Phantasos

by Robert Barnard

  Rodney’s father pulled the noose taught around his son’s neck, then looked Rodney over, satisfied.

  “Please…please…” Rodney started to cry.

  His father gently slapped his cheek, then mocked him: “Please…please…I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. This was decided for you the moment you played my game.”

  Rodney swallowed hard, tried to jerk his body around.

  His father took a step back, clothes and skin falling from his body, until all that stood before Rodney was an abomination. A frame of curving bones and rotting, sinewy flesh; atop it, a head, covered in wiry grey hair. Two dark, endless black holes where eyes should be, staring through Rodney. Terrifying him.

  Rodney tried to close his eyes, but couldn’t.

  “You really want to move those legs, don’t you?”

  Rodney nodded, choked out: “Yes, please.”

  The figure before him smiled and said, “Your wish is my command.”

  In an instant Rodney’s feet were free, kicking and flailing. He knocked the chair right out from underneath himself.

  Without the chair’s support, Rodney swung free and by his neck. The branch of the oak tree lurched and groaned. He swayed back and forth, a pendulum clock, watching the monstrosity a few feet ahead of him laugh a sinister laugh.

  Slowly, his vision blurred. The figure faded, the laughs became a distant echo, and all went black.

  Thirty-Eight

  BENJI SAT UP IN HIS BED, covered in a cold sweat, chest heaving. His room was quiet, dark.

  His sheets were soaked—he must have had a nightmare. He couldn’t remember what of, but he was trembling.

  He turned to the clock on his nightstand. The red, digital display read: 10:52 PM.

  With a groan he hopped out of his bed and stretched, then started to pace his room.

  Something horrible had happened. He just knew it.

  On his nightstand, his walkie stood. The same place it had stood since Alley’s accident, never to be used again. He would do anything, he thought, to pick it up and talk to him.

  Benji peeled off his t-shirt and tossed it into the corner of his room, then returned to bed. He rubbed his eyes a few times and pulled a cover over his head.

  Sleep. I just need to get back to sleep.

  From the corner of his room, he swore he heard a floorboard creak. He whipped the blanket off of his face and studied his room.

  Nothing.

  Then—a familiar sight. The blinking of a flashlight. The strobes of light illuminated his room, shining in from the window across the street.

  Benji gulped, looked at the walkie on his nightstand, then back across the street at the Emerson’s home. Three more flashlight blinks.

  It was Lauren—it had to be—she must have known of the late-night ritual Alley and he shared. Surely she was aware of their secret flashlight messages followed by walkie conversations.

  Benji fumbled for the walkie on his nightstand, picked it up, and turned it on. His mind wandered at the thought of why Lauren would need to speak with him so late at night.

  Across the street, Alley’s room was dark.

  There was nothing but quiet static coming through the walkie’s speaker.

  Benji slid his thumb over the call button on the walkie, and pressed it. “Lauren?”

  The only reply was the steady hum of white noise.

  “Lauren, are you there—”

  “Goodnight Over Goodnight Over Goodnight Over Goodnight Over Goodnight Over Goodnight Over Goodnight Over—”

  “Who is this? Lauren?”

  “—ight Over Goodnight Over Goodnight Over Goodnight Ov—”

  “Whoever this is, please stop. Please leave this channel!”

  Benji flipped the walkie-talkie, the voice on the other end still repeating its monotone message, and pried off the cover of the battery compartment. Once the nine-volt inside the device was exposed, he yanked it out and tossed it across the floor.

  Sitting on his bedroom floor, panting, Benji squinted to see inside Alley’s room. The curtains were pulled open slightly, moonlight glinting off the glass. He couldn’t see inside.

  It wasn’t Lauren, the voice wasn’t feminine; but, it could have been anyone. Plenty of kids in town played with walkie-talkies. Sometimes when Alley and Benji would talk at night, their frequency would overlap with someone else down the street. Once in a while, they would even intercept radio transmissions from the Grand Ridge fire and police departments.

  It could have been anyone, Benji kept telling himself. It could have been anyone.

  He sprawled out across his bed, covered his head with a pillow, and went back to sleep.

  Benji had only slept for a short while when the sound of screaming sirens woke him. They were erupting from a procession of fire trucks and ambulances speeding up Shady Reach.

  He hurried to his window and looked outside. Two fire trucks, an ambulance, and a police cruiser, to be exact.

  Half awake, he spun back towards his bedroom clock. 11:42 PM. The sound of Johnny Carson’s voice was travelling up the stairwell from the living room, so his parents were still awake.

  He grabbed a t-shirt from his dresser drawer and went downstairs, found his mom and dad sitting together on the living room loveseat.

  “What are you doing up so late, Ben?” his father asked.

  “What’s going on outside?”

  “I wouldn’t have the slightest clue,” he said. “They’re just sirens, Ben. Are you okay? You look upset.”

  Benji pulled the t-shirt over his head. “I want to check it out.”

  “Ben, come on. Robin Williams is a guest tonight, your mother and I wanna see him. Get back to bed.”

  Palettes of red and blue illuminated the living room blinds. Benji ignored his father and walked over to the living room window, spread apart the blinds and peeked out.

  There was a police car in front of the Emerson’s home.

  “I need to see what’s going on,” Benji said, and he dashed to the front door.

  “Ben, get back here, Ben. Ben!”

  Benji flew out the back door of his home then sprinted down his driveway. He reached the edge of Shady Reach and started to cross. He could see Lauren sitting on the Emerson’s porch, crying.

  He ran into the street and a passing police cruiser whaled on its siren before screeching to a stop.

  “Are you crazy, kid? You could have been hit,” the officer inside the police car hollered. “Get back home.” And then he continued up Shady Reach.

  Benji nodded, waited for the police car to drive out of sight, then finished crossing the road.

  When he arrived at the Emerson’s, a sheriff’s deputy was climbing back into his patrol vehicle. The deputy nodded to Benji, then took off up Shady Reach in the direction of the other vehicles.

  Lauren was sitting in a patio chair on the Emerson’s porch, sobbing. Mr. and Mrs. Emerson were standing by the front door, visibly shaken and distraught. Mr. Emerson glared at Benji, put a hand on his wife’s shoulder, then said: “Don’t be out here long, Lauren. We’ll wait for you inside.”

  Benji offered a weak, meager wave to Lauren’s parents, but they turned inside without reciprocating the gesture. He walked over to Lauren and sat beside her, then said, “What’s going on?”

  “How did you know?” Lauren said.

  “How did I know what?”

  “That something bad would happen to Rodney Frye.”

  Benji’s knee started to pump up and down nervously. “What do you mean, Lauren? What happened, Lauren?”

  Lauren sobbed.

  “Lauren,” Benji repeated. “What happened to Rodney?”

  “What, like you don’t know? Why don’t you look into your magic crystal ball or play your video game—won’t that tell you?”

  “Lauren, please—”

  “He hung himself, Ben. His parents came home tonight and found him dangling from an oak tree in the back yard.”

  “Wha—what?”

&n
bsp; “How did you know?”

  “I don’t know how I knew.”

  “Because he played the video game, Ben? Is that what you want to tell me?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Did you play it, Benji?”

  Benji paused.

  “Did you play that miserable arcade game?”

  “No, Lauren. No. I didn’t.”

  “I’m scared, Benji. I’m scared. I just need a week without something horrible like this happening.”

  Benji put an arm behind Lauren’s shoulder, rubbed her back.

  He felt like he had swallowed stones. He wanted to vomit and pass out all at once.

  As he patted Lauren’s shoulder, he looked up at his bedroom window from the Emerson’s front porch. He swore that—for a moment, at least—he saw himself standing behind the curtain, looking down at the street below.

  Smiling.

  Thirty-Nine

  WHEN THE SUN HAD RISEN, BENJI had barely slept a wink. He’d sat with Lauren for a short while, watching the folks crowded on Shady Reach return to their homes as the emergency vehicles vanished, before her father stepped outside to ask her back in.

  When he’d gone home, his parents asked what all the commotion was about, and he very plainly said: “Rodney Frye is dead.” When they asked how, he said: “He hung himself.”

  And that was that. Neither said much to the other. He vaguely remembered his mother saying “Oh, Jesus,” while she tightened the belt on her bathrobe. Benji was halfway up the stairs before his father said, “Do you want to talk about it, son?” But Benji just ignored him and went back to bed, where he tossed and turn, eyes open, until the tweets and chirps of birds began to shrill from outside his window.

  Benji knew that something had changed him, deep down, at the level of his DNA—an irreversible change that would follow him forever. Whether or not playing Phantasos caused Rodney to kill himself was irrelevant. Benji had wished Rodney dead, then was (surprisingly) granted that wish. Benji quickly realized he was not at all prepared for how to deal with that.

  He felt like a murderer, a cruel monster. In his entire life, he’d never so much as tossed salt on a slug or held a magnifying glass above a hill of ants. In an instant, his entire set of values and outlook on the world had been turned upside down.

  What would Alley think?

  When Benji came downstairs for breakfast, his mother immediately commented on his disheveled appearance.

  “You look terrible, Ben.”

  “I feel terrible.”

  “Is it because of Rodney?”

  “Yeah.”

  “There must be an awful lot of confusing emotions circling your mind right now. And if it’s any consolation, your father and I have to deal with them, too. There’s not a single person in this town who won’t be juggling the same thoughts.”

  Benji picked at an over-cooked piece of bacon.

  “So I’ll just say it,” his mother continued. “It’s okay to feel bad for what happened to Rodney. And it’s okay to not feel bad, too. There’s no right or wrong with it, okay? We all know how close you were to Alley. We were close to him too. He was always welcome here. He was the brother you never had.”

  Benji dropped the piece of bacon and mumbled, “Thanks.”

  “That young man in North Grand Ridge the other week, and then Alley, and now with what’s happened to Rodney…this town hasn’t had this much disaster in as long as I can remember. It can be overwhelming for a kid your age. So if you ever have to talk to me, talk to me, okay? Your father, too.”

  His mom leaned down and kissed Benji on the top of the head.

  “I have to hurry into work. Take care of yourself, Ben. It’s summer for crying out loud. Sleep on the couch all day. Watch TV. Take a bike ride with Lauren. Do everything, or do nothing. But just don’t get too lost in all of this…all of this tragedy. Okay?”

  Benji smiled—a genuine smile—and said: “Thanks, mom.”

  His mother grinned, grabbed her keys from the kitchen counter, and rushed out of the back door.

  He pushed his spoon through a sea of soggy Rice Krispy’s—and for a brief moment, nearly fell asleep where he sat at the table—when his dad walked into the kitchen from the garage, sweaty, hands covered in grease.

  “Your mother left for work?” he asked, wiping his hands with a dishtowel.

  “Just a minute ago—didn’t you see her leave?”

  “No, I was busy monkeying with the damn lawn mower again.”

  “It’s still not working?”

  “I wouldn’t be working on it if it was, would I?”

  “I guess not.”

  “After you finish your breakfast, maybe you wouldn’t mind giving me a hand with it. I could use your help.”

  Benji took a bite of his cereal, looked down at the table and shrugged.

  “You look like hell, Ben. Did you sleep at all last night?”

  “Not really.”

  “You’re that torn up over Rodney Frye, huh?”

  “I think…I think that it’s more complicated than that.”

  “Huh.”

  His father opened the fridge, took out a carton of milk, and guzzled it straight from the container.

  The phone on the kitchen wall rang.

  “I’ll get it,” Benji said.

  His father motioned for him to stay in his seat. “That’s okay, I’ve got it—”

  But, Benji had already stood up and turned around to grab the ringing phone. He was the one closest to it, anyways.

  “Bauer residence.”

  “Hey, Ben—listen, I know I said I’d give you the week off, with all that’s going on and whatnot. But, Rick went home early with a stomach bug. Do you think you could bike on down to the shop? I could really use the extra pair of hands. If it helps, I’ll buy us lunch.”

  “D—dad?”

  “Yeah? Are you there?”

  Benji cupped his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and turned around. The kitchen was empty.

  “Ben?”

  “Y—yeah,” Benji said into the phone. “Weren’t you just here?”

  “Benji, I’ve been at the shop since six this morning.”

  “You were just working on the lawn mower.”

  His father laughed on the phone. “What are you going on about, Ben?”

  Benji shook his head. “I’m coming right now.”

  “Great.”

  Forty

  DANNY AND AARON UNLOCKED THE FRONT door of Planet X. If they committed to their plan, it would be the last time they’d ever walk through the front doors of their arcade ever again.

  Danny walked in first, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and let out a long, defeated sigh. When Todd and he had first opened the arcade, it was a dream come true. He wouldn’t have guessed in a million years that this would be how their adventure ended. It was hard to imagine that he would never again see his establishment lit up by the early afternoon light.

  “Getting cold feet?” Aaron said.

  “You could say that.”

  Aaron patted Danny on the shoulder. “It’s going to be all right.”

  Danny took his hands out of his pocket and crossed his arms. “It’s only two more weeks before Vidtronix comes back to pick up the machine. Maybe we should just wait this whole thing out.”

  “If that’s what you want to do, buddy. I’ll support it.”

  “There’d still be the matter of the crushing debt.”

  “Yes, there would be.”

  “I don’t know. Are you comfortable with everything? Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “Ninety-nine percent sure. But for a hundred grand, it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  Danny shrugged.

  Aaron said, “There’s still time to think about it. It’s your arcade, man. It’s okay to back out if you wanna.”

  “Thanks, Aaron.”

  Aaron nodded, walked to the front of the arcade, and started to power on the machines for the day
. When he got to the wall nearest to the prize counter, he turned on the arcade’s single television.

  In the center of the screen was a news reporter, and above her left shoulder was a square cut out in the screen. In the center of the square was a picture of a very familiar customer at the arcade.

  Danny squinted at the television screen.

  It was Rodney Frye.

  “Oh, no, oh come on,” Danny shouted.

  Aaron, who was using some glass cleaner and a paper towel to clean where some kid sneezed on the Pac-Man screen, turned around. “What’s wrong?”

  Danny pulled a drawer open from beneath the cash register at the prize counter. Inside was a chunky black remote. He held the remote up, pointed it at the television, and clicked a few times until the volume rose loudly. Then, he tossed the remote back in the drawer. He pointed at the screen and said, “Look at him.”

  “What am I looking at?”

  “That kid, look at him. Does he look familiar?”

  “Yeah, I guess. He was in the arcade yesterday?”

  “He was. He played Phantasos. He played it, and then one of my regulars played it.”

  “Oh, shit,” Aaron said, and he wanted to cover his ears. He didn’t even want to listen.

  “This just in,” the news reporter on the television screen began. “Rodney Frye, a fifteen year old boy from Grand Ridge, was found deceased last night by his mother and step-father. Authorities haven’t released any details about the boy’s death. You may remember that we reported on Frye just over a week ago, when he was charged with vehicular manslaughter in the death of Alec Emerson. Prosecutors dropped the charges against Frye after a lengthy investigation into the crash. For more information as it becomes available, stay tuned to WKYV—”

  “Can you believe this?” Danny said. “I mean—can you believe this?”

  “It’s hard to,” Aaron said.

  “We have to go to the police. We have to tell them what’s been going on. It’s much too big to be a coincidence.”

  “Danny,” Aaron said. “If you go to the police with this, they will lock you in a padded cell.”