The January Editor's Pick Story is by Patrick Lacey

Please feel free to email Patrick at: patrickclacey@hotmail.com

BIG BERTHA
by Patrick Lacey

Closing time.

It was Christopher’s least favorite part of the job and no matter how many times he asked for the morning shift, his boss always seemed to throw him on the night. It wasn’t the sticky floors or the rancid odor of the arcade that bothered him so much. It wasn’t even the getting out late part.

It was Big Bertha.

He tried not to look at her and instead focused his attention on Melanie. She stared at him from behind the prize station, mock-laughing as a toddler made his last-minute choice, rationing his tickets carefully. Christopher returned the smile and headed toward the broom closet, trying to keep his cool. She was just about the best looking girl he’d ever seen and each time she acknowledged him, it was an internal struggle not to say something stupid.

As he grabbed the mop and the bucket, he felt a slap on his back. It was Aaron, his employee shirt already off and tucked into his back pocket. “We’re still on for the party, right?”

“You bet. Save the fun for when I get out of this lousy arcade.”

“I’ll try my best. There should be plenty of booze and pizza and you-know-who will be stopping by.” He nudged Christopher’s stomach and they both turned back toward Melanie. She was handing the boy a pile of tiny green army figures. It was no secret that Christopher liked her but what was a secret was the reason why he hadn’t asked her out yet.

“I just don’t get it, man.” Aaron was practically drooling. “What’re you so afraid of?”

Everything, he almost said. “Just giving it some time. I don’t want to seem too desperate.”

She was done with the kid and his father now and saw them out, thanking them for their business. The moment they were gone she slammed the door shut and rolled her eyes. “It took that kid a half hour to choose from our array of shitty prizes and the whole time his dad is egging him on, telling him to choose wisely. Are we ready to drink or what?”

Aaron pointed across the street. “Just got to make a run to the liquor store and we’re set. See you at the apartment in twenty?”

“I’ll be there. I’ll bring the girls.”

“Oh yeah!” Aaron slapped Christopher on the back once more, winked, and headed out the doors.

Christopher expected Melanie to follow but she lingered. “How long do you think this’ll take you?”

“Should be done in an hour or so, maybe less.”

She smiled again and his heart did cartwheels. “Do hurry,” she said.

Then she was gone and he watched her from behind, taking a mental picture that would hopefully get him through the cleaning shift, though it was dark outside now and she seemed to fade into obscurity within moments.

He was alone. The thought did nothing for his speeding heart, though it was pounding for a different reason now.

The arcade was a family spot, a tourist trap that targeted parents and their children on their way to the lake, but that was just a façade. At night, it was different.

He surveyed the place. There was the line of ski ball machines and the two whack-a-moles, which mostly didn’t work anymore. There were the handful of fighting games and shooters, meant for the teen crowd. There was the fortune telling machines and the pinball units and the water games.

And among all of them was Big Bertha, a bright yellow cabinet that housed an overweight stuffed woman. The objective was simple: deposit two quarters, take hold of the red balls that slid down the chute, and throw as many of them as you could into her mouth before time was up. There had been plenty of jokes about the latter part but Christopher didn’t think there was anything funny about her.

From his spot near the broom closet, he could just make Bertha out, half her face obscured by another cabinet. She’d been dirtied over the years and there was a small tear near her right eyebrow.

He looked into her eyes and tried to tell himself they would not blink at any moment.

He shook his head and grabbed the mop, soaking it and starting on the floor, telling himself to stop being an idiot. There was nothing scary about a ball-eating game from the fifties. Nothing at all. What was scary—and exciting at the same time—was the thought of seeing Melanie later and the sooner he finished up his checklist, the sooner he could get over to the apartment. Though he wasn’t sure where to take it from there.

Something squeaked from the corner. He dropped the mop and jumped back.

One of the fighting games was still on, characters bashing each other with upper cuts and drop kicks. He must have missed it on his walkthrough. He headed over, ready to shut it off. The game was on mute and running on demo. The screen faded to black, ready to replay again. In the blackness he saw Big Bertha’s face reflected. She smiled at him.

He spun around, bladder suddenly full. She was no more than ten feet away, eyes bulging and mouth wide open. The hole of her throat was pure darkness and though he knew it led to the chamber housing the red balls, he could imagine it led somewhere else, to a real belly, not just machinery.

What the hell was he thinking? It was just a stupid game and he was being irrational.

He walked back over to the mop and picked it up.

He began to work faster, taking wider strides, not caring if he didn’t cover every inch of the floor, if he missed a few discarded pieces of popcorn here and there, so long as he got the hell out of there quickly.

He grabbed the duster and did a once-over on every console.

Every one except Big Bertha.

He was fine skipping her. His boss wouldn’t notice and if he did, so what? This was just a summer job to hold him over until the semester began. Worse came to worse, he could find something else. There were plenty of other tourist traps.

He put the duster away and went through his checklist, checking off everything except for the garbage.

Something touched his foot and for a moment he was sure it was a hand, something reaching out to grab him but when he saw it was just a red plastic ball, he did not calm any.

He picked it up. It had been on the floor all along, of course. A kid must have been having a little too much fun and tossed it away from the game. It happened all the time. It was perfectly plausible.

Another ball rolled toward him, from the direction of Big Bertha, though he couldn’t see her from behind the old Tetris and Galaga machines. He kicked it away and threw the one in his hand into the nearest trash bucket.

It became clear, without any rational explanation, that he was not alone. Someone was breathing though he couldn’t quite hear it. It was more a distinct feeling in his gut. They were waiting for Christopher, ready to grab onto him and pull him into some dark alleyway while the rest of the town got drunk and passed out.

But of course there was no one over there. He was imagining things, scaring himself like the little pathetic virgin he was. And that was his secret; he was still a virgin.

There was no one else in here with him.

No one but Bertha.

He looked toward the trash, thought of the red ball resting in it, and wondered where the other had rolled to. And then he thought, fuck the trash. I’ll come in early in the morning. Who cares if I’m fighting a hangover, so long as the sun is shining and I’m not alone in here with her.

He ran into the employee break room and grabbed his keys from his locker, his hands shaking badly now. Then he headed for the entrance, closing his eyes as he walked by the neon yellow cabinet, not opening them until he was at the front door.

He pushed.

It didn’t open.

What the hell? He tried again but it wouldn’t budge, as if it were locked from the outside, though that was impossible.

From behind him, in a shrill voice he’d heard a thousand times when she was switched on during the day shift, came the words “I’m hungry! Feed me!”

Christopher dropped the keys.

He spun around and saw light reflected on the floor and the far left wall, yellows and blues and a few reds. Then came the music, a distorted carnival tune that he’d heard before in his nightmares.

He heard the mechanism unlock, sending the plastic balls to the front of the cabinet.

“I’m hungry! Feed me!”

Christopher grabbed the keys from the floor and ran. There was another exit out back, near the dumpster. He sped by the arm-wrestling game, past the prize station, and into the back hall. The lights were dim and flickering overhead.

Even from this distance he could hear Big Bertha’s music.

He held his hands out in front of him, charging the metal bar on the door. His hands connected and he was knocked backward onto the floor. Pain flared in his elbows and his lower back. It took a moment to gather his thoughts but then he understood the back door was also locked from the outside, which was also impossible.

He slammed his fists against the metal and glass, pounding and shouting, hoping someone on the lake would hear him, but there was no one out there. Everyone was either at the bars or back at their hotels.

He was alone.

The music stopped as if someone had pulled the plug, though he was positive he’d done it himself ten minutes before Melanie and Aaron took off.

He listened, his pulse racing in his inner ears.

There was only silence.

He waited for what seemed like years in the dark hall. Eventually he chalked it up to an electrical malfunction. Big Bertha had been powered up for whatever reason and now the problem was fixed and she was off again.

He checked his pockets for his cell phone and remembered he’d set it down on the air hockey table before going to the broom closet. He cursed himself and started walking slowly toward the arcade again, only breathing when he felt dizzy and faint and had no choice.

He opened the door. It creaked like lightning in the silence. From here he could see she was off. There were no lights, no music, no words.

He spotted his cell phone and made a dash for it.

Aaron and Melanie would be at the apartment now, breaking out the beers and turning up the music. He dialed Aaron first. It rang and rang but there was no answer.

Son of a bitch.

He tried Melanie next, hoping to hear her sweet voice on the third or fourth ring. It took an eternity but on the tenth ring she picked up. “Melanie, it’s me. Listen, I’m trapped in the arcade. The doors are stuck or something and the games are…acting weird. I need you to come let me out.”

He expected her to say she’d be right there but she said nothing.

“Melanie?”

Silence or close to it. “Melanie?” He was whispering now.

The line crackled for a moment. “I’m hungry! Feed me!”

He threw the phone across the arcade. It collided with the front doors, its screen shattering.
The music and lights started up again. The tune was more distorted now like it was being played from far away, like a radio station you picked up late at night.

There was a loud thud and then a scraping sound. His heart tripled its rate and he began to drip with sweat. The scraping grew closer and the music grew louder.

Until the yellow cabinet turned the corner of the Galaga machine and Big Bertha was staring straight into his eyes.

“I’m hungry! Feed me!”

There were jagged scrapes in the wood of the floor, growing longer and deeper as the cabinet moved closer, as if someone unseen was pushing her forward. But from here he could see there was no one.

The front compartment was overflowing with plastic red balls, a few bouncing off and rolling toward him.

The broom closet was still open. He grabbed the nearest mop, still damp, and held it out, spearing her. Her mouth opened farther and took the mop in, pulling it from his grip and swallowing it.

“That was tasty! I’m still hungry! Feed me!”

The music grew louder. It seemed to emanate from the house speakers, though those were unplugged as well.

Christopher backed up until he hit the front door. He looked around, wondering if he could break the windows near the air hockey tables. It was a three or four foot drop off the pier to the beach.

Big Bertha moved closer. “Where do you think you’re going? We’re having so much fun! You don’t need Melanie, you only need me and I’m so very hungry. Let me be your first, Christopher. I’ll show you everything you need to know. Now come here and fucking feed me!”

He dove to the right, swaying with fear now, and headed for the air hockey tables. He could see her in the reflection of the windows. She was turning around.

To the left was a small change machine. Christopher wrapped his hands around the cold steel and tried to pick it up. It was heavy enough to make his muscles groan with pain but he managed to lift it a foot or so off the ground. He hobbled toward the windows and tried to lift it farther. His palms were slick with sweat and he nearly dropped it on his feet.

But seeing Big Bertha’s reflection again made him forget about the pain.

She was moving faster. She was coming for him.

He lifted the change machine, put all his effort into it, and spun it toward the windows, letting go at the last moment. It collided with the glass, sending small shards everywhere. He covered his eyes and dove through the opening and into the night.

His feet sank into the sand and he rolled over, pain throbbing in his right ankle. He limped across the beach, toward the street, hearing Bertha’s distorted symphony fade into the background.

She yelled something at him but the sounds of the lake drowned it out.

When he was far enough away he turned around. He could see the broken glass and the toppled change machine but there was no sign of her.

He hobbled across the street, toward the apartment. Everything looked deserted. The bars were a few blocks west and the attractions had all closed for the night. It was slow going with the pain in his ankle but he managed to walk up the hill and into the front yard of the apartment building. His and Aaron’s place was on the second floor. There was music blaring, some rap tune he couldn’t stand but it was much better than the other tune he’d heard tonight.

He took the stairs one at a time, wincing at each step. He’d need a doctor and some painkillers and a good excuse as to why the arcade’s window was broken, but right now he was content to stare through the windows at Melanie. It didn’t matter if he was clueless. He just wanted to walk through the sliding door and into the living and he’d take her into his arms and kiss her. Then he’d try to forget the last hour of his life.

He made it to the top of the stairs and he grabbed the handle of the slider.

It didn’t budge.

He tried again, harder.

It stayed in place.

Inside the party was raging. Aaron had set a beer pong table up and there was cheering and laughing and chanting. Melanie sat on the couch, a red plastic cup in her hand. She looked bored. He waved to her and he swore she looked right at him with those perfect eyes but she made no indication she saw him.

He knocked on the glass and yelled for them to let him in but no one noticed.

It couldn’t be. It was impossible.

The music changed mid-song but no one missed a beat. They kept dancing to the same rhythm as if they hadn’t noticed the switch. It was a familiar tune, distorted and awful. He covered his ears and told himself he’d passed out somewhere on the beach. It was just a bad dream. Someone would find him and he’d wake up in the emergency room, Melanie standing over him and telling him everything was fine.

There came the sound of something bouncing on the landing and then rolling before it stopped at his foot. Then the unquestionable certainty that someone was standing directly next to him.

“I’m hungry! Feed me!”

Inside the party continued.

Patrick Lacey is an Editorial Assistant in the healthcare industry. When he’s not reading about blood clots and infectious diseases, he writes about things that make the general public uncomfortable. He lives in Massachusetts with his wife, his Pomeranian, and his muse, who he’s pretty sure is trying to kill him. Follow him on Twitter (@PatLacey).