The New Kid
It was the first day of school, and the children gathered on the playground, many wearing the favorite outfits their parents had purchased for them during the late summer "school shopping" ordeal. As usual, the students separated into cliques. Ian McDaniel, who was standing with his circle of friends, noticed a solitary boy in a pair of jeans and a Dustin Pedroia T-shirt. In hindsight, Ian wasn't sure if he simply wanted to make the acquaintance of a fellow Red Sox fan or if the boy's hangdog expression appealed to his compassionate streak. Either way, he took pity on the newcomer, walked over to him and struck up a conversation.
"You just move here?" the eleven-year-old sixth-grader inquired.
"Yeah. I used to live in Connecticut, but my father got transferred to Boston."
"It must suck to be the new kid," Ian opined. "You don't have anyone to hang around with and don't know which kids to avoid. I'll tell you what; you stick with me, and I'll show you the ropes around here."
"Gee, thanks!"
"What's your name?"
"Shawn Mulvaney. What's yours?"
"Ian McDaniel. I'm starting the sixth grade."
"Me, too. Maybe we'll be in the same class."
"Since there are only three sixth-grade teachers, the odds are in our favor."
"That's not mathematically accurate," Shawn pointed out. "We have a one out of three, or thirty-three and a third percent chance. The odds would only be in our favor if the likelihood is greater than fifty percent."
"Are you one of those brainy kids who get straight A's?"
"Yes."
Ian frowned. All his friends were "C" students who were delighted to get an occasional "B" on their report cards. He didn't know if he wanted to associate with a nerd.
"I guess that's cool. Maybe you can help me with my homework sometime. Come on, I'll introduce you to the other guys."
When Joey Raglan saw Shawn, who was six inches shorter and ten pounds thinner than anyone else in the sixth grade, he teased, "This is middle school. The kindergarten is three blocks from here."
The other students laughed at the joke, but Ian came to the boy's defense.
"Knock it off. This is Shawn Mulvaney. He's new in town. Since he doesn't know anybody here, I've invited him to eat at our table at lunchtime."
Despite a few scattered mumbled complaints, no one in the group openly protested. Albeit not welcomed with open arms, the new kid was unofficially part of the group.
Moments later, the first bell rang, and students hurried inside the school to learn which teachers they would have to endure for the next ten months.
* * *
In the first few weeks of the school year, Shawn Mulvaney spent a great deal of time with Ian McDaniel. The latter's friends referred to the new kid as "Ian's charity case." Although he had never done or said anything to make the others dislike him, none of the boys enjoyed being with the brainy student with the Coke bottle glasses.
"He gives me the creeps," Joey Raglan grumbled when three of the friends were skipping rocks in the river. "It's not natural for anyone to like to read."
"Shawn ain't that bad," Ian argued. "He's not a complete loser. He likes the Red Sox, after all."
"Yeah," Keenan Dunwell laughed. "A complete loser would root for the Yankees!"
"I don't care if he likes the Bruins, the Patriots and the Celtics, as well," Joey continued. "I don't like him tagging along after us wherever we go."
"You don't like him because he corrects your English all the time," Keenan declared.
"That ain't the only reason, but, no, I don't like it. Oh, wait, I forgot," he said sarcastically, "ain't ain't a word."
"Maybe if you listen to Shawn and stop complaining," Ian suggested, "you might get a 'B' in English next marking period."
"Cool it, you two," Keenan warned sotto voce. "Here he comes."
"Hi, guys," Shawn called. "What're you up to?"
"Nothing much," Ian answered.
"I asked my parents about your party next Saturday night. They said I can go."
Joey glared at Ian. Having the charity case eat at their lunch table at school was one thing; having him ruin an overnight camping party was quite another!
* * *
The day of Ian's twelfth birthday was warm for early October in New England. Mrs. McDaniel was grateful for that since her son and his friends would be sleeping in a tent in their backyard.
When the four guests arrived, not long after their three o'clock school dismissal, the five boys put up the eight-person tent and piled their sleeping bags, lanterns and snacks inside. Then they went into Ian's bedroom to play video games while they waited for the pizzas Mrs. McDaniel ordered to be delivered.
"What do you guys feel like playing?" Ian inquired.
"You got Minecraft?" Shawn asked.
"That's for dorks!" Joey taunted. "I say we play The Walking Dead."
"That game's rated 'M.' You're not supposed to play it if you're under seventeen."
"What's the matter? Won't your mommy let you play violent video games?"
"It has nothing to do with my mother. I don't like scary games."
The other boys looked at the new kid with surprise and a feeling of superiority.
"What about horror movies?" Ian prompted.
"I never watch them."
"Are you serious?" Keen exclaimed. "You've never watched any of the Nightmare on Elm Street or Friday the Thirteenth movies?"
"No."
"What's wrong with you?" Joey laughed.
"All right, knock it off," Ian cautioned, not wanting to embarrass Shawn. "I've got Minecraft somewhere around here. We can play that."
Thankfully, the pizzas arrived before the boys got too restless. Once Ian and his friends finished off the three large pies, they went downstairs into the McDaniel family room to watch a movie on the large-screen TV.
"I was going to put on Annabelle," Ian told them, "but maybe we should watch something else instead."
"I can always go home and get my little sister's Frozen DVD," Joey offered facetiously.
The boys compromised and watched Guardians of the Galaxy, a PG-13 movie that wouldn't frighten Shawn or bore the others.
It was after nine when the campers bade goodnight to Ian's parents and headed out to the tent.
"Where's Shawn?" Keenan asked.
"The bathroom," Ian replied.
"You sure he won't be too afraid to come outside by himself?" Joey joked.
"Very funny. Are you gonna pick on him all night?"
"Sorry. I promise I'll leave your little charity case alone."
With the temperature dropping, the boys donned wool caps and heavy hooded sweatshirts over their regular clothes.
"If anybody gets too cold, go into the house. My parents will leave the downstairs light on and the back door unlocked."
"I've come prepared," Dale Ackerson bragged. "I've got a mummy sleeping bag that's supposed to keep me warm in temperatures as low as ...."
All four boys turned in Shawn's direction as he came through the tent flap. Wearing a pair of neatly pressed, button-down pajamas and a belted bathrobe with a pocket, he looked like a father from a 1950s sitcom.
"You're going to freeze your ass off wearing that!" Keenan predicted.
"I brought a blanket with me in case it gets too cold."
After the five boys were zipped in their sleeping bags, Ian turned down his lantern.
"Did you ever hear the story about the monkey's paw?" Joey whispered.
Without waiting for a response, he began telling the story about a middle-aged couple who came into possession of a magical monkey's paw that would grant them three wishes.
"The only drawback is that the third wish is always for death."
"Is this a scary story?" Shawn asked nervously.
The other three boys groaned at the interruption.
"Be quiet. We're trying to hear this," Keenan snapped.
As the new kid listened to the classic tale of the supernatural, his fear mounted. When Joey got to the part where the couple's son, recently brought back from his grave by the second wish, knocks on his parents' door, Jayden, Ian's sixteen-year-old brother, wearing a rubber Halloween mask, pulled back the rain shield of the tent and let out a cry to scare the boys. Joey, who had been in on the prank from the beginning, was the only boy who wasn't frightened.
"You dumb ass!" Ian yelled at his brother. "You scared the shit out of me."
"Watch your mouth before I tell Mom. Besides, it was Raglan's idea, not mine."
"You should have seen your faces!" Joey said, laughing hysterically.
He turned to Shawn, and his laughter abruptly ceased. The terrified boy was staring, wide-eyed, straight ahead, making no sound or movement.
"Hey, kid, are you all right?" Jayden inquired.
His answer was a trickling sound from Shawn's bladder. The boy had been frightened so badly that he peed his pressed, striped pajama pants, his bathrobe and his sleeping bag.
Joey enjoyed the incident immensely. It was the best practical joke he had ever played on anyone. Jayden, Keenan and Dale were amused but didn't laugh because they didn't want the new kid to feel any worse than he already did. Only Ian was upset by the cruel prank.
"Are you okay?" he asked the trembling boy.
"Yeah," Shawn replied softly, putting his head down so no one would see the shame on his face.
"Don't mind Joey or my stupid brother. They're being jerks."
"I want to call my mother and have her come get me."
"Sure. Come on, I'll take you into the house. You can call from the kitchen."
After telephoning his mother, Shawn went into the first-floor powder room and changed back into the clothes he had been wearing earlier. Meanwhile, Ian, knowing his charity case wouldn't want to face the other boys again, went out to the tent, gathered up the wet blanket and sleeping bag and put them in a plastic Hefty bag with the pajamas and bathrobe.
Unsure what to say, Ian simply thanked the new kid for coming to his party.
"Thanks for inviting me," Shawn whimpered.
The humiliated boy was spared further conversation when his mother's Subaru pulled up to the front of the house. Ian waved goodbye as Mrs. Mulvaney backed out of the driveway. Then he returned to the tent, where his friends were joking about the new kid's "accident."
Happy birthday to me, he thought with disappointment.
What he had hoped would be the best birthday party he ever had turned out to be the worst.
* * *
The statement is not a quote by a famous writer; it is true nevertheless: kids can be cruel.
Shawn Mulvaney must have believed this to be so because he didn't go to school the Monday after Ian's camping party. In fact, it wasn't until Wednesday that he came out of hiding and showed his face.
When he walked into the building and down the hall to his classroom, other students stopped and stared. There were whispers and laughter, and he knew everyone was talking about him. The new kid kept his head down and his eyes on his feet. He was seriously considering the advantages of homeschooling when Ian came up behind him.
"Hey, you're back in school. Glad to see you're feeling better."
Shawn was grateful that there was no mention of the birthday party.
"Thanks. It was only a cold."
"If you're not doing anything after school, do you want to come over to my house and play Minecraft?"
"You don't have to pretend you like me anymore."
"Who's pretending? You don't think I had anything to do with the stupid prank Joey and my brother played, do you?" Ian asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
"I've got to get to class."
The bell rang, ending the opportunity for the two boys to talk. Ian tried to strike up a conversation with the boy several more times during the course of the day, but the new kid resisted all his efforts.
Shawn's self-imposed ostracism continued for more than two weeks. He avoided his fellow students at lunch and recess. During classes, he concentrated on his schoolwork. When the weekend came around, Mrs. Mulvaney, an interior designer, invited her son to accompany her to Cape Cod.
"I have to go to Provincetown to look over an old bed and breakfast and give the owners an estimate on the cost to modernize the kitchen. Why don't you come with me?"
"Ah, Mom. You know I get bored sitting in a car that long."
"Come on. It'll be fun. We can visit the Pirate Museum and then go out to dinner afterward."
"I'd rather not."
"But your father won't be back from his business trip until Sunday. You'll be home all alone. But I suppose I could get Mrs. Warner's daughter to keep an eye on you."
"I'm not a baby anymore; I don't need a sitter. I'm twelve years old and quite capable of staying home alone."
Mrs. Mulvaney's emotions were at war with her common sense. On one hand, she wanted to protect her son against the imagined evils of the world; on the other, she didn't want to smother him.
"All right," she agreed, deciding in favor of letting her son enjoy a little independence. "You stay in the house and lock the doors. And don't be afraid to call the police if you hear any suspicious sounds."
Only after his mother had driven away did Shawn realize what he had gotten himself into. He was a boy who still slept with a nightlight on, who was frightened of horror movies and ghost stories and—as much as he hated to admit it—who peed his pants when confronted by a teenager in a Halloween mask.
Like many skittish people when they are left alone, he began to imagine every creaky floorboard and rustling tree limb signaled the existence of an intruder. By mid-morning, the boy was a nervous wreck. He momentarily considered phoning Ian and inviting him over, but he was still far too embarrassed to face the people who had attended the overnight camping party.
Still, he didn't want to be alone. The mall was only a mile from his house. He could ride his bike there, get lunch at the food court and perhaps see a movie. Surprisingly, the mall was not nearly as crowded as it was on most Saturdays. When Shawn passed the arcade—usually filled with kids—he saw only a few teenage girls inside, flirting with the attendant at the prize counter.
The new kid walked into the arcade, reached into his pocket for his five-dollar bill and put it in the change machine, which in turn spit out five dollars in quarters. He played several games of ski ball, followed by a few games of pinball. Shawn was sitting behind the wheel of the Mario Kart racing video game when a group of seventh-graders entered the arcade.
"Isn't that the new kid in our school?" one asked.
"Yeah, he's the one with the overactive bladder problem!" another quipped.
With all the boys laughing at his expense, Shawn wished the floor would open up, so he could crawl inside. Although his game was not yet over, he got out of the seat and headed toward the exit. If he could make it to the mall, he could walk to Penney's or Sears where he would be surrounded by adult shoppers who would not take delight in humiliating him.
Sadly, as he hurried toward the doorway with his head down, staring at his feet, he walked right into Joey Raglan, Keenan Dunwell and three other kids from school.
"Hey, look who's here!" Joey exclaimed. "Where have you been lately? Hiding from the boogeyman?"
Shawn attempted to get past his tormentor but was unable to do so.
"He's trying to pull a little pig."
"What's that?" Keenan asked.
"He wants to go wee-wee-wee all the way home," Joey teased.
Soon, more youngsters arrived at the arcade, all of whom stopped to watch the exchange between Joey and the new kid. Shawn felt his face redden, and tears misted in his eyes. Why hadn't he gone to Provincetown with his mother?
With at least a dozen kids blocking his way, he realized he had no hope of escaping to the mall. Instead, he turned and ran to the rear of the arcade. There was an exit in the back that led to the employee parking lot.
As the new kid made his way through the maze of video games, he heard Joey calling, "Wee, wee, wee," until his voice was drowned out by the other boys' laughter. Thankfully, no one followed him.
Shawn walked to the rear exit and pushed the handle, only to discover that the door was locked.
What am I going to do now? he wondered with desperation.
He peeked out from behind a claw machine and saw the other boys playing games. Could he sneak past them? No. One of them was bound to see him, and the abuse would start again.
If I can get the attendant's attention, maybe he'll unlock the back door for me.
Alas, the young man was still talking to the teenage girls.
At the rear of the arcade was a storage room where the stuffed animals, candies and other prizes were kept. There was a sign on the door that read EMPLOYEES ONLY. Shawn turned the handle and discovered that it was not locked. He decided to wait in the storage room, believing the attendant would have to enter it eventually. Not knowing how long he would have to wait, the new kid sat on the floor, with his back propped against a shelf of toys, and made himself comfortable.
* * *
When Shawn opened his eyes, everything around him was dark.
Where am I?
The memories of that afternoon's ordeal came flooding back.
I must have fallen asleep in the storage room.
When he opened the door, he realized the mall was closed. Everything around him was shrouded in the shadows cast by the small emergency lights in the ceiling. He reached into his pocket only to realize he'd left his iPhone at home. If he could get to the food court, he could use one of the payphones to call his mother.
Do they even have payphones anymore? he worried, fearing they might have been removed now that nearly everyone carried a cell phone.
Whether or not the payphones were still in the food court proved to be a moot point. When Shawn made his way past the ski ball machines, he saw that an iron gate was stretched across the entrance to the arcade.
"Hello," he shouted through the grating. "Is anyone here?"
Shawn didn't realize that there was only one night watchman at the mall and that he made his rounds only twice during his shift. Unfortunately, he had completed his first about the same time the boy was waking up. The second wouldn't be for another four hours.
The mall closed at ten. My mother must be home by now. I'm sure she'll look for me.
But Mrs. Mulvaney had no way of knowing her son had gone to the mall. Even if the thought did occur to her, she wouldn't expect him to still be there.
I guess I'll have to stay here until nine o'clock tomorrow morning when the employees start reporting for work.
If he thought he was frightened in his own home, he was terrified in the dark arcade. He ran his hands slowly over the walls, looking for a light switch. Near the rear entrance, there was a series of toggle switches. When he flipped them all to the ON position, he was overwhelmed by lights and sounds, for those switches controlled not only the fluorescent ceiling lamps but also all the games.
There were all sorts of electronic beeps and bings, musical jingles, sound effects and robotic voices. Shawn remembered the quarters in his pocket. He could play video games to pass the time and take his mind off his predicament.
Maneuvering Pac-Man through a maze of Pac-Dot pellets, trying to avoid the ghost-like Blinky, Pinky, Inky and Clyde, the new kid could hear indistinguishable noises coming from all around him. His eyes kept darting from the video screen to the other amusements in the arcade.
To his right were two games whose object was for players to shoot quarters through targets to win prize tickets. One of these featured a three-foot-high shark head that opened and closed its powerful jaws. The other was the four-foot torso of a circus clown that covered his face with gloved hands in a freakish version of peek-a-boo. To the boy's left was Wacky Gator, a game where the player must fend off five attacking alligators with a padded mallet.
Distracted by the movement of these surrounding games, Shawn quickly lost his three lives, and the words GAME OVER appeared on the screen. He nervously looked over his shoulder and saw that all the video screens in the arcade displayed the same message. Wanting to play Pac-Man again, he reached into his pocket, pulled out another quarter and put it in the coin slot. Nothing happened. The screen still said GAME OVER. He pushed the coin return, but his quarter didn't come out.
Shawn turned to his right. It appeared as though the clown was laughing at him.
The new kid moved to another game, a pinball machine, but it, too, stole his quarter.
Now the shark and the clown were taunting him, no doubt anxious to get their hands—or jaws—on his remaining quarters.
Six more games, six more quarters. None of them worked. Meanwhile, Jaws had ceased snapping and Bozo had stopped laughing. The shark's head turned in Shawn's direction. Its black eyes appeared to follow his movements. Likewise, the clown's garishly painted smile seemed evil rather than comical.
With only one quarter left in his pocket, Shawn decided to play Wacky Gator, a game primarily for younger children. He put the coin in the slot and picked up the mallet. The plastic alligators randomly attacked from the five chutes. Although the clown and the shark still goaded him, the boy concentrated on the gators.
Whack! Whack! Whack!
A prize ticket came out.
Whack! Whack! Whack!
The shark opened its jaws, and a growl-like sound came from its mouth.
Whack! Whack! Whack!
A second ticket emerged.
The clown let out a high-pitched, blood-curdling, maniacal scream.
Whack! Whack! Whack!
Another ticket.
One gator came out of the chute and bared its razor-like teeth. Shawn struck it with the mallet but not before it bit the boy on his right hand. A second gator bit the left hand. Before he could raise the mallet again, the other four gators shot out of their chutes and attacked.
As the shark opened and closed its mighty jaws and the clown peeked behind its white-gloved hands, the new kid in school was devoured by the five Wacky Gators.
* * *
The following Saturday, Ian McDaniel went to the mall with his mother. With Shawn Mulvaney missing for a week now, parents were keeping a close eye on their children.
"I'm going to the arcade," he announced as Mrs. McDaniel headed toward the Fashion Bug.
"The arcade? Isn't that where the Mulvaney boy was last seen?"
"Yeah, but the police think he was abducted after he left the mall."
"Well, you be careful. Don't talk to strangers and don't ...."
"Yeah, Mom, I know."
There were only two people at the arcade: the nineteen-year-old attendant and Joey Raglan.
"Hi, Ian. I didn't expect to see you here today."
"My mother had some shopping to do, so I tagged along. What about you?"
"My Dad's getting his hair cut."
Joey put two quarters in the Ghost Hunter game, pulled the trigger and began to shoot.
Ian, who stood at his side, silently watching him play, asked, "What happened to Shawn?"
"How should I know?"
"You were one of the last people to see him."
Joey shrugged as if the matter was of no importance to him.
"He was playing a game when I got here. After a few minutes, he went out the back door."
"Why? What did you say to him?" Ian pressed, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"I was only busting him, you know—joking around. I didn't mean nothing by it."
"You didn't bring up his accident at my party, did you?"
"I didn't bring it up myself; the other kids did."
"But you made fun of him for it, didn't you?"
"It was a joke!"
The attendant, who overheard the boys' raised voices, feared a fight might break out. With a missing child in town, he was under orders from the arcade owner to make sure there was no trouble.
"Is everything okay over there?" he called to them.
"Yeah," Ian replied. "My friend is being an asshole. That's nothing new."
"Hey, come on. Don't act that way."
But Joey's entreaty fell on deaf ears. Ian was already heading for the exit.
Since the one boy at the Ghost Hunter game posed no threat, the attendant went to the storage room to get a replacement roll of prize tickets for the Guitar Hero game. He no sooner stepped into the small room than the door slammed shut behind him.
"Hey, who did that?" he shouted, trying to open the door. "Let me out. Do you hear me?"
At the same moment the teenage attendant was being locked in the storage room, the lights dimmed, and the heavy gate above the entrance dropped down, sealing Joey in the arcade and keeping Ian on the outside.
"What's going on?" Joey cried.
"I don't know. The grating suddenly dropped down behind me. You'd better get the attendant to open it."
As he went in search of the arcade employee, Joey passed by the Wacky Gator game.
"What the ...?"
"What's wrong?" Ian asked.
"I must have cut myself on this game. I ...."
Joey screamed in agony as the five vicious gators gnawed at his fingers with their sharp teeth. With great difficulty, he finally managed to get free of the game. He raised his hands and looked in horror at the bloody stumps of his missing digits.
"Help me!" he wailed. "My fingers ...."
Before Ian could get out his phone to call 911, the peek-a-boo clown grabbed Joey Raglan around the waist with his white-gloved hands, and the shark decapitated him with its powerful jaws.
* * *
After a thorough investigation into Joey Raglan's death, it was determined that the boy died as a result of a freak accident, the exact details of which were unknown. No criminal charges were filed against the owner of the arcade since the gators and shark were made of rubber and soft plastic and could not possibly have caused Joey's loss of fingers or his decapitation.
The attendant was of no help in solving the mystery since he had been locked inside the storage room at the time of the accident and hadn't been released until the police arrived. Ian, it turned out, was the only witness to his friend's death, and he hadn't seen much in the dim lighting.
"I heard him say he cut himself," Ian confided to the police. "Then he screamed for help and said something about his fingers."
"Are you sure that's all you remember, son?" the detective probed, looking for some detail that might have been overlooked.
Ian hung his head, unwilling to speak.
"There is something else, isn't there? You'd better tell me what it is. One boy is missing, and one is dead. Whatever you might have to add might help us solve these cases."
"There was a reflection on the screen of the Pac-Man game. I thought I saw ...."
"Yes," the detective urged. "What did you see?"
"A face. It looked like Shawn Mulvaney's. But when I got a closer look, all I saw were the words GAME OVER."
On the subject of video games, Salem wanted a Wii system for Christmas. I got it for him; then he played with the box!
