“Is Ellis there?”
Up in his bedroom, Ellis laughed as he grabbed his coat—none of his mates, especially Tommo, ever called him by his proper name. It was a hoot hearing him trying to be polite. They usually called him Eye-Zo-Ball (on account of his being born with one eye), or Daddy Long Leg (one leg being shorter than the other) instead. Sometimes they called him Aqua Man because of the webbing between his fingers.
His favorite nickname by far, was Frankenstein—it was their love of all things horror related that had bonded their little gang together in the first place.
He heard his mum pause before answering Tommo, caught between not wanting him to go out and happiness that he had friends to go out with at all. Ellis clambered downstairs before she could say something embarrassing. She turned as she heard his hectic descent; behind her in the doorway, Tommo pulled a face mocking his clumsiness, and Ellis laughed all over again.
“Be careful,” Mum said, as he pushed by her quickly to avoid a kiss. “And no running.”
Once they were around the corner and out of sight ,Tommo gave him a manly punch on the shoulder—it was sore, but Ellis liked it; I’m a real boy, he thought, same as all the others. Besides, Tommo was always punching Wisby, and Wisby was the coolest kid he knew.
“Guess what?”
“What?” Ellis asked.
“Good guess!” Tommo laughed, giving him another thump on the arm. “The poster’s up.” Ellis caught his breath. He didn’t have to ask what poster. “Wisby texted me first thing.”
They hurried across the waste ground as fast as Ellis’s leg would allow, both out of wind and patience by the time they reached the carpark behind the Multiplex. They approached the cinema slowly, like penitents before some gaudy neon shrine. Ellis felt Tommo’s nails dig into his elbow and followed his pointing finger to the advertising boards by the doors.
“There it is,” Tommo’s voice cracked as if popcorn was heating in his throat.
Ellis turned his head from side to side, drinking in the poster with his solitary eye: Midnight of the Unnatural it read in a dripping bloody font. There was a screaming girl in just her underwear, her saucer eyes trained on a sinister shape in the shadows—The Deviant is already amongst you! warned the strapline.
“It’s supposed to be the scariest film ever,” Tommo whispered, awestruck. “Fetid Potatoes gave it five claws!”
They were silent for a while, pondering the enormity of such a review.
“I heard three people died of heart attacks at the premiere—and a girl almost choked she puked so much.” Ellis’s enthusiasm was quickly draining away. “Aw, dammit, Tommo, we’ll never get to see it. We’re only eleven; they’ll never let us in. Maybe there’s some site we could download it from.”
“Fuck that,” Tommo bristled. “My cousin’s seen it and he says you have to see it on the big screen. There’s a scene where a guy gets his head ripped right off and everyone ducked when the mutant threw it right at the camera. There’s no way I’m missing out, even if I have to hold the whole cinema at gunpoint to get in.”
The Multiplex had been open for almost a year now and Ellis and Tommo had made a solemn vow that they would see at least one movie every week. So far, they had managed to see four, accompanied by Tommo’s teenage sister, and one of those had been (yuck) a love story.
“I’ll die if I don’t get to see it,” Ellis agreed.
They stood a little longer absorbing the poster, hoping to suck in some of its terrifying delights by a form of wish induced osmosis. They turned reluctantly and headed off to the Mall, the whole journey taken up by a heated debate on what exactly that vague shadow would actually look like when it was finally revealed—horns, Ellis posited; eight eyes, Tommo countered—and what gory carnage it would unleash, and if the girl on the poster was actually in the film itself. At the Mall they made straight for GamesXchange to meet Hal and Wisby.
“You see it yet?” Wisby asked.
“Isn’t it fucking brilliant?” Hal piped in.
“It don’t matter anyways,” Tommo replied, giving Ellis a hefty slap around the head on his blindside. “Frankenstein here reckons we’ve no chance of ever seeing it.”
“Freakshow hasn’t reckoned on our Mandy then, has he?”
Ellis felt his face burn—not from the sting of the slap, or the use of his least favorite nickname, but from the very mention of Mandy. She was Wisby’s sister, nineteen years old, and her skirts were shorter than her temper. She looked like a Hammer scream queen and, for reasons that Ellis was at a loss to explain, he found himself unable to breathe in her presence.
The older boys at school (the ones who smoked at the back of the Science block) called her Manhole Mandy, though Ellis had no idea what that meant or why it made them laugh so much. All he knew was that his already ungainly limbs grew even more uncoordinated when she was around.
“What are you on about?” Tommo tugged at Wisby’s coat. “What about Mandy?”
“You know the toilets in the cinema, right?” The cultivated sneer fell from Wisby’s face in his eagerness to relay the news. “My sis says there’s a fire exit right beside the girls’ bogs and,” he paused, trying, and failing, to regain his usual aloof composure, “she’ll open it for us once the trailers start and the lights go down.”
There was a collective whistle.
“But,” Wisby held up a cautionary finger, “Mandy says she’ll only do it if I do all her chores for a month, so you guys are gonna have to chip in and do your share, too.”
This caveat was brushed aside as an irrelevance—each one of them would crawl through a colon of broken glass just to watch the end credits, and Wisby knew it.
“Okay then,” he puffed out his chest, “you losers need to meet me round the back of the flicks tonight, half seven sharp.”
“Tonight?” Hal’s mouth was hanging open in a manner that made Ellis wonder why the others never called him Freakshow.
“Sure,” Wisby said, “you wanna be the first in school to see it, right? I keep Mandy sweet; we can go every night it’s on.”
They went to the burger bar and discussed various plot points they had read online, speculated on what powers the Unnatural would possess and the level of nudity (boobs, boobs and butt, or the Holy Grail—a fleeting glimpse of lady garden) they could expect, and then calculated a realistic death toll.
Tommo held sway during the duration of the meal due to his cousin having seen the movie already but, by the time they were down to the last of the curly fries, he was overthrown by Wisby’s vehement assertion that Tommo’s cousin sounded like a “lying prick.”
There was a frosty silence for a time, broken only by the rattle of ice at the bottom of their Cokes, but the delicious anticipation of the movie (The most fucked-up frightfest ever filmed —Fetid Potatoes) soon molded them back into mates.
They parted earlier than usual, too full of restless energy to settle in company, each one with his own special assignment to fulfill before they met again that night: Hal—bring the sweets, liquorice for Wisby; Tommo—steal cigs from his dad for a celebratory smoke after the show; Ellis—notebook for jotting down any major twists plus the best one-liners. Wisby was exempt—he had provided the sister after all.
Ellis trailed his leg gamely over the waste ground, unable to comprehend that in a few short hours he would actually get to see the Unnatural. This time tomorrow, he thought, the world will be a very different place. Everything will have changed; nothing will be the same again. He felt ridiculously grown up.
As he opened the front door and saw the clock in the hallway, the only fear that gnawed him was how on earth he was going to put in the hours between now and showtime. He laid out his t-shirts on his bed and killed a few begrudging minutes choosing from Jason, Freddy, or (old school) Dracula.
“What are you doing?” Mum popped her head round the door, her pleasant tone not enough to mask the over-protective glint in her eye. It was always there—sometimes Ellis thought she would devour him whole, telling him it was for his own good with each bite.
“Just deciding what to wear.”
“When did you get so fashion conscious? Must be a girl involved.” Her tone was even more playful, her eyes even more hungry.
He reddened at a sudden unwelcome image of Mandy. “I’m going to the cinema with Tommo and the guys, that’s all.”
“Oh,” he could hear by her relief that she’d already lost interest, “what’s on?”
Ellis couldn’t hide the grin that beamed across his face. “Midnight of the Unnatural, it’s a horror—”
“I know what it is,” Mum said, coming back into the room, one eyebrow cocked to unleash doom. “I really don’t think that’s very suitable, it’s far too old for you, pet. They’d never let you in.” She smiled as if her reasoning pleased them both. “No, I don’t think you’ll be going, pet.”
Ellis protested, his tears of frustration already turning her into a blurred barricade. “Wisby’s sister says she can—”
“You know I don’t like you having anything to do with that,” she hesitated, searching for a synonym for hussy, “girl. You’re not going and there’s an end to it.” Ellis flung his t-shirts at her feet in impotent rage. His mum ruffled his hair and bent to pick them up.
“Tell you what,” she said, folding them up neatly on the bed, “when your dad gets home we’ll order a pizza and have our very own movie night. We can watch Goosebumps if you want.”
She moved in to tickle him, but he pushed her away, hating her callous cruelty; hating himself when he saw the hurt in her eyes.
“Okay, Mister, have it your own way. You can stay up here all night. I’m sure your father will be up to have a word later, but in the meantime, you can stew and reflect.”
She slammed the door behind her, and Ellis lay down, cursing her and his own big mouth. He texted Tommo and the others—he didn’t trust himself to keep it together long enough to actually speak with them, and he couldn’t bear to hear their sympathy, or mocking laughter, in return. When his phone rang, he refused to answer. Despite his distress, he couldn’t help but notice it only rang the once.
Tommo texted around six, telling him to say that he was having a sleepover at his during the week and that Mandy would let them in then. This consoled Ellis enough to let him sleep, but not enough to free his dreams from the taint of abandonment.
No one answered his calls the next morning and for a while he harbored the hope that the rest of the gang had missed out too, that they had been caught sneaking in and maybe even spent the night in a cell. But as the morning wore on, such comforting fantasies soured into the notion that his friends were simply avoiding him because he was just a little baby whose mummy wouldn’t let him go see a horror flick.
“I’m off to the Mall,” he told her. “If that’s not too dangerous.”
He hadn’t spoken to her since he’d pushed her, hadn’t even spoken to his dad—just sat quietly through the oft repeated sermon that began “Son, we love you, but you have to understand that you’re different.”
“Don’t be like that, pet,” Mum called after him, but Ellis was already gone as fast as his withered leg could carry him. He was out of breath by the time he got to Tommo’s. Hal was coming out just as he reached the garden gate.
“Hi, Hal!” He used his best carefree voice. “Did you get to see it? What was it like?”
Hal froze midway down the path; he looked back over his shoulder, then at the hedge, as if searching for an escape route. A shiver ran through him, galvanizing him. He put his head down and charged at Ellis, almost knocking him over in his haste to get by, but Ellis clung to him as he bumped back into the gate.
“Whoa! What’s wrong, Hal? What hap—”
“It was awful.” Were those tears in his eyes? “I never want to see it again, swear to God I don’t.”
Ellis released his grip, shocked by his friend’s unwonted earnestness. He turned at the sound of the front door opening to see Tommo’s mum frowning on the porch.
“Thomas told me to tell you he’s not feeling well today.” She took a few steps toward Ellis, stopping short the way all grownups did—as though he might break if they got too close. “Tell me, did something happen last night? Thomas is not his usual self this morning,” her eyes followed the fleeing Hal down the street, “or his young pal.”
“I honestly don’t know. I never went out last night, Mrs. Harris.”
As he walked back home Ellis’s heart raced—what a movie it must be if it scared Tommo, of all people, sick. He simply had to see it now, even if it meant leaving home and sleeping rough. He tried calling Wisby but found his number was blocked; not for the first time—Wisby was forever punishing people for imagined slights. The dregs of the weekend dripped away; a torture celluloid could never hope to reproduce.
Ellis was in the schoolyard early the next morning, enduring agonies until he saw the familiar cluster of his friends move along the railings; the usual whirlwind of flying satchels, spitballs, and inventive abuse now replaced by a regimented silence. They walked with their heads down as though they trudged to an execution, or worse, an exam.
Ellis bounded over, his trailing leg erasing most of a hopscotch grid. Hal and Wisby raised red-ringed eyes, muttered something, and hurried into assembly. Only Tommo remained, looking very much the recipient of the shortest straw.
“Listen Ellis,” he began, and Ellis was momentarily dumbstruck by the use of his given name. “I know you want to hear all about the film, but I can’t… I mean… Just meet us by the Umbrella tree at lunch break, okay?” He moved off to join the others.
Ellis reached out to detain him a minute longer and Tommo flinched at his touch. “Jeez, was it really that scary?”
Tommo couldn’t meet his eye. “I used to think it was all make-believe.” His face reddened, ashamed of the whine in his voice. He choked back a snot-filled sob. “I’m never gonna watch a horror movie again. I’m finished with them!”
Ellis’s morning started with double algebra, but he spent it trying to puzzle out entirely different equations. As he crossed the yard, heading to Biology, he caught sight of Wisby watching him from the library window. In the gloom, Wisby’s head looked disconnected, floating like a pasty-faced Glick high above.
At last, the bell rang for lunch and, without bothering to leave his bag in his locker, Ellis made his lumbering way out of school and over to the waste ground at its rear. The Umbrella tree (so called because of its shape, though Ellis thought it more a toadstool) was the only landmark on that jumble of bramble and brick. The tree had been tattooed by generations of teenage penknives. Its roots sank in the shards of broken wine bottles, its branches laden with glue-bags and condoms, its massive trunk blackened by hobo fires.
As Ellis hobbled over the uneven earth, he saw that the rest of the gang were already there, watching his approach with haunted eyes. Above them a crow broke the silence with a single raucous cry—It’s just like the movies, Ellis thought, almost turning his ankle on an empty beer can as he stepped beneath the tree’s impressive canopy. Wisby was standing by his backpack, a thermos flask propped against it, and Ellis cursed himself for not bringing a few sandwiches along from the canteen.
“You know, you guys are acting awful strange,” he said, puncturing the uneasy quiet. “Are you gonna tell me about it, or is this just one big wind up?”
Wisby nodded at Tommo and Tommo stepped forward. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” Ellis laughed, “like how long in before the monster appeared?”
“He was in it from the very start.” Tommo scuffed his shoe against a root.
“Hiding in plain sight,” Wisby chipped in. “Everyone thought he was dead nice see, just one of them, but—”
“Pretty standard twist,” Ellis offered. “So, what happened when they all realized?”
“I’ll need to show you,” Tommo said, pointing to the gnarly trunk. “Stand up against that for a second.”
“Can’t you just tell me?”
“It was the worst part—I need to show you.”
Ellis shook his head but moved over to the tree nonetheless; Tommo placed a hand on his chest to pin him there.
“They lured him … It … down to the woods,” he said.
Behind Tommo, Ellis saw Hal take a coil of rope from Wisby’s backpack. “Hey guys, what the fuck?” he spluttered as they began circling him, binding him tight to the trunk.
“It’s okay,” Tommo said, “we just wanna make it like it was in the film.”
Ellis laughed; his voice fragile, cracked with nerves. When he was bound securely, the three of them stood silently before him. “So then what?” Ellis asked. “Did the monster finally reveal himself? What did he look like?”
“He had one eye,” Tommo said.
“He had webbed hands like claws and a clubfoot,” Hal said.
“He looked just like you,” Wisby said.
Hal lifted the thermos and handed it to Tommo.
“See,” Tommo said sadly, “he suckered everyone into feeling sorry for him. They didn’t realize he was Unnatural—didn’t realize the deviant was among them all along, not until he started picking them off, one by one, families and all.”
“You touch my Mum,” Hal screamed in Ellis’s face, “and I swear to God I’ll …” Unable to think of a threat profound enough, he compensated by spitting in Ellis’s eye.
“Too far guys!” Ellis was in tears beneath the saliva. “Way too far!”
“That’s what it said in the film,” Tommo muttered, unscrewing the lid from the thermos. He flicked the flask at Ellis, splashing its contents on his face, and the dizzy smell of petrol filled the air.
“No, no, no,” Wisby grabbed Tommo by the arm; “like this.” He mimed the shape of the cross.
“Come on guys, game’s over,” Ellis pleaded until his mouth was filled with fuel. He was still gagging when Tommo dropped the empty flask on the ground. Wisby flicked a Zippo; even through his stinging eyes, Ellis recognized it as Manhole Mandy’s. “Okay, okay, you scared me—now let me go.”
He hesitated before unleashing the threat he knew he could never take back: “Let me go or I’ll tell my Mum.”
“You had us all fooled too,” Wisby said, tossing the lighter.
Ellis screamed as the flames engulfed him, screamed so piercingly the crows fled from the branches above, screamed so unbearably Tommo held his ears and buried his head between his knees.
“Wow,” Hal said, turning to Wisby, “it’s just like in the movie.” But Wisby was already gone.
