JUNO


    SEPTEMBER 1986


    ***COMMODORE 64 BASIC V2***


    64K RAM SYSTEM 38911 BASIC BYTES FREE READY


    HELLO


    ?SYNTAX ERROR.


    HELLO.


    LEVEL____ *%#%?!


    There is nothing quite as fleeting as floating from one world to the next. One moment, you understand where you are. You feel what is around you, smell the right smells, hear the things that you are close to. To have that ripped away from you all at once leaves the mind naked and washed out. What you once trust to be true is no more. Your senses, which you have completely depended on for your survival throughout your entire life, have failed you. And then, you have nothing left.


    I honestly believed that with this occurring to me yet a third time, I’d at least expect a few of these symptoms—nausea, headache, overwhelming dizziness. I can’t even say if it even was worse than the first time when I encountered it at the TV set. But I scream at the top of my lungs. It was very stupid on my part, but the front door was only a few feet away from me. It was just in front of me, the doorknob seemingly reaching out for my fingertips. I see my boy to my left, fast asleep in his cradle, much too close to that horrid creature. If only I had been quicker. My jaw clenches. The blasted thing testing me, no doubt. But my mind is clouded with the image of Tom’s body crammed in that dusty cardboard box in the basement, like a piece of forgotten furniture or clothing.


    My skin seethes. I try to keep my breaths slow. Losing my temper will do nothing. The only benefit from this is that the experience is no longer shocking to me. How long I may remain here is another question—so the best thing that I am able to do is become familiarized with this pathetic world. I despise any creation made from that abominable thing’s grimy fingers; the very hands that took away the closest thing I had as a father.


    I grit my teeth. Tom’s blood is on my shoulders. If he had never met me, never knew about the house, never tried to help—


    Breathe. Focus.


    It is much too late to ponder these possibilities now. I try not to think of the Brunswicks. As I struggle to open my pixelated eyes, my stubby pink neck tilts back towards the teal colored sky, right above the white number hovering over my head. The smell of smoke and roasting flesh fills my nose. I have the sudden urge to vomit, but I move—more like float through the burned trees. For a moment, I pause and take a look.


    The game has not reset. And yet the shriveled trees up nearby befuddle me. I see the marks of the creature’s footprints against the soil, and then a yellow, shriveled shape is smashed against the ground like a pie. One of its swollen eyes are wide open, the lid pulled back to reveal the pulsing blood vessels. Its right limb is twitching back and forth, bone and sinew shining through the light. Very slowly, its skeletal chest rises and falls. The nails are black, peeling off.


    The eye settles on me.


    It blinks once.


    I rack my brain. What was it that Player 099234 had done for me when I had tumbled down below from the sky and landed on my face? No, it was after that. After I had used up all of my energy. The word. What was the name of the word? Come on, come on—


    Stamina?


    The unexpected word rips through what I believe resemble my ears, and I desperately want to clamp my hands over it. It’s taunting, almost mocking me. And instantly, I know where it is coming from, and I do not like how it is reading and recognizing my thoughts. I grimace, trying to twist my head away from it, wanting to bash it against one of the tree trunks, but it follows me until I finally speak.


    “Shut up!” I snarl, even though I do not know who I am speaking to. “Shut up.”


    My shriek echoes though the trees. I close my eyes for a moment, but when I finally dare to open them, a strange colored box is made visible in front of me. I flinch and move back.


    Would you like to:


    Give 50% Stamina or Ignore?


    I try to move it away, but it’s directly glued to my face, like one of those flimsy 3D glasses that they have at the movie theaters. After stumbling blindly around like a madman, I finally select the option on the left column.


    You have given 50% of your Stamina to Player 099234.


    A sharpening pain suddenly descends upon me, and I cry out, curling into a ball upon the ground in agony. The number drops below my head until I can see Player 099234‘s haggard form starts to sway upon the grass. Their yellow limbs begin to reattach, and although they can’t really see that well out of their eye, they struggle to their feet. As I clutch my hands to my throbbing head, Player 099234 extends their strange paw to help me up.


    The strange melodic tune in the background makes my ears ring. I don’t know why it sounds familiar to me, yet it does.


    I groan in pain and attempt to stand proper, but I end up stumbling again, awkwardly landing face first into a bush. It flattens underneath my weight.


    “Player 0001455,” the yellow creature says, stumbling in the grass, “it is beyond my honor to extend my thanks to you for your sacrifice.”


    With a frown, I glance back at the horizon. “Will the beasts come back?” My stomach gets queasy. I am not prepared to see those things again, not the way they were chomping on his flesh. “How will I know that they will?” Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Player 099234 shrugs. “They usually come back the following day, after the sun rises. They rejuvenate, usually.” He releases a heavy laugh that sends shivers down my spine. “It is usually right when the sun dips over the sky that I prepare to be feasted upon. I am their breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sometimes, if I am little bit lucky, I usually have 15% of Stamina remaining to hold them back.” He beams, despite wincing in pain as he steps awkwardly on his broken foot. “But now I have a whole 65% due to your generous offer! That will buy me an hour.”


    ”An…an…hour?” I stammer. “At most?”


    “Yes.” The smile is stretched from both sides of his face as he dusts off a leaf on top of his yellow bulbous head. “It is a wonderful gift.”


    ”T-then what?”


    ”I deserve to have fun. I deserve to have fun.”


    ”Pardon?” My eyes are twitching, watering. My headache is intensifying, worsening.


    ”I deserve to have fun. I deserve to have fun.”


    I clear my throat. “What happens if you run out of stamina? Do you automatically—”


    “Nonsense.” Player 099234 smiles. “You have done well. Come, let us can’t [redacted] you see? I can’t stand ANOTHER DAY WHY DID YOU DO THI-


    *Error on line 422*


    <unknown> has caused an error in <unknown>. The problem seems to be caused by the following file: OLIVER.SYS.PAGE_FAULT_IN_NONPAGED_AREA. <unknown has caused>


    A burning sensation courses through my skull as a thousand red, green and blue circles appear in front of me. Then, heavy static.


    * * * * * * *


    Slowly, I open my eyes. It is still dark, but by the creaking and swaying around me, I know that I am back in the house. When I raise my palm to my mouth, I see that it is covered in blood. After sitting up for a moment and coughing heavily, I run my hands over my arms and legs above my stained nightgown. But I am relieved that they are with me.


    For now.


    My head really hurts. I am lying on my back upon the wooden floor. It is in the middle of the night, and as I weakly stumble in the dark hallway, I bump against the furniture. Something rattles up top, before landing to the ground with a crash. But I don’t react, just keep going, until I reach the crib and pick up my son, who is fast asleep in my arms. I don’t dare glance at the door, but I feel the figure’s presence sitting behind me at the table. Eyes on me, as always. Their breaths are shallow.


    My mind is fuzzy. Can it read my mind? It had read my thoughts. Surely, that was how I was able to offer Player 099234 stamina. But how did it know, precisely? I rub my forehead. I can’t remember what happened next. I can’t.


    I can’t remember.


    I place a kiss on top of my child’s head and bounce them in my arms, inhaling their scent. The creature had indeed just given them a bath; my son smells like baby shampoo and lemon. He’s dressed in a frog printed pajamas; his chubby feet in socks. Thunder rumbles again, causing me to flinch. Bile rises to my throat, and as I finally turn to face the black shape across the room, I can see them slowly stand up. They are incredibly still—but I can make out excitement, relief, like they have been waiting for me to come back this entire time. It sickens me. But I take a slow, deep breath, although I do want aspirin.


    “I’m….” I try to speak. “I….I…”


    The figure slowly takes a step forward.


    “I…I think I’m a bit hungry,” I murmur, although the urge to vomit is stronger than ever. I don’t know why I say this; I’m the exact opposite. I press a hand against the crib to steady myself, and then lightly place it over my stomach. “Do…do you mind if I could borrow your stove? To make soup, perhaps?”


    They come closer.


    ”Hungry,” I repeat.


    The figure makes a scooping motion to their mouth, before patting their stomach. I nod.


    I try my very best not to flinch as they gently place both of their grimy hands on my shoulder and lead me to sit down at the lopsided table. Below it, I can see the figure had been cleaning a shotgun with a few rags. With their bare foot, they use it to scoot it towards them. A loud clicking sound echoes in my ears as they carry it away with them in the darkness. I glance at the window.


    My car is still parked out on the yard, but it is completely in ruins. Blood rushes to my face when I can see its former shell burnt to a crisp, the seats melted, the door practically crumpled into dust. Water springs to my eyes as I glare at the remnants of the steering wheel. My chest is so tight I cannot breathe. Tom is stuck in the basement. Never again will he feel the sun on his skin, or the wind in his hair. I alone am completely responsible for his demise. I am going to die here. I more than deserve it, although it would never be enough justice for Rana and her family.


    I deserve to have fun. Player 099234‘s words echo in my mind.


    Suddenly, I turn my head towards the pitch black kitchen. The figure had been watching me, but upon noticing me looking back, began loudly rummaging through the cabinet, a clanging of pots and pans. The sound of water trickling fills the silent room, and I struggle to keep it together as I heavily exhale and gaze up at the ceiling. A cobweb is dangling from the upper right corner, and I hold my son closer to me as I focus on it. There goes three years’ of savings, down the drain. I blink hard to keep the tears back.


    Crashed and burned, just like that.


    Exhaling heavily, I begin to rock my sleeping son back and forth in my arms. There is more slight movement in the kitchen, but I don’t look up as quiet footsteps make it back to the table. A steaming bowl of oatmeal is placed in front of me, followed by a large metal spoon.


    The figure sits across in the dark from me.


    With a shaky hand, I scoop up the mixture and place it directly in my mouth, before chewing. The hot rubbery oats burn my tongue, but I keep chewing, forcing it down. It’s not until after the second or third bite that I realized that they had slipped a large lump of brown sugar at the bottom of the bowl. Its unexpected sweetness startles me. I can’t stand them watching me eat, watching me raise the spoon, but I keep at it until it is empty. Still chewing, I slowly raise my head.


    The figure stares at me. It’s not a demeaning look, one more filled with hope and anxiety.


    I wonder what color their eyes are. I wonder if they are male or female. If they have freckles or dimples or light or dark skin. I wonder if they are old are if they are young. If they have children of their own. They must, because they have been so gentle with my own son.


    ”Thank you,” I whisper.


    They say nothing, but I know that those words mean something. They softly smile. And I despise them with every fiber of my being. But I must not show it. They long for kindness, some form of wretched gratitude, so I must keep a straight face. I must keep them happy and in their delusions while I figure out a plan. Cuz even if they are able to keep me here forever, they shall not have my child, no matter how affectionate they are.


    It has stopped raining. The sound of crickets outside has replaced it, followed by fresh soil.


    Juno, some people just bottle up so much rage that they don’t know what to do with themselves anymore, my mother used to say. So they swell and bubble up until they crash.


    A cold sweat settles on my back.


    Oliver. I wonder. Who is Oliver?


    The game. But it doesn’t seem to have any rules. What kind of game lacks that? Can one even exist without rules out boundaries?


    I still hardly know what to do whenever I end up there. Every time Player 099234 speaks, it crashes. It falls apart. It doesn’t make any sense to me—I know that my abductor has some experience level with development so that they could easily fix it. But then it hits me like a brick. I suddenly want to run from the table and hide. The figure slowly reaches out gives my hand a squeeze, one that would only tighten if I dare attempt to pull away.


    A lump rises in my throat.


    They can read my thoughts in the game.


    Every.


    Single.


    One.