Glitch

  Josh got out of the car. Shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, he strode past me and Lena. Rather than opening the door, he raised a dirty runner and kicked it open at the handle.

  The door swung aside. Hot air and the smell of frying cheese burst from the dark, open doorway. Josh stepped inside. Lena and I followed him.

  The inside of Helen’s was even more sketchy. In fact, the word crap-shack came to mind. The place was small, with an acid smell and no paint job. The walls were yellowed plaster, lit by bare, flickering bulbs—the old kind where you could see the wires glowing inside the dusty glass.

  I cast a long look at the place, wondering how a it managed to exist in the developed world. Music piped from hidden speakers; sounded like jazz. Who would play jazz in a place like this? Bare pipes in the ceiling, chipped wood, and the walls...

  The walls were the strangest part of this place. They were covered with scribbles from black magic-marker. The markings spread everywhere, a babel of writings, drawings, and swear words. The graffiti ran across every corner of the plaster—sometimes neat and furtive—alex we need g. in here, call me when you see this—and sometimes crude and huge—XOXO HELEN’S THANKS FOR HAVING US.

  A shelf of IKEA wood and punched metal was stabled to the wall near the door. A stack of potatoes occupied the shelves. The potatoes were also autographed in black magic marker. The one closest to the edge of the shelf screamed at me with a winged skull, drawn expertly on the withered brown skin.

  The place was empty. Old wooden tables and mismatched chairs lined the walls. The chipped wooden furniture called to mind a junk yard. Duct tape bound the more decrepit items.

  And at the very back of this ruined pub, I saw Laurent and Amrith, eating with a hobo from a plate of pizza that bordered on medical malpractice.

  Josh and Lena led me over to the table. Laurent and Amrith stood up as we approached.

  “Made it safely?” Laurent asked.

  “Had a close call.” Lena said. She pulled out the chair opposite Amrith and sat down. “Also I totally got the handstand right this time.” Amrith nodded in approval.

  “This is the guy,” Laurent said to the homeless guy. He cocked his head at me.

  The hobo sat between Laurent and Amrith, and probably had some kind of crazy. He wore his hair long, flat-ironed, and held back in a ponytail. He had a beard. It shot from his chin at a thirty-degree angle, and was flecked with pizza grease and dots of fried batter. He sported a camouflage jacket, with pockets arranged like a Mao suit.

  The homeless guy slowly masticated the last bits of a pizza slice. He moved his mouth in a slow rotation, like a horse going over grass. He swallowed, picked something out his teeth with a crusty white fingernail, and grunted at me. “Name’s Haze.”

  This was Haze?

  I don’t know what I’d expected of the man who’d discovered Level Zero, the man who was purported to have the wisdom I needed to save myself from the Stalker Man, and my blue eyes, that still haunted my reflection. But for the discoverer of a new plane of existence.

  More than derelict. Haze had the short, choppy movements of a paranoid, or a former addict. The wide, rolling eyes of a madman. If he’d asked me for a dollar on the street, I’d give him one out of pity.

  Josh took the seat in front of Laurent, and I reluctantly sat down in the middle, right opposite Haze.

  “Hear you’ve got a problem with a Stalker Man,” Haze muttered. “Heard Josh didn’t seal a gate.”

  Josh observed the floor.

  “Always seal your gates,” Haze said. He held a fist over his mouth and belted out a hacking, smoker’s cough.

  A shining pizza sat in the centre of the table on a sheet of grease-soaked cardboard. From all appearances, it had started life as a normal crappy pizza. But then some enterprising soul had poured nacho cheese, chilli, and tortillas on top of it. In addition, a few wilted california rolls lined the edges of the soggy crust. The beads of rice inside were stained saffron orange.

  Haze wiped his beard with the back of his hand, and gestured for me to eat. I shook my head. He shrugged, and grabbed another slice. A california roll rolled off and bounced onto the table. He snatched the roll and popped it in his mouth.

  He ate for a bit. The others ate as well. I smelled beer, and wondered if I could get some—but no waiters came out.

  Out of nowhere, Haze slammed his fist on the table. The cutlery rattled.

  “Stalker Men are no joke!” Haze shouted. “They’re dangerous.”

  The outburst didn’t effect the others. They went on eating.

  “You’re in shit now,” Haze lowered his voice. He leaned in close so I could see the follicles of his beard and the big, black-head dimples on his nose. He smelled of nacho cheese. “But we’re going to teach you how to survive. Do you know what you have to do?”

  I shook my head.

  Haze slammed a second palm on the table. The cheese wobbled on the pizza. “You’ve gotta go down! You’ve gotta go down there like Captain Ahab. You’ve gotta find your soul-item.”

  Haze backed off. He leaned back in his chair and looked up to the ceiling where a single light flickered above us. I saw dust floating in the light, like flowers in Level Zero.

  “A Stalker Man,” Haze began quietly, “takes a bit of you out to put a bit of it in. You just gotta find that bit he hid away, then you’ll be whole again.”

  Laurent, Amrith and Lena looked at Haze like he was a God. Josh fumed into his food.

  “Gary Weiss,” Haze announced. He looked at all of us. “The first human to discover the Shadow Place, what he called the Jung Field and what you call Level Zero.”

  Josh coughed. He took out a blue Bic pen from his hoodie, pulled back the sleeve of his left arm. He started writing on his wrist.

  Haze was staring at me. I looked away from Josh.

  “A soul item,” Haze continued, “will take many forms. Gary Weiss told me this; he is the only one to fight a stalker man and win. No easy answers here—just go down, find your Soul Item, and make yourself whole. Then run the fuck away. It’s simple.”

  It sounded simple.

  “Just find your soul-item and everything will be okay.” Haze said. “This is something my master taught me.”

  Josh kicked my foot. I held back from punching the guy and looked over at him.

  He held out his arm under the table. He’d written a message in blue ink on his arm, in big, capital letters.

  HAZE IS AN ASS—IF YOU WANT TO LIVE LISTEN TO ME

  Haze curled his lip, oblivious to the secret message. “Name it after some video game. In the eighties I was a student, and a local geophysics company—”

  I nodded, too shocked to do anything else. My limit for random, crazy shit was near the breaking point already. I wanted to go home. I had a nice weekend lined up.

  And on top of that, I was getting worried about something. It was probably nothing, but I’d checked my watch when we left Level Zero. Something wasn’t right.

  We’d entered Level Zero at roughly three o’clock.

  We’d come out at five thirty.

  The way I remembered it, we’d been inside for ten minutes tops.

  There was no way to tell what Level Zero did with time. I’d decided to not notice. No point in worrying. But still, it bugged me.

  And what had Josh said earlier about a Stalker Man?

  I reached out and took a slice of pizza. It tasted like it looked—bad. The cheese burned my sinuses with a smell like burning plastic.

  “Good man,” Haze muttered.

  “Need a beer too,” I said.

  “You’re driving us back.” Josh said.

  “Fuck you.”

  Haze took the last slice of pizza and crammed it in his mouth. Nacho cheese dribbled down the corners of his mouth. He wiped the orange streams with a rough, brown napkin—the kind from public bathrooms. “Anyway, got it? Go down to Level Zero. Stay there until you find your Soul Item. Don’t let the Stalker Man get you.?
??

  “And there’s one more thing.” Haze said quietly.

  During Haze’s speech, the others had freely talked, eaten and drank. But now, they settled down. Laurent stared into his beer. Amrith and Lena looked right at me. Josh twisted his lip and slowly, slowly shook his head; he tapped his bare arm again, and tugged his sleeve back down to cover up the message.

  “You can’t come near us again,” Haze told me. “It’s too dangerous.”

  What?

  A tall, red-neck looking guy with a white wife-beater and a Hulk Hogan moustache came out from the kitchen.

  “You guys alright?” He asked.

  “We’re fine.” Haze rumbled.

  The Hulk wannabe disappeared back into the kitchen, whistling to the jazz in the air.

  “It’s too dangerous for us to see you any more,” Haze said. “Hell, this bunch have already risked their lives. After this, you’re on your own.”

  And now everybody was staring at their feet.

  “Anyway kids,” Haze pushed himself up. The blocky, wooden chair creaked beneath him. “I’d better go see the wife. Nice meeting you Sam. Good luck.”

  Haze tossed some bills on the table. He kicked his chair away and headed out. He passed me as he went for the door. The smell of beer and cigarette smoke rolled off him.

  Laurent waited until Haze left the door. When the door thunked shut, he grabbed an empty water bottle and poured the remains of his beer into it. He stuck the beet into his jacket pocket, and left.

  “Sorry Sam,” Lena murmured, avoiding eye contact. She and Amrith got up. Amrith came around and patted my shoulder. His hand was warm, comforting, strong—traitor.

  Lena and Amrith left together. I didn’t watch them go.

  That was it?

  Josh tapped my shoulder. “You’re taking me to York Mills and Bayview.”

  “Sure.” I said as we stood up.

  Josh checked his wallet. “I want ice cream. We’ll get ice cream along the way.”

  #

  “Pull up there.”

  Josh pointed out a strip mall coming up on the road. It sat buried behind tall grass and a set of traffic lights that weren’t lighting. A single shop—a 24/7 convenience store with a fluorescent orange sign—shone on the dark row.

  A red OPEN sign hung slanted in the door.

  I made an illegal turn through the empty street, and pulled into the strip’s lot.

  I pulled the car to a stop and cranked up the parking brake.

  “What do you want?” Josh asked. He pulled out his wallet. In the dark, I could see his hands best; a band of light fell across them as he pulled out a twenty. I remembered I’d paid 150 for cab fare.

  “I’m good,” I said, undoing my seatbelt.

  “I’m offering you free ice cream.” Josh said. He pulled open his door and stepped outside. Cold air brushed my shoulder.

  “Chocolate.”

  “Fine. Let’s go.” Josh kicked his door shut. I was going to punch that kid some day. Again. my car did not suffer door-kicking gladly.

  I got out of the car. The cold wrapped around me and I hunched my shoulders. Crickets creaked in the uncut grass in front of the lot, and Canada geese honked in the distance. Josh’s sneakers clip-clopped the pavement.

  Josh was almost at the store—a shadow in the sterile light.

  I had to tell Josh about the time skip, I decided. Not because I was worried, but because it was strange. I had to learn about Level Zero.

  Especially now that I had to go down there alone.

  I breathed in the cold air. Josh entered store door open. A bell rang inside.

  I gave up on being warm. Instead, I unbuttoned my dress shirt and let the cold in. I shifted, and adjusted my pants. My khakis were chafing my man-areas. I’d grown to hate them; they made me feel like I was working. TGIF.

  I headed over to the store. In the steel-barred window, Josh pushed two ice cream sandwich-things over the counter. The cashier rang it up and threw a blue five-dollar note down. Josh picked up the snacks, swept up the bill, and came back out.

  “This one has caramel in it,” Josh said as he opened the door, ringing the store’s bell. He handed me a popsicle.

  I took the snack from Josh. It was encased in red and brown packaging with a picture of a dancing cow, the word MAGNUM written in red bubble letters on the side. The fudgesicle burned a cold rectangle in my hand.

  Josh unwrapped his own thing—a white and red swirly tube that smelled of lemon. He bit off a chunk and chewed. Good way to get an ice cream headache.

  I unwrapped the Magnum. It was a rocket-ship shaped stick of fudge about the size of a child’s arm. I scraped the top off with my teeth and balled up the wrapper in my free hand.

  “Haze is wrong.” Josh said when he finished chewing. “I don’t think going down into Level Zero will do anything to help you.”

  I hadn’t been impressed by Haze, but then I wasn’t that impressed by Josh either. I just nodded.

  “I don’t know that much about the Stalker Men,” Josh said. Admitting it made his perma-scowl deepen. “But I’ve never heard Haze talk about bullshit soul items.”

  “Could be he just never saw the need.”

  Josh took another bite out of his popsicle. “Sounds weird to me. Like, suspicious shit.”

  I kept on nodding.

  “How’s the ice cream?” Josh asked.

  “It’s not ice cream,” I said. “It’s a fudgecicle.”

  “Fucking same thing.”

  We reached the end of the parking lot, the far side of the empty strip mall. A wooden fence rose up here, covered in spiky leaves and twisty nightshade.

  Josh finished his popsicle and threw the stick on the ground. I still had a while to go on the Magnum.

  “Let’s go.” I said. I’d tell him about the time-skip in the car, I decided. Where it was warm.

  “Sure.” Josh said from behind me. “Sam?”

  “Yeah?” I asked, not looking.

  “Sorry.”

  The world faded.

  My sense of self became fuzzy, like the borders of my body were expanding and shrinking beyond the surface of my skin.

  Clear, crystal thoughts went off like great ringing bells in my head.

  Josh knew about the time-skip.

  He suspected something.

  His knife was out.

  I looked up. The sky was full of stars.

  #

  “What are you doing with that Josh?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?” He asked.

  My eyes saw in black and white and grey. They saw squares of white dots, checkered out on a black sky. My ears heard static. Every sound came in distorted like someone had hit the world’s whammy bar.

  “The knife behind your back.” I said. My voice sounded raspy in the altered soundscape, like it wasn’t used to speaking.

  “What knife?” Josh asked. His voice was far away. So far away.

  “The knife you’re holding out.” I said. “The knife you’re ready to—”

  I leaped ahead. The edge of a knife prodded my kidneys but didn’t even break my clothes. I spun.

  “It got you,” Josh said. His voice stuttered like a skipping record.

  Josh jumped forward. He swung the knife level with my throat. I jumped back and missed.

  I guess I should have been angry. But I wasn’t. Emotion seemed very distant now. I still knew what anger was, maybe I could spell it on a blackboard, but I didn’t think I could feel it. Not now.

  But then, I’d already blocked out a lot of feelings. Why not block out anger?

  Josh pulled out a golden blur.

  It looked like Lena’s earring.

  He scraped his knife across it.

  White light poured from the cut, sharp and clear and painfully bright. And it was painful. It hurt.

  I turned away, repelled by the toxic, charring warmth on my skin.

  “Fuck you for making me do this,” Josh said. His voice now came clear now.


  Too much light. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear. Light screaming at my nerve-endings, setting my world on fire. No senses, only pain.

  But...

  A shadow.

  Shaped like a man. A man clutching a knife.

  The light.

  The shadow shuddered. It raised the knife. The blade went up. Had to stop it.

  But the light.

  The knife was coming closer now.

  Had to stop it.

  But the light.

  HAD TO STOP IT.

  The shadow’s arm came down.

  And froze.

  The light faded. The hanging, silent stars reasserted their hold on the world.

  “Fuck.” Josh whispered.

  CHAPTER NINE: HUNGER

  “Sam? That you?” Greg asked.

  “Yeah.” I kicked off my shoes and set the box of popsicles—cold, flimsy and damp—onto the floor. I pushed the door with my ass and it creaked shut.

  The apartment was dark, except for a blue glow from the television in the living room.

  “Where were you?”

  I ripped off my dress shirt. I loosened my belt with my other hand, toed off my socks, and kicked the hard nylon balls so they scurried away into the coat closet. I took to box from the floor and headed to Greg’s voice.

  Greg was watching TV.

  He sat on the sofa. In one hand, he held an orange family-size bag of Spicy Doritos. In the other hand he held a dusty, wadded up handful of chips. The TV showed a National Geographic program. It seemed to be about kung fu. On screen, a bunch of angry Chinese people in period costumes were breaking coconuts with swords. A narrator was explaining how steel was forged in ancient China.

  “I was with friends,” I said. I thunked the box down on the coffee table. “Popsicle?”

  “Huh?” Greg asked, still staring transfixed at the TV.

  “They’re really good,” I said. I ripped a slit through the box flaps with my thumb, and withdrew a dewy Magnum popsicle.

  “I’m good. Wait—so what were you doing?” Greg asked. He pulled a handful of Dorito-shrapnel from the bottom of the bag and crammed it into his mouth.

  “I was with friends,” I repeated.

  “You have friends?” Greg asked.

  I unwrapped the Magnum and crashed on the couch next to Greg.

  On the TV, the voicover explained that ancient assassins had used chopsticks for weaponry. We watched as a neon skeleton took hold of a pair of CGI sticks, and battled with another one holding a dagger. The chopstick-skeleton slapped away a knife thrust, and jammed the chopsticks into the other’s eye-socket.