Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection)

by McCray, Carolyn

  Allie cut him off, though. “I’ve got it.”

  She handed the attendant the five her mother had given her. She was glad that it was being put to use. “Here you go.” The woman looked at the small bill in her hand and frowned. “Sorry. No tip this time.”

  The cash disappeared as the attendant urged them to the far wall. “Alright. No allergies to latex, right?”

  Allie glanced to Josh, who seemed equally confused by the question. “No, not that I know of.”

  “Good,” the attendant stated flatly. “Time to get painted.”

  “Painted?” Allie and Josh exclaimed at the same time.

  * * *

  Stavros came to a stop as Keaton pulled out the largest key ring in history and got a key out to show off one of his “Mickeys.” Micro-businesses. Whatever. Stavros had come to see the X.

  “This is the lab, then?”

  “No,” Keaton said, “But soon, man, soon. They are cooking up a fresh batch for you.”

  He had heard this excuse since entering the house. Keaton somehow thought that rinky-dink businesses set up in every room of the house was cause for celebration…and investment.

  “You’re skeptical,” Keaton said. An understatement. Although Stavros had to give the guy credit, he seem aware of it as he continued. “How could my micro-businesses possibly live up to as much hype as I’m giving them, right? But, hey, you’ve got nowhere better to be for the moment, and this could be the business opportunity of a lifetime.”

  As he tried several keys to find the right one, Keaton did not seem able to help himself from pitching. “And the whole thing is run off solar panels and an ancient windmill. We are totally off the grid here! But why am I talking?”

  Stavros just stared at him for a second. “Seriously? You want an answer?”

  “Ha. Very ha. You’re funny. No, what I’m saying is, rather than talk at you about how, I should be showing you.”

  Apparently Keaton had intended on a large flourish as he opened the door. Unfortunately, the Hello Kitty key was not a match either. Several awkward moments later, Stavros realized why this seemed so off.

  “Why are there locks on the outside of the doors?”

  “You mean, the anti-fraternizing devices?” Keaton asked as he tried yet another key.

  Stavros almost didn’t want to ask, because then Keaton would have an opportunity to answer. “Anti-fraternizing devices?”

  “Yeah, I can’t have them room cross-pollenating. They need to keep their heads in the game. Focused on their specific Mickey.”

  “Ah,” Stavros said, wishing just for a moment that he was a building inspector and could have had the ability to shut this place down.

  Unfortunately, Keaton took his answer as encouragement. “I knew we’d get each other. You and me, we’re businessmen.” Stavros refrained from saying what popped into his head at that moment. Not that Keaton would’ve noticed. “We don’t let outward appearances deceive us. We’re all about moving forward. Never stopping. Like sharks. We stop, we die.”

  Dying. Yes. That was working its way up the scenarios here.

  Keaton finally found the right key and unlocked the door. “Ta da!”

  Stavros stepped into the small room that did not seem quite as exciting as Keaton had implied. As a matter of fact, it was furnished with only a small table and four chairs for a clutch of middle-aged women. The group was busy sorting flyers, stuffing them into envelopes, moistening the glue, sealing them up and stamping them with the postage. It was quite the assembly line.

  A sad, pathetic assembly line.

  “Envelope stuffing. For just seven hundred and eight four dollars you can get in on this cutting edge Mickey.”

  “Who in the word still uses snail mail for their advertising?” In a world of the Internet and Facebook, this seemed antiquated.

  “Republicans, dude. The RNC. They’re so old school I swear they’ve got velociraptors running their offices.” Keaton chuckled, then winked at Stavros. He actually winked at him. “And for guys that come across as so cheap, they have no idea what things should cost. I’m making bank in here. Seriously. And you could join me for such a minimal investment of less than eight hundred bucks.”

  Stavros allowed himself to be led from the room. The entire setup simply boggled the mind. “How much do you pay them?”

  “Pay?” Keaton snorted. “That’s the best part. Most of the Mickeys run off of barter.”

  “Barter?” Again, Stavros wished he had just kept his mouth closed.

  “Have you seen the unemployment stats?” Keaton asked. “People out of work for over two years. Their benefits long gone? So sure, people will work for food. What do you think I’m using the kitchen for? Self contained, baby. Self contained.”

  Keaton locked the door behind them and moved them on to the next door. “Then you’ve got the meth addicts. They come in high as a kite to work, but they work straight though. Downside? They crash for few days, so we’ve got them on a three day on/two day off work week.” Keaton shrugged. “You’ve got to roll with it. Like, the guy who runs my animal porn sites just wants his Cheesy Puffs. So he gets Cheesy Puffs. Well, not the brand name. The stuff from the knockoff at Costco.

  Stavros nodded on reflex, then rewound the last part of the conversation. “Wait. You do bestiality porn in here?”

  “Dude. No. That would be sick. It’s animal porn. As in porn for animals? You know, like dog on dog action. Cat on cat. Some interspecies stuff for the more discerning pet.”

  Stavros could not keep the shock out of his voice. “People pay for that?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Keaton appeared confused at Stavros’ obvious skepticism. “Dude, people buy filet mignon for their rescue mutts. You think they’re not gonna spring for some satisfaction for their little poochies? And not just that. I’ve got horse breeders that swear by my equine page.”

  Stavros put a hand over Keaton’s. “I think I get it. I don’t need to see it in person.”

  “But man, for just twelve hundred dollars you could —”

  “I said, move on.”

  With a sigh, Keaton pulled the key out of the lock and took him down the hall. Thankfully. Stavros had seen much in his career, but that room? That room he feared could give him nightmares for weeks.

  Keaton opened the next door. “People think we can’t compete with India when it comes to call centers. That’s just because they’re not willing to think outside of the box.” Keaton gestured for Stavros to enter ahead of him.

  This was one of the larger rooms, and apparently Keaton had divided it into about twenty different cubicles. At each little cube sat an IT guy, ranging from unhealthily skinny to morbidly obese. Acne was the norm.

  Stavros glanced around, listening to the buzz of voices helping customers through a slew of computer issues. He turned back around to Keaton. “They’re all white.”

  “Um… little racist, dude, but okay.”

  Stavros shook his head. “No. I mean, they’re all talking in East Indian accents.”

  “Oh, that.” Keaton laughed. “Yeah. We found that no one trusted our IT guys unless they thought they were talking to someone in India. So I brought in a dialect coach and trained them all. Pretty good, right? That guy over there especially. Totally sounds like Apu from The Simpsons.”

  Once again there was a twisted logic. Torqued to the point of breaking, then pulled back a hair. Then an alarm sounded from Keaton’s pocket. The lyrics to The Yellow Brick Road rattled from the phone.

  “Hey, listen… We gotta make a little stop-off to see my grandma,” Keaton stated.

  “Your grandmother?”

  “Yeah,” Keaton said as he hurried to get them out of the room and locked up. “I’ve gotta get over there to switch out her shows. If I’m not there on time, it won’t be pretty.”

  Stavros kept pace with Keaton as he rushed through the house. Guess he wouldn’t have to do cardio tonight. They passed by door after door. How big was this place?

&nbs
p; The décor was largely from the 30s, with a few attempts at updates here and there. The walls were made of stucco that in places was crumbling back to expose the red brick underneath. There was even exposed wiring in places that looked like it dated back to Noah’s flood. The flooring vacillated back and forth between old wooden slats that needed refinishing and vintage 70s laminate.

  What was probably the most fascinating aspect of the house were the varying smells. Scents ranging from the acrid bite of acetone and plastics to the fragrance overdose of what Stavros would’ve sworn on his life was an aromatherapy shop. And was that popcorn?

  Finally, they arrived at a door secured with three deadbolts. Was it to keep his grandmother in, or the other Mickey employees out?

  A strangled cry came from the other side of the door.

  “Coming, Granny!” Keaton said as he fumbled with the keys, trying to open two locks at a time. Once they opened, Keaton rushed through the door. Stavros followed, wishing he had come armed. He seldom packed any more. It was a sign of strength. He didn’t need the protection. In this bizarre ramshackle place? He could use his Glock.

  However, all he found was an old woman rocking in a ratty old overstuffed chair placed not three feet away from an old color television. And when Stavros used the word “old,” he meant rabbit-ears-on-top old.

  “Ahhh, no. Didn’t get here fast enough.” Keaton rushed over to what had to be the oldest extant VCR on the planet earth. It was the size of a side of beef, and when Keaton went to pop out the VHS tape with a worn As the World Turns label handwritten on it, it took what felt like an entire minute for it to eject.

  The moans grew in volume and intensity as the old woman rocked more violently.

  After starting another tape, this one of General Hospital, Keaton stepped back from the set. The image was grainy and jumped around. Not only did it look like it had been recorded sometime in the early 80s, it didn’t even look like Keaton had recorded it on the highest setting. Seriously, who even knew about EPs anymore, let along used them?

  Stavros hurried over to the old woman, but once the taped soap opera started, she slumped back into her chair. Her whole body sagged, her mouth going slack. On closer inspection, he realized why she hadn’t said anything. There was a plastic hole where her larynx used to be. Throat cancer. He glanced around the room and found the synthetic voice modulator. The uncle who had raised him had the same condition. After decades of smoking, he had ended up with a hole in his throat just like Keaton’s grandmother. He picked up the modulator. Since the doctors had removed her vocal cords, this electronic device produced a voice, of sorts.

  “You’ve got to keep this close to her so she can easily reach it,” Stavros chided Keaton. But when he put the device in her hand, it slipped from her fingers, landing on the floor.

  “Kind of why I keep it on the coffee table,” Keaton said, resetting his phone’s alarm.

  Stavros checked the modulator. “Maybe she isn’t using it because it was on battery sparing mode and couldn’t make any sound.”

  “Do you know the price of those lithium batteries?” Keaton retorted. “Besides, she is totally happy as long as her soaps are going.”

  Stavros seriously doubted that. But he was here for the X, not for senior protection services.

  “Okay, Grams,” Keaton shouted. “You’re set for another six hours.” He turned to Stavros. “Time to squeeze in a couple more Mickeys.”

  Even though Keaton headed to the door, Stavros lingered behind. Perhaps his grandmother wasn’t good at communicating, however that didn’t mean she couldn’t hear. He took her hand.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. James.” Did she squeeze his hand? It was hard to tell. “I’ll swing back by before I leave.”

  Was that another squeeze?

  Before he could test it, Keaton announced impatiently from the door, “Time is money.”

  How Stavros sometimes wished it wasn’t. He followed the micro-preneur out.

  * * *

  Josh squeezed his eyes as tightly closed as he could. When the attendant had said “painted,” she had meant it literally. The woman flung paint at them from two brushes. If there had been any doubt that the attendant had a sadistic streak, it was now gone. Josh swore she was aiming for up his nose.

  Of course, beside him, Seven was spinning around, shouting some kind of victory cry.

  “You know what,” Josh managed to say. “I think we’re done.”

  Allie spit out pink and green paint. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “Peace out!” Seven announced, and raced through the door which must have led to the dance floor.

  The attendant lingered, however, her hand out. Allie shook her head. “Really? A tip for that?”

  He kind of liked it when Allie went all Latina on someone. The attendant seemed to get the message. Dropping her hand, she went back to her desk. Which left just him and Allie. Even splattered in a rainbow of colors, she looked beautiful. Beads of paint balanced on her eyelashes as they swished up and down.

  She looked to his shoulder. “Wow, after all of that, she still managed to miss a spot.”

  “What?” Josh stammered, not understanding the segue. Allie pointed to a rare bit of white. “Oh, yeah.”

  The moment was gone. Or was it? Allie stepped closer, dipping her finger in a bit of paint dripping from his sleeve. “I think I can fix it, though,” she said, grinning.

  Josh didn’t move. No, he didn’t breathe as Allie traced her finger along his shirt, coursing over his collarbone and down his arm. If he didn’t know better he would have sworn her finger was electrified. Heat trailed after her touch.

  Then she was done. Josh had to stop himself from sighing in disappointment.

  “There.”

  He looked down to find she had drawn the outline of a charging bull. Their school mascot.

  “Thanks,” he said, making sure he enunciated properly. However, the effort left the word flat and, frankly, sounding not all that thankful. Not wanting to the moment to end, Josh pointed to a white patch on her hip. “She wasn’t very thorough.”

  Allie’s grin widened as Josh borrowed a bit of paint from his shirt and began drawing. He was no art major, but he was not going to screw this up. He had to focus, though. The skirt wasn’t all that long and her exposed thighs were…well, distracting.

  Finally he finished, which meant he had to take a step back. Allie looked down, cocking her head as if she didn’t realize what he’d drawn. So okay, maybe he had screwed it up. Then her hand flew to her neck. She pulled out her necklace from under her shirt. It was a dragonfly.

  “It’s just like my pendant.”

  Josh nodded, glad she’d gotten it. So close to her that he could smell her strawberry shampoo, he wasn’t quite sure he would have been able to explain it.

  “Thank you,” Allie said, sounding like she really meant it.

  They were so close. Only a few inches separated them. The moment felt so right. This was how it was supposed to feel just before your first kiss, right?

  Then Seven made possibly the worst-timed interruption in the history of interruptions.

  “You guys coming, or what?” he asked, just before he grabbed Josh by the elbow and dragged him along. “Are you ready to par-tay?”

  As Allie trotted to catch up, she laughed. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Then they arrived at the actual entrance to the club. Seven continued on, but both Josh and Allie skidded to a halt.

  Before them was a riot of color and music, the two blending and bleeding together to create a mosaic of psychedelic insanity. Bodies churned and gyrated, some with their tee shirts on, most without.

  “Or maybe…” Allie added.

  “Not?” Josh finished. Yet neither moved.

  Black lights glowed from every angle, illuminating the neon paint covering everyone. Most of the clubbers had shredded their white clothing to the point that they might as well not have anything on. Josh was pretty sure that t
here were at least a couple of girls he had seen that had nothing on but paint. He wasn’t positive though because he had looked away as soon as he saw them, his face burning.

  No matter where he looked, there was something shining, blinking or glowing. Necklaces, bracelets, bizarre blinking mouth guard-looking things. The lights would reflect off the dancers’ faces, mixing with the black light and turning everyone into some fantasy version of themselves. Or some nightmare version. Who could tell.

  From time to time, enormous spurts of foam would pour from a hole in the ceiling, bathing the dancers. The foam level stayed right around knee level, except for right after a new deposit, when it would sometimes go up above the hips. Although, judging from the globs of foam on the wall, the level could go way higher than that.

  Inside the foam, things got nuts. Random people would make out with each other, seemingly without any discrimination as far as gender and number of participants went. Josh had never seen anything like it before in his life. He was pretty sure he never wanted to again. This might be what the Outer Darkness that they talked about in church looked like. Or maybe Heaven.

  Josh was so confused.

  He glanced over at Allie. Her mouth was slightly opened. In wonder or horror he couldn’t tell. Then her lips turned up just the slightest bit.

  “This is horribly awesome,” she breathed out.

  He couldn’t have described it better himself.

  “So?” she asked, turning to him. “Should we maybe dance?”

  Before he could answer, a foursome of frat boys pushed their way past, knocking Allie into him. He caught her in his arms and their bodies pressed together. Talk about horribly awesome. It felt so incredibly good he feared his white pants wouldn’t do much to hide how good it felt.

  Luckily, his upbringing kicked in and those lessons pounded into him from dozens of church dances made him step back, making sure there was enough room between them for a copy of the Book of Mormon. Even as he did it, he wanted to smack his forehead. Seriously, he was such a dork. How had he ever thought Allie would go for someone like him?

  “You okay?” Josh asked as he let her go.

  “I’m great,” she answered. “So maybe tonight won’t be quite as bad as we thought?”