The Phantom Cabinet Page 8

  Douglas realized that he’d find no answers inside the Phantom Cabinet, or at least no solution to his ghost problem. Still, the experiment had proven worthwhile, leaving him feeling closer to mankind than he’d ever thought possible. Eternities passed in mere moments, aeons twinkled into decay, until cruel laughter returned Douglas’ consciousness fleshward. Caressed by a newborn breeze, he reopened his Earth eyes.

  Perpendicular to the playground was an oval of grass, on which games of soccer and touch football were often played. The field was bordered by a tartan track, where Douglas had been forced to run laps during P.E. classes. The laughter drifted from across the field, emanating from within a handball court’s concrete walls.

  The laughter sounded familiar. Then came shattering glass and celebratory whoops. Intrigued, Douglas slid down the slide and padded across the sand. He crossed the field with steady steps, mind still reeling from revelations.

  The handball court was forty feet tall, approximately sixty feet wide. It included six separate three-walled enclosures, three on each side of the structure. On countless schooldays, half a dozen games of handball had been played there simultaneously.

  Reaching the court, Douglas peered into its first enclosure. It was empty. Fresh laughter came from the section immediately rightward. Silent as a ninja, Douglas edged around the wall, and satisfied his curiosity.

  The shattered glass turned out to be green beer bottles, of which seven remained intact. An additional three were in the hands of three flush-faced children, all of whom Douglas recognized. He saw Clark Clemson chugging from an upended bottle, errant liquid running down his chin. He saw Milo Black daintily sipping from his own bottle, sun-bleached hair damp with perspiration. And who was the final drinker, staring mesmerized into a partially consumed beverage? Why, it was Douglas’ own friend, Benjy, leaning as if to topple.

  On any other day, the sight of his pal consorting with the closest thing Douglas had to an arch nemesis would have caused him great mental turmoil. He’d have felt betrayed, felt as if everyone was conspiring against him. But with the Phantom Cabinet visit still fresh in his cognizance, Douglas was unable to reach the proper angst level.

  “Let him get drunk with those assholes if he wants,” he muttered to himself, navigating his way back toward the chain link. “I’m not his father.”

  Hopping the fence, Douglas overheard one last glass explosion, a fitting coda for an interesting afternoon.

  ««—»»

  “Come on. We don’t have to spend every lunch on those swings. We’re not little kids.”

  Emmett and Douglas shot Benjy inquisitive looks. He’d shown up to school that morning with a shaved head and a chain wallet, wearing a shirt emblazoned with a grinning skull’s image. Without his trademark cowlick, Benjy seemed a different person, and Douglas wondered just how much Clark and Milo had influenced him. While Mr. Conway had confiscated the chain almost immediately, calling it a potential weapon, the damage was already done. Chubby Benjy Rothstein had cultivated himself a dangerous image.

  “What’s wrong with the swings?” asked Emmett. “We could do backflips again, or even try swinging while standing up.”

  “I’m not tryin’ another backflip,” complained Douglas.

  Benjy waved his hand dismissively. “Listen, guys. Just this once, why don’t we try talkin’ to some girls? There are some pretty ones in our class, and you’re both too bitch to say one word to them.”

  “I’m not afraid,” argued Emmett.

  “Then let’s go!”

  Benjy dragged Emmett to the lunch tables, leaving Douglas little choice but to follow. Said tables were shiny blue plastic laminate set upon grey iron, supporting students clustered in small groups, having animated conversations.

  Benjy led them to a table hosting four females, leaving just enough room for Emmett and himself to slide in, one on each side. Douglas was forced to stand awkwardly alongside, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

  “What’s up, girls?” Benjy squawked.

  Giggling, they returned the greeting. There was little Missy Peterson, wearing blond pigtails, a spray of freckles across her nose. Beside her sat her best friend, Etta Williams, who glanced shyly at Emmett before returning her gaze mealward. On the opposite side of the table sat Karen Sakihama, a tiny bespectacled creature wearing a purple dress, and Starla Smith, a brunette widely regarded as the best looking girl at their school.

  “Are you all excited about fifth-grade camp?” asked Emmett.

  “I can’t wait,” replied Missy, rolling her eyes.

  “Why would that excite me?” asked Starla. “Here, we can at least go home at the end of the day. There, we’ll be trapped with our teachers for an entire week.”

  “Don’t forget the mosquitos,” Karen chimed in.

  “Yeah, those damn mosquitos,” said Etta.

  “Well, I’m looking forward to it,” replied Emmett, somewhat defensively. “For five days, we’ll get out of boring old Oceanside and wander around Palomar Mountain. We’ll go on hikes, and maybe even see a bear.”

  “There’re no bears on Palomar Mountain,” said Benjy.

  “How do you know? Have you ever been up there?”

  “No, Emmett, I haven’t. Still, we’re not gonna see a bear.”

  Douglas was aware he hadn’t spoken. Furthermore, none of the girls had even glanced in his direction. He could fade into the background and no one would notice, not even his two friends. Silently, he marveled that he could feel so connected to every soul he touched in the Phantom Cabinet, yet so apart from all his peers. Perhaps he’d be better off dead, he reasoned.

  The conversation shifted to movies and music, before finally settling upon their teacher, Mr. Conway.

  “I think he’s pretty cool,” said Benjy. “The homework’s easy and he’s always cracking jokes.”

  “Those are supposed to be jokes?” Starla griped. “I’ve heard funnier church sermons.”

  “Come on,” countered Emmett, “that one about the foreign exchange student and the banana was pretty hilarious.”

  “As if,” said Missy.

  Douglas cleared his throat audibly. “What about his impression of our principal? That cracked me up.”

  Now the girls were looking at him, eight eyes filled with derision.

  “Excuse me,” said Missy. “Are you actually speaking to us? I have a dead grandma down at the cemetery. Why don’t you go talk to her?”

  The girls cackled at his expense. Douglas’ face went crimson. “Fine,” he muttered. “I didn’t want to come over here, anyway.”

  “Like we wanted you here,” Missy said. “I heard your mom took one look at you as a baby and it drove her insane. Go away, Ghost Boy, before we all end up in straitjackets.”

  Douglas fled toward the playground, desperate to escape the company of Missy and her friends. Watching his getaway, Emmett said, “That wasn’t cool, Missy. Why are you such a bitch?”

  “I bet she was born with both sex organs, and her parents are only raising her as a girl because they can’t afford a jockstrap,” commented Benjy.

  As the words sank in, Missy Peterson began to sob, unaccustomed to hostility’s receiving end.

  — | — | —

  Chapter 5

  “That was Antipop Consortium with ‘Ghostlawns.’ Futuristic sounds for a tale of past times, delivered by your faithful friends at Radio PC. Did you love it as much as I did? Are you anxious to hear another song? If so, please listen on. As your ever-loving DJ, I promise to continue spinning an eclectic arrangement of top tracks, all thematically relevant to the story at hand.”

  Emmett was in bed now, eyes pointed at the ceiling, seeing beyond the plaster. He wished that he’d saved all his old yearbooks, so that he could see his friends exactly as they’d been in elementary school.

  The mysterious narrative still perplexed him, but he knew that he’d listen for its entire duration. He had no other choice. Even if the story took weeks to complete, Emmett would kee
p the headphones jammed into his ears, would even skip work if he had to.

  Whether the ghost stuff was true or not, there was definitely something strange going on. Some mysterious intelligence possessed far too much information about those bygone days, an unnamed DJ whose voice still seemed off. The fact that the DJ had started the story just after Emmett discovered the station couldn’t be mere coincidence. Perhaps the DJ himself was a ghost, possessing an urgent message to impart.

  What little he could remember of those days supported the broadcast. He remembered the night they’d gone toilet papering, remembered the way his stomach had lurched when Douglas plummeted headfirst from the swing. But Emmett had never once seen a ghost, though the tale claimed they’d been all around him. He’d never seen someone levitate, or felt the chill of a poltergeist’s presence.

  For just a moment, he wondered if the ghosts had been racist, had ignored him strictly because of his skin color. Immediately, he realized the thought’s absurdity. Surely there’d been black phantoms among the spirits. Maybe Emmett had been too closed-minded at the time to register the hauntings. Maybe he should stop worrying about it, and just enjoy the story.

  “Continuing our tale, let us now hop forward a couple of weeks. That’s right, no account of elementary school would be complete without mentioning the wonder of fifth-grade camp.

  “Douglas enjoyed fifth-grade camp immensely. Emmett and he shared a cabin with half a dozen boys from surrounding schools, boys who’d never heard of Douglas’ strange birth. Thus, he found himself with temporary friendships stretching for five straight days.

  “With over two hundred kids running rampant, supervised by counselors just a handful of years their senior, the mischief potential was high. Every morning featured a fresh pair of underpants atop the flagpole. Every night, the counselors snuck out for drinking and opposite sex fraternization. The teachers kept mainly to themselves, showing up only for meals and camp activities.

  “There were lectures, sure, covering topics such as diversity and conflict resolution, but no one paid them much attention. One night, each cabin had to devise a skit based on acceptance of others, performances more painful than amusing. Likewise, the group’s campfire sing-along was too corny to be believed.

  “Douglas enjoyed the hikes the most. Crossing streams on overturned tree trunks proved exhilarating, as did sprinting up a rock formation signifying some bygone Native American rite of passage. There were movie nights, cinnamon rolls in the morning, meadows, pines and firs. While no bears appeared, Douglas saw squirrels, raccoons and deer roaming about, and even spied a gray fox from a distance. In Doane Pond, he viewed a multitude of fish in constant motion: trout, Bluegill and catfish mostly.

  “Best of all, Douglas glimpsed not a single specter on Palomar Mountain. No agonized faces in the mirror, no little girl with only half a face, not even a hovering howler. Phantom whispers assailed him not; the white-masked demon made no appearance. Unfortunately, this respite was short lived…”

  ««—»»

  In Campanula Elementary’s parking lot, a swarm of cars, vans and trucks waited to convey children homeward. Sunburned and dotted with insect bites, Douglas watched them leave. He waited and waited, tapping his hands against his thighs, but Carter Stanton never showed. At last, after forty-seven minutes of fruitless anticipation, Douglas gathered his sleeping bag, pillow and black leather satchel—filled with clothes and assorted toiletries—and began the trek home.

  While he’d made the journey many times, Douglas could now barely trudge forward. His sleeping bag and pillow would not fit comfortably under his arm, and kept slipping down to the sidewalk.

  Finally, after much cursing and frustration, Douglas reached Calle Tranquila. Neighbors gawked at the shambling child, offering no conversation.

  Seeing his father’s Pathfinder in the driveway, Douglas grunted, enraged. He’d assumed the man was at work, but there was his vehicle, plain as day. Either he’d forgotten about picking Douglas up, or he’d deliberately stranded him.

  Opening the door, Douglas tossed his gear down. He began calling for his father, when a silver flash crossed his vision, accompanied by a whoosh of air.

  “Whoa,” he exhaled, stepping back for clarity. The silver blur struck again, mere inches from Douglas’ nose. Jumping back through the doorway, he saw his assailant clearly: a wild-eyed, snarling lunatic. “Dad, stop! What’s wrong with you?”

  Carter advanced, thumping an aluminum bat against his palm. His eyes were bloodshot, and he reeked of sweat and strong liquor.

  “It’s Douglas! It’s your son!”

  Carter twisted back for another swing, which Douglas terminated with an arm grasp. “Don’t do it, Dad. It’s me.”

  Face slackening, Carter dropped the bat, as his arms fell to his sides. “Douglas? Douglas? I thought you were at camp.”

  “Camp’s over. You were supposed to pick me up.” With the danger gone, Douglas closed the door. He hoped that the neighbors hadn’t overheard too much. It wouldn’t do to have two parents in a madhouse.

  Carter slid slowly down the wall, until he was seated upon the travertine, knees drawn to his chest. He began to laugh, harsh guffaws that brought tears streaming down his cheeks. “I was…I was supposed to pick you up. Pick you up.”

  “What’s wrong with you, Dad? What happened?”

  “What happened, he asks. I’ll tell you what’s happening, sonny boy. Ghosts are happening. I see them all over Oceanside. I’ve seen them since the day you were born.”

  “I see them, too. They’re not that bad, for the most part.”

  “Oh, but they are. Don’t you understand, Douglas? I’ve tried to have a positive attitude lately, I really have. But we can’t have any privacy with those fuckers constantly popping out of thin air. Yesterday, when I was taking a piss, I saw a bloody-eyed ghoul in the toilet. Three nights ago, I heard my pillow laughing. I’ve seen pale men in our backyard, headless torsos convulsing across our living room. Just before you got here, something tossed me out of bed. I watched my mattress float to the ceiling, while an unseen force pinned me to the ground. I guess that’s why I snapped when you walked in; I thought you were another apparition. God, I could have killed you.”

  “It’s okay, Dad, I understand. But there’s a bright side to all this, too.”

  “Yeah? What?”

  “If we’re seeing ghosts, then that means some part of us will still be around after death. We don’t just evaporate. Our essence lives on.”

  “I never want to be like that, forced to walk the Earth without a body.”

  Douglas awkwardly patted his father’s head, the same way one would acknowledge an aging canine. “You don’t have to. You could let the Phantom Cabinet take you, let it break your soul apart to construct a whole bunch of new people.”

  “The Phantom Cabinet? You’ve been watching too many cartoons, boy.”

  “No, it’s true. I’ve…”

  “That’s enough, Douglas. Go wash up now; you’re filthy. When you’re done, we’ll get something to eat.”

  Sighing, Douglas acquiesced. Setting off toward the bathroom, he heard his father begin to giggle. It was a frightening sound.

  ««—»»

  Three weeks later, Douglas returned from school to hear a ringing phone. Snatching it from its cradle, he placed the receiver to his ear.

  “Hello.”

  “Douglas, my man! This is Benjy.”

  “Hey, Benjy. What’s up?”

  “You know it’s my birthday on Friday…right?”

  “Sure do. Are you calling about a gift?”

  “Of course not. I know you’ll get me something great. No, I’m trying to invite you to my birthday party. My parents are taking me to Steadfast Pizza, over in Carlsbad, and I’m inviting a bunch of kids from school.”

  “Sure, I’ll go. Can your parents give me a ride?”

  “Yeah, we’ll pick you up. No problem.”

  ««—»»

  When Friday’s
final school bell sounded, Douglas raced home. After a quick shower, he found himself standing before the bathroom mirror, trying on shirt after shirt after shirt. Just as he settled upon a faded white Polo—a hand-me-down from his father—the phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Is Douglas there?” a female voice inquired.

  “You’re talking to him.”

  “Oh. Hi…Douglas, this is Missy.”

  “Hi.”

  “Listen, I’m calling because Benjy canceled his birthday party. He asked me to tell you.”

  “Really? I was with him at lunch, and he couldn’t stop talking about it.”

  “Well, it’s canceled.” Missy hung up then, leaving Douglas sputtering on an empty line.

  Eleven minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

  “Dude, you ready?” asked Benjy, wearing a new leather jacket, under what looked like two gallons of hair cream.

  “I thought your party was canceled.”

  “Huh? Why would you think that?”

  “Missy Peterson just called and said so.”

  “She was just messing with you, bro. Now come on.”

  ««—»»

  Entering Steadfast Pizza, Douglas was overwhelmed by visual stimuli. News clippings, photographs and trophies crowded the walls, celebrating a couple decades of the Carlsbad community. Televisions were mounted amongst them, synchronized to display football skirmishing. Arcade games filled the eatery’s far end, operated by screaming children.

  Douglas and Benjy were led to a row of pushed-together tables, where three pitchers of soda awaited. As they made desultory conversation with Benjy’s parents, students from Campanula Elementary began streaming in. A pile of colorfully wrapped presents formed. Soon, four pizzas arrived.