Pandemonic

 

Pandemonic
Pandemonic

by Erin Halfelven

Teresa knew that if she Touched Her Face, she would die. Those were the rules. If The Virus caught you, or you Touched Your Face, or Failed to Wash Your Hands while Counting to Twenty, you would die.

There were other rules and other ways to die, and if you died, you were out of the game, and someone else would win. It was what made playing Pandemonic so exciting.

Teresa stifled a giggle. She was under the back porch, Self-Isolating. As long as no one could see her, she was safe. She took the opportunity to rub her face all she wanted, to get all the itches off while no one could start counting her out.

The back side of the house was safer but too far from Quarantine for her short legs, if someone saw her breaking one of the rules.

Bobby was playing the part of The Virus today, and he was good at finding her Self-Isolating places, so maybe she should move. She started to stand up, but changed her mind when she heard voices.

Jenny came running out of the bushes behind the toolshed, with Bobby right behind her. Jenny washed her hands and sang Happy Birthday as she ran. If she could sing two choruses before Bobby caught her again or if she could get inside Quarantine, she would be safe.

“Wa-ha-ha!” Bobby laughed in a fake deep voice. (The rules didn’t say you had to, but everyone who played The Virus did.) “You’ve Tested Positive Jenny,” Bobby taunted, his more normal voice given a strange resonance by the mask covering his nose and mouth. “When I catch you again, you won’t be able to Quarantine, and you’ll have to help me catch everyone else!”

It looked like Jenny was going to get away, though. She had used her five-second head start after The Virus Tested her and yelled Positive to duck through the bushes, which slowed Bobby down more than it did her.

Teresa was so excited that she Coughed into her Elbow, just for luck. But it wasn’t a lucky thing to do, Bobby heard her and glanced in her direction.

“Oh, fudge,” the little girl said under her breath.

Apparently, Bobby had just realized he wasn’t going to catch Jenny, so he turned toward the sound he had heard and called out, “I see you Isolating there!”

But he hadn’t said her name or where she was so she didn’t have to come out and be Tested.

Bobby looked frustrated. Jenny had escaped to Quarantine, which was in the bed of Daddy’s pickup today, and he didn’t seem to know exactly who coughed or where she was. She held her breath.

Suddenly, Bobby rushed directly at her. Startled, she couldn’t help herself. She squealed, giving away both her location and her identity. Bobby was her big brother, and he knew that squeal.

He laughed triumphantly, “Wa-ha-ha. Teresa Anne, come out from under the porch and get Tested.”

“Sugar flies!” she protested. “You scared me!” She scrambled out from under the gray-painted wooden steps and dusted off her knees, glaring at her brother.

“I’m The Virus,” he said. “I’m supposed to scare little girls.” He held up one of the pointy sticks Mom used to make corn dogs, which the kids were using as Testing Kits. “You’re lucky I have a kit left, so you get to be tested, and have a head start. Otherwise, I could just grab you.”

“Pooty-poot-poot,” pouted Teresa, holding out her arm and getting ready to run. Her nose itched, but she knew she didn’t dare scratch it with Bobby watching. He wouldn’t have to give her a head start if she Touched Her Face.

Bobby touched her on the arm with the pointy end of the stick. “Testing, Testing, Testing,” he intoned, keeping the stick against her skin.

Teresa dug the tip of her sneaker into the dirt. Bobby opened his mouth and closed it, trying to fake her out. Suddenly he held the stick up high and shouted at her, “Positive!”

She ran—her big brother laughing his Virus cackle behind her. “Wa-Ha-Ha! One in Five Catch Me, and I Catch Them! Wash Your Hands! Count to Twenty! Sing the Song!” She sang. “Happy Birthday! Ugh! Happy Birthday Ugh! Now that you’re the age you are, your demise cannot be far. Happy Birthday, ugh. Happy Birthday.”

Teresa scrubbed her hands together as she ran. She Counted to Twenty, then Sang Happy Birthday again while she sped toward the corner of the house—and the safety of the Quarantine Base in the back of the truck.

But Bobby was eight, and she was only four—he would catch her easily! “Wa-ha-ha!” he laughed behind her finishing the head start ritual and starting to run.

Teresa turned the corner and saw the kids already in Quarantine screaming for her to hurry. There were four of them! That meant that if she could make the base, they would have Herd Immunity, and all be free to go find new Self-Isolation. Then Bobby would have to play The Virus for another round!

She ran as fast as her little legs could carry her, trying to maintain her Social Distancing from her brother, but she already felt Feverish and Short of Breath. She squealed when she heard Bobby laugh his evil laugh again right behind her. She forgot the words to the song!

But the kids in the truck were singing it for her! “May the cities in our wake burn like candles on your cake! Happy Birthday, ugh! Happy Birthday!” She’d almost made it when she felt Bobby grab her from behind and lift her into the air.

“Wa-ha-ha!” he chortled. “You’re my first victim! Patient Zero!”

“Fudge-it! Fudge-it! I’m dead, I’m dead,” Teresa wailed.

Just then, Mom and one of the other mothers came out of the front door of the house. “Lunch!” Mom called out. The rest of the adults inside the house would already be sitting down to eat, but on this beautiful Memorial Day weekend, the kids would eat outside.

Tables were already set up on the grass, and Mom and the other lady began distributing cans of soda pop and little bags of potato chips.

Teresa took a soda, babbling to her mother as she found a seat. “Bobby was The Virus, and he caughted me, and I dieded.”

“Uh, huh,” agreed her Mom. “Which do you want for lunch, dear? Chicken nuggets, cheeseburger slider, or a corndog?”

Teresa had to think about that for a moment. “Can I have a corndog without the corn?”


Photo by jonas mohamadi from Pexels


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