by Mark Parker
Katrina narrowed her eyes before recognizing the vulgar display before her. She gazed downward and found a curving metal track placed on a narrow wooden walkway. Below the track was a shallow stream of water. Typical horror memorabilia flanked each side of the rails, including cheap Halloween decorations, which made the place seem cluttered yet terrifying. Candles flickered, cheap bunting waved on the breeze, and mechanical screams filled the air. As she watched, a cloud of blue smoke started to rise, hiding the track from sight.
Katrina recognized the interior of the Whispering House of Horrors.
Oh no…she thought.
As if reading her mind in some macabre way, the image flickered, and a small car slowly rolled into sight. The round device squeaked on its rusted wheels, its bodywork painted with the portrait of a screaming woman. Katrina felt hot tears prickling at the back of her eyes. She smiled, unable to move, a mere sightseer in this particular memory.
Mum.
Dad.
Abby…that's me. Yes, it is.
The small family sat huddled in the car, enjoying the theatrics. The adults smiled nervously as they watched the ride unfold, her father with his arm around her mother, and Abby cowered behind the fluffy shape of Pepsi, her beloved teddy bear.
Abby… she's… I'm scared. I never did like this place.
Mother. Father.
Can you even remember their names?
No…
Your dad was called Paul.
Ah, yes, I do remember. Fragments of my memory are slowly returning.
Her father gently kissed her mother on the lips, blissfully happy. They both smiled. He turned to his daughter, placed a hand on Abby's head and rubbed her tousled hair, causing her to yelp. Katrina smiled. He said there was a spider in my hair. I was terrified at that prospect.
And that's why you dropped Pepsi onto the tracks…
As if following her exact thoughts, Pepsi toppled from the car and bounced on the tracks with a substantial thud, one that echoed around the room, just as it had for Abby that day. Katrina knew that was a trick of the startled imagination. The mind plays tricks when you're sad or unhappy, or when you just lost your favorite toy.
It's funny how the mind works for a child, huh?
Her mother, seeing the distress of the child, began to climb from the car, gingerly placing her foot on the track. Paul helped his wife, holding her right arm to give her some balance as she searched for the unseen toy, which had disappeared into the smoky depths below.
Which is when things started to go wrong…
Katrina reached out, helpless to prevent her mother's violent death. She knew it was coming.
And your mother was called?
Katrina. Of course.
Katrina walked forward on the invisible track, slipped, lost her footing and fell, her arm snapping at the elbow as it bent across the rim of the car, a crack that sounded horrendous in the playback of the devastating memory. The woman screamed and fell forward, disappearing into the smoke. Seconds later, there was a small splash.
She drowned, didn’t she? Broken arm, no way of pushing up, her face in the water.
I didn’t know it then, but I do now. Shit.
Her father panicked at the sudden disappearance of his wife, and stood up in a hurry. He lost his footing too, danced for a long second like a marionette with its strings cut, and slipped backward into his seat. His neck cracked on the rim of the car. After that, he didn’t move again.
Abby remained, alone and frightened. Six seconds of unexpected violence had left her an orphan, all because of her love and adoration for a stupid teddy bear.
Six-years-old.
Six instances of this mysterious, amnesiac journey.
Six…there was something else.
I did this, Katrina thought. I killed my parents.
This is my fault.
She struggled against the tears, but the remembrance was now breaking her, shifting her sanity to a dark, irretrievable place in her mind, a small locker that, once sealed, would remain so. She felt her mind, as she knew it, shutting down.
I did this…
Yes. And you walked out of Whisper World in 1991 without a care in the world, a traumatized child with no one to care for her, the tragedy of that day changing you forever. Your childhood remained in this park, trapped for eternity by the horror that claimed it. No one ever knew about your parents because they condemned the park, refurbished and rebuilt it soon after. Their corpses are probably buried deep in the foundations of the new Whispering House of Horrors.
But you walked free of Whisper World alone, a survivor, the only child involved in the parks continuous violence to ever emerge alive. You walked back to town and began to live, your mind shutting down on you. You had no ID and no birth certificate. A generous family took you in. It took you six months to utter your first word. Soon after, your memories repressed by the violent death of your parents, you became someone else. You became Katrina.
Katrina. The last word your father ever uttered.
1991 was a different time. They didn’t have big computers back then, no digital records. For all intents and purposes, you didn’t exist. Abby did, of course, but you didn’t go by that name anymore. Katrina, or not, no one was any the wiser. No one ever knew. Apart from you.
You forgot everything that happened that day, and the tragedy helped you to forget. In a way it protected you. Until now.
Until now…
***
The lobby was cool and brisk. A large jack o' lantern sat on a desk in the corner, the candle flickering behind neat triangular eyes and a zigzag grin. A cartoon witch on a broom hung from the left hand wall, while a trio of zombies joined at the arm hung from the right. The seasonal decoration was minimal for Halloween, but she expected nothing less from the government building.
Katrina wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing the gooseflesh from her bare arms. Her dingy tank top and jean shorts—both soaked and wrinkled from the events of the revealing evening—were no longer of any use. She was freezing. Her skin was pale and clammy, and shivers made her shudder as if an electrical current was coursing through her veins. Her teeth clacked as she walked forward.
This has gone on long enough, she thought. I need to do what's right.
A young woman with bunched blonde hair and glasses looked up from behind the reception desk. She smiled, a practiced expression that should have made any visitor feel at ease. Katrina felt immediately violated, as if the woman was judging her on sight. She paused, stopping short of the desk in doubt, wondering if this was the right decision to make, before finishing her short walk. She leaned on the wooden top, flinching as the slick surface tickled her arm. Only then did she notice the woman's gold badge pinned to her lapel.
"May I help you?" the police officer asked.
Abby nodded. "Yes, I'm here to confess to the murders of Paul and Katrina Six.
NETHERLANDS
JC Braswell
The toy figurines—a special line created by famed video game designer Greg Dawson—lined the computer desk, all casting their forlorn gazes toward Tyler, who pounded away on his tortilla chip-covered keyboard. Each of the twisted figurines, some with ebony horns, others with skin-shredding claws, represented a demonic clan from the online video game Netherlands. Tyler preferred playing as a demon rather than a human. They were wicked and misunderstood, just like he considered himself as a high school sophomore.
But tonight they proved his adversary, their plastic grins mocking his efforts as he ventured with his friends across the electronic Midnight Plains—one of the more difficult sections of the night elf kingdom leading to the anticipated expansion pack to be launched at midnight Pacific time.
The latest adventure had been an obstacle for his clan (which he proudly proclaimed himself leader) over the course of the past week. Night after night, he defied his parents’ wishes with stinging eyes and a refusal to shower in an effort to thwart the human advances. And each night proved as futile
as the last, ending with his demon wizard dying by some idiot’s hands, likely some hardcore player halfway across the country.
“Damn it!” Tyler slammed his fist across his keyboard as another magical arrow found its way into his character’s heart, ending the journey, which always began as soon as he got home from school. The screen faded to black as his Osorno demon—a mixture of a ram and a human with fiery red skin, black leather wings, and a single tusk curling up from its forehead—exploded in a pyre of smoke.
“Shit on me. You guys still there? What the hell happened?” He barked into his headgear’s microphone, expecting an explanation from his “teammates.”
“Sorry, dude. Told you we were still too weak.” Jared’s high-pitched voice cracking with puberty answered first. Tyler immediately imagined wringing Jared’s pencil neck, watching as his freckled face turned as red as a Christmas light.
“Too weak? Come on, man. The guide says we’re the right level.” Tyler flipped through the pages of Netherland’s official guide—chock full of hints and maps of the game world. Pizza stained fingerprints and faded brown soda spills covered half of the pages. “We need to be the first into the expansion pack lands if we’re going to make the clan more powerful.”
“Then maybe we should’ve healed up first.” Roger—a kid from Minnesota, who Tyler only knew from the game—came to Jared’s defense.
“We didn’t have time, or the gold. I mean, how are we going to buy potions if we don’t have any gold?”
“Go back to the Westerfield Dungeons,” Jared dared speak.
“Westerfield Dungeons? Are you kidding me? I’m tired of fighting vampires and their stupid hypnotic spells. No, we’re going to find out what’s in The Witching Hour expansion. I hear there’s a new spell book with blood magic.” Tyler rested back on his chair, the armrests worn and frayed from years of abuse from his slightly overweight frame. They were better than fighting vampires.
“We don’t stand a chance if we don’t have any gold to buy potions, and Westerfield Dungeons is the easiest to find more gold…” Roger pleaded.
“Maybe if you didn’t buy that stupid sword—”
“We needed the sword.”
“Yeah, a lot of good that sword did tonight.” Tyler tossed the guidebook aside, as he’d done many times before, and cursed with words his parents would punish him for saying. If only his figurines could come alive and convince them it wasn’t time to quit. “No, it doesn’t matter. We have the team. You guys just need to cast healing when you’re supposed to. I did my part.”
“Whatever…I’m out,” Roger said.
“Out? What do you mean you’re out? It’s only seven o’clock.” Tyler glanced at the digital clock his parents gave him for Christmas, the type that projected up on the ceiling.
“Dude, it’s Halloween. Only have a little more time to trick-or-treat.”
“Aren’t you a little old for that?”
“I have to take my little brother before it gets too late. See ya.” Roger logged off without another word, his name disappearing from the chat menu.
“Man,” Tyler whined.
“It’s ok, man. It is Halloween,” Jared said. “Maybe we should take a break and go trick-or- treating. Scare some middle schoolers.”
“No. We need to get across the Plains and make it to the mining camp. We’ve been trying all week. Can’t stop now.”
“I’m too tired. Can’t we just hang out and watch a movie or something.”
“I’m still game,” Darren’s ominous voice interrupted. He was one of the new recruits to the clan that Tyler was outvoted on allowing to join.
“No, no, that’s ok. We kinda need Jared’s thief for backstabbing. If he isn’t playing, we don’t have a shot.” Tyler said, part of him thankful for avoiding Darren. The kid didn’t seem right, especially with his weird ramblings about the occult. “You know, Jared, we’ll hang out tonight. Parents are going to some stupid costume party for work. Might as well take advantage of the peace and quiet.”
“Cool, I’ll ride my bike over. Give me like ten minutes. Shouldn’t take me long.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Tyler watched as Jared’s name disappeared from the chat room’s list. He only lived three streets away, but he was sure that Jared’s irritable bowel syndrome accounted for the delay.
“Sure you don’t want to play?” Darren asked, his voice half-teasing.
“No, man.”
“Well, I’ll be here when you want to come home.”
“Wonderful.” Tyler answered, turning off his microphone. “Weirdo.”
Tyler glanced at his abandoned notebooks in the corner, a disheveled pile with folders filled with unfinished homework. His abandoned backpack rested next to the pile, buried within a string of mediocre report cards from the fancy private school where his parents enrolled him. For a moment, he felt ashamed.
His attention wandered to his chest-of-drawers, where his “family” portrait rested behind another line of Netherlands figurines. Just like his demon figurines, his parents, both of whom were high-powered executives in the telecom industry, mocked him with their smiles. They pretended to be a family, Tyler being the only child, his parents more proud of their promotions and luxury sports cars from some name brand he didn’t care about.
He wiped his hands across his shirt, clearing the tortilla grease from his fingers, thinking back to when his parents were proud of him. Those were the days when he was an honor roll student, with a regular hair cut at the five-dollar barber, and un-ironed clothes fit for a king. His online friends were his family now.
“Ty-Ty,” his mother’s voice called in a teasing melody. She entered his bedroom without as much as the courtesy of knocking, wearing a stupid cat costume she’d been displaying throughout October. Her blonde locks cascaded down to her personal trainer-infused shoulders. Not an ounce of body fat was found on her, a far cry from her “frumpy” son, or so she told her friends.
He was sure his mother was having an affair with Brett—the twenty-something pretty boy trainer she hired once to “whip Tyler into shape,” which had failed miserably.
“Yeah?” Tyler said, not daring to look at his mom, especially with the ridiculous whiskers extending out of her nose.
“Ty-man,” his father’s authoritative voice followed, causing Tyler to straighten up in his chair. One stuffed horn extended up from behind his mom’s head, followed by another. His father’s slim frame was wrapped in faux-fur, accentuating his Viking costume. “Don’t tell me you’re going to stay here alone in your room all night. You need to get off that thing.”
He looked back at the computer screen, remembering his middle school days when his dad would take him out to a movie and to play pool every Friday. He missed those days.
“Well, no.” The warm rush of embarrassment filled his cheeks as he thought about his predicament. “Jared is coming over.”
“Jared?” his father asked.
“Yeah, Jared Haney. Red-headed boy,” his mother said.
“Oh, that kid.” His father’s disdain couldn’t have been any more obvious. “Hey, why don’t you hang out with Ms. Lorraine’s kids? I know she’s been asking about you.”
Ms. Lorraine’s kids—Nick and Shawn—were bigger pricks than some of the kids he met online. Unlike his other friends, Nick and Shawn physically developed faster, and therefore, became athletes who the girls in school worshipped. Tyler had been on the receiving end of several wedgies because of those two.
“Maybe I’ll give them a call. Maybe…” his voice drifted.
“Ok, bud. Well, listen, Mom and I have this party tonight. We’re going to be a little late getting home. We left some pizza money on the kitchen counter. You and Jacob—”
“Jared.”
“Sure, Jared, can have some pizza. Maybe you guys can go trick-or-treating or something. Better than, you know, your dolls.” His father picked up his Osorno demon figure—his prized possession—and wiggled it around. His father’s eyes rolled as he pl
aced it back down with a sigh.
“Stop it,” his mother said, half-pretending to protect him.
“Just try to get out. It’s a nice night.” And with that, his father and the ridiculous Viking costume left.
“It’s ok, Ty-Ty. Your father just wants the best for you.” With a kiss on the cheek, his mother scuffed his hair and left. As she closed the door behind her, the bedroom lights blinked once then twice.
“Mom?” Startled, Tyler jumped up and opened his door, only to hear a jingle of keys, the automatic engine of his parent’s Lexus, and the closing of the front door. “Damn.” He looked down then over to his Netherlands figures.
“Hey…where’s Muerte? Mom, did Dad take Muerte?” Tyler yelled down the hallway, realizing his prized Osorno figure, the same one his dad had played with, was gone.
***
Jared plopped down on the couch, kicking his shoes off and hugging an overflowing bowl. The ginger shoveled a handful of popcorn into his mouth and flipped on the ridiculously sized television.
“Feel like watching one of these Halloween marathons? Maybe a slasher?” Jared asked with a mouthful of popcorn, gnashing down like a horse eating grass. Part of Tyler wished he’d just called it a night after their unsuccessful attempt at trick-or-treating.
“No, man, too tired,” Tyler collapsed in his father’s chair, sipping on his Dash-N-Go cherry cola, welcoming the cool sugar-infused carbonation. He blew down the inside of his collar, across his sweat-slicked chest. “Still can’t believe how humid it was. Felt like soup outside.”
“We did just ride up to the store.” Jared turned up the volume as the news came on. “What time did you say your parents were coming home?”
Great, Tyler thought, that question could only mean Jared planned on trying to stay the night. He’d have to find a way out.
“Early. We have to head out at like nine tomorrow morning or something. Going shopping.”
“Oh.” Jared woofed down another two handfuls. Tyler cringed at the thought of Jared wiping his hands across his parent’s sofa. “It’s, like, 11:20 already. How early are you thinking?”
