Opening Day

Chapter 5: Arcade Rats

Max flew down the shaft, gaining speed as the incline angled even steeper. The smooth metal of the vent suddenly vanished, turning into rocky earth before spitting him out onto the unforgiving dirt with contempt. Max groaned and slowly lifted himself off of the ground, he brushed the dirt from his clothes and hair and realized he was no longer holding his hammer and flashlight. He found them both a short distance from where he had landed, he gave the flashlight a few whacks, but to no avail. It was then that he noticed he could see pretty clearly, that something was actually illuminating this cavern. He slowly turned around to see a stripmall storefront with a flickering neon orange sign that read -

"Futureland Arcade!" Max stared at the sign in awe, "No fucking way, dude." Slowly prying his eyes away from the impossibility in front of him, he noticed the rest of the sidewalk; to the right were two other connected shops, "Family Chopsticks," a Chinese food restaurant, and "Hollywood Chic," a hair salon. It finally began to dawn on him exactly where he had ended up, "It can't be..."

One of the most enduring legends of Lake's End was the story of the Great Sinkhole of 1985. The tale goes that in a particularly hot and dry August of 1985 Futureland Arcade had been packed day in and day out in no small part due to the air conditioning providing a haven for the town's kids. Teenagers and kids from all over town would jam themselves into the place to get even just a moment of relief from the blistering sun. It was a Saturday when Mitch Garritano dropped a quarter and watched it roll right to the center. Curious, he purchased himself one of those small bouncy balls from the vending machine and placed it on the floor of the arcade. It, too, rolled toward the center. He put his ear to the floor and furrowed his brow. He ran to the window and again put his ear to it. He dashed outside and immediately his concern bloomed into fear. Hairline cracks in the pavement snaked into larger cracks that disappeared into the foundation. It was only thanks to Mitch Garritano's keen eye that no one was hurt that day. He even received a commendation from the Mayor and a spot in the St. Patty's Day parade the next year. An emergency crew showed up to evacuate everyone from the strip mall only moments before the three stores on the end of the right side of the shops were swallowed up in a sinkhole. Futureland, Family Chopsticks, and Hollywood Chic all fell into the darkness below. Four years later the shops were reconstructed, the sinkhole seemingly filled and paved over, the ground reinforced for safety. Popcorn Video had been built over the exact spot where Futureland used to be. And there they were. Almost completely pristine, standing right before Max in all their urban legendary glory.

"Fuck." He rolled his eyes. "Jonesy is never going to be any of this."

He tossed the useless flashlight over his shoulder, gripped the hammer tightly, and stepped through the arcade doors. Inside the overhead lights were out, but the neon signs washed the derelict game world with warm pinks, blues, greens, and yellows. The games themselves occasionally came to life, shouting things like "GAME OVER!", " CONTINUE??", "TRY AGAIN!!", counting down, or playing various iconic themes. Between bursts of noise, Max could hear the familiar scitter-scitter he had followed into the darkness to begin with. He quietly passed the prize counter filled with the small stuff, like plastic spider rings, yo-yos, and kazoos. Hanging behind on the wall were the serious prizes, like a boombox, roller skates, and even a generic brand electric guitar. It was like he had been transported to some alternate reality where the apocalypse happened in the mid-eighties, vaporizing all of humanity and leaving behind a crumbling mausoleum. Max moved from arcade to arcade, staying low and taking each step with delicate purpose, heading towards the store's backroom. A bright red light shone through the cracks of the double-doors and he'd seen enough movies to know that's where he needed to go to find not only his prize, but whatever danger awaited him.

He looked through the foggy plastic window of the door, attempting to survey the landscape before throwing himself into harm's way. All he could make out was some movement and some flickering white lights. He crouched down and gently pushed the door open. His eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open in disbelief. Arcade games turned on their sides were stacked on top of one another to create a kind of altar, prizes, shredded stuffed animals created a nest at the top. Animal bones and rotten bits of food were strewn among the nest as well, and at the top, in a deep and restless sleep was what could only be the Queen Rat herself. Max could only think of Stephen King's rabid St. Bernard to describe her size. She snored and twitched, her greasy, black fur covered her rising and falling chest. A tail like a massive wet worm curled around her and flicked back and forth as dozens of regular rats scurried over and under her. Larger rats bounded out of holes in the walls with their offerings, placing them anywhere they could. Food, scraps, pieces of junk piled on the arcade machines, stuffed into the nest, crammed into every nook and cranny of the shrine. The smell slapped Max across the face, taking him aback as he fought to keep his lunch in his stomach. He shook it off, adjusted his glasses and breathed through his mouth as he took another look through the door. He squinted his eyes and looked as hard as he could until he finally saw it. "See You Soon" was wedged between two of the machines. His rat friend had already deposited its contribution it seemed. Max smiled, finally, a little luck.

He twirled the hammer in his hand, psyched himself up, and took a few deep breaths, holding in the last one. The stench was overpowering and was already creeping its way into his nostrils as he inched his way into the Queen's lair. The little rats largely ignored him even as he placed his hand on the plastic case. It wouldn't budge. He pulled harder, conscious of how much movement he was making. He tried to slowly, but firmly, wiggle it from side to side to get it to come unstuck. Still, it wouldn't move. He took his hammer and gripped it between his teeth, freeing up his other hand. Maybe with both hands he would have enough strength to pull it from its prison. He gripped it tightly and pulled with as much strength and care as he could manage. It began to move, more and more, and....there! Free! Max fell back onto his butt and took the hammer from his mouth. He couldn't believe he was holding the video in his hands when suddenly he noticed something wasn't quite right from the corner of his eye. Where there was once all the uninterrupted movement of an ant hill, there was suddenly nothing. He looked up at his audience. Every single rat was now perfectly still, their little red eyes trained directly on him. That's when the altar began to collapse.

"How was I supposed to know it was a load-bearing video?!"

Max burst through the doors back into the game room, pursued by a wave of Rattus rattus. The rage-fueled screams of the buried Queen Rat echoed through the cavernous arcade. He clutched the Popcorn Video case tightly in his hand as he weaved in and out of the arcade games, the rats literally nipping at his heels. He weaved, spun, and faked a right turn, the rats sliding and clawing the floor, regaining their momentum. Max headed towards the prize counter, scrambling on top of the glass case and praying the glass wouldn't shatter underneath his weight. He looked quickly, considering anything for a weapon that could be of better use than the hammer. His eyes darted desperately until they landed on the guitar hanging on the wall. He slipped the hammer into his jeans and strapped on the instrument, spinning towards the oncoming horde and strumming a tasty lick. The rats stopped in their tracks. He began to pluck and play, noodling, and letting his fingers dance on the strings. The rats were mesmerized, perhaps even hypnotized as Max pulled out everything he'd ever learned, every chord, every note, every playful solo he'd ever improvised in Jonesy's garage. In that moment he had captivated the swarm of rodents, a connection without words, an animalistic recognition between species. That was, until mama ruined the party.

The Queen Rat burst from the doors, howling with rage. The rats turned to look at their rotund deity, shaking off their musical disorientation. They turned back to snarl at their mental imprisoner, but he had vanished! The swarm squealed in outrage, sniffing the air for the scent of their prey. The door of the arcade banging closed brought all of their beady eyes to the front of the store as they took off in that direction. The armada of rats ran full speed at the door, crashing against it like a wave against the rocks. They squealed in frustration at their thwarting and confinement. Wedged into the door handles from the outside was the guitar that had enchanted them only moments ago.

Max dug his fingers into the rocky earth as he clawed his way back up the tunnel he had come through. Grunting, grasping, lurching himself upward until he felt the cool metal of the vent. He pulled and wedged himself upwards, the vent was smooth and didn't allow him the helpful friction of the dirt. He shoved the video into the back of his jeans and pulled out the hammer. He swung the claw into the vent and lifted himself up. Max paused and thought for a moment, he looked back at the dirt tunnel and began to kick the roof as hard as he could. A large rock loosened and fell, this instigated a domino effect, collapsing the tunnel behind him. He laughed maniacally and kicked the caved-in tunnel wall in triumph. He hoisted himself further up the vent with his hammer, braced himself with his free hand and legs and buried the claw into the vent once again. Over and over again, Max repeated this until the incline disappeared. Until the sweet smell of warm popcorn welcomed him home.