Seven Clicks Rightward

June, 1986. The sounds of a hair metal band shredded through a dusty garage, amassed with a litter of tools, neglected keepsakes, and projects put on reserve for another lifetime.The garage was more of a vault showcasing ancient artifacts which had belonged to some long-gone hoarder centuries ago. Nonetheless, it was the workstation for seventeen-year-old Jack Amery, who was in the process of fixing a beat up 1976 Trans Am he got for $200. Granted, everything was blown but the radio, the car got him far enough to the end of the block, where he thus guided the vehicle set to Neutral the rest of the way home. It was his baby. He had spent a little over four months and $1,200 bucks fixing everything wrong with it.

By mid-July, the black car will growl for the first time, and he could actually take Heather out instead of bumming rides with friends or setting up rendezvous points. Double-dating would be a thing of the past; god, how he despised double-dating. Might as well invite everyone over for an orgy and be done with the no-privacy outing. His hand slipped and the socket wrench ricocheted. “Fuck!”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I think it would piss off Heather.” A beanpole, pimpled-faced teen chuckle, sliding the bridge of his glasses up the ridge of his nose.

“Hey Chuck.” Jack gave up any and all failed attempts at rushing things with the car and turned to his best friend of over a decade. He instantly noticed a package, clamped under Chuck’s armpit.

“Brought me a belated birthday gift?” He planted a cigarette in his mouth.

“Oh this?” Chuck laughed with obvious nervousness. Jack lit the stick, inhaled, and nodded. “It’s my dad’s. Apparently, the mailman decided to be a turd and not leave the package behind. My dad expected me to wait there all day, but c’mon. I got a life!” Jack looked at him blankly. “There was a roadshow today. Bots of the Future Emporium. I thought I could just hitch a ride over there, poke around for half an hour, then hike it back home well in time. Only problem was Frank, you know how he is, has to stop at everyone’s house along the way. I decided to ditch him, and book it home. Apparently, I wasn’t fast enough. So I went to the post office, got the package. Since my dad won’t be back home in around three hours, I figure I’d pay you a visit along the way.”

“And here you are.” Jack smiled, letting out a rolling cloud of smoke. Chuck choked out a couple of breaths. “Ever wonder what’s in it?”

“Probably some sort of classified invention.” Chuck rubbed the back of his neck. “You know my dad. Always trying out products for Datatech.”

“You peaked my interest. Let’s see what’s in it.”


“Oh, no, no, no.” Chuck resisted, “This is federal property. We could see at least five years in the pin for tampering with government material.”

“Relax…” Jack assured, “What’d they do to a bunch of minors? We’d get two weeks in juvie at best.” Chuck studied Jack’s eyes in desperation for any glint of promise. “Come on, old buddy. For old time’s sake. I can bet my life that you are dying to know what’s in that package.”

Chuck gave in and handed it to Jake, who assured, “I’ll open it. That way if anyone asks, I could take the heat.” Jack jogged to the screen door beside the house, and opened it. Chuck stood back looking as depressed as a mutt amidst a thunderstorm. “Well, come on before we get old enough to apply for retirement.”

Now, Chuck has never really been in Jack’s house for at least five years. His parents split. Mom disappeared to Hollywood to become an actress or singer or something to that caliber. Jack’s old man was no better. He used the split up as an excuse to live like he was twenty again. Never home.

Jack had the house to himself, and it was like stepping into an interior junkyard. A strong whiff of turtles, old food, and garbage hung in the air like dirty laundry out to dry. Chuck wanted to leave, but felt great remorse to abandon Jake much how the rest of the world seemed to have abandoned Jake. Chuck watched as Jake pushed aside a colony of dishes, caked with old food, off the top of the kitchen table to make room for the package. In one fell swoop, he swung a switchblade from out his back pocket, flipped the blade out, and slit open the package. His dug out a mix of paper shredding and styrofoam like a kid opening up a Christmas present.

Jake’s slumped. “This is it?” Chuck stood back, watching as Jake pulled out what looked like a powerbox, a spiral antenna poking out. “For a federal company banked on technological innovation, they’re a few steps behind.” Jake threw the antenna aside, which crashed into a pile of crushed beer cans.

“What are you doing?” Chuck raced to the cans, trying to retrieve the lost relic.

“No grief over a hunk of junk I can get at the local Radio Shack.”

Chuck glared at him, “ For all you know, this device might actually pick up secret frequencies belonging to Russians.”

“Russians?” Jake laughed. “You’ve been reading too many spy books.”

“Just you wait and see...” Chuck went to the bunny-eared TV and reached around behind it. “I’ll prove how wrong you are.”

Chuck unhooked the old antenna, screwed in the clamps to the new antenna, and turned on the tv. “Just you wait.” There was a ten-second pause until the television screen dimmed to snow.

“I’m impressed!”

“Patience, feeble-minded one.” Chuck turned the dial seven clicks rightward until a picture showed. It was the scene of a room that was dark except for some shades of lighting to cover the silhouette of a single figure. “See? I told you! This might be a P.O.W. camp.”

“Gimme a break.” Jake said, uncertain of his stance.

A bright light broke off from the right side of the screen, showing a woman chained up. Jake laughed, “Nice going, Chuck. Your dad subbed to some sort of S&M channel.” Only, when Jake took a closer look at the woman, he noticed she wasn’t yet a woman, but a teenager.

In one slow drawl, Jake asked under a whisper, “What the fuck is this?”

Chuck pressed his face as close as the screen would permit before the image would become distorted. “Is… Is th-that who I th-think it is!?”

“Dude what kind of screwed up joke are you playing, man?” Jake pushed Chuck against a wall, knocking over a stack of smut magazines in the process. “Where’s Heather? What the hell did you do to her?”

“I-I didn’t!” A fist to the gut caused Chuck to drop to his knees.

A dark-cloaked figure approached Heather, teary eyed and screaming, and withdrew a silver dagger. Heather jolted with each swish of the blade that slowly removed her clothing. “Chuck, this better be a fucking joke!”

“I wish it was!”

“Who is that?” Jake watched Chuck respond in an unsure shake of the head.

“I don’t care where she is, I’ll find her and kill that fucker. Then when I get back, I’ll have at you too.” With a kick to the face, Chuck went out like a light.

***

It was nighttime by the time Chuck regained consciousness. “Help me…” He heard the strained whimpering of a familiar voice. “H-h-help…. M-me…” Chuck looked to the glow of the TV. Fear gripped him as he saw Jake chained and sliced up. One look at Heather caused Chuck to stoop over and vomit. Words alone cannot fully describe what was left of the eviscerated body.

“Chuck… Chuck Walbrook… I know you’re there…” A voice rasped. “I’ve had much fun with Heather, told me I was the best she ever had…” The cloaked figure glided towards the screen, its hood veiling every recognizable feature save for two glowing eyes. “Jake was a total bore. I’ll just let him hang.” The voice chuckled in an ear-splitting tone. “Know when I am done with them, you’re next!”

“Wh-what did we do!?!?”

“Oh… It’s nothing you did… You can put the blame on your father. Just didn’t know when to let go. So I figured, might as well sever ties.” Chuck squirmed back in total horror to the sight of what the cloaked figure grasped in much the same matter as a sack: his father’s decapitated head.

“He would say something, but he is suffering quite the headache right now. I just figure cat got his tongue!” The hooded being laughed maniacally. “Thanks for tuning into STV. Signing off.” The television clicked off by its own volition. The room went dark. All that remained was the whimpering of a teen in stark fear of what awaits.