out that it was filmed as The Brain of Frankenstein, which fits my thesis.
Lights, Gamera, Action: It’s a thesis now, is it? I thought just students did those. I think you’ve made that title up like a lot more you’ve been saying.
Phil Meehan: I’ve made nothing up. Try searching for the title, and then you might apologise.
Lights, Gamera, Action: I don’t need to search to know I don’t believe you, and I’d swap brains with you before I’d apologise. I don’t even believe in your name.
Phil Meehan: That’s quite a laugh, Miss Gamera, considering what you call yourself. I ought to have acted like the rest of you and made up a name.
Lights, Gamera, Action: Just so everyone knows, I searched for your name and it isn’t listed as a lecturer anywhere. What’s it meant to be? Film Me Ann or Fill Me In? I believe you’re laughing at us for missing the joke.
Phil Meehan: It’s no joke. It’s me and I’m it. I’m afraid it looks as if the joke’s your name and the book you claim you’re writing. You ought to realise it isn’t original. It’s all over the internet, where I expect you found it even if you didn’t realise. The net is part of everyone’s brain.
Lights, Gamera, Action: My brain’s nowhere except here in my head. What are you trying to make me think?
Phil Meehan: I’m saying your name and that title is everywhere, but I think the book is only in your brain. If I’m wrong do prove it. Post a chapter or a few as evidence.
Lights, Gamera, Action: I’m not putting anything on here for anyone to steal.
Phil Meehan: Somehow I didn’t think you would. You can’t prove anything is real by hiding it, you know. If you won’t post any chapters, how about a few of your ideas? We’ve seen none except the ones you didn’t mean to give me.
Getagrip: Maybe that’s what Phil He Mean wants us to believe. Maybe he’s inside your computer like we thought he could be.
Gail Lloyd: Excuse me, could you all stop disturbing my daughter?
Phil Meehan: May we know who you’re talking about and who you’re saying you are?
Gail Lloyd: I’m Ann’s mother, the girl who’s been posting as Lights, Gamera, Action, and I want you to stop bullying her.
Phil Meehan: You’re the girl, are you? You’re saying you’re her. Do you share a brain by any chance? It doesn’t seem to be functioning too well. Is Ann short for FrAnnKenstein? There’s already one Ann here, and I wonder if there’s only one.
Gail Lloyd: I think it’s your brain that needs some attention. Just so you know, she’s vulnerable and you’re doing her no good. I can’t believe you’re bullying her over such trivial things either.
Phil Meehan: At least I don’t talk about myself in the third person, and you’re the one who’s been inciting me, Miss Gamera. Gail, would that be ILGA mixed up? And is Lloyd short for Cellulloyd? That’s a joke.
All To Reel: Sounds more like Gay fucking Lloyd to me.
Gail Lloyd: I don’t play games with words and films like you, Mr Meehan, or whatever your name may be. And just so you’re aware, Ann isn’t as strong as she likes everyone to think. She’s sixteen and she’s in a wheelchair.
Phil Meehan: You know my name perfectly well. I don’t pretend to be anyone I’m not. She isn’t a hunchback as well by any chance, Miss Gamera? Did you piece her together out of your own head? Isn’t one body enough for you? Would you like it to be in a film? I’d better stop before you accuse me of bullying.
Gail Lloyd: You’re a real monster, aren’t you? I can see how much you enjoy it. You aren’t affecting me, and you’ll have to find another victim, because my daughter won’t be here any more. I hope you’re proud of driving her off somewhere she thought she’d find minds like hers.
Phil Meehan: After brains, was she? If you want me to feel guilty you’ll have to show me why. Let’s see you prove who you are, Ann Lloyd.
Gail Lloyd: I shouldn’t even have posted her name, and I’m certainly not giving you any more details. People like you need to be kept at a distance.
Phil Meehan: People like what? What are you saying I am? I’ve only been responding how I’ve been made to respond. I’m sending you a private message in case you really are who you say. If I show you who I am I hope you’ll do the same for me.
Getagrip: Been quiet for a while, hasn’t it? Maybe they’ve switched their brains off.
Glenn Stranger: Looks like Filmy Ann and Gay Lloyd must of got together somewhere else, except more like theyre both him.
Phil Meehan: I’m back and I’m nobody else, but I have to apologise. I was wrong about Ann Lloyd and wrong to harass her. She’s disabled as her mother said. I’m leaving the group now, but I hope she’ll give it another chance. If she does I hope you’ll all treat her better than I did.
Glenn Stranger: Your giving up pretending to be her and her ma, more like. Maybe you was trying to involve us in the arguments you made out you were haveing and
it didnt work. Maybe your tired of sharing your brain round till you want to be Gammy again. Theres a good name for somebody that says theyre in a wheelchair.
Phil Meehan: All right, I’ll stop pretending so that nobody can mistake the truth. I was never a teacher or a lecturer. I tried to teach but couldn’t cope, and then I put in for lecturing but my ideas got laughed down. At least that’s giving me time to make them into a book. That’s the honest truth, and I’ve told it about Ann Lloyd as well.
Glenn Stranger: Writeing two books now, are you, Gammy? Better do one before you start the other. Dont try telling us how to act, though. Dont bother showing up as your mammy either, Mammy Gammy. If you come saying youre Gammy youll get treated like it, and if you cant cope like you said you couldnt then piss off.
Phil Meehan: For christ’s sake, I’m exactly who I say. Can’t you see I’ve given up pretending? And you know their real names now and what they are. Can’t you believe in anything?
Glenn Stranger: Yeh, I believe your like youre monsters, always turning into someone else.
Phil Meehan: I’m. Ban. Ging. My. Head. A. Gainst. The. Screen. Am. I. Get. Ting. Through. To. You? What. Do. I. Have. To. Do. To. Get. Some. Sense. In. Side. Your. Head?
Glenn Stranger: Trying to play monster, are you, Gam? Watch out you dont hurt your brain. Youd hurt for real if we ever met. Thats a promise.
Phil Meehan: I’d look forward to it. Somebody wouldn’t be walking away from it. Just tell me where you are and we’ll see who’s the real monster.
Glenn Stranger: Message on it’s way to you right now, Gammy.
Karloffann: Have we lost someone again? It’s quieter than ever.
Getagrip: I’d say the topic’s died on us.
Eddy Ting: feels as dead as all them actors.
Phil Meehan: So did Glenn.
Karloffann: That’s your latest joke, is it? You’re not in on it, are you, Glenn?
Phil Meehan: He won’t be answering even if I didn’t get his brain out. I think I touched it, though.
Karloffann: What a nasty thing to say, even as a joke. Don’t let him use you for it, Glenn.
Getagrip: That’s right, Glenn, don’t you let him pretend. Just give us all a shout.
Eddy Ting: come on glenn, youve shut up long enough, you dont want anyone believing him.
Phil Meehan: I thought you all liked monsters. You’ve created one and now you don’t believe in him, so he’ll have to hunt you down. You won’t be really gone, because he’ll keep you in his brain. It’s as near as you’ll come to fame without being in a film. If you’re reading this and you don’t believe, he’ll find you. Glenn would say so if they put him back together, and it’s his tongue that’s talking. It’s saying use your brains while you can.
You Are My Neighbor
Max Booth III
I used to break windows. One window in particular, really. Our neighbor had a basement and we didn’t, and I always thought that was unfair. Growing up, all I wanted was to live in a basement and invite all the kids from school to come hang out and drink beer with me while listening to Black Sabbath. But we didn’t have a basement and nobody ever came over because Mom was too embarrassed of how messy the house was and Dad was paranoid someone would swipe their oxys while he was asleep.
He always accused me of taking them, but I never once dared. One night, around two in the morning, I woke up to his hand squeezing my throat and he was above me, tears pouring down his face and splattering against my own, and he demanded I tell him what I did with them, and the way he looked at me I could tell he didn’t want to be doing what he was doing but something beyond human consciousness had him under its control, and I had to beg and beg for him to let me go, that I didn’t have his pills, and eventually Mom stumbled in and reminded him they’d already finished off their stash the night before.
So, sometimes, I broke the neighbor’s basement window, the one at foot-level along the side of their house half-hidden in dirt. It was a thing to do while Mom and Dad were down for the count and I was bored because I couldn’t invite anybody over and I wasn’t allowed to walk along the interstate to visit anybody so what the hell was a kid to do besides break windows?
The first time it happened, it was just about twilight and everybody next door had left. I’d watched all four of them pile into their tan station wagon and drive off. Who knew where? Maybe to go get ice cream or watch a movie. Stuff families did together on TV. The household consisted of a mother and father and son and daughter. I didn’t know any of their names, but they always seemed busy doing bizarre activities. Having barbecues in the back yard and going on vacations and playing catch in the street for the whole wide world to see. The shame of it all just about killed me.
I was sitting on our porch as the family next door drove off, all smiles and bubblegum as the station wagon disappeared beyond our little subdivision. The anger in me bubbled like a welt. I stomped across our front yard and maneuvered around the fence separating our property. One glance at the basement window along the side of their house made me tremble with rage. Musings of what could be beyond the glass did not occur. The fact that it existed here and not in our house spoke plenty of the situation.
From the grass, I unearthed a fist-sized stone and hurled it at the window. It bounced off without inflicting any damage, like it was mocking me, laughing at the pathetic boy too weak to even break a window.
On the second throw, the rock shattered it to bits.
The noise echoed far and loud. Scared me so bad I fled back inside our house and hid in my bed. Through my bedroom window I could hear the neighbors return home several hours later, although none of them seemed to notice the damage I’d inflicted upon their property. Perhaps it was simply too late and they’d immediately succumbed to exhaustion. I waited all night to hear a scream that never arrived.
Two days later, the window was fixed. Almost like it’d never been broken, like my actions were meaningless. No one had even come to talk to me about it. I stood near our fence, unable to stop staring at the flawless fixture. Behind me, the school bus pulled away and the other kids in my neighborhood laughed and shouted, relieved to have finished another day of education. I could not share their excitement. All I felt was the certainty that my existence didn’t mean anything and nothing I did would ever alter this truth. I could break every window in the world and within a week they’d be replaced with new ones.
I fled inside our house and found my parents on the couch, entwined together like the infinity symbol. The oxys had already knocked them out. I sat on the floor in front of the couch and leaned my head against an empty space on one of the cushions and closed my eyes and visualized glass shattering and reforming over and over until sleep came knocking.
I woke up to a stinging sensation across my face and Dad standing over me, still naked, pointing at me like I’d been up to no good.
“What’d you do with it, you little shit?” he said.
“I didn’t touch them. I swear.”
He shook his head, the sound of his teeth grinding loud enough to penetrate my own skull. “The Xbox, goddammit. It ain’t in your room.”
A proper response failed me. Paranoia raised the question of whether or not this was a test. Either way, he didn’t like my answer. Slapped me so hard my head just about performed a three-sixty. I felt like a cartoon character without an audience, no laugh track or anything.
Dad grabbed my shoulders and leaned his face in real close to mine and demanded my Xbox. Behind me, still on the couch, Mom rolled in her sleep and groaned for us to keep the noise down. Instead of giving him an answer, I started weeping, which only pissed him off more. The reason he wanted my Xbox was he hadn’t gotten paid yet and they were already out of oxys, so he’d drop the Xbox off at the pawnshop and go restock their pill supply. The only problem in this plan, which I couldn’t find the courage to tell him, was he’d already pawned my Xbox last month. He wouldn’t have believed me even if I d
id remind him, and if he did remember after the fact, he sure as hell would have never admitted it. So, instead, he squeezed my face and screamed for something I couldn’t give him and then eventually he got bored and got dressed and stormed out of the house. The sound of his car screeching from the driveway relieved an enormous weight from my chest and I settled back against the couch. Mom shifted again and asked me to fetch her a cup of water. Her mouth was dry.
~
The second time I broke the window came a couple weeks later. I had decided to do it the night before. Nothing specific prompted the decision. I had simply been lying in bed, listening to Mom and Dad arguing in the living room, when the thought crossed my mind. Tomorrow, I will break the window again. It generated not as a question but a fact. Tomorrow, I would break the window, and when tomorrow arrived that’s exactly what I did.
Sunday mornings always mystified me. We’d never been a church-going family, never discussed religion or the possibility of deities. Kids at school referenced Christianity as if it were a common limb attached to everybody’s bodies. Weekly visits to wooden pews. God and Jesus and all that trash. Waking up early dressed like rich folks. What a scam. But our neighbors, they fell for it every Sunday without failure. That specific morning, I sat next to my bedroom window early enough to beat the sun, waiting for them to pull out of our subdivision. Eventually they emerged from the house wearing clothes our family could never hope to afford. All four of them smiling and enjoying each other’s presence. It made me want to break all the windows in the world.
Miscreations Page 10
