The Phantom Cabinet Read online

  Emmett was there, of course. So were Missy Peterson, Starla Smith, Karen Sakihama and Etta Williams. Mike Munson showed up, as did Kevin Jones and Marty McGuire. When Emily Mortimer arrived, holding the hand of an aged male relative, Kevin began to chuckle.

  “Why’d you invite the spaz?” he asked.

  “I didn’t want you to feel left out,” Benjy countered, as the relative kissed Emily and left the restaurant, stopping only to introduce himself to the Rothsteins.

  After the initial pizza distribution, the last arrivals staggered in: Clark Clemson and Milo Black, faces flushed with probable intoxication. Clark slapped Douglas’ back as they passed, hard enough to leave a welt.

  “What’s up, Ghost Boy?” he bellowed.

  The kids ate pizza, played arcade games, and refilled their soda glasses continuously. Then, after a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday,” it was time for presents.

  Douglas gifted Benjy a stack of comics, including a fourth printing edition of The Death of Superman. Emmett gave him Super Mario Land, a Game Boy game. As shredded wrapping paper accumulated, Benjy unveiled CDs, videocassettes, candy, and an unwanted Bible from Emily. When the last present had been opened—a whoopee cushion from Clark and Milo—Benjy’s parents announced that they’d be waiting in the Volvo.

  Throughout the evening, Missy had neither spoken to nor glanced at Douglas. He hadn’t dared to ask her about the phone call. Perhaps she hated him so much, that she couldn’t even stand his proximity.

  “Thank God they’re finally gone,” declared Benjy. From his sweatshirt’s kangaroo pouch pocket, he drew forth a glass bottle. Waving stray classmates back to the table, he told the girls to space themselves between the boys.

  “We’re gonna play a little game,” he announced. “You guys ready to spin this bottle?”

  “No way,” complained Missy. “I’m not playing if there’s a chance I have to kiss Ghost Boy.”

  “Me neither,” announced Starla, haughtily.

  Clark chimed in: “You heard them, dipshit. Go wait in the car with Benjy’s parents. Nobody wants you here.”

  “Bullshit,” snapped Benjy. “Douglas is one of my best friends, and if he’s not going to play, no one will.”

  “Yeah, shut up, Clark,” said Emmett, scowling.

  Starla climbed out of her chair. “Let’s go play some video games,” she demanded, her petite mouth drawn thin.

  “I’m with you,” said Missy. “Come on, Etta.”

  Etta glanced from Missy to Emmett. “I’m staying here,” she said.

  Noses held high, Starla and Missy strode off, leaving eight boys and three girls at the table.

  “Damn, they had to go and throw off the balance,” muttered Mike Munson. His black hair was immaculately parted, revealing a ruler-straight line of pallid scalp.

  “Why don’t I play a video game?” Douglas whispered to Benjy. “I don’t want to ruin your party.”

  “You’re not ruining anything. Those chicks knew we’d be playing Spin the Bottle; I told them this morning. If they want to exclude my buddy, then fuck ’em.”

  Now Missy’s call made sense. She’d wanted to play Spin the Bottle, just not with Douglas.

  “Besides,” enthused Emmett, “we still have three beautiful ladies to smooch.” He winked at Etta, and she looked at the table, embarrassed.

  “Two of them, anyway,” said Marty McGuire, an obvious jab at Emily.

  As the birthday boy, Benjy took the first spin. He found himself locking lips with Karen, knocking her wire-rimmed glasses from her head in the process. Etta spun next, with her bottle landing on Milo. Clearly disappointed, the girl gave him a quick peck. Next, Kevin gave the bottle a spin. It landed on Emmett, so he got another try. That spin landed on Karen, who remembered to remove her glasses.

  Marty kissed Emily; Emily kissed Emmett. When Clark got a chance to kiss Karen, he grabbed the back of her head, thrusting his tongue deep within her mouth. When he finally pulled away, the girl looked positively nauseous, dry heaving to the sound of Milo’s raucous laughter.

  Then it was Douglas’ turn. Never having been kissed before, he was a bundle of quivering nerves. His hand was so sweat-slickened that he could barely grip the bottle.

  “Spin it, pussy!” cried Milo. “What, you afraid of girls or something?”

  “No, I’m not afraid of you,” was Douglas’ lame retort. He wiped his hand on his shirt and gripped the bottle. Just as he was about to revolve it, a hand fell upon his shoulder.

  Douglas looked up to see the friendly face of a Steadfast Pizza employee. “I’m sorry, kids, but you can’t be making out in our restaurant. There are families here.”

  Clark and Milo booed vociferously, but the man remained unfazed. Missy and Starla stood just behind him, obviously responsible for spoiling Douglas’ big moment.

  After confiscating the bottle, the employee walked away, leaving the children nothing to do but play video games. One by one, their parents arrived to retrieve them.

  Just before Emily left, she pulled Douglas aside. “I’m sorry that you didn’t get a kiss. I’ll kiss you now, if you want.”

  Reddening with embarrassment, Douglas said, “I guess so.” The girl pecked him on the lips, and then skipped out the restaurant alongside her male relative.

  ««—»»

  “Did you boys have fun?” asked Mr. Rothstein on the drive home.

  “I sure did. Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Mom.”

  “And you, Douglas?”

  “Yeah, it was great,” he replied, still tasting lip gloss and tomato sauce.

  ««—»»

  That night, as Douglas replayed the day’s events in lieu of slumber, a black tendril swam from the shadows to caress his cheek. It trailed up to a porcelain mask, drifting in wafts of putrescence.

  Floating in a relentlessly churning shroud, darker than the blackest night, the entity addressed Douglas. “You’re beginning to see, aren’t you? No matter how hard you try, you’ll never fit in. The pretty girls will never touch you, would prefer to forget you entirely. The best that you can hope for is a pity kiss.”

  Douglas knew that argumentation was useless. And so he lay silently, hoping to ignore the intruder into oblivion.

  “You and I have a grand destiny set before us, boy. Through your body, I will rock the globe from its orbit. You will come to see the world as I do, see mankind for what it truly is: a failed experiment awaiting extinction.”

  The white mask floated closer, to press against Douglas’ face. Its touch was so glacial that, even as his bladder voided into his sheets, Douglas still couldn’t escape the chill.

  He blinked and the intruder was gone, leaving Douglas’ sour urine stench permeating the room. Tears cascaded down his face, accompanied by ugly-sounding sobs.

  On trembling limbs, Douglas lurched up from the bed. Grimacing, he stripped it down to the mattress. It was time to do some laundry.

  ««—»»

  The following Monday, Douglas and Emmett sat at a lunch table, having abandoned the playground for the foreseeable future. Conversations surrounded them, but the duo sat quietly, thoughts sailing along divergent streams.

  It was cheeseburger day, and their trays held the remains of burgers and fries, ketchup spread in abstract smears. Around Douglas’ tray, a fly flew sluggishly, buzzing to acknowledge its repast.

  Curiously, even though the lunch period was almost over, Benjy still hadn’t arrived. He’d been in class earlier, yet had lingered behind as they’d headed to the cafeteria. Whether he was ditching for the rest of the day or had gone to the nurse’s office, neither boy knew.

  As he idly drummed his fingers against the plastic tabletop, Emmett actually found himself anxious for the bell to ring. Without Benjy around to liven things up, Douglas was kind of a drag to be around. He was so withdrawn, so socially awkward, that it took a forceful personality such as Benjy’s to bring him even partially out of his shell.

  Douglas stared forward, seeing nothing. Instead,
his thoughts were on the porcelain-masked entity. He’d seen an edited version of The Exorcist recently, and wondered if he could be rid of his nocturnal visitor by performing his own holy ritual.

  Persuading a priest to perform an exorcism would be too embarrassing, but Douglas could easily get ahold of a Bible and some holy water. From there, he could imitate the actions of Fathers Merrin and Karras. But would the gambit work, or would it just anger the entity, provoking her toward further acts of psychological terrorism?

  Lost in their own musings, the two friends were oblivious to Benjy’s arrival. Only after the boy distinctly cleared his throat did their eyes fall upon him.

  “Whoa, what the heck?” asked Emmett. For their pal had not arrived alone. Hands tightly linked, Benjy and Karen Sakihama stood boldly at the table’s head, sharing sidelong glances.

  “I asked Karen out,” Benjy said matter-of-factly.

  “She’s your girlfriend now?” asked Douglas.

  “She is.”

  With Benjy’s girth and Karen’s compact body, the pairing was comically incongruous. Her thin fingers disappeared within his meaty paw; her head barely came up to Benjy’s shoulders. Still, they seemed happy, and neither Emmett nor Douglas could begrudge that.

  “Why don’t you guys sit down?” Emmett suggested. The couple acquiesced, sliding onto a bench, wrapping their arms around each other.

  For the rest of the lunch period, Benjy and Karen had eyes only for one another. They whispered quietly amongst themselves, so subdued that their conversation remained private. Douglas and Emmett found themselves in the same situation as before, letting the minutes spin out slowly.

  ««—»»

  “Frank, you’re back!”

  The apparition hovered in his gleaming white spacesuit, his smile strained under its visor.

  “It’s good to see you, Douglas.”

  “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in forever.”

  Gordon sighed. “I’ve been with the rest of the spooks, trapped within your scrawny little body. The bitch in the white mask is growing stronger, and she’s making it harder for me to manifest. I don’t think she wants you to see a friendly face.”

  Douglas flicked off the television. The thought of the porcelain-masked entity made him break out in flop sweat. “You know her? Why won’t she leave me alone?”

  “Do you remember that conversation we had, the one I told you to write down?”

  “Sure I do. I reread it all the time.”

  “Good. Do you remember when I told you that some parts of an individual’s personality don’t dissolve into the spirit foam?”

  “Yeah, you said that they merge together to form demons and other scary things.”

  “True. There are some personality components that won’t fit inside an infant. They only come into existence later, after long-term exposure to the evils of the world. A newborn knows nothing about terror or hatred. As it is, they can barely cope with the massiveness of the world beyond the womb.

  “Anyway, those traits are unneeded in crafting a new soul. Instead, they float around the Phantom Cabinet, seeking out similar traits. When enough of them come together, they can amalgamate. The results are never pleasant, and are responsible for many of mankind’s most terrifying nightmares.

  “Of all those entities, that white-masked cunt is probably the worst. She’s not even really a woman, just something claiming that form. No, that rotten bitch is built from the hatreds and fears of millions of torture victims, people who’ve been forced to endure some of the sickest punishments imaginable.

  “Think about it, Douglas. While most of us find both positive and negative qualities in those we encounter, that mangled old hag only sees the negative. She knows nothing of love, nothing of kindness. She only knows razor kisses, and the pain of an eyeball being gouged from one’s head.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Ouch indeed. Imagine the madness that arises after hours of torture. Now imagine that madness multiplied by millions of lifetimes. That’s what you’re dealing with here.”

  “And how do you know so much about her?”

  “Oh, I know all of the entities inside you. It’s impossible to be in such constant proximity, and not absorb at least some kind of impression. Especially this bitch; she radiates agony and terror like a busted nuclear reactor.

  “She remembers concentration camps—the burn of Sachsenhausen mustard gas, having her muscles removed without anesthesia at Ravensbrück. In 70 AD, she was crucified along Appian Way, under the orders of a vicious bastard named Crassus.

  “She’s been placed inside a metal coffin, to be slowly eaten by animals. She’s worn a Spanish Boot, sat upon a Judas Cradle, smiled the Glasgow Smile, and languished inside an Iron Maiden. In China, she suffered a slow death by over three thousand cuts. She’s been impaled, had her bones shattered upon the breaking wheel, roasted inside a Brazen Bull.

  “Imagine being whipped, hung from meat hooks, raped to death, boiled alive, burned at the stake, flayed, disemboweled, and having your limbs pulled from their sockets. Now imagine reliving that suffering over and over again, all throughout eternity. That is her mind state.”

  “Sheesh. I mean…what am I supposed to say to that? Isn’t there any way to get rid of her?”

  “None that I’m aware of. She’ll always be around, trying to influence you. The important thing is to ignore her. You’re a good kid, Douglas, and you need to hold onto that, no matter what the cost.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  Douglas brightened up. “Anyway, I’m glad you came to visit. I’ve missed you, Frank. None of the other ghosts are any fun; most of them are pretty damn freaky. Can you hang out for a while?”

  “I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to manifest, but I’ll try to hold onto this form for a bit. Tell me, what’s been happening with our old friends, the X-Men?”

  “Oh, man. You gotta hear what happened to Wolverine. Magneto pulled all the adamantium out of his body…when they were fighting in outer space. Then Professor X got really mad, and he…”

  ««—»»

  On Saturday morning, Benjy woke up facedown on his living room coffee table, drooling onto the mahogany. His eyes itched and his throat was sore, so he went to the kitchen for a drink. The area was empty; his parents were still asleep.

  Nestled between the milk and apple cider was a carton of orange juice, which looked pretty damn refreshing. He pulled a glass from the cupboard and began to pour. What emerged was not orange at all. Instead, the liquid was red, blood red. Highly viscous, it poured slowly, coating the side of the glass.

  Dry heaving, Benjy returned the carton to the fridge. From past experience, he knew that his parents would see plain old orange juice when they poured, but the thought provided him small comfort.

  He pulled a chair to the fridge, to reach the cupboards above it. The cupboards contained a vast alcohol assortment, including Triple Sec, vodka, tequila, Scotch, bourbon, wine, Jägermeister and Kahlua. Benjy rooted around, until he located a half-filled bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

  He took a deep swig of whiskey, which sent him into a fit of explosive coughing. When he could breathe again, he took another gulp, and then put the bottle back.

  The liquor made his thoughts pleasantly hazy, blurring his sleepwalking concerns. Still, memories of a shifting tree and levitating sleeping bag tried to surface, so he picked up the phone.

  “Hello,” answered Mr. Sakihama, after four rings.

  “Hello, sir. Is Karen there?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Benjy, sir.”

  “Hold on.” The man’s altered cadence made his aversion obvious.

  A minute passed, and then: “Hello? Benjy?”

  “Good morning, Karen. I was just thinking about you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I was. In fact, I think I might love you.”

  She giggled. “That’s so sweet. Seriously, you’re…ador
able. Hey, what did you have for breakfast?”

  “Pancakes,” he lied, even as his stomach growled.

  “I had oatmeal, but I put syrup on it, so it was kind of like pancakes.”

  “Gross. Hey, do you want to do something later? I could get my mom to drop us off at the movies.”

  “Hmmm…that sounds…fun. I have a piano lesson at three, but we can go after that. Maybe we can get some dinner, too.”

  “Great. I’ll talk to ya later.”

  “Bye-bye, Benjy.”

  “Bye.”

  He replaced the phone in its cradle, swung his arms at his sides, and then climbed the chair to filch a third swig of whiskey. With that accomplished, he decided on another call.

  “Hello,” bellowed an angry voice at the line’s other end.

  “Is this Clark?”

  “No, this is his father. Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m his friend; that’s all you need to know. Hey, is he home?”

  “Listen, you shrimp prick. You better learn some respect…before I feed you your fuckin’ teeth. I was trying to sleep. Now I have to deal with this shit?”

  There was some muffled conversation, and then: “Milo, is that you?”

  “It’s Benjy. What’s up, Clark?”

  “What’s going on, Fat Boy? I was just thinking about your birthday. Remember when I frenched your girlfriend? My tongue was halfway down her throat, practically in her stomach. I bet that’s further than you’ve gone with her, you fuckin’ wuss.”

  “Yeah, but not as far as you’ve gone with your pit bull. How’s Brutus doing these days, anyway? Is he able to walk yet?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Right back atcha.”

  “Are you calling for a reason, or just looking to get your ass beat? Bring Ghost Boy along, and I’ll make it a two-for-one deal.”

  “That’s okay. Actually, I’m looking to get out of the house. Do you have any plans today?”