Falter Kingdom (22 page)

I want her to
really
be afraid. It's like revenge. This is like a revenge scenario in one of those international movies. An Asian film where the main character always ends up obsessed with revenge. That's what this is.

“Hunter!”

She's looking for me down the hall, but I'll make it so that she thinks she's really wandering downstairs, and when she gets there, the mom is gone. Everyone's gone. She's home alone. In a flash, the smell of dinner being cooked and the sound of the television on downstairs just... disappears.

Now she's really scared.

Now she's starting to wonder if she's actually haunted.

But she pushes back too.

She runs upstairs and hides in a closet. She starts dialing 911 but then realizes that doing something like that would be stupid, so she calls Father Albert.

Father Albert picks up.

“He's here,” she whispers.

“Calm down, dear. Explain what you are experiencing.”

“He's here.” Becca has trouble slowing her heartbeat. “Hunter's here. This needs to happen now. You, like, can't wait another day.”

Before anything else can be said, let's just say the battery dies.

Should have charged the phone.

She stays in the closet, not sure of what to do.

My name's a whisper now, “Hunter...” but I'm standing on the other side of the door. I've got my hand on the doorknob.

I turn it slowly, opening the door an inch. Just enough so that when she looks up, she sees one eye, peeking in. She's hysterical, screaming and crawling up against a back corner of the closet.

I stare at her for just one moment and then I walk away, making sure each step is really loud.
Thump, thump, thump,
slow, just like that.

It seems stupid to me but it scares her.

So it works.

It is often effective. It conjures up a familiar image of possession in those within earshot.

Her mom will find her. It'll be like Becca imagined it all, but it'll be so real. Because it really happened. It'll be like the dreams I had. It'll be like how things first started between us. That's how it happens. And the mom will find Becca in the closet. She will have peed her pants.

It'll be really embarrassing.

And then the broken window—her mom's going to be really angry about that. Cold spot disappears and it's back to normal.

But the fact that the room is clean will help lessen the mom's anger. Then again, Becca is hard to get along with; her parents just do whatever she wants, get her whatever she wants, because if they didn't, she'd make their lives a living hell. Like she did with mine.

No one sees the true side of Becca until they really get to know her.

That's probably true about everyone.

By the time Becca's able to do anything, I'll be long gone.

Say the name “Hunter” if you want, but we're not together, Becca, no matter what you think. Things have changed, and the sooner you can accept it, the better it will be for the both of us. Like, I know there's better for me out there. I just know it.

Becca, I'll be just fine.

Not that you really care.

12

I THINK THE ONLY THING THAT SCARES ME NOW IS THAT
one day I won't recognize myself. You know what I mean? Maybe you don't—you're mostly the same, right? You'll do what you can to get people's attention, kind of like what anyone else does, but most of the time you're not going to have to fit into stereotypes and archetypes and all that stuff just to get by. I don't really know why I did it. I'm definitely not doing that anymore. If it means they're going to call me insane, then fine.

To be quite honest, the same applies to all. You are decreed “insane” and “possessed” for being associated with a demon. The definition of “demon” precedes anything you or I may do to reveal who we truly are.

I guess you're right.

I mean, I don't think anyone really wants to be lonely.

It's damn hard just trying to find someone with common enough interests. Like, I don't think anyone would ever want to do this with me, haunting people and stuff. But I also guess it wouldn't be possible in most cases.

People are able to haunt other people. It is yet another part of the stereotyping of the demon to suggest that only “unclean spirits” may possess and extensively influence others.

That's a good point. Never thought of that. Like, I think Becca possessed me. She really made every decision and did everything and wouldn't ever really listen to me whenever I wanted to speak. It was like she was a second mom or something. And Mom's sort of the girlfriend, which is really strange to say.

Indeed. I see the resemblance of possession: the individual unable to control himself.

Then is what's happened here, you and me, considered possession if I'm actually still myself?

I would think not, although conventional wisdom would deem the entire thing as an act of you being unwilling to understand the difference between choice and influence.

Huh?

Meaning I am influencing you to such a degree that you haven't a clue how to tell the difference between suggestion and a true personal choice.

Oh, I feel you. Yeah, like I'm the one who wants to do this, to haunt that asshole Brad. I'm the one who wants to do any of this stuff.

I am enjoying myself too.

Yeah, but, like, you aren't actually making it so that I am being led on or something. I made a choice and you're my friend. That's all there is to it.

Indeed. Might I ask about this fellow, Bradley Vola, and the reason for your distaste?

Oh, he's just always been so much like the people I can't stand. He's loud, thoughtless, and we're, like, exact opposites. I guess he stuck around just because it seemed like we were fast friends. I didn't think so, but then again I didn't think I'd still be hanging with him all the way to senior year.

Yet here we are.

Yeah, but see what I mean?

Devouring food and getting all excited about a sports game and drinking beer alone.

Quite a few people enjoy sports. I'm not saying it's cool—just that it's all he's got. And girls, he goes wild about girls, talking about them when really he's never been with one.

Brad is a lonely individual.

Yeah, but who isn't? So anyway, how are we going to go about this? I don't think he should see me. Think it'll be better to just keep it all casual and ominous and stuff.

Indeed. I will follow your lead.

Okay, cool.

Brad takes in a mouthful of chips and then rinses it down with beer. It'll wreck him later in life if he doesn't stop, but he's also the kind of guy that couldn't care less. He's got that nervous energy that keeps him active. He runs around the room whenever something happens in the game. Since there's a lot happening, there's a lot of running.

Didn't expect him to be home by himself.

But that's not really important. He's home and he's paying attention to the TV. So that's how it starts. The TV shuts off.

He's like, “The fuck?”

He uses the remote to turn it back on.

Wait a minute or so and then the TV goes back off.

This time he bangs around the remote against his palm, the coffee table, before it works again.

The third time the TV shuts off it's going to stay off. He'll be really annoyed. It's a big game. Every game for Brad is a big game when he puts all of his emotions, good and bad, into it.

Indeed. Bradley Vola invests in the sport. The opposing team represents his insecurities. The favored team represents his sense of hope that his worries will wear away, turning into good rather than bad.

Yeah, he's eating his emotions. He's basically fixating on the game like it's the only thing that matters. He's, like, got nothing to look
forward to. I always knew him as being fake, wearing all that enthusiasm and energy like he'd never burn out.

But he's beyond that—totally burned out.

It's kind of pathetic, seeing this. I mean, I know from being around him enough. He pretends that he's okay even to himself. He's not even honest with himself.

People have a tendency to project themselves onto others.

Yeah. And that's back to the whole possession thing.

Indeed.

What happens to Brad when he can't watch the game? He goes around the house royally pissed. He goes into the kitchen and kind of just stands there. Then he goes on his phone and tries to find the score.

But those round-by-round stat scores aren't the same.

Phone pocketed, he runs upstairs, but there won't be light up there.

Worse, there'll be a stench.

That kind of symptom isn't used as much. Probably because it can be easily made into just some kind of, I don't know, dead animal or something.

I want Brad to really be Brad. I want to just, I don't know, make Brad just not be fake, and be vulnerable for once. I really don't care if I really freak him out, not like I did with Becca. Didn't waste any time with her. She deserved it. I felt vengeful, you know? I just wanted revenge. But the way Brad can care so much about something as small as a game, I don't know, it worries me. It kind of makes me want to stop and leave him be.

But we're already here. It's going. He's on his laptop in the dark because the lights aren't working and he's online watching a live stream of the game. Will he notice if I stand behind him?

Will he notice if I get closer?

Will he notice if there's a glare on the laptop screen and you can see me there, in the glare?

I said I wanted to keep me out of this. Just sort of keep it about the haunting, and not about the fact that I am haunting him. Sort of making it seem more like he maybe got a demon too.

But then Brad's clueless.

So that means I need to go back to cold spots and the sound of heavy footsteps walking up and down the hallway.

That gets Brad's attention. He starts listening.

The footsteps stop just before the door to his bedroom. The footsteps don't walk past, stopping short for full effect.

Brad kind of whispers, “No way...”

He forgets all about the game until he hears the sound of crowd noise coming from one of the other rooms in the house.

The crowd noise is right out of the live stream.

Brad gets excited and it's sad. “No way, bro, like shit, for real?”

Who is he talking to?

He talks to himself I guess.

Brad tweets, “First sign of symptoms or bro's a haunter.”

Then he goes out into the hallway, kind of fearless, actually. Different, because most people would be weirded out. Indeed, most would interpret the activity as negative. Yeah, something that is bad. But not Brad. He's chasing the crowd noise, but it switches locations.

He ends up back downstairs, where the TV is.

Would you like to know how Brad dies?

Eh, I guess. Sort of. But I'll know anyway since you know, so go ahead and tell me.

Bradley Vola will graduate with a B-average in communications. Vola will continue with postgraduate studies, opting for physical therapy. He will spend much of his twenties in academia, attending parties and absorbing the fraternity/sorority subculture. Vola will continue as an instructor at the college, his career peaking as an associate professor. During his eighth year as a professor, Vola will meet a student and a relationship will form quickly. Vola will leave the college in order to retain ethical integrity; he will acquire a job at another state university. The switch between universities will result in his career stagnating at assistantship. Yet Vola will find peace with his once-student-turned-lover. Vola will leave the university at sixty and work as a freelance consultant from home. Vola will die of pneumonia at the age of eighty-one.

The TV is on, like there wasn't really a problem.

Brad looks disappointed. The thought here is that he imagined most of it. He really wanted the haunting.

It's kind of sad.

It's sad, right? I'm not just doing what you say people do a lot: projecting?

No. It is indeed a little perplexing.

Brad's tweet gets no favorites and definitely no retweets.

It's a bust, and I'm kind of like, all of a sudden, “Maybe give the guy a helping hand? You know, just let him think that it might be possible?”

There would be no harm in that.

Yeah, so maybe the TV shuts off again. Brad knows what that might mean. Then the TV starts switching channels, stopping on everything that isn't sports—not that he'll really notice that part.

Brad starts laughing. “Dude, this is awesome.”

Just like him to be overanxious. I'm kind of like, “How is he in this situation? A house that looks like it's his, no family whatsoever?”

It's totally strange, legitimately strange.

After the TV, all the picture frames fall off the walls at once.

Gets a rise out of the guy.

Then I don't really see anything else to be done and leave him thinking he's lucky or something. But he thinks of demons as demons, like everyone else. And they all think it's so cool until contact is made. After that, it's like, “He's doomed.” It's kind of hypocritical.

I'm done. You ready to leave?

Whenever you're ready.

Yeah, this is sad.

Indeed.

Sorry, Brad. No hard feelings, really. Maybe if you were more like yourself and weren't trying so hard, you'd end up not having to pretend you're friends with people. You could just actually be friends.

Like what we're doing.

Indeed.

Sorry, man. Brad, you'll be cool.

One day.

It's crazy to think that Jon-Jon lives here. It's a huge house, definitely worth... like a million dollars or more. I mean, look at this: the place is gated! If Jon-Jon lives here, either his parents are loaded or he's squatting. Maybe he's renting a room?

Either way, this is going to be good.

I've been wanting to mess with Jon-Jon since he made it clear that he cares only about business. He made money off me, off Nikki, off running the gauntlet, Falter, all of it. He makes money by pitting people against others; he makes money by selling to those same people. He basically messes with his clientele. Someone's got to mess with him, but he acts all cool and stuff so that nobody really can mess with him.

I want to mess with him.

Really, really freak him out.

You have no reason to ask for my approval. Let's begin.

This place is insane. Like, I don't even know where to begin. Jon-Jon's definitely living here. I don't know if those are his parents though. The people in the kitchen?

They are indeed his parents.

That's crazy. He's like, what, twenty-three?

Jonathan Johnson, or “Jon-Jon,” is twenty-six years old.

No fucking way.

Would you like to know how he dies?

Do you even need to really ask? Bring it.

Jonathan Johnson will be arrested on assault and drug possession charges after an altercation with a woman who will be revealed to him later, post-arrest, as an off-duty officer. She will have caught notice of his activities via a vengeance burn—a competing dealer calling in a report. Johnson will serve three months in state prison before earning parole. Johnson will have difficulty returning to the life he had led prior to his arrest. Many competitors and former
clients will have turned on him by the time he resumes social appearances. Johnson will attempt to break parole in order to avoid his competitors' own dead pools. On the eve of his twenty-ninth birthday, via something as fickle as using another inmate's basketball hoop without asking, Johnson will incur multiple stab wounds during work detail. His wounds will not heal.

Man, that sounds like a movie. It should be a movie.

Jonathan would like to be in a film.

I take it back. But it seems so much like how he'd want to live his life, like some kind of badass, but really he's just an opportunist. It's obvious that he's trying to be something he isn't. I can tell that he realizes what he's doing. I mean, he lives with his parents, who are raking in the cash, but he still does all the things he does for cash.

Indeed.

It seems seedy, sketchy. I really want to mess with him. What do we do to mess with a guy like Jon-Jon?

It will not require a whole lot of effort.

Jon-Jon lives in the guesthouse, all by himself. There is no need to even go inside the main house, even though I kind of want to. But he lives in the guesthouse, which is only three rooms, including the common area.

Of course, when I see him he's counting money. He's counting money even though he's already counted it more than a few times. Look at him, counting money just because he likes counting it.
What kind of guy are you?
I want to ask him.

“I watched you sleep last night. I made you stop breathing for one whole
minute
...” I whisper into his ear.

He jumps up, money going everywhere.

“Shi-shit. Hunter. Y-you—what are you doing?”

So he's scared. You're right. That was easy.