Brain-Wrapped

The truth wrapped in a blanket of stale popcorn, and flat soda, sticky floors, and over priced tickets. We call it Brain-Wrapped, it’s one of many inside jokes among theater workers. Another inside joke is that if you sat in the lobby and watched the goings on of the employees you’d get a better show for your ten bucks. Here’s that better show. I started working at the Megan when I was seventeen, just to put some cash in my pocket. I was the envy of half the school, for some reason in my town The Megan was considered the “Hip” place to work; to me it was just a job. The first thing I was told by Joel, the general manager was that I was a whore; people pay me to be nice to them for two hours. All part of the movie magic he said, he told me a lot of things, and I listened to them. Joel had worked at the Megan for thirty years, started there when he was my age, and worked his way up. It was somewhat of an honor when he took me under his wing, or at least that’s what my co-workers said, still it was just a job to me. But being under his wing had its advantages, better pay, more hours, longer breaks so we could sit in his office and shoot the shit. By the end of my first week I was a closing usher, which was great, just me and the projectionist, and of course the last few movie goers. By the end of my first closing week me and a projectionist named Jacob had struck up a pretty good friendship. We both shared a love for horror films, sometimes we’d stay late and bullshit about all the horror movies we’d seen. Another thing we had in common was a love for spreading mischief. There was an old ghost story that most, if not all the employees believed, which was in part thanks to Jacob. He had taken up the hobby of making sure everyone knew the story and doing his best to back it up. He’d move stuff around behind the snack bar, or flicker the lights on and off during shifts. He was damn good at keeping his hands clean with it too, and he taught me. We made a great team, we had the whole staff scared shitless, it got to a point where no one wanted a closing shift, we even got a few people to quit. It was a lot of fun, but we were always looking for a new project, whether it was messing up the snack bar’s inventory, or loosening the bolts in the theater seats. Our biggest project and perhaps the most dangerous one was the “board.”

It was the board that started everything. Outside each theater there was an indented part of the wall that held a rollout trashcan. One night after all the shows had let out I was sweeping up theater twelve, the oldest theater in the building. I emptied my dustpan in the trash but it caught and the can tipped. I tried to pick it up but the bastard’s wheel was caught on the carpet. I got frustrated and my temper got the best of me. I pulled the trashcan with the strength that comes from anger. As the trashcan went flying the few feet across the hall it took a small chunk of carpet with it. Then where there once was carpet was a small square of naked wood. I stared at it with mild curiosity; it just seemed out of place since the rest of the floor was carpeted concrete. I walked over and tapped it with the heel of my boot creating a hollow echo. I smiled with the excitement of a new project, but I knew it was going to have to wait. I covered it up again with the ripped carpet, put the trashcan back, and left.

The next night I sat through my shift with growing anticipation. Every time I went near theater twelve, I could hear the wood calling me, begging to be broken open. It was cold that night, not a freezing cold, more of a stinging cold. Once everyone was gone I rushed up the stairs to the projection booth to find Jacob. He was sitting at the projection desk writing obesities on the desk calendar.
“I have something to show you,” I said with a smile stretching ear to ear across my face.
“Oh yeah?” he responded with raised eyebrows.
“Come on.”

We went down to theater twelve where I slowly moved the trashcan away. He stood looking over my shoulder with peaked interest; I pulled the carpet away to reveal the exposed wood. I balled my hand into a fist and knocked three times, the hollow echo called back.
“Holy shit,” he crouched down beside me and ran a hand over it, “we need to break this open.” He got up and quickly ran off down the hall,
“Where are you going!?” I called out but he was too far gone to hear me. Five minutes later he returned with a screwdriver and crowbar.
“We have to get this thing open.” He looked the wood over finding the spots with screws. As Jacob slid the screwdriver into the first screw the lights shut off, a howling noise drifted down the long hallway, as if someone were crying out in pain. This went on for a minute or so and then stopped, the lights came back on.
“Is everyone gone?” Jacob asked with a suspicious look.
“Yeah,” I responded with the same look of suspicion.

He slowly slid the screwdriver back into the grooves of the screw, we waited a second, nothing. He began unscrewing, the screw twirled out like a ballerina, he dropped it into the palm of my hand.
“Hold that.” He ran his hand over the wood seeking out the next screw. He turned to me with a strange look,
“Feel this,” he said motioning towards the board.

I placed my hand next to his; a vibration pulsed through the board as if pressure were building up under it. Our curiosity about what the board hid was growing. Jacob grabbed the crowbar,
“I’m going to just pry it open.” He pushed the crowbar under it but before he could do anything a loud bang had us both jumping out of our skins. We turned around to see that the door to theater twelve had slammed shut, “It probably just came loose or something,” he said trying to dismiss it as nothing.
“No, that door doesn’t close that fast.” I went to the door to prove my point, but it was stuck, I pulled with all my strength but it wouldn’t budge. A faint light flicked from inside the dark theater,

“Did you leave a projector on?” I turned and asked.
“Stop screwing around,” he replied, he was already repositioning the crowbar under the board.
“I’m not screwing around.” I told him, he looked at me trying to read my face for a tell of some sort, trying to see if I was joking. He joined me at the door, his face pressed against the small glass window, he grabbed the handle and pulled, still the door refused to open. He turned and started off down the hall,
“Where are you going now?” I asked.
“To check the projector,” he responded.
I started after him; I’m not ashamed to admit I wasn’t keen on the idea of being left alone. We were halfway to the lobby when a loud screamed pierced the air, we turned, the door the theater twelve was open once again. Jacob looked at me with a seriousness I never thought him capable of, “tell me straight up, are you behind this?” I simply shook my head, I couldn’t speak. My whole body trembled with fear, like a dead leaf in the wind. We stood there for a little more than a minute silently debating to ourselves whether or not to go check it out. I guess curiosity won out in the end, which was a very stupid thing, after all curiosity killed the cat.

Have you ever been so scared that you pissed yourself? I have, only once, standing in the back of theater twelve staring at the big screen. There was no light coming from the projector window, no hum of the machinery, only the imagines on the screen, and the muffled sound it was admitting. A teenage boy was crying on the screen, an old man fondled the boy gently. The scene changed, now the screen was splashed with flashes of red accompanied by a grinding sound. Behind the flashes of red, the boy much older now waved a gun around; there was screaming, then a gunshot, then a split second image of our board, and then nothing. I could feel the urine still running down my leg as we stood there in the quiet dark. After several minutes of standing there catching my breath, straighten my thoughts, I went out into the hall. I locked my eyes on the wood, Jacob stepped beside me.
“What the hell was that?” Jacob’s voice was low and flat filled with fear.
“I don’t know, but... I’m going home,” I placed the carpet back over the board and returned the trashcan to its proper place, then without another word I left.

I called out the next two days, I even almost quit, but when I called the theater on the third night Joel practically begged me to come in. He wasn’t mad at me for calling out, which was quite the surprise, especially since I’d seen Joel fire a guy for being three minutes late. Perks of being the boss’s favorite I guess. He offered me double to come in and reluctantly I said yes. That night the whole place smelled rotten, like something had died in the walls, nobody else seemed to smell it. As the night went on, the smell grew stronger, complaints began coming from people in theater twelve, it got so bad people started walking out. I told Joel and he had me and another usher go in with a can of air freshener, no one expected it to do anything but it was the only thing anyone could think of. Walking back into that theater I nearly pissed myself all over again, I was terrified of what might happen. The other usher, Andrew nearly vomited the minute we stepped foot inside. I began spraying but whatever the stench was it was way too powerful, in fact the more I sprayed the stronger the smell seemed to get. Andrew started to gag,
“You okay?” I asked. He was doubled over, I ran to the door and called for help, when I turned back around he was on the floor twitching, blood spilling from his mouth. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, he spit something up amidst all the blood. Another usher ran in just in time to see Andrew twitch his final twitch. The screen flickered with flashes of red, a hollow voice, as if calling from the end of a long tunneled said “Board.” We closed early; I spent the rest of the night getting grilled by the police. They let me leave about two or so. Joel was waiting for me in the police parking lot.
“Thought you could use a lift back to your car,” he gave me a smile, the smile of a drunken man.

I was hesitant getting in the car with him, what with him being drunk and all but I needed to get to my car. He swerved a little on the road but other than that he got us to the theater all right. As I thanked him and began to get out of the car he put his hand on my leg. He massaged my thigh trying to creep his hand towards my crotch. I pushed him away and slammed his door. I sat in my car for a minute before driving off around the back of the building. I waited three, maybe four minutes, and then drove back to the front. Joel’s car was gone. I went to my truck and grabbed the tire iron. I took my keys and unlocked the front door. The whole lobby was swamped in a strange mist, it was haunting. The stench had become unbearable, a shaky voice called from all directions. Despite it all I pressed on, I hit the breakers for the hall and made my way slowly to theater twelve. Carefully I removed the trashcan, then the carpet. I took a deep breath, and then I brought the tire iron down splintering the wood slightly. A red liquid, blood, bubbled up from the crack. Again I brought the tire-iron down and again blood bubbled up. Again, and again, with each blow more blood spit up. Spit up into my face like I was bashing a human skull. As the wood shipped away the blood seeped back into the hole that now replaced the board. There was blackness inside, with my cell phone I stretched my arm into the hole trying to gain some light. There was something in there, but I couldn’t make it out, it was still too dark. Then something grabbed my arm, pulling me down as it pulled up. I struggled and broke free stumbling back.
Rotten flesh, covered in blood, a corpse crawled from the hole. I know it sounds insane, but I watched it crawl up, dragging itself across the hall.
“Come here little boy, come…here…” The corpse spoke in a fragile voice.
“Let me…let me feel…you…” Its hand wrapped around my ankle, it kept crawling closer and closer. I swung the tire-iron bringing it down on the skull. It shattered like a glass on a hard floor, thick globs of blood spilled out, maggots swam through it. I freaked out, screaming, cursing. I jumped to my feet and ran, ran right into something, right into Joel. He tried to help me to my feet but I shoved him away, threaten him with the tire-iron. He urged me to calm down; he swayed as he stood. A bottle of vodka in one of his hands, “Please, please…” His words were slurred which was no surprise. I stared at him, I stood ready to attack, he just wobbled in place. “I touched them, he touched me…” He began to cry hysterically, he slides to the ground with his back to the wall.
“I killed him.”
“Killed who?” I asked as I moved by him trying to get a clear run to the door.
“The man in the hole, he touched me, I killed him.” He banged his head against the wall, and then he let it all out.
“He was the manager when I started here; he touched me…A lot. Touched me for years, and then I killed him.” He took a long sip of his vodka, in fact he finished it off in that long sip. “Then I started touching boys, for years I touched them.” Between the alcohol and the hysterical crying he was having trouble speaking.
“Put me in the hole, put me with him… So many boys…”
That was the last thing he said before smashing the bottle and digging the jagged end into his throat. It wasn’t a pretty sight, blood poured out like a fountain.
The sun was coming up as I screwed a fresh board over the hole. Later that day I was called in by the owner. He told me Joel spoke highly of me and one day I’d take his place. I quit right then and there. I worked many other jobs, but never again at a theater. Still, every time I see one I wonder what the popcorn and soda, what the sticky floors and over priced tickets are hiding. I wonder how bad the
Brain-Wrap is.