Page 2 of The Monster of Darkspell Comics

Fanny

“ F anny Yang?” The barista calls my name, her nose scrunching slightly.

I force a polite smile to my lips, trying not to wince at the way she butchered my name as I push through the crowd to retrieve my coffee, dropping a couple of quarters into the tip jar.

It’s the last of my cash, but the lure of coffee is too hard to resist. The liquid nearly scalds my tongue in a satisfying way as I take a sip, and I hum with pleasure as I scope out the mall.

Hellscape Mall. Weirdest name for a mall that I’ve ever heard of, but I guess it’s on theme for a small town in the middle of the desert named Death Canyon City.

That said, for its name, I would have expected something a bit creepier in appearance.

Bright fluorescent colors of the lit-up signs distract from the yellowish paint used on the walls so that the nicotine stains from their numerous smoking customers aren’t so noticeable.

Frankly, it looks much like any other mall I’ve been to.

The food court itself is a riot of eye-bleeding colors slapped disharmoniously together and is filled with smells that make my stomach grumble in complaint even as I try to silence it with another, larger, sip of coffee.

The coffee will have to do for now, at least until the mall closes.

Afterward, I can break into one of the kitchens to find something to satisfy my belly.

I’m not particularly proud that I have to resort to stealing food, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do.

It’s better than the alternative. I have nothing against the girls who peddle their wares at the street corners in the bigger towns and cities I’ve been through, but I’d much rather just steal what I need rather than resort to that method of feeding myself.

There is a lot my parents believe about me ever since I decided to eschew family traditions and started living my life, some of which ended up being true, but I’ll be damned if I make that one a reality.

I try to make the coffee last as long as possible as I wander around but, all too soon, I’m down to the last bit in the paper cup.

I down the rest and give the cup an unhappy sigh before tossing it in the trash can.

Pulling my hot pink scrunchy out, I sweep my hair back into a tight, high ponytail at the top of my head and secure it once more.

The feathery ends of my old perm tease my neck as my head tips, and I peer at the sign with a maniacally grinning, cartoon coyote.

Coyote’s End Funhouse. I chuckle to myself.

Okay, not bad. That is a bit morbid. Moreover, the smell of cheap pizza, cigs, and booze, and the scream of what I assume is children’s laughter do little to counter the ominous feeling the arcade gives me.

It emanates from the place like a thick haze that sends a little shiver up my spine. Not bad at all.

Okay. Perhaps this mall wasn’t quite like other malls.

Though it’s obviously subtle, I dig the dark atmosphere.

Very rock and roll. As busy as it appears to be, it also looks like a good spot to hole up for the day.

It’s unlikely that anyone will notice me loitering there with all that madness going on inside.

Nor is anyone likely to notice when I slip into the restroom to wait it out while the mall closes.

That’s my regular method, and it seldom fails me.

Deeply breathing in the riot of smells, I step inside as if I belong there.

Just another paying customer. Music fills the air that is pleasantly creepy in tone despite its somewhat jovial lyrics.

A game nearby lets out a death scream that makes me jump, and I clench a hand to my chest and laugh. Wow, this place is great!

Noting a family vacating their spot, I slide in and lick my lips as I examine the untouched slices remaining on the pan.

They are stone cold and there isn’t much left over.

Even the soda remaining in the pitcher looks flat as hell, but I’m not going to scorn my good fortune.

Grabbing a slice, I take a healthy bite, my eyes following the movement of the people around me.

As expected, no one even looks my way, much less approaches me.

I find a few coins and play some games, all of which have a surprising monstrous theme.

It’s enough to keep me entertained until I see my cue to tuck into my hiding place.

Families are packing up, and the older children who were dropped off are slowly detaching from the place and melting back into the mall.

It won’t be much longer now.

I slip into the bathroom, and I immediately gag.

It smells disgusting, like someone recently puked in here.

It’s entirely bogus, but I ignore it as I duck into a stall.

Sitting on the toilet, I prop my feet on the stall’s closed door in front of me and slide my backpack off.

I immediately put it in my lap and unzip the top to pull my headphones out.

It only takes me a minute to rifle through my coveted mixtapes before I select my favorite and slide it into my Walkman’s tape-deck.

I smile and lean my head back on the wall behind me as the world is muffled out by my music.

I spent tireless hours making each tape, perched next to my boombox just waiting for the right songs to come on the radio so that I could record them.

My music had resulted in the first major blowout—the first of many—between me and my parents.

Demon music, they called it, their eyes rounding worriedly as they turned it off at every opportunity as if that would somehow miraculously make my love for it vanish.

My nose wrinkles disdainfully at the memory. Demon music. Ha! The joke is on my parents because if demons like rock and roll, then they can’t be that bad as far as I’m concerned.

My foot bounces a little in time with the music, my head bobbing. I pause and frown, moving one headphone off my ear when I think I hear a strange sound. I shrug when it doesn’t repeat and plop it back into place. Whatever, man.

I stay in that putrid stall for an hour or two, waiting until long after the last of the lights have gone out before I make my move.

Zipping my backpack mostly closed, leaving just enough room for my headphone cords to have some give to it, I shoulder my backpack and slip out of the bathroom with a relieved sharp inhale of fresh-ish air.

As fresh as a pizza-arcade joint in the mall can be, anyway.

Humming along with the music, I make my way from the restrooms in the back through the labyrinth of games.

I am briefly debating whether or not I want to dip into the kitchen here to look for more filling sustenance or hunt something out a little quicker and easier someplace else when I feel a strange tickle at the back of my neck.

Stopping in my tracks, my eyes sweep around the arcade warily.

It feels like I’m being watched. Creepy, I can handle.

Creepy, I love. Being watched in a darkened arcade, abandoned for the night, goes straight from creepy to hell no.

“Yeah... no, I’m out,” I whisper, my gaze making for the entrance. Surprisingly, the grate at the entrance is still wide open to the dark interior of the mall. I feel a prickle of unease as I book it out of there.

The soles of my funky ankle boots scuff just a little too loudly as I race for the entrance, and my heart slams a staccato rhythm in my chest. A terrible, unnatural sound that I can’t quite identify rises behind me as if something is rising out of the gloom to hunt me.

I desperately want to scream, but I swallow it back as I slide gracelessly out the door.

Just as quickly as it started, the sound cuts off, leaving the entire mall silent except for the sound of my pulse thrumming loudly in my ears and the faint music from my headphones banging out the rhythm of one of my favorite songs from where they now hang loose around my neck.

Biting back a nervous laugh, I give Coyote’s End Funhouse one last fleeting look before striking back into the mall again.

My stomach rumbles loudly, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything all day except the meager slices of cold pizza.

Food it is, and then I will explore a bit before finding a suitable place to bed down.

That’s one thing about malls. If you are sharp enough to evade security, it is a hell of a safer spot to sleep than out there on the street.

I slink at a more unhurried pace down the dark hall, picking up my pace momentarily when I come nearer to a store called Forgotten Antiquities.

The antique store, which only gave me a pleasant buzz of something vaguely horror-esque in the light of day, feels even more threatening in the gloom as if something is rattling dangerously inside.

Not one to commit dumb horror movie cliches, I run past it and don’t stop until I turn out from the hall into the main part of the mall again.

The aura of the place is a bit more settled here even if the carousel looms like something from an abandoned carnival, casting long, monstrous shadows.

It overshadows the food court just beyond it.

I give the carousel horse with oddly sharp-looking teeth a wide berth as I make my way back into the midst of the food court.

Taking my place at the center, I survey my options.

The Good Char is the closest to my right.

I peer at it speculatively, the smell of hot dogs and grease clinging to the air.

It looks promising. Pulling a small hatchet from my backpack that doubles as a deterrent for those with less than innocent intentions for me, I smash the lock with the back end of the blade and lift the security grate just high enough to squeeze through before lowering it again.

The scent of food is deliciously thicker inside, but I can’t seem to figure out how to work the grill, which has a menacing aura to it, anyway.

Stepping close to it feels like walking to the edge of an abyss.

There is an unnatural heat to it, as if the fires are lit and burning, though it seems to be off.

The haunted grill is out, then. I consider the deep fryer for only a minute before I realize that it’s fruitless without the batter to fry a dog.

Batter that I obviously have no clue how to make.

Cue the sad violin. I give it a disappointed look but leave The Good Char to raid the bakery across the way instead.

Upon giving its lock the same treatment, I come up with a few forgotten stale donuts for my trouble.

Shoving one in my mouth, I wander further into the mall to find a relatively comfortable place to crash.

It’s safer than sleeping on the street, and I’m locked in here until sun-up, anyway.

Heading down another hall, I pause in front of a comic book store.

Although the outward-facing shelves are lined with horror comics, there is an orderly sort of quiet to it that seems almost inviting.

It could be the fact that an entire corner is left empty for an enormous fern that’s obviously been babied to grow to such proportions despite the limited store space—which, in a mall, is always at a premium.

Smiling, I “let myself in.” This looks like a good place to bunk down for the night.

A thousand apologies for the lock, but at least I can anticipate sleeping well tonight.