Styrofoam Throne (9 page)

The waves continued to push me against the pillars. One finally got me good across my arm when I braced myself for the blow. The only thing more painful than an extreme sunburn was a gash across it with saltwater pouring in.

After what seemed like eternity in tumult lost at sea, I crawled onto the shore, dripping blood and tangled in seaweed.

“Holy shit, bro!” It was Renaldo, running toward me from his usual post at the bottom of the employee ramp. “That was badass! I’ve never had the balls to jump off the pier.”

Renaldo saw my arm.

“Oh fuck, the pier took a bite out of you. Damn.”

I tried to catch my breath.

“Dude, you’re hero of the day, man,” he said.

“They . . . threw . . . me . . . off,” I managed to say.

“Fuckin’ who?”

“Jocks.”

“Fucking jocks, man! The same ones from . . .”

I shook my head.

“Jesus, they’re everywhere. Dude, we gotta stop that bleeding.”

Renaldo tore the centerpiece heavy metal patch off the back of his jacket.

“Here, dude. Hold this over it.”

Renaldo wrapped the patch around the wound and squeezed.

“Owww!”

“I know, bro. But this’ll have to do.”

I looked down at the patch. It was for a singer named King and featured a medieval knight battling a dragon.

“Hold that tight.”

“I gotta go back to work.”

“Dude, you’re a mess. Fuck it.”

“No, I gotta.”

“Dude, your arm looks like a slice of pizza, and your face is fucked,” Renaldo said.

“Thanks, man. Seriously.”

I dripped my way back to Castle Pizza.

“Where the hell have you been? Why are you all wet? You’re not getting paid to fuckin’ swim,” Tony said.

“I got thrown off.”

Tony paused, closed his eyes, and nodded.

“Shit, kid. I’m sorry. It happens, ya know?”

No. I didn’t know.

“Where’s the guitar?”

“The ocean.”

“Shit. No offense, but you’re more replaceable than the pizza guitar.”

“None taken. It was true art.”

“So it’s a good thing we’ve got this,” Tony said and pulled out a cardboard pizza saxophone.

I was crushed. Now everyone walking by got a good laugh at the bleeding, wet kid blowing on a pizza sax. Everyone. It made me realize guitars are cooler than I thought.

Finally, Jack walked up.

“How’s it goin’ here?” he asked Tony.

“Not too good, look at the kid.”

“Damn. You got thrown off, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m surprised the lobsters didn’t take you in as one of their own.”

Tony and Jack laughed. I could have used some sympathy. I was used to not getting any, but I’d hoped that could change.

“I hit the pier.”

I tried to peel back part of the patch covering the wound but it had already bonded to my flesh.

“Gross, kid. You should go home and take care of that.”

“No, I want to work.”

Jack raised an eyebrow and nodded at me.

“What do you want to do? Can’t sell food with a gaper like that.”

“I got customers,” Tony said and ducked out.

“I want to work in the Castle, people are crazy out here on the pier,” I told Jack.

“The Castle, huh. Well, are you crazy?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Kid, I’m crazy. That’s why I’m here. So you must be crazy, too.”

“I promise I’ll be good in there.”

Jack squinted.

“It’ll cost you.”

“How much? I don’t have any money really.”

“Price of admission is your mind.”

“Please take it away from me. I don’t need it.”

“Okay, kid. I’ll give you a Castle job, but it’s no safer in there than out here. It’s worse.”

“I can take it.”

“And it’s not going to be what you think. It’s a lot bigger drop from up there,” he said, pointing up at the Castle.

“Just please give me a shot.”

“Alright. I will. But it’s not ’cause you don’t need makeup to look like a weirdo,” Jack said, laughing.

“I’m good with that.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. And if anyone asks, tell ’em you’re eighteen.”

5

Jack led me past the ghosts and ghouls smoking cigarettes in back of the Castle. The dude who played Satan stopped me.

“Hey, can I get two slices?” he said in full makeup.

“He’s busy,” Jack said.

That’s right I’m fucking busy. I ignored him and followed the real boss of monsters.

Jack opened the Castle door and held it for me.
 

“Bet ya didn’t know Hell had a back door, huh? Leave it to me to make one!” Jack said as he backslapped me into the Castle. A blast of trapped heat escaped out the door as a variety of customers’ screams could be heard a few thin walls away.

“I hope you like it hot, Dono!”

Dono? Jack said it with ease, as though it had been my long-standing nickname. I couldn’t remember anyone giving me another name that wasn’t an insult.

Jack took me down a dimly lit corridor. It wasn’t painted with bloody stone like the rest of the Castle I had seen. Instead, raw sheets of water-stained plywood were held in place by casually hammered nails. Local rock show and keg party flyers peeled off the walls. Wiring for the occasional light bulb was exposed along the ceiling and flickered every time a decent-sized wave hit the pier columns below. When I went through the castle as a plebe, I thought the dimming was part of the effect.

We entered the makeup room, a low-ceilinged plywood room covered in graffiti, jokes about staff members, fake epitaphs, and heavy metal logos. Jack tossed me a dark-brown druid robe, the same that I had seen so many in the Castle wear.

“Here’s your uniform. Keep this on the whole time you’re here so everyone knows you’re a part of the Castle and not some punk.”

“A part of the Castle . . .” The phrase echoed in my head. It was really happening. An outsider on the inside.

“Normally, you’re supposed to wear some black around your eyes and fill in the rest with white, but that sunburn looks scarier than anything in here,” Jack said with a laugh as big as his gut.

Oh, yeah, the sunburn. I was too pumped to remember how much pain I was in.

“I can handle it,” I said and threw the robe on. It was itchy and had a built-in stench of sweat, smoke, and beer.

Jack pointed to the makeup table. Eight chairs sat in front of a wide mirror with light bulbs lining it.

“Help yourself. Everyone does their own makeup.”

I stepped up to the table and dug two fingers into a tin of Pure Black and circled my eyes. While I was working it in, Jack broke down the Castle’s ins and outs.

“Couple things to know about working here,” he said, pulling up a chair and a drink. “Show up on time. If you’re sick, come to work. If you’re really sick, call me. Don’t fuck off too much, I’m not an idiot. I know what goes on here but just don’t take it too far.”

I wanted to ask, “What really does go on here?” but pretended to know what he was talking about.

“Also, you have to stay within the Castle walls and the break area right out back. No walking the pier in costume. You know the deal there. And I’m surprised how important I need to make this next one but some people . . . if you see any mushrooms in the Castle, do not eat them. They’re not the trippy kind. They’ll make you see God, you just won’t be coming back!” Jack let out another laugh. “But seriously. Don’t eat that shit.”

“Got it,” I said, reaching for the tin of Clown White face paint, smearing it around the rest of my face.

“Also, as you might have noticed, this place has seen better days. It’s not the monsters that’ll kill you here—it’s the building. If you’re not careful, it’s a death trap. Flights of stairs in dark, confusing twists and turns,” he said as the lights flickered. “The electrical. Everything.”

I finished the makeup by adding a couple touches of black to make a downturned mouth. I looked in the mirror and smiled as much as the makeup was frowning.

“Great job, here’s your mop,” Jack said, handing it over.

“A mop? Shouldn’t I have a scythe or, like, an axe?”

“You’re the new Castle custodian, Dono.”

“Wait, what?”

“You wanted a job in the Castle, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well . . .”

“No, I’m in. I just thought—” I said when Jack cut me off.

“Here’s your walkie-talkie. Strap it on your pants under your robe. Now, there are multiple codes we use to discreetly identify situations that need attention. It’s your job to respond to some of these codes.”

“Codes?” Yeah, codes? Walkie-talkies? Mops? How is any of this spooky?

“Codes, Dono. Still up for this?”

“Yeah, totally.” It was more true than not.

Jack went through all the various codes to know. Codes for hurt cast members, hurt customers, overly scared customers, and more.

“Cast members get hurt?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah, a lot of people’s reaction to a good scare is a punch in the face. Sometimes more.”

“What do I do?”

“I’ll take care of that. Just stay on your toes. But the next codes apply to you more directly than others.”

“Okay.”

“They’re easy to remember. There’s Code Yellow, Green, and Brown. Code Yellow, this happens multiple times a day. Someone pissed in the Castle. The plebes are drunk and stuck in a forty-five-minute maze so they just piss in any dark corner. If there’s carpet, throw the cleaner down. If it’s not carpet, use the mop.”

Jack picked up a plastic Castle Dunes cup, took a slug, and let out a “Woo!”
 

“Now Code Green, that’s puke. Same people. Do about the same thing. Then there’s Code Brown.” Jack sighed. “Bummer, but it happens.”

“Like, people shit in the Castle?”

“There’s so many dark areas in the Castle, you can’t imagine what people do. A Brown? Two reasons. One, the food on the pier. Man, it’s gotten me a couple times.”

Jack took another swig.

“And two, you’ve heard the expression ‘scared shitless’?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not just an expression. And if you shit your pants, you aren’t going to take them off in a horror maze. No, you’re going to shit-limp all the way out, leaving a trail that tumbled out your pant leg. Follow the trail.”

“Follow the trail.”

“You got it. There’s one last one, Code Gold.”

“Gold?”

“That means go behind Dracula’s mantel, where he waits to appear in the main room. He sits on the other side of that portrait all day, waiting for groups to enter. He’s the longest-running cast member. You might have seen him in the commercials.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Have you met him yet?”

“Kinda.”

“He’s an asshole, huh?”

I didn’t know how to respond.

“Well, he’s the star of this place. People love it when they see the same guy from the commercials, and as a result, he gets some special considerations. Like Code Gold.”

“Sounds cool.”

“It means, go get the bucket from him and empty it out.”

“What’s in the bucket?”

“Pee.”

“Why does he pee in a bucket?”

“It’s the only post in the whole Castle that cannot be abandoned. He brings you into the whole experience, sets the tone. No one cares if the Haunted Forest is vacant. But you can’t drop the ball at tip-off so he’s . . . important. But to answer your question, I have no goddamn idea.”

I thought I was graduating from the pizza guitar to something more. Not cleaning and removing bodily fluids from the Castle. But, fuck it, it was still the Castle and that was enough.

“Code Gold, empty the bucket. Gotcha.”

“He might make other requests but those are up to your own discretion.”

I let out a puff of air through my nose and nodded.

“Stay on channel one on the walkie. When you’re not responding to codes, I want you roaming between the walls, the storage rooms, anything considered backstage. Look for dead rats. There’s traps all over. If you see a dead one, throw it in your sack, reset it, and put another piece of cheese down.”

“Like real rats?”

“Hell yeah, real ones. This place has got more real rats than fake ones.”

One of the most unforgettable rooms in the Castle involved rats both fake and real. You walked into the room and stepped across a plexiglass floor that was crawling with real rats under it. Then the room goes dark and you feel rats on your feet and legs but those are the fake ones. Jack told me that the problem began when the rats once chewed through their contained area and multiplied in legion. This worked for the Castle most of the time—customers were horrified at the “realistic” props. But it really grossed everyone out who worked there and knew, and was surrounded by, the truth.

“Gotta clean ’em up or this place starts reeking death. And I mean that in a bad way,” Jack said.

A group of screams erupted a wall away. I processed my shrouded custodial duties by thinking I would be the most terrifying character in the whole place. Who else would smell like bleach and have a sack of dead rats over their shoulder?

“If you get lost, any hallway will get you where you’re going, it just might take a while. Dig it?”

“Thanks, Jack, seriously.”

Jack slapped me on the back again.

“Thank me later if you still want to. Now get to work.”

In the employee passageways between the rooms, there was a rat trap every ten feet. Each one was occupied. I quickly developed a routine of using a pooper-scooper and my foot to release each rat and toss it into the bag. Then I’d spring the trap back and lay down some American cheese. I was at it for so long that the cheese started looking good.

While creeping the interior walls, I came across one of the spooky red windows everyone sees. Seen from the other side, they weren’t spooky at all. It was just some red plastic that was held up with rusty staples. A light bulb in the center of it mimicked a candle. These were all over the Castle. I stared through the murky red window while screams and laughter passed through the room on the other side.

It was the Dungeon room, a set piece–centered room where mannequins tortured one another. To add a scare to the room, a zombie dude hid near the red window, jumping out at people who thought the room was empty. It looked like a dream job. I stood there and watched for twenty minutes. The rats weren’t getting any deader.