Fetch
Lonely Freddy
Out of Stock
The surf, the wind, and the rain were at war, battering against the old building so forcefully Greg wondered if its crumbling walls could stand against them. When the bawling thunder blasted the boarded-up window again Greg jumped back, stumbling into Cyril and tromping on his foot.
“Ow!” Cyril shoved Greg, jabbing his flashlight spastically at the wall in front of them. The light scanned over drooping sections of blue striped wallpaper and what looked like two red letters, “Fr.” Streaks of something dark sprayed over the stripes. Was that pizza sauce? Or something else?
Hadi laughed at his two bumbling friends. “It’s just the wind, guys. Suck it up.”
Another gust hit the building, and the walls shuddered, drowning out Hadi’s voice. The rain pounding on the metal roof ratcheted up, but inside the building, close by, something metallic clinked loud enough to be heard over the wind and rain.
“What was that?” Cyril whirled and swung his flashlight in a wild arc. At barely thirteen, Cyril was a year younger than Greg and Hadi, though still in their fledgling freshman class. He was short and skinny with boyish features and limp brown hair, and he had the misfortune of sounding like a cartoon mouse. It didn’t win him many friends.
“ ‘Let’s go check out the old pizzeria,’ ” Cyril mimicked Greg’s suggestion. “Yeah, this was a great idea.”
It was a crisp autumn night, and the seaside town was dark, robbed of power by the latest storm’s assault. Greg and his friends had planned a Saturday night of gaming and junk food, but as soon as the power went out, Hadi’s parents tried to recruit them for a board game—the family’s tradition during power outages. Hadi had convinced his parents to let the boys bike the short distance to Greg’s house, where they could play one of Greg’s new tabletop strategy games instead. But once there, Greg enlisted them to go to the pizzeria. For days he’d known he had to do this. It was like he was drawn to this place.
Or maybe he had it all wrong. This could be a wild goose chase.
Greg shined his flashlight around the corridor. They’d just explored the kitchen of the abandoned restaurant and had been shocked to find it was still stocked with pots, pans, and dishes. Who closed a pizzeria and left all that stuff behind?
After they left the kitchen, they found themselves next to a large stage at one end of what had once been the main eating area of the derelict pizzeria. A heavy black curtain at the back of the stage was drawn closed. None of the boys had volunteered to see what was behind the curtain … and none of them had mentioned seeing the curtain move when they passed the stage.
Hadi laughed again. “Better than hanging with the fam … hey, what’s that?”
“What’s what?” Cyril aimed his light in the direction of Hadi’s gaze.
Greg turned his flashlight that way, too, toward the far corner of the large, table-filled room they stood in. The glowing beam landed on a row of hulking shapes lined up along a murky glass counter. Bright eyes reflected the light back at them from across the room.
“Cool,” Hadi said, kicking aside a broken table leg as he made his way toward the counter.
Maybe, Greg thought, frowning at the eyes. One pair seemed to be staring right at him. Despite the confidence he’d felt before, he was beginning to wonder what exactly he was doing here.
Hadi approached the counter first. “This is dope!” He reached for something and sneezed when dust billowed up from the stand.
Before they left his house Greg had suggested they all take handkerchiefs to cover their noses and mouths, but he couldn’t find any. He expected to find the empty restaurant filled with dust, mold, mildew, and who knew what else. Surprisingly, given the wet coastal climate, the only decay they’d seen was dust; but there was a lot of dust.
Greg stepped around an overturned metal chair and passed Cyril, who had his back pressed to a dirty, paint-peeled pillar in the middle of the dining area. Other than one broken table and two upside-down chairs, the area looked like it just needed a heavy cleaning before it could be fit for diners. Which, again, was strange. Greg had known something would be here, but he didn’t expect the building to still hold dishes and furniture and … what else?
Greg looked at what Hadi held, and he sucked in his breath. Was this what he’d come for? Was this why the old place was calling to him?
“What is it?” Cyril asked, not moving any closer to the counter.
“I think it’s a cat.” Hadi turned the lumpy, roughly furred object he held. “Or maybe a ferret?” He poked at whatever it was. “Might be an animatronic?” He put it down and shined his light over the other shapes along the counter. “Yeah, awesome. They’re prizes. See?” Hadi scanned his light over the stiff figures.
That explained the cavelike cubbyholes that lined the broad hallway Greg and his friends had come through to get to the dining area. The little enclosures must have been for arcade cabinets and game booths.
“I can’t believe these are still here,” Hadi said.
“Yeah.” Greg frowned, studying what looked like a stiffened sea otter and a tangled octopus. Why were they still here?
The old pizzeria had stood, boarded up and bombarded by coastal storms and sea air, for who knew how long. The structure was clearly abandoned, and it looked not just old but ancient, on the verge of collapse. The graying, weathered siding was so faded you could barely tell what it was; the name of the pizzeria was long gone. So why did it look so good on the inside? Well, not good, exactly. But from where Greg stood, the building looked sturdy enough to stand another hundred years.
Greg and his parents had moved to the small town when he was in first grade, so he knew the place well. But he didn’t really understand it. For example, he’d always thought it was strange that a boarded-up pizzeria had been left untouched in what was supposed to be a vacation spot. But then again, this wasn’t exactly a swanky resort town. Greg’s mom called it a “hodge podge.” Big, fancy homes could be found across the street from tiny, ugly beach cabins draped in dirty fishing floats and surrounded by piles of old lumber or crumpled lawn furniture. The house across from Greg’s had a huge boxy sedan, like from the seventies, up on blocks in the front yard. Still, Greg wondered why a pizza place couldn’t be turned into something useful instead of being left a gnarled old ghost-building that practically screamed, “break in,” to local kids.
But weirdly, it didn’t look like anyone had broken in before Greg and Cyril and Hadi did. Greg had figured they’d find footprints, trash, graffiti—evidence that other “explorers” had been here before them. But … nothing. It was like the place was abandoned, dipped in formaldehyde, and preserved until Greg suddenly felt like he was supposed to come here.
“I bet these are still here because they’re the really good prizes,” Hadi said.
“No one ever wins the good prizes,” Cyril piped up. He had edged a little closer to the counter, but he was still several feet away.
“There aren’t any clowns, Cyril.” Greg had to assure Cyril there wouldn’t be any clowns in the abandoned restaurant in order to convince Cyril to come along. Not that Greg knew one way or the other.
“What’s that one?” Cyril pointed at a large-headed figure with a big nose. It sat under a sign that read, TOP PRIZE.
Greg picked it up before Hadi could. It was heavy, and its fur felt matted and coarse. He was oddly drawn to the animal, whatever it was. He studied the pointed ears, sloped forehead, long snout, and piercing yellow eyes. Then he noticed the blue collar around the animal’s neck. Something gleaming dangled from the collar. A dog tag? He lifted it.
“Fetch,” Hadi read over Greg’s shoulder. “It’s a dog, named Fetch.”
Greg loved dogs for the most part, but he hoped to never s
ee one like this one in real life. He held the dog up and turned it this way and that.
Even the vicious old dog that lived next door to Greg wasn’t this ugly. Fetch looked like someone had crossed the big bad wolf with the shark from Jaws. His (surely it was a he?) head was a triangle, pointy on top and with a mouth far too wide for comfort at the bottom. Fetch’s fur, which looked grayish brown in the splotchy glow of their flashlights, was missing in places, revealing tarnished metal beneath. A couple of wires stuck out of the big ears, and a partially exposed cavity in Fetch’s belly revealed what looked like a primitive circuit board.
“Look at this.” Cyril was, surprisingly, now interested in the counter. He picked up a small booklet inside a plastic sheath. “I think it’s the instructions.”
“Let me see.” Greg plucked the booklet from Cyril’s grasp.
“Hey,” Cyril squeaked.
Greg ignored his protests. This could be it.
Putting Fetch back on the counter, he pulled the booklet from the plastic and scanned through the instructions. Hadi read over his shoulder. Cyril stuck his head between Greg’s chest and the booklet, forcing Greg to hold the booklet farther out so they could all read together. Fetch, the instructions explained, was an animatronic dog designed to sync up with your phone and retrieve information and other things for you.
“That’s lit,” Hadi said. “Think it still works?”
“How long has this place been empty?” Greg asked. “Fetch looks like he’s older than my dad, but smartphones haven’t been around that long.”
Hadi shrugged. Greg finally did, too, and he began poking around Fetch to find the control panel. Hadi and Cyril lost interest.
“It isn’t going to work. It’s older tech; it won’t be compatible with our phones,” Cyril said, cringing when the wind surged against the building again.
Greg felt a chill slither down his spine. Whether it was related to the wind’s eerie onslaught or something else, he wasn’t sure.
Greg returned his attention to Fetch. He wanted to see if he could get the dog-thing to do whatever it was supposed to do. He had a hunch this might be what he’d felt in the field, what had called him here.
Cyril’s pessimism about Fetch didn’t surprise Greg. He wouldn’t know an opportunity if it thumped him between the eyes.
Hadi, on the other hand, was relentlessly positive. He had such a sunny disposition he’d pulled off what Greg thought was nothing less than a magic trick: Hadi was accepted by the popular crowd, despite having spent most of his time with Greg and Cyril, two of the nerdiest kids in the school. Maybe it had something to do with his looks. Greg had heard girls talking about Hadi. Hadi was either “fine,” “hot,” “cute,” “sharp,” or just “mmhmm,” depending on the girl who was talking.
Hadi wandered away from the counter, and Cyril plopped down in a chair at the nearest table. “I think we should go,” he said.
“Nah,” Hadi brushed him off. “There’s still a lot to check out.”
Greg ignored them both. He’d picked up Fetch and found a panel under Fetch’s belly. Juggling the instructions, Fetch, and his flashlight, Greg bit his lip and concentrated on hitting the right buttons in the right sequence.
For an instant, the wind and rain let up, leaving the building in a silence that felt almost menacing. Greg glanced up at the ceiling. He noticed a large stain above his head. A water stain? Distracted from his task for a second, he shined his light over the whole ceiling. No other stains. In fact, why wasn’t the whole inside of the restaurant dripping? He thought he’d seen part of the metal roof missing when he’d first looked at the building. Why wasn’t it leaking?
Shrugging, he returned his attention to Fetch. At this point, he was just randomly pushing buttons. None of the sequences laid out in the instructions were doing anything.
As abruptly as it had stopped, the wind and rain started up again in a crescendo of maniacal drumming, pounding, and wailing. That’s when Fetch moved.
Suddenly, with a whirring sound, Fetch’s head raised. Then his gaping, tooth-filled mouth opened. And he growled.
“What the hell!” Greg dropped Fetch on the counter and leaped back. Simultaneously, Cyril erupted from his chair.
“What?” Hadi asked, returning to his friends.
Greg pointed at Fetch, whose head and mouth were in clearly different positions than they had been when they’d found him.
“Sick,” Hadi said.
They all stared at Fetch, edging backward in unspoken agreement that a little distance was a good idea in case Fetch did something else.
They waited.
So did Fetch.
Hadi got bored first. He shined his flashlight in the direction of the stage. “What do you think is behind that curtain?”
“I think I don’t want to know,” Cyril said.
Behind them, a door slammed … inside the building.
As a unit, the boys ran through the dining room and down the hall to the storage room they’d broken into. Even though he was the smallest, Cyril reached the room first. He was out through the narrow gap they’d managed to create in the jammed service door opening before the other boys could squeeze through.
Outside, pelted by rain streaking sideways, they grabbed their bikes. Greg figured the wind was gusting over fifty mph now. No way could they bike home. He looked at Hadi, whose curly black hair was matted against his head. Hadi burst out laughing, and Greg joined in. Cyril hesitated, then started laughing, too.
“Come on,” Hadi shouted over the screaming wind. Without looking back at the restaurant, they put their heads down and pushed their bikes against the storm.
As he trudged beside his friends, Greg thought about why he’d wanted them to come to the abandoned restaurant. They’d left so much of it unexplored … like the area behind the curtain. There’d been three closed doors off the hallway, too. What was behind them? Greg was afraid he might not have gotten what he was there for. Had he done what he was meant to do?
Greg was close to home when a woman called out, “Wet enough for you?”
He stopped, wiped his eyes, and squinted through the rain.
“Hey, Mrs. Peters,” he called when he saw his elderly neighbor standing on her covered front porch.
She threw up her skinny arms. “Love these storms!” she sang out.
He laughed and waved at her. “Enjoy!” he shouted.
She waved too, and he plodded on. When he neared his parents’ tall, modern, oceanfront house, Greg was surprised to see a light in the living room window. The town was still dark. When he’d parted with Cyril and Hadi, the only lights he’d seen were their flashlights bobbing along like disembodied spirits, and the flickers of what looked like candles inside a couple houses. The light in his window, however, was bright and steady.
When he pulled his bike in next to the stilts that raised the house a full story off the ground, he discovered why he’d seen light. At first drowned out by the thunderous sounds of the wind and rain, he hadn’t heard the motor until he practically walked into it. A shiny new generator sat under the house, chugging away, a cord extending past the two-car garage and up the stairs to the front door.
Greg peeled off his dripping rain jacket as he climbed the steps, but before he reached the front door, it opened.
“There you are, boyo!” Greg’s uncle Darrin grinned down at him, his mountainous six-foot-five, broad-shouldered frame filling the doorway. “I was about to mount a search posse. You didn’t answer your phone.”
Greg reached the entry and exchanged his and his uncle’s signature greeting—a half-hug-double-fist-bump. “Sorry, Dare. I didn’t hear it.” He pulled the phone from his pocket and tapped it. Dare had texted and called him multiple times. “Wow. I swear I didn’t hear it.”
“Who could hear anything in this wind? Get inside.”
“Where’d the generator come from?” Greg asked. He didn’t really care. He was trying to distract himself from thinking about why he didn’t hear
his phone in the restaurant. It hadn’t been that loud inside. Could it have been because …
“I got it in Olympia. Your dad’s been saying for years you don’t need it, but that’s bullhonky. I told him he’s going to wish he had one. They’ve been saying the storms will be much worse this winter. And wouldn’t you know it, they came early this year. How about that rain we got last week for Halloween?” Dare shook his head. “Of course, your dad won’t listen.”
Greg didn’t remember that argument. But then, Dare and Greg’s dad had so many arguments, how could he remember any specific one?
Uncle Darrin was Greg’s mother’s brother, her only sibling, and they were close; Greg and Dare were even closer. But Greg’s dad hated Dare for the very reasons Greg loved him—because Dare was flamboyant and fun.
“Darrin needs to grow up,” Greg’s dad would say over and over.
With long hair, died purple and worn in a braid, and a wardrobe of bright-colored suits and ties paired with painfully patterned shirts, Dare had his own distinct look. That Dare was also a wealthy, successful inventor of car parts and had the most amazing luck with investments and money in general was the nail in his coffin as far as Greg’s dad was concerned. “People like him don’t deserve success,” he often groused. Greg’s dad was a contractor, and he worked more than he wanted to afford their big house and the expensive cars he liked. The fact that Dare lived on a ten-acre estate and made tons of money from “tinkering” in his workshop was “too much.”
Greg loved Dare the way he wished he could love his dad. Dare had done nothing but accept Greg from the day his squished little head entered the world, despite the fact that Greg was never a cute baby, and he hadn’t turned into a cute kid. His face was too long, his eyes were too close together, and his nose was too small. He compensated for all of that with long, wavy blond hair, a “great smile” (or so a girl in his former eighth-grade class had said), and enough height and muscle to think he might not be a total lost cause after high school. Never drawn to typical boy things like cars and sports—no matter how hard his dad tried to force them down his throat—Greg found an ally in Dare, who didn’t question Greg’s likes or dislikes. He accepted Greg as he was.
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