None of the doctors could explain what was wrong with my brother.
It wasn’t unusual for Seth to hide out in his room for days on end, but by the third morning my mother was worried enough to open the door. Seth lay on the bed, his wheelchair beside the bed, a cord running from his music-mixing setup to the high-end headphones he always wore. It was like my older brother was just asleep…and unable to wake up. They pronounced him comatose at the hospital.
For my family, it was like losing Seth a second time. The first time was ten years ago, when he was thirteen and I was eleven. I dared him to try the skateboarding trick I’d just landed, even though I knew he wasn’t skilled enough to pull it off. I remember how time seemed to stop when he slipped off the board and rolled; how his legs disappeared beneath the wheels of the truck. That time, Seth didn’t lose consciousness, although maybe it would have been better if he had. He just screamed. And screamed. And screamed.
The accident changed Seth’s life. My cheerful, outgoing brother turned into a moody and bitter stranger overnight. He blamed the whole world for the loss of his legs–and me most of all. The worst part was, he was right. Whenever he’d throw one of his tantrums or lock himself in his room with his music, I’d notice this look in my parents’ eyes–the kind that said, ‘we used to be such a happy family. This is all your fault.’
That’s why I’m doing this. I have to believe that this time, I can get my brother back. Seeing him there with a feeding tube in his throat, surrounded by beeping machines, I couldn’t accept that ‘these things sometimes just happen.’ There had to be another explanation.
I snuck into my brother’s bedroom that night. I hoped that the canned laughter from the T.V. downstairs would cover up the racket of drawers and cabinets as I sleuthed through Seth’s things. I was looking for needles, pills, anything that might explain the coma. When I came up empty-handed, I sat down on my older brother’s messy bed–
And realized that music in his headphones was still playing. There was an open chat window on his computer as well:
[deleted]: Okay here’s the file. Get ready for the wildest dream of your life.
[deleted]: But remember to set an alarm, 4 hours max…otherwise you’ll never wake up.
[deleted]: You can do a lot with this, trust me. Even share the dream.
[deleted]: But SET AN ALARM.
[deleted]: you there?
-[deleted] has deleted their account-
It couldn’t be. From what little my older brother told us about his private life, Seth had been big into the music scene–hence the computer desk that looked like a spaceship motherboard–and the fancy headphones. I smiled as I ran my fingers over them. Just the idea of me touching his headphones would’ve made Seth angry enough to snap out of his coma right away…if this was a normal coma…and I was pretty sure it wasn’t. The text on Seth’s screen read like some dumb urban legend, but I’d never know for sure unless I listened for myself.
I set an alarm for 20 minutes, took a deep breath, and hit ‘play.’
Laying on Seth’s bed with the blue screensaver light making weird patterns on the ceiling made me feel like I was floating somewhere deep underwater, and the hypnotic beat made it easy to just…drift off…
That smell. Buffed tile, fountain chlorine, roasting food court pretzels. You’re in a mall…
…but where is everybody?
Wait. It’s after hours. There’s only blackness on the other side of the skylights. The shops are dark or gated shut.
…so why do those scents still linger in the air? Why are those pink-and-blue neon lights still glowing, even though all the other lights are off?
…Why does it feel like you aren’t alone in this ‘empty’ place?
There’s music playing, too. A slushy, smooth jazz soundtrack you’re sure you’ve heard somewhere before. Perfect music for shopping…or for being hunted through dark, polished hallways for all eternity. You’re not sure where that last thought came from. Maybe it’s just the gloom…but you can’t see the end of the mall in any direction. Like the music, the names of the stores are familiar and unsettling at the same time:
Pencler’s. Shock Topic. Ecclaire’s. KD Nickel. Rears.
The fountains and the music tinkle merrily on, and you, too, are feeling…just swell, actually. Not too hot or too cold; no dry throat or need to urinate. All the same, you’re painfully aware of your five senses and your own mortality. You don’t doubt that if you die here, you’ll never wake from this dream…
Just like Seth.
You get moving. You can’t stand in one place forever, after all. Time is of the essence, although you can’t quite remember why…and besides, you get the feeling you shouldn’t linger too long in one place.
That creeping feeling on the back of your neck. You turn your head a bit and see them: five figures watching you from inside a women’s clothing store.
The neon light glints on their unblinking eyes…but they’re only mannequins.
Probably.
The same plastic plants. The same fake Greek statues. You rest for a moment on a bench. You’re not tired or hungry, even though you’ve been walking for what feels like forever. You’ve made so many turns trying to find your way out of here that you no longer have any idea where you started.
Up ahead, whirring, beeping, flashing lights. An arcade–but who turned the machines on? And hadn’t you passed an arcade before? You remember stuffed animals staring out of a claw with ravenous expressions. You remember how you looked away quickly, afraid that if you stared too long they’d start to move.
Silly, you think. But the mall seems to be waking up to your presence. The fluorescents overhead flicker on and off at random. Occasionally you see open stores: gates lifted, lights on, inviting you in to browse through clothing and music that haven’t been in style for over twenty years.
Somehow it would feel like stepping into an open mouth.
You avoid those most of all.
Truth is, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep this up. Your senses are starting to play tricks on you. Like the echo of running footsteps on the upper level of the mall. Or that shadow, like a two-storey tall emaciated entity is stooping over the children’s play area. How long have you been lost here? Days? Weeks? The black skylights offer no reply.
Just when you’re beginning to wonder if you’ll escape with your sanity, one of the trash cans starts whispering to you.
It calls you by your name. How long has it been since you’ve heard anything other than your own footsteps, that music, or the eerie noises of the mall? A human voice seems out of place. Dangerous. It calls out to you again, louder, and you begin to fear the sound will attract something too horrible to imagine.
You move closer and closer to the whispering trash can.
You shush it…but it just starts talking…
“Dammit, it’s me! Seth! Will you listen?! If they find us, we’re done for…”
You hear something else now. A vague beeping at the back of your consciousness, louder and louder with every second. A familiar figure clambers out of the trash can where it was hiding. Behind you, you feel the gaunt presence in the play area turning its attention toward you. Seth heaves himself out of the trash can, walks (WALKS!) up to you, and squeezes your hand before he flees, so hard it hurts. The thing behind you swallows the light as it approaches–
And then the beeping becomes so loud it consumes you, the mall, everything, in a flash of white light.
Those are the notes I took as soon as I woke up. I knew I only had a few moments before the memories faded; in fact, I was so caught up in jotting them down I didn’t even think about the pain in my palm until after I’d finished.
I ran my fingers over the bleeding cuts from my unconscious brother’s fingernails…
And knew I had to go back.