Read a Sneak Preview of My New Novel
My next novel, Déjà View: A Kid Nightmare, will be released imminently (translation for you kids out there: “will drop any sec”), so I thought I’d give a brief taste: a full chapter from the book. I was going to post the first chapter (after the Prologue), but I thought this one would better represent the overall tone I was seeking. In other words, it’s a little silly, slightly spooky, and somewhat surreal, especially the ending. So while you might not know the characters or understand everything that’s going on (How could you? You’re coming to the story several chapters in), you’ll have a better idea of the feeling you’ll get reading it. You’ll also notice a very brief cameo by a certain trio of boys, but sorry Danger Peak fans, this is the only mention of the Wild Boars in this novel. (I like the idea of my books sharing the same world; call it the PLU: Perone Literary Universe.)
Anyway, enjoy! (As I always say: Or not!)
Chapter Four: Chuck E. Bites the Big One
Mrs. Dalton’s brown, broken-down Pontiac station wagon was filled with nearly ten kids, most jammed up shoulder-to-shoulder in the rear, pressed against the back window. Bobby was happy to be surrounded by his friends, but he kept closest to Joe and Max. After several sharp turns zigzagging through the suburban streets, the car turned into a huge parking lot, and its young occupants greeted that glorious electric sign they looked forward to seeing every year:
WELCOME TO CHUCK E. CHEESE’S PIZZA TIME THEATRE
The line of kids, with Bobby in front, burst out of the car as soon as his mother opened the rear door, and she had to scold them from accidentally running into traffic like beheaded chickens. The typical mini-groups formed out of the larger mass; the few girls invited swarmed together in feminine solidarity, while Robert, Chris, and Rinnie, the biker kids who were each sporting a custom-made Wild Boars T-shirt, marched through the crowd to a rhythm that only they could hear. Eventually, everyone came together once they entered the doors. As soon as they bustled inside the entrance and onto the soda-stained floors, smelling that fresh aroma of cheap pizza, they gazed in hypnotic awe at row after row of mint arcade games. Set apart from the rest of the restaurant on a carpeted riser, the machines were arranged in a maze so that navigating them was almost as much fun as playing them.
“I wanna play Pac-Man!” Max enthused like a toddler.
Joe sneered. “Pac-Man is a girls’ game.”
“Then that’s perfect for Max,” Bobby quipped, ribbing his friend with an elbow to let him know he was just joking. Besides, it was his birthday; he could get away with it.
“Donkey Kong is more my speed,” Joe informed them with an air of pride, as he knew the others were well aware that it was one of the most difficult games on the market to master.
The sounds of exploding cars and zapping aliens enveloped the youthful crowd. Looking around at the almost unlimited pizza and electronic entertainment, they realized this was their nirvana.
“Here,” Bobby’s mother began, passing around a bucket of golden coins, “I’ll set up our table for dinner. You guys take some tokens.” Feeling like Charlie in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory, Max greedily grabbed two handfuls, hoping she wouldn’t notice. “Hey, Max!” she said. “Easy buddy. One handful at a time, okay?” She noticed.
Ignoring her, he twirled to race off in the opposite direction where Pac-Man patiently waited. Surprisingly, there wasn’t a line for it, as was usually the case. Bobby wondered if the game’s popularity was finally waning, after all the home versions available, including the one for the Atari 2600, which didn’t come close to matching the true experience of the arcade. After scooping his own coins, he spun around to join his friends, with Joe sticking close by like a lapdog.
“I’m going to play Goonies,” he told Joe.
“That game’s lame,” Joe replied. “It’s nothing like the movie. You just shoot at rats with a slingshot the whole time.”
“Don’t you like anything besides Donkey Kong?” Bobby asked as they ascended to the second level where the games loudly blipped and blooped in their impressionable ears.
“Hey, I prefer a challenge,” Joe boasted.
“There it is!” Bobby happily called out, pointing to his precious machine. Again, like Pac-Man, there was no line. There was no such luck for Joe. Sensing his disappointment, Bobby added, “C’mon, watch me kill a bunch of rats.” Just as he was about to put a coin through the slot, he heard his mother call from behind.
“Bobby!” she yelled. “Your other friend just arrived!”
“Other friend”? Bobby thought. What could she—
As he turned around, he saw what she meant. Derrick was standing there, holding a small plastic bag that looked like it was recycled from a supermarket. He had forgotten all about Derrick, who apparently did decide to bring a gift.
“What’s up, dude?” he greeted as Bobby and Joe reluctantly descended the riser to meet him. Bobby noticed a clear change in his tone, as if he was putting on his formal voice for his mother’s benefit. Though he was never this way in school, Bobby reasoned Derrick could act friendly and mature if he wanted.
“Hey,” was all Bobby could muster. It was obvious to everyone, especially Derrick, that he wasn’t excited about his arrival.
“Gotcha something,” he said, handing him the bag and hoping to improve his mood.
“Thanks,” Bobby replied noncommittally. After opening the bag, he pulled out a white T-shirt with a Married With Children logo stitched across the front, complete with green slime covering the first word. Bobby’s mother gasped in horror. The show was decidedly grownup, and she never allowed her son to watch it, though he snuck in a few episodes late at night when his Mom was sleeping. Most of the humor went over his head anyway.
When he didn’t get a response, Derrick said, “It’s my favorite show,” as if in explanation. Apparently, to Derrick, you were supposed to buy people your favorite things for their birthday, not theirs.
“Thanks,” Bobby repeated, with even less enthusiasm this time.
“I’ll just put this at your table,” his Mom said as she delicately took the shirt from her son’s hands and placed it back in the bag, out of sight. She acted as if she was cleaning up dog vomit.
After she left, Derrick asked, “Where’s Max?”
“Playing Pac-Man,” Bobby answered.
“That game’s for girls,” Derrick said.
“That’s what I said,” Joe replied, nodding in solidarity with the person he invited. The trio looked across the crowded floor to spy Max’s machine, but he was nowhere to be found.
“Looks like he wiped out already,” Derrick informed the other two.
Joe clucked his tongue. “Leave it to Max to get slaughtered in Pac-Man after a minute and a half.”
“Where is he now?” Bobby asked. Derrick didn’t answer. He simply pointed to the end of the restaurant where the ball chamber lay. Max was preparing to nosedive into a pit filled with over a thousand plastic, multicolored balls. He was the only one from Bobby’s party still small enough to play in the ball pit, though Joe came close. The rest of the frenzied occupants pelting each other with the brightly colored balls were Third Graders or younger.
Max leaped into the air and folded his legs under him, crying, “Cannonball!” The ensuing implosion sent those Third Graders pinballing against the walls of the pit. Max was overwhelmed with glee as he playfully romped through the balls, tackling the smaller kids who were almost drowning in them. This was the only time of year when Max’s size was an advantage, being the tallest one in the pit, and he relished it.
Derrick rolled his eyes. “He’s gonna get salmonella poisoning,” he spat.
“He did,” Joe reported. “Last year.” Bobby was about to contribute to the conversation when a piercing whistle split the air, even drowning out the endless noise of the videogames. The three looked over to see a Chuck E. employee dragging Max out of the pit. Though it was only January, he was dressed like a lifeguard.
“No roughhousing,” the “guard” admonished him. “Besides, you’re too old to play here anyway.” Max looked like he was about to have another one of his epic crying fits, but he stifled back the tears when he spied Derrick observing the action in the distance. He didn’t want to give him any unnecessary ammunition.
“C’mon,” Derrick said, patting Joe’s arm. “Let’s go play Skee-Ball.”
“I’d rather play some videogames,” Bobby countered. “Right, Joe?”
Joe’s eyes darted between the two kids: one comforting and familiar, one exciting and new. “Uh, I’m gonna go with Derrick.”
Bobby’s eyes betrayed him before his words did. “But you hate Skee-Ball!”
“People change,” was Joe’s dumb response.
“Whatever,” was Bobby’s even simpler reply as he watched the two skitter away towards the miniature bowling game. Then, to himself, he added, “It’s my birthday,” as Max sauntered up to him.
“Hey,” he said, “wanna chase me through the cheese maze underneath Chuck E.’s stage?”
“I’m too tall this year,” Bobby bemoaned. “I won’t fit.”
Max sighed in disappointment and said, “Then just watch me!” And with that, he was off. Bobby smiled and followed his friend.
An hour later, Bobby’s guests were seated around a table in the party room, devouring towers of pizza. Bobby and his friends had a front-row seat to the stage of Chuck E. Cheese’s band, an assortment of animatronic animals: a chicken, a dog, some kind of purple monster that resembled McDonaldland’s Grimace, and, of course, Chuck E. himself. Bobby often wondered why anyone would make a rat the mascot for their kid-friendly pizza restaurant; it seemed unsanitary. It mattered little, though. He came for the food and games, not the dinner entertainment. Every year, these robotic animals would mortify him by crooning “Happy Birthday,” their voices becoming craggier as the robots got older, worn from singing over a thousand birthdays to over a thousand boys and girls.
“Mom,” he asked, leaning in conspiratorially so his friends couldn’t hear, “can we skip the Chuck E. song this year? I’m getting a little too old for it.”
“It’s tradition, sweetie,” she replied in a singsong voice to keep up appearances. Before he could respond, Chuck E. came alive, as if possessed by some ancient curse.
“Hey everyone!” it began. “I hear it’s somebody’s birthday!” Derrick and Joe, seated next to each other, offered sardonic, golfer’s applause. The twitchy robot tried reaching for its guitar as his “bandmates” grabbed their own respective instruments. But the twitching suddenly became a trembling as the robot’s arms flailed past his guitar and bonked the chicken, who in turn bumped into the dog. Now all four automatons were shaking as if caught in their own personal earthquake.
“Uh, is this part of the show?” Derrick asked Joe.
“Nah,” Joe replied. “I think Chuck E.’s had one too many birthdays.”
An announcement came over the loudspeaker that there were some “technical difficulties,” but the perverse show continued unbidden. At once, a comet of sparks burst out of the robotic rodent’s back; for a split second, it resembled a flame-spitting sprinkler. Bobby briefly wondered if the thick red curtain behind the performers would catch fire, but fate was kind, and the sparks receded. In the throes of its last herky-jerky movements, Chuck E. finally keeled over and died, its head collapsing onto the floor with a clunk to stare directly at Bobby with one glowing dead eye.
“Hep-pee…burth-dee…,” the mangled voice managed to eke out one final time. Bobby stared in horror as the beloved childhood mascot bit the big one. He was never a huge fan of these robot shows, but he never meant to attend Chuck E.’s funeral. Bobby turned to the end of his table to spy Derrick and Joe snickering to each other in a private conversation, and he felt an aloneness he had never experienced before.
MTP
P.S.: Danger Peak is now available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble:
AmazonBarnes & Noble
