Bad Games

12



Patrick and Amy were awake but still in bed. The sun had just come up.

“How’d you sleep?” Patrick asked.

Amy was resting her head on his chest while he stroked her hair. She waited a few seconds before responding. “About as well as I could given the circumstances. How about you?”

“Okay I guess,” he said.

What followed was a brief silence Patrick utilized to prepare for what he felt was the inevitable question to come.

“You don’t believe me do you?” she asked. Her head was still on his chest, her query was soft.

Patrick hadn’t dared voice any of his skepticism last night; his wife’s rage would have made arguing his case nigh on impossible. But now, after some sleep, and a chance to reflect without a condescending local sheriff to answer to, Patrick felt that maybe his wife would be a bit more receptive to what he had to say.

“I’ll never doubt you, baby,” he said. “You tell me the earth is flat and the moon is made of cheese, and I’ll stand up in court and swear under oath that my wife is telling the absolute truth.” He heard her laugh softly through her nose, her head still resting on his chest. “And I still don’t doubt that you saw something in that window.” He took a breath, ready to take the leap. “But I do know a few things. I know that what happened at Giant with that perverted a*shole was a big deal, and that it upset you big time. I know that we had a bunch of drinks over at Norm and Lorraine’s. I know that sometimes the dark can play tricks on our eyes. And I know that since we’ve been up here we’ve experienced an odd incident or two to say the f*cking least.”

Another small laugh through her nose. She wasn’t angry yet. That was good. Proceed.

“Am I saying you’re lying? Of course not. I believe you saw what you say you saw. However, I think it’s possible that maybe, maybe, your eyes were just having a little fun with you last night.”

Patrick braced himself, expecting his wife to launch herself off of his chest and begin her attack. To his surprise (and relief) she did not. She didn’t even flinch. She just sighed deeply and said, “I could have sworn…”

Patrick stroked her hair some more, his hand then moving down to her neck where he began kneading it.

“Again, baby, I don’t doubt you saw something. I truly don’t. When I was about eleven I saw Friday the 13th Part 2.”

She lifted her head off his chest. “What?”

“Let me finish,” he said.

She dropped her head back down.

“This was the one before Jason—the killer—”

“Yeah, I know who Jason is.”

He tweaked her ear lobe. “Anyway…this is the one before Jason started wearing the hockey mask. Instead he wore a burlap sack over his head with only one eye hole—something I found a hell of a lot creepier than a hockey mask. It reminded me of the hood The Elephant Man wore over his head—another film that gave me the willies when I was a kid because I couldn’t appreciate what a great movie it was at the time. As a kid all I saw was some horribly deformed man wearing a scary hood. And the fact that it was a true story certainly didn’t help matters as far as I was concerned.

“But Friday the 13th? Scared the absolute shit out of me. Jason wasn’t some misunderstood deformed guy like John Merrick, who was as gentle as a kitten. Jason was a ruthless killer who was f*cking people up with pitchforks and machetes and whatever the hell else he could lay his hands on. It was as if some evil prick who had access to my young mind had said: ‘Hmmm…little Patrick is scared of The Elephant Man. Problem is, the Elephant Man is a nice guy. How ’bout we make a movie with a guy that looks just like The Elephant Man, but, let’s have him be some homicidal lunatic instead. And oh yeah, let’s also make it so the crazy bastard can’t be killed.’”

Amy gave a short, genuine laugh. Patrick smiled and waited a beat before continuing.

“So to put it mildly, Friday the 13th Part 2 freaked me the hell out. And you know what, baby? I would have sworn on my mother’s life that every now and then I would wake up in the middle of the night and see that burlap sack with the one eye-hole staring back at me through my bedroom window, sometimes even at the foot of my bed. Even when I closed my eyes tight and opened them, he was still there. And as absolutely terrified as I was, something deep down told me he wasn’t there. Something told me that my eyes were just using that incredibly annoying ability they have to make us see something we just flat-out don’t want to see.”

Patrick finished his spiel by moving his hand from Amy’s neck to her shoulders. Her position on Patrick’s chest never changed and her breathing never quickened. He continued massaging her shoulders. After a good minute Amy sighed and said, “I love you.”

Patrick brought his hand back to her neck, gave it a gentle squeeze. “And I love ya back.”

“I’d turn around kiss you if it wasn’t for your morning breath,” she said.

“Oh, and your morning breath is an ocean breeze?”

Amy smiled and began drawing circles with her index finger on Patrick’s bare stomach. “Should we go over and get the kids?”

“Nah. Norm said he and Lorraine would bring them over. Let’s enjoy a little more solitude while we can.”

“We could put a movie on if you want,” she said, taking her hand off his chest and pointing to the VCR and television in the far corner of the room. “Do you want me to see if my family has a copy of Friday the 13th Part 2? You know, the one where Jason wears the burlap sack with the one eye hole just like The Elephant Man did? Do you know that one, baby? Not the one with the hockey mask, the one with the burlap—”

Patrick clawed her ribs and she screamed.