8-Bit Folly (Round 2 FFC)

Round 2 - NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge

As before, I had 48 hours to write a maximum of 1,000 words in the given prompts below. :)

Group: 11
Genre: Ghost Story
Location: Video Arcade
Object: Chocolate Bar
Summary: Three minors enter the charred remains of a video arcade in hopes of relieving it of a large quantity of small change, but what they find instead is a malevolent force. Can they make it out alive or will the ghosts have the last say?

8-Bit Folly

Rachel’s stomach churned as the acrid stench filled her lungs. Tossing what remained of her chocolate bar aside, she steeled herself forward through the recently opened door, blinking regularly to reduce the stinging in her eyes. Coughing, she tried to expel the ash and dust from her throat as the air cleared inside. Faintly, she thought she could hear hissing resounding through the room, but she immediately dismissed it. 

It was well past midnight and well past her bedtime too. Her big brother, Vinnie, had coerced her to tag along with temptations of wholesome fun. So far she had learned his version of excitement was breaking curfew, trespassing, and smoking.

For the first time in her life, she was intruding on private property, with her brother and his best friend, Prince. Tonight’s adventure was going to the abandoned video arcade that had been condemned no more than 2 weeks ago and now was set for demolition.

Vinnie had regaled her with a story of woe within the walls of the arcade. There had been a time when it was the place to be for local kids and adults alike. Poor safety standards plagued the building, and it had twice succumbed to fire. The first fire broke out during the busiest night of the week, and many people met their untimely demise in it. Fortunately with the second fire, only the owner and his daughter were there and managed to escape.

The owner decided to not open it again, stating only that he was too old to start over, but his daughter wove tales of whispers and laughter the night it burned. Her words echoed throughout the town and soon no one entered the property, not even to remove what lies within its walls.

“This is amazing!” Prince said as he pushed his way through.

“Doesn’t look like anyone has had our idea,” Vinnie snickered. “Rach, throw me the bag.”

Across her back was a backpack with a bag of tools that she had somehow been roped into carrying. One of the boys would have to carry it home, though. There was no way she could carry all those coins. Rachel tossed him the backpack.

The temperature was dropping inside, but Rachel tried to ignore it. Her nerves were already frayed. This was not her idea of fun.

The video arcade was a shell of its former self. The pinball machines and arcade games still stood, but there was not much left to them. The marquees, sides and bezels were either blackened or destroyed.

The perimeter of the room was lined with varying pinball machines while the middle had three rows of arcade machines backs facing each other – six deep. There were more than 30 arcade games here.

Rachel started her walk around the arcade to try and settle down. She had barely made it past the second row of machines, when she thought she saw movement around the furthest end of the row. With a start, she glanced around to see if anyone else had seen it.

Prince and Vinnie were pulling out screwdrivers from the bag. She sighed anxiously and walked down the row, heart in her throat, but nothing was there. Just as she was getting ready to walk back, she saw it again heading towards Vinnie and Prince.

Rachel attempted to cry out, but suddenly she felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Her vision blurred, and she felt instantly cold.

A light breath touched her ear, with words whispered, “You should not be here!”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and her terror intensified. With an internal cry, Rachel ran over to warn the others. Just as she did, the arcade sprung to life. 8-bit sounds echoed throughout, and the machines flashed shades of green, blue, red, and yellow.

Vinnie stood over the first pinball machine in the arcade, playing instead of thieving.

“Vinnie!” she yelled at him, but he just ignored her.

Rachel caught just a glimpse of Prince walking mechanically into the second row of machines. She rushed over to him to try and bring him back.

“We have to leave!” she screamed, but his hands dropped to the joystick of the Centipede arcade game.

She pulled at him, but he didn’t budge. His skin was ice cold. Rachel screamed, shaking her head in disbelief. She pinched herself and rubbed her eyes to make sure it was real. All around her the arcade games were playing themselves. The sounds of the buttons being pressed and sticks being moved up, down, left and right overwhelmed her senses.

Panicked, she quickly ran back to Vinnie. His game of pinball had racked up quite the score, and he was high fiving the air. She rushed forward to pull at him, but before she could even reach him, she was pushed backwards. She blinks; a group of kids are surrounding her brother. Their heads turned toward her with toothy grins and villainous eyes.

Startled, she stepped back, her hand inadvertently touching the closest machine. She felt a sudden, unnatural jolt resonate through her body.

“Play,” she heard.

Pulling away, she called out to Vinnie. His eyes caught hers, but she was met with a soulless gaze.

“Play,” he said.

Her mind felt foggy and her chest tight. Her fingers touched the machine, and all she could feel was a cold invitation.

“Join us,” the voices echoed.

Mesmerised, she turned her gaze toward the game of Karate Champ. She faltered for only a second as her hands unconsciously moved onto the joysticks.

“You’re mine,” a single voice whispered.

She felt it as it happened - something pulled on her soul. The embrace was cold at first, but whatever resistance she had in her was gone. She let go, and death enveloped her as flames erupted all around.

The door slammed shut, but no one seemed to care. She didn’t care. She belonged here. She had a game to play.

Cryptic Intent (NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge 2014 Round 1)

I'm currently participating in the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge, and decided it was high time I at least publish my stories on a blog somewhere. Later on today, the second round begins, but my first story Cryptic Intent was placed on the forums only in a word document style, which felt a little unprofessional. So it's about month late, now, but this is the unpolished submitted edition of that story. This particular story placed 5th in my group (11) for this round, and as this is the first time I've attempted anything like this, I am pretty chuffed about it.

Genre: Mystery
Location: A Mausoleum
Object: Thermometer
Synopsis: Today marks the third day in a row that someone has defaced the mausoleum at Shady Hill Cemetery. Investigators are stumped about what is motivating the vandal and must enlist the help of a classics expert, Jillian, to get the answers they seek.

  Cryptic Intent 

The sun was breaking through the trees as Jillian arrived to the scene. The thermometer in the car read a sizzling 101°F. The sound of singing in the church swelled in the dense air, and the last remaining stragglers at the scene were walking towards the church. Jillian couldn’t remember a time she had seen this many cars in one place. Fear was a funny thing.

Jillian called out to Rupert. The detective had called her down to help with the investigation. She could hardly figure out why they would need a classical literature major at a crime scene, but she had known Rupert since they were children and could hardly say no.

“Jill!” Rupert called out.

He walked quickly and carefully, passing the remaining evidence markers to get to the police tape surrounding the crime scene.

“Welcome to Shady Hill Cemetery,” he smiled as he lifted the tape to let her in.

There was nothing shady or hilly about this particular cemetery, Jillian mused. There were no trees within the perimeter, and aside from the gravestones, the only shadow that was significantly cast was that of the large, white mausoleum in the centre. All walking paths met there - making it the crossroads of the graveyard.

The crypt was notable only in its decadence in an otherwise plain town. Concrete slabs were its foundation, but the remaining building - shaped like an old Roman house with an entryway surrounded by two columns – was ivory and marble. At a time, it likely shone brightly, but decades had diminished it to a lacklustre grey. The top was adorned with a dome and a frieze below that depicted both roman numerals and the story of man’s fall from grace.

“Thank you,” Jillian said, gawking at the beautiful ivory columns in front of her.

“I’ve brought the case file with me. It’s just inside,” Rupert said, as he widened his stride over the stone steps into the crypt. “Please be careful here.”

As Jillian looked down, she saw glistening red on the grass and steps. Blood, she gagged. That was when she could smell it - the stench of death and faeces. The colour left her face and she tried to keep her caramel latte down, as she widened her step to avoid touching the remains of the carnage.

When she got into the mausoleum, she closed the door and steadied herself. Lights on all four ends of the structure were set up and angled onto the large, rectangular stone coffin in the middle. The file and its contents were sitting atop the coffin.

“Sorry about that,” Rupert said. “I had forgotten you probably don’t see much in the way of blood.”

“Yeah, not really… Is there anything else like that in your evidence?” she asked, scared to hear the answer.

“No,” he said.

Jillian breathed a sigh of relief.

“I suppose you want to know why I brought you here,” Rupert began, as he motioned her to the middle.

“You could say that,” she smiled, regaining her composure.

“This is the third morning in a row that the church minister has called. On the first day, we found writing on the ivory columns. Yesterday, a scarecrow hanging from the door, and today… a dog had been brutalised,” he scowled in disgust. “Until today, we just thought it was a prankster.”

“But not now,” Jillian said.

“We set up a hidden camera yesterday. We have video evidence from this morning’s attack, but because we have no other physical evidence for the past two days, we need to get a confession. I need to understand motive… You know Hebrew, don’t you?”

Jillian smiled, “I certainly do.”

“The first day the writing on the columns was in Hebrew. Care to decipher?”

Jillian nodded and leaned in to look at all of the pictures. She found all of the images of the columns and separated them as if they were puzzle pieces. With the 14 images there, she had reconstructed the image of the columns and front door as it appeared outside. One by one, she looked at the words on the images, ignoring all else.

They were scrawled in flowing symbols with red marker. The words were written in large letters so as to make it noticeable from a great distance. A majority were illegible, but the ones she could find had strong meaning. They were in no particular order. She took a step back and took in the overall image before her. The red writing contrasted the white columns, but they nearly hid the most distinct thing. There was red along the frame of the door.

“That’s not there when I entered,” Jillian said pointing at the red.

“We had to take it down. There are a lot of fanatics here, and they immediately assumed a plague was going to consume the town… What do the words say, Jill?”

“Just utter nonsense, mostly, but the words love, loathe, lost and hope were in there,” she said.

“Okay. What does that mean?”

“I don’t think it means anything. I think it was the door…  Where are the scarecrow images?”

“Here,” Rupert said, pointing to them. Sorting through she found nothing remarkable – just a scarecrow on a wooden post. Finally, she found a photo taken of a man encased in shadow hanging from a cross.

“What do you mean the door?” he asked.

“The columns were vandalised to bring attention to the door – to the prospect that wrath was coming.”

“But what does the dog have to do with it?”

“What can you tell me about the dog?” she asked.

“He was a black Labrador. Beautiful, really. Covered in blood. His eyes had been removed and replaced with red marbles. He almost looked evil.”

“A hellhound?” she asked.

“Maybe!”

“There’s your answer,” Jillian opened the door to the mausoleum and set her gaze on the church directly facing her from across the road. “God will judge you.”

“And hell is coming,” Rupert groaned.