(There's not as much "action" in this episode, because it's one of the most elaborate "setups" I've written - and you should've seen how long it ran before I took a shot at editing it!
Eventually, a few readers may ask me halfway nicely to post Part 2... and Part 3.)
I stand at the door of my truck, waving, as the Evanstons drove off. They own the place.
As soon as their camper disappears around the first curve, I dive in the cab and light a cigarette. Whew. Finally...
Reaching for the ignition switch, I remember my hammock.
"Dammit," I say to the steering wheel. That's the thing I've been trying to remember. If I leave it where it is, whoever stays there next will assume it belongs there. Or I can just take a minute now to get it.
So I start my truck and go back to the nurse's cabin. I pull around and park near the door. There's a gentle slope, so I just go ahead and kill the engine.
It's just about the end of a fairly beautiful day. My third summer of being a camp counselor was over, and it had been the best year yet. The whole place is so peaceful now with everybody gone.
I get my keys out... but when I start working the lock, the door moves a little.
Open?
Huh. That's not like Maury. Good thing I came back for the hammock. The cabin would've been unlocked all winter...
And it's a nice one. Older, sure, and the plumbing sucks. Low flow, if I remember correctly. But it's not drafty. The nurse, who isn't coming back next year, borrowed my hammock. She's engaged, which is a shame, really.
I wouldn't mind living here at all. Fireplace, kitchenette. I got drunk for the first time in here. Good times.
Right after I unhook the bottom of the hammock, I hear the door move behind me. Creaking -
I watch it close. All by itself.
Somebody chuckles.
"Terry," a voice says.
I freeze. That isn't Maury's voice. He would've been yelling at me already about smoking in here...
But I'm alone. The voice seemed to be a meter away, give or take -
"Who's there?"
A pause. "My name is Checkmate."
Odd. I've never hallucinated before.
"You look like you could use a drink."
Part of me is ready to run for the door. Curiosity, though...
"One sec. Okay?" Male voice. Maybe my age.
"Uh..."
"Don't go."
The door opens.
I should get out, though. Down to my core I know it. Forget the hammock. Yeah, I start walking. There's something weird happening, and I don't think it's all in my head. If I'd hadn't come back, I'd be almost on the highway by now.
When I'm about a meter from getting the hell out of there, a bag flies in.
The door slams.
"Hey," I say to it.
"Scotch okay?"
I look at the bag. A bottle is snaking out.
And a pack of cigarettes. What the hell?
"No thanks," I say, backing up. This situation has gotten scary, booze or no booze.
"Please? I really want to talk to you."
I move to the side, getting ready to run for the door. If it doesn't open, I don't know what I'm going to do next -
A hand lays down on my right shoulder.
I can't see it.
"What are you?" I blurt.
"There's no quick answer for that one. Let's go with 'jinn.' It's a long story."
The bottle is being uncapped.
A cupboard opens. I watch a glass float out, and a saucer. They land on a table, which suddenly scoots over alongside the hammock. The end I unhooked cruises back up. Gets a tug or two.
"C'mere," the voice says. Friendly... but that was still a command.
I look back at the door. Having no idea what's in here with me, I decide that I'm probably not gonna make it to my truck if the invisible dude gets testy. Better humor him for now. Have a drink. Keep him happy.
"Yeah," I say. "Thanks."
"You'll stay?"
Like I have a choice, I think. The door is shut, and I have no idea what's really in here with me. Invisible voice, pleading with me to stay and talk. It knew my name. Sure.
Ah. It's a daydream. Something like that. Whew.
I relax a little. Curious, and definitely feeling like... a trap has already been sprung. I look at the booze and cigarettes waiting for me.
"Okay."
The voice laughs happily as I sit on the hammock. The glass rises up to the bottle, which pours...
"Whoa," I bark. "Way too much."
"Riiiight." It floats closer, waiting. So I take it.
A pack of cigarettes is being opened. Magic. Fascinating. Obscurely dangerous, too.
"I've been hanging around here for ten years or so," the voice says.
"Sorry. What was the name again?"
"Checkmate. And you're Terrence Charles Russo," he says. "Camper, until three years ago. Now a counselor."
I have the weirdest feeling... "How do you know so much about me?"
Pause. "I don't want to scare you, or anything... but you've been fun to watch." A snicker or two. "Chuckles."
Oh... shit.
I'm definitely scared now.
About five years back, I flirted with a girl by tickling her. Her cabin got me back but good. I didn't even know I was that ticklish. They had me too limp to move within five minutes. Another girl went and got her brother. He brought his best friend. They all worked me over for an endless fifteen minutes. If Maury hadn't heard me laughing, it looked pretty certain that they would've tickled me for a lot longer.
"Chuckles" was my nickname for two years. Her brother jumped me a couple times, the next year, but thankfully he didn't plan ahead and the attacks only lasted a minute or two before my buddies pulled him off.
The voice, with the invisible hands, knew about that!
"Yeah, that was stupid kid stuff," I say carelessly, sipping at the booze. Good stuff.
A cigarette floats out of the pack, and I watch it sneak between my fingers. "I thought you were cool, even before that. Here." A lighter cruises to me.
"Uh..." I nod, lean forward, and it fires up.
That looks familiar.
A lighter, hanging in the air, burning my smoke.
"Last year," I finally remember, exhaling. "Utility shed. You?"
"Yeah."
I had my liberty weekend, but naturally I was hanging around the camp. After I checked on the barracks one more time, I got shitfaced. Smoked like a fiend. I'd brought a sleeping bag and a mosquito net out to the old utility shed. It was a good ten minutes away from the camp buildings, and half fallen down.
I was too drunk to remember how the lighter worked... and it had been tugged out of my hand. igniting, and creeping back to the end of my cigarette. While I gaped.
It hadn't seemed as if I was that drunk.
A while later I tried to sit up, and fell. I started getting up again, more carefully - and a hand pushed me in the chest. Stay.
A beer was stuck in my hand. Cigarettes came, and the lighter. Water bottles, too, and I wasn't sure I'd even remembered to bring water.
"Gotta piss," I mumbled at one point. "Dammit..." That time, when I tried to get up, hands got me by the arms. I was hustled a few steps away, my cigarette was stuck between my teeth... and somebody stood me up until I finished pissing. Then they walked me back and laid me down again. And even that sloshed, I was sure the hands were invisible. But I thanked him. It. Whatever.
It had to be a weird dream. I had no trouble convincing myself that it was all made up. Shit like that didn't really happen...
In the morning I saw two empty cigarette packs. One wasn't even my brand. It was also more than I'd ever smoked at one time. My chest hurt the next day.
"So you've been watching."
"Glad to help," Checkmate shoots back. "You're a good guy. You even thanked me, there. In the shed. I came really close to talking to you that night, but you were so shitfaced. Hey, that reminds me."
The bag on the counter shifts again.
A fat joint floats toward me.
"No, now, this is... look, thanks, but I don't smoke pot."
"Aaaw," the voice teases. "I'll just set it right here. When you change your mind - and you could stand to loosen up today."
"The camp's all closed up now. Work's all done."
"And it's quiet now," Checkmate says.
"Yup."
"Just you and me here."
"I oughta get going, myself."
"Naaah," it says easily. "Stick around. I don't bite."
"So you're a ghost?"
"Nope. Wind-spirit, some would probably say. Order of the hawk feather. I'm not sure, really."
"And you stalk kids?"
Laughter. "You're not a kid anymore. What else is there to do, out here? I like the peace and quiet."
I can relate - but immediately I think I don't want to sympathize with it at all.
It's really good scotch. And I'm nervous. Just sipping at it takes effort...
"Where are you headed?" it asks.
"Well - home," I say. "Altoona."
"Anybody waiting for you?"
"No." And wow, that's a real stupid thing to say. Real bad. "Well, there's this girl..." I shrug.
"Yeah, I bet she's a 'maybe.' You could just go on a road trip, and nobody would really worry at all."
"Well -"
"Or," it teases, "you could just stay here."
"Huh?"
"Nobody else is comin' around now."
I look at the door again. Dammit. "Yeah, like that'll work."
"There's so many things I wanna... learn."
Danger. Shit!
"I'll be back next year," I say hesitantly. "Tell you what. I'll head back a couple days early. We can party -" Dammit, another stupid thing to say.
Checkmate laughs. "Why wait?"
Fingers close around mine, raising the glass.
"No."
"We got a great opportunity here. Nobody else around. Booze, weed - and you need to enjoy yourself, Terry. You've earned it."
I rear back -
"And I know how you like to drink."
Hands grab my shoulders. Steady my head.
"Knock it off!"
"Chug," the voice laughs. "Chug, chug, chug."
There's at least a couple ounces of scotch left in the glass. "No, stop. Too much."
"Chug!"
A pair of gloves zip up. Black satin. Short. I think they were in the costume chest. They've been cleaned, though. Real shiny.
They pry my jaws open.
"Naaaaa-urg!"
"Chug it... Chuckles."
Yeah, I just know I'm doomed.
"Dammit!" I shout, after coughing awhile. "I can't drive now." And it hits me - that's exactly what Checkmate wanted.
"Stay here," it says immediately. "You've gotten drunk in this cabin before. Hang out." That last couple of words is another quiet command.
I'm already feeling the booze kick in. Gotta get away from this maniac. Having nothing else around, I hold the glass up to my mouth and stick a finger down my throat.
"Hey," Checkmate says.
I almost manage to bring up the scotch -
A glove grabs my hand. Pulling it down. "Don't do that. Gross."
"I gotta get out of here," I say desperately. "Let go of me. That's too much booze..." And I shut up again. Shit, I won't be able to walk across the room, much less drive away from this stalker.
"You're not gonna throw up in here."
I start getting up. "Bathroom, then. Kitchen sink."
"Terry. Sit down." Hands shove me back. "Have another smoke. There's enough alcohol in your system already to make you dangerous, on the road. Right?"
"Naaaah, not yet."
"Bullshit. Don't risk it." A cigarette comes to me, and then the lighter. "Just smoke. Calm down."
The room is spinning already. I lay back down.
"Yeah," Check says. "Dude, I'm not gonna let you leave... uh, in this condition."
The joint floats up.
And I hear the voice laugh.
I'm yelling, and trying to roll around. Too drunk.
My left arm is pulled up.
"Stay," it mocks me -
A thin black leather glove parks itself above my hand. Something a lot like a thumb presses down hard, and suddenly I'm staring at this indentation that just appeared a couple inches below my damn palm. My fingers unclench.
The glove is worked down over my hand. It curls my fingers into a fist, and lets 'em relax...
"Oh, you're a goner," it giggles.
I pull hard, but the glove reaches up. Finds the hammock webbing - and locks my fingers around the nylon.
"Not going anywhere now."
"Check. Dammit, I don't want to stay here tonight."
"That's the booze talking." It pulls my right arm up and peels my fingers open, forcing a glove on that hand too. It meets up with the other glove and grabs the hammock.
I can't budge my hands.
Another cigarette floats over.
"This is crazy," I complain. "Let me go."
"I'll take care of everything. You're my guest now. Gonna have some fun. And to make sure..."
The door opens. I pull at the hammock as hard as I can.
Almost immediately, something else floats in.
"Hey. Look what I found!"
New half-inch rope.
It had the rope just outside the door. Waiting...
Nothing I say or do makes it even pause. My wrists, ankles and waist get tied to the hammock.
"So much left over," Checkmate says.
"Dammit. Stop!" I take an angry drag.
"I know."
My sneaker is pulled off.
"Oh no, oh no, oh shit, don't."
The voice laughs. Eases off my other shoe. Both socks.
The rope loops around my ankles a few times - lower than the knots that are holding my legs tight to the hammock. Pulling good and snug. "Got a pocketknife?"
My belt is unbuckled.
"Son of a bitch," I hiss. "In my pocket. Not th-there."
My fly unbuttons. "Oh. Right."
A hand slides in my left pocket -
And another one sneaks into my right.
They rub my thighs.
"Nooooo hah hah hah," I wail, twisting this way and that. The rope holds depressingly well.
"What's up with you?"
"Dammit. You already know. Big deal, I'm ticklish."
The hands freeze.
"Oh, yeah," Checkmate says, sounding relieved. "You're really ticklish."
I hate that word. And when it's said like that... almost a mean note in its voice, and no sympathy whatsoever.
Confirming the worst, though. I have a real fear of getting tickled, after all those kids piled on me. Luckily it doesn't come up real often. I can usually get away with whatever I want. Do what I want to do.
The knots are holding. This is... Somehow I slipped into a real frickin' nightmare. An invisible ghost cornered me, got me drunk. I've never been tied up before in my life. This bastard planned all of this.
The absolute worst thing that somebody could say to me, in this situation - nothing else would even come close - is "you're really ticklish."
The friendly voice with the invisible hands has my arms and legs roped. It can pounce anytime. I've handed it a golden opportunity to do... what it's watched others do to me.
Hands grab my shoulders. Friendly, rather than menacing.
"This is crazy!" I beg. "Don't do this, aw hell, just don't -"
"Dude, you should see your face right now. Totally calm and collected, five minutes ago, but now you figured out something scary. I'll tell you something important if you tell me something back. Okay?"
Checkmate sounds so innocent, sometimes. It baffles the shit out of me. I'm trembling, but I nod once.
"I decided, on the spur of the moment, to wait for three signs. To make sure, or maybe to give you a chance - to make it interesting. It wasn't enough that you're the last one here, or that you walked into this cabin by yourself. The guy from camp I like most. See, I wanted this to be perfect. So I made myself wait..."
A leather glove floats over my face. Driving glove? No trim on the outside. New and smooth.
The index finger shoots up. "If nobody will miss him, that's sign number one."
"What the hell," I complain. "That's not what I said."
"You tried to lie, after you answered the question. I know you, Terry. Been watching you for years. You were lying. There's no girl waiting. I really expected a bunch of people to be waiting for you to get back. Everybody likes you here. That's why I made that the first sign. See?"
"No."
The floating leather hands make a fist slowly, uncurls, does it again. All excited. "It was too good to be true! Of course you had a job waiting back home, or a big family reunion. Maybe you'd changed your mind about starting college. People would be worried. The police would be out here in a day or two, checking each building..."
I close my eyes. "A day or two?" There's no response. "You watched me get, uh, messed with for fifteen minutes. Right?"
"Uh-huh. Maybe twenty."
"That's how it's done," I bark. "Dammit. People get... t-tickled for just a few -"
"You even hate saying the word," it interrupted. "You got worked over until Maury rescued you. Or your buds, later. And they're not here now."
"You don't have idea how insane -"
My cigarette is yanked, and a hand slips over my mouth.
"You're." It pushes a little. "really." Another push. "Ticklish." Checkmate said that last word as if it was the best word ever.
It sounds like it's been dreaming of this day for a long time.
The hand makes me nod slowly.
Begging and bargaining are not going to work. I totally get that now. There is no way to get Checkmate to stop. Somehow that certainty calms me down. Worrying about saying the right thing to get out of this fades right away.
Obvously I'm going to get tickled, here, whether I believe it or not.
"But why should it have to end," Checkmate says, "after fifteen or twenty minutes? Huh?"
The hand peels off my mouth. I see another cigarette come over.
"Aw... no."
"Your heart rate just went up. Again."
"Too much. Crazy. I'll go nuts, I'm warning you."
Sinister laughter, deep and easy, is coming from right over my chest.
That sets me off. I flail around in the hammock. "Help! HAAAALLLLLPPP! No tickling, no no no no, not when I'm tied down! Locked in here! C'mon, you can't, please, pleeeeeeze, somebody get your ass in here. This is impossible!"
"No one can help you."
"Noooooooo -"
"Ever been tickled for an hour straight, Terry?"
I feel like screaming. Shit, I just can't stand to think about it. Gotta get out of here somehow. Bust the ropes.
But immediately I'm mad at myself. I know better. This is a done deal.
I came back to this cabin - by myself - to get my hammock. And an invisible, playful phantom, or something, saw its big chance. A bastard who'd been shadowing me for years, with one thing in mind.
Thorough tickling. Overdrive tickling.
Checkmate is genuinely thrilled.
"This sucks." I lift my head to get to the lighter, tugging hard. "You weren't really watching... uh, looking for a chance to -"
"Aw, you have no idea. I can't believe it's really happening either. Who came back to this cabin - the last one to leave for the season? Not just any ticklish moose. You."
"Somebody's gonna figure it out," I say.
"When?"
I start to say, uh, something. But damn...
"Yeah," it chuckles.
Shit! "Get real," I sneer. "Maury just saw me here. They'll check here first."
"I'm thinking, a few postcards," Checkmate says immediately. "Hey, Evanstons, greetings from Florida. And then Texas. Mexico? There are other ways to misdirect 'em too. You still think they're ever gonna dream that you're locked in the tickle cabin?"
"I can't take this," I sigh. "Telling you right now. Not me. I mean, not that."
Checkmate makes a dismissive, yet friendly noise. "What were we talking about?"
"You're not listening to me, and if you don't shut up I swear I'm g-"
The glove lays its palm over my belly-button. I tense right up. Oh, shit, here it comes.
"There's no rush now," Checkmate says quietly. "None at all. And all this talking is having an effect. You can't see it, Terry, but it's real obvious from out here. Gotta go with my instincts. I mean, that's working out phenomenally well so far."
"Please," I gasp.
"Sign number one - nobody's expecting Terry to show up." The glove floats up again, breaking contact. Whew! "Sign number two," and it flashes a peace sign, "is that you remembered me from the utility shed last year."
"Oh hell, no!" I buck as hard as I can. "I didn't - of course I just wrote that off as a really weird dream!"
"Dude. I took you outside and held you upright while you took a leak. Brought you more smokes. And water. That was some righteous-bro behavior. Huh? And not twenty minutes ago you brought it up. That night. Still wanna try to pretend you don't believe it was really me?"
I fish around for something to say. Finally I just sigh. "No."
"Alright. I came so close," it says, "to tickling you that night. Bringing some rope. Wow. You were so drunk, though, that I could tell the results wouldn't be... typical."
I shake my head. "What did I do that was so bad, to end up so supremely screwed?"
The glove sticks up another finger. "Sign number three. This incredibly cool, strong, hardy dude - who I've admired for so long - had to seal the deal himself. Sure, once you wandered in here today I could slam the door anytime and get busy. But this wonderful opportunity to have some fun - with Terry freakin' Russo, of all people, the big man in camp - was way too good to be true. I still can't believe it, dude. Not really. You drove up here and walked right in!"
"So. The sign," I sigh, feeling dizzy.
"The word you hate. Most of all, I guess, right about now." Lazy chuckles. I wait for more, bracing myself. "I was determined not to be the one to say it first. If it never came out... well, maybe the takedown I saw five years ago wasn't that big of a deal, maybe you'd moved on."
"I'm drunk, thanks to you, and I don't get what that has to do -"
"Ticklish." That shuts me up. "You said it first! And you didn't have to. You are trashed, aren't you, slick?" The voice comes closer, as if a person brought their face right up to mine. "Look. You come so unglued that it would've made total sense if you completely avoided that word. I remember just how overwhelmed and utterly crazy you were - and you changed the subject just right. Smooth. Got me talkin' about something else." It laughs - menacingly. "And the whole time I can hardly think of anything else except getting you ready, and tickling the piss out of you! Pour you a drink - make you slam it down - and there's my excuse to keep you here tonight. Tied down, so you don't make it out to the truck and drive away in this condition."
"Nooooo," I whine. Finally understanding how close I came to getting away...
"Yeah. You were just terrified, weren't you? Though you hid it real well. Stick around. Chuckles. I'm magic, and I'm just so fascinated with your worst weakness. Nobody knows you're in here, and you know damn well nobody's gonna find out. Not with that shitty path through the trees, not even a road, and no access from the lake. This is really the best possible place in the camp to have a ticklish guy locked up. Best building for miles around!"
"You're killin' me, here," I complain.
"So I drop plenty of hints, until you know exactly what I'm gonna do to you." It snickers. "I could've locked the door right after you walked inside. But no - I was really, truly prepared to drop hints all night long, with you tied to your hammock. And if you didn't say the magic word, I would've sent you on your way tomorrow morning."
"Liar. You lie," I moan. "This is so cruel, dammit -"
"The risk was worth it. It would've killed me to cut you loose... I mean, shit, there's never gonna be another opportunity like this! Not ever. The planets are all aligned or something, you just can't seem to catch a break here. And now I'm gonna get you real good."
"You can't be this serious. About this. C'mon."
"Pissed off at myself ever since last year. Letting you go," Checkmate says irritably. "The one and only Chuckles. Finally in my hands - well, if there had been a storage shed around that was private enough, I might just've marched you right into a whole mess of ropes that night. Ever since I saw you whooping there in the dirt, I've wanted to try what those kids were doing to you. Outdo 'em. All over your hide. I've waited years for this opportunity -"
"You gotta get s-somebody else. I can't go through this," I beg.
"Hmmm. There is this guy on the other side of the lake. He's about your age, used to play football. Really likes to get stoned now. If you had failed any of the signs - well, sure, he would've been tied up and getting high in here, as soon as I could manage it."
"Yeah, oh please, maybe he'll... like it," and I can barely get the word out. "He sounds good."
The glove pokes me in the chest. "You came this close to missing out. Scout's honor. I was thinking you were actually gonna avoid saying the T-word, even though it was clearly what you expected me to start doing any second. If you were so scared that you couldn't bring yourself to say it, even once... well, maybe that stoner was supposed to go through it instead of you. And there's always next year."
"You suck."
The finger jabs me one last time, and retreats. "'Big deal, I'm ticklish'. Drunk or not, worried and distracted and dreading it - I don't care. You confirmed it. Sealed your own fate. Right here."
"You've gotta call it off," I whine. "I'm serious."
"Nope. You're being incredibly cool about this, Terry. You're not wimping out at all! I saw the whole progression. What is this, how do I get out of here, is ol' Checkmate really suggesting it's gonna do what I think it's gonna do... Yeah. It's on now, baby! No getting out of it now. Guaranteed. And you're staying fairly calm."
"Waiting for my chance."
Laughter. "I've been thinking about this for five years. Watching you. Those kids enjoyed tickling you. So I wanted to try it. I wanted to do it better than they did. Way longer. I've had lots of time to make plans and more plans. Took the best parts and put 'em together -"
"Motion detectors," I blurt. Why did I say that out loud? So damn drunk.
There's a pause. "I know where to get 'em. Electronics store in Ashton, near the cigar shop. I bet I can get 'em here and set up before the sun comes up. Making real sure the party doesn't get interrupted, right? I thought maybe that would've been overkill, but you seem to have a real knack for tightening the noose around your own neck, so I'll get 'em t-"
"I gotta learn to shut my frickin' mouth."
Easy laughter.
"Mister Cool here is gonna become a wild animal when I finger his ribs for awhile. Basket case. Because of me. And he'll stay that way until I stop. Catches his breath, gets that hard expression again, like he's totally annoyed... smoke a couple cigs, drink some water - and one hard minute on his feet will turn him back into a cackling, thrashing mess. Until the next break."
I shiver. "It doesn't work like that."
"Yeah, it's gonna work exactly like that. With you. Maybe not on every dude, but -"
"I'm gonna lose my mind," I whine.
"Gotta trust me on that one," Checkmate laughs. "You won't miss out on any of the fun. And every indicator is going my way, slick."
"I know," I say miserably.
"Russo's in the house. Not just any ol' completely, hopelessly, violently, insanely, morbidly ticklish dude. Terry Russo. My inspiration, really. This could not be going any better!" it shouts. I hear a happy growl..."Grzynski is the only other counselor that even tempted me, really. He jacks off a lot. But I've seen that tough-guy expression of his just vanish when he was really worried. It would totally suck to have my prisoner blubbering uncontrollably after a few hours."
"I must've gone nuts already. Psychotic break," I mumble. "Maybe none of this is really happening."
"Huh?"
"Prisoner," I groan.
Happy, deranged laughter.
"I know," it says kindly. "You can't stand it. Hee hee. Now there's always the Norton brothers," it says, "down at the bar. No more than 22 or 23, boxers, cocky as the day is long -"
"Plan C?"
I hear a tongue-clicking noise. "Very good. Except I don't need them now."
The glove lays on my breastbone.
"They could be more fun. Than me. Twice the f-fun."
"Save it. I've seen you fall apart, Chuckles. And I've been thinking about this for five years. Now look who I've got in my hands."
I yawn. Nerves, or getting weary from pulling at the knots.
"Cool as a cat. Like it or not, there's nobody I want to tickle more."
Seems like a good time to say nothing at all. I take the next cigarette like a good little, uh, prisoner.
"You're not gonna let me down."
"Those locals are gonna be a lot more fun than me. Two of 'em at once? Boxers..."
Checkmate laughs at me.
"Please don't do this. Please."
"You sound so worried. Big guy like you... It's just tickling, dude. The way I want. Y'know, I think you're ready for a nap. Get all recharged. It's gonna get wild, aaaaa-all over you..."
My cigarette is taken away - and I look over to see the lighter igniting the tip of the joint.
"You don't know how unbearable it is," I say, slurring the words.
The joint comes to me. I throw my head around - getting dizzier - but hands grip my head.
"Toke," Checkmate mocks. "Toke, toke, toke."
It waits me out. After a minute I inhale without meaning to. Cough it back out...
I hold the third drag in for a couple seconds, though. Too drunk to stop myself.
By the time I remember why it's such a bad idea to get baked, the buzz is starting.
With no control left at all, I automatically toke up whenever the joint is stuck in my mouth. Altogether I end up with seven or eight real hits in me.
And I'm fading fast.
"No, no, dude," I sigh. "Check, right? You still here? Call it off."
"How do your hands feel? I tried not to tie the knots too tight."
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
I don't want to say it. Too scary. But I'm buzzed, and tied down real tight... and there's no doubt in my mind of what's coming. Dammit. "Tickle me."
"I've always been fascinated by that," Checkmate says. "Never tried it, myself."
That's why I'm trapped in here. No chance at all of somebody else wandering by. "Listen," I try to demand, "that's just... just sick. You don't wanna do that."
"Those kids looked happy when they tickled you good and hard. They were the winners. Once they had you pinned to the ground..."
"Do not do this."
"I like seeing you guys happy. But that's a different kind of fun. How will it feel to drive you that wild? Safely tied down, no other choice - just roaring, out of control, because of what I'm doing?"
I start to giggle.
"And another thing," it says, sounding excited. "You really looked distracted when you couldn't squirm anymore. But Maury interrupted the tickling... I've wondered, ever since then, what you'd do if it kept on going. Your body relaxed, though you really didn't want it to, and your laughter was almost silent. It seemed like the effect was just eating you alive. Growing. How wrecked will you be after thirty minutes of solid tickling? Sixty? Will you get even more unglued the second day? Every day?"
I try to protest - to beg - but I'm just too wigged out.
"How about after you jack off? Get high? And this is the perfect chance to find out, Terry. It's on, dude. I've got all these ideas. You sleep now - and tomorrow morning, when you're rarin' to go, I'm going to start tickling. Uh-huh. It would be so cool if I can keep on tickling until the sun goes down. And keep going. Lots more tickling. All I want."
The overhead light clicked off.
"I'll get more supplies. Sleep. Aw, I'm going to have so much fun when you wake up..."
My head is pounding.
The blinds are drawn. Really dark. That's keeping the headache at a tolerable level.
My wrists and ankles are still tied -
A bottle of water is on the table alongside me, already open. As I watch, it floats up. So does a pill bottle. Its lid pops off.
A glove coasts right to it. A variety of tablets and capsules spill into the glove's palm. I rear back -
Another glove races up and grabs my throat. A strong finger hooks over my teeth.
Down they go.
After I've drained the water, a cigarette comes to my mouth...
Two more follow right after the first one.
The refrigerator opens. I see an egg carton float out, then back bacon, potatoes.
Peelers and knives work quickly. A cast-iron frying pan lands on the stove. A match strikes, lighting the cooking gas.
A beer floats out of the refrigerator.
Hands make sure I drink most of it.
Then the invisible fingers get a much firmer grip on my head, and another joint comes up...
I'm so high.
Strong, too. Powerful.
"What were those pills?" I yell toward the frying pan.
No answer.
A plate of food, still steaming, is set on the edge of the counter.
The door opens.
My head whips around.
Big boxes are floating in.
About thirty plastic shopping bags follow behind.
The door isn't closed.
After it feeds me, big metal things are being assembled.
"Did you know," Checkmate says happily, "that there's a warehouse in East Brighton... full of shit like this?"
"Naturally," I sigh. "It just figures." That town's almost twenty miles from camp. It doesn't calm me down any to wonder how much weight Checkmate can carry that far. Or maybe it drove my truck -
"Apparently they ship it all over. Why they'd set up in the sticks, though, is a mystery to me."
"Internet," I say, feeling utterly defeated. Check doesn't answer. "Mail-order."
"It's proof."
"Proof of what?"
"Fate. You being here now. Me getting to the door before you were ready to take off." Check sounds amused at that idea. "This warehouse has stuff I never even imagined. Perfect... for my plans." I hear bolts being tightened. No tools required, apparently, for the great and powerful Checkmate. "I was amazed at the furniture - for restraining you - and so many other things. Useful. Exciting shit. Then I hit aisle 6. Terry, dude, you gotta picture it. Big shelves, stacked three high. Let's say... the size of this cabin. Times ten, easily. And all of the shelves are filled with the most incredible stuff."
I can't speak.
"You know what one shelf was labeled? The one with the feather-dusters and the motorized polishing brushes? 'TICKLE TORTURE 3.' Enough to fill all of the cupboards in here a couple times over. I'm not exaggerating -"
"Lemme go!" I wail.
"And when do I find this treasure? After you drive off for the season? No. Two months ago, when you're overloaded with camp duties?" It cracks up. Yeah, things just came together perfectly for Checkmate.
I can't delude myself any longer. Nothing will go wrong with every whim and idea it has, because now nothing can go wrong...
"I find this wonderland," it snickers, "a few hours after Terry Russo walked in, passed every sign, and is resting up for his first day of comprehensive tickling."
"Shit -"
"For real. Who would've suspected - I mean, they have stocks there. Satin gloves. Vibrators with rotating tips that have these little rubber nubs scientifically designed to tickle skin-creases like crazy! You want to know the name of the company that made a lot of this gear for your hardcore entertainment?"
"Stop, Check. I c-can't take -"
"Howlatorium."
A whimper slips out of me.
The pack of cigarettes lifts off the table, and I watch one slide out.
I think it's waiting for me to say something, so I stall until I empty my lungs. It doesn't have to pretend it just found this bondage warehouse. Checkmate said something about the planets all lining up, so it could get me, and that's pretty damn hard to argue with.
"Listen," I say quietly, "This is way too much of a -"
"I don't think so," it says. Happy as it can be.
"Check."
"Yeah?"
"Were you, uh, led there? By some other... tickling fanatic ghost?"
"I'm not a ghost," Checkmate chuckles. "The coincidences are too much, though."
"Just... just perfect."
"Wait'll you hear what else I found last night."
I just shake my head. This can't be happening to me, it just can't...
Chains jingle. Leather creaks. I hear different motors being tested.
Another beer comes over, and after a few slugs my next cigarette is stuck between my lips.
The hammock unclips, but my feet don't fall. Same with my head.
I'm lifted and turned around.
"Yeah," Checkmate says happily.
I'm staring at a thick metal frame with leather pads here and there.
And stocks. Turnbuckles are connected to rings... for each of my toes.
Wide leather cuffs hang from the ceiling chain. So does a video camera - and another one's pointing right at me.
I'm so scared I can't get a sound out.
"Almost... time," Checkmate laughs. It's so delighted. I know I'm caught in its hands, and seeing that dread on my face has made it downright gleeful. "Oh, wait - we don't want all that cold air coming in."
The door starts to close.
I squirm, desperate to get out of the ropes.
The door slams.
There are four new locks on it.
Instinctively, I look at the only window. Fat iron bars are there now. No exit...
"This one -" and a deadbolt turns, clicking as it does - "will keep you inside the tickle cabin." Another bolt is shot. "This one will keep the rest of the world from finding out that I'm tickling you." Number three is turned. "This lock is to let me relax about anything except your ticklish hide, safely caught inside the tickle cabin."
Click.
"And this last deadbolt," it laughs, "is for you. Not me. I know you have to fight the truth. It's pretty damn amazing. You have to work through all of the shock, and be done with hoping you're not here to stay. Just can't be really happening, huh? No way Checkmate pulled this off - locked up the guy it wanted most, to tickle him, and keep tickling. Something will happen and get you out of here. Away from me. But I won. Didn't I?"
It... waits for an answer. Looking at the frame and the chains and cuffs, there's no doubt left in my mind - I can't stop this from happening.
"You won," I say quietly.
"That's why this lock has the biggest bolt of any of 'em. The excitement will be that much stronger, I think, if you don't have any illusions left. This lock says I'm not going to lose this opportunity - to get to know Russo through-and-through. I will be careful, and I will be ruthless, and I've already got a backup place picked out if I need it. No way I'm missing out on this now. There won't be any surprises that I can't handle. The human I've been most intrigued by actually delivered himself right here, and -"
"Anybody would work," I bark at the ceiling. "The locals. Just as touchy as I am, probably."
"But you came in here. The guy I wanted most - in my tickle cabin. Nobody else is gonna know. All the time I want... Every inch of you is mine now. At last. One night in the utility shed would've been excellent. You know what's even better? Learning every inch of you, Chuckles. What's the most effective way to stimulate each spot. Everywhere. Customized, maximum tickling, all over. No end to the fun..."
That takes a while to sink in. There's things you hear that are so unexpected that they don't seem to make sense - and then there's Checkmate's last speech, earnest as can be. I don't dare say anything.
Deep down, I believe it.
I mean, there's no reason at all to doubt a single thing Check just said. Every event since I remembered to come in here for the hammock has come together to utterly screw me.
Check isn't going to be defeated. Or disappointed, once it starts in...
"I can't stand it," is all I got, and it's not anywhere near adequate, and for damn sure it ain't gonna change a thing. "Tellin' you right now."
"Fantastic," Checkmate gloats.
My arms are untied and cuffed. I do a double-take. No armpit hair. Hell, no hair south of my chin.
"I really did my homework," Checkmate growls.
"How could I not notice you did this?" I complain.
"Prisoner's a little preoccupied, huh?" the bastard teases. "Just one surprise after another."
"Eat me," I snap. Dumb, but there's nothing I can say that'll matter now -
My legs move a little. I look down, and see the rope untying.
"Oh no, you don't."
One invisible hand after another takes hold - high on my ankles, mid-shin, thighs. Strong hands, plenty big enough, squeezing hard enough to make me wince. It laughs with delight. More arrive... and it seemed like there must be at least a dozen of 'em locked on when the hammock falls away.
Checkmate sets one ankle, then the other, into the stocks. It lowers the top section, and the asshole just can't help but laugh smugly. There's no doubt in my mind that it's really enjoying this...
A carabiner slides through the turnbuckle - and the stocks are staying closed now. Black, dense foam keeps me from turning my ankles at all, sliding them closer or further away. Trying to lift the stocks accomplishes absolutely nothing.
Checkmate's hands seize my arms. It's getting eager now.
The chain above me has huge links. I watch the cuffs move toward my hands...
Five new leather straps keep me from kicking or lifting myself up or breaking contact with the pads.
One by one, the toe-rings pull snug.
I have never been... held down like this. Not even close. The urge to panic is suddenly there, igniting in no time -
Until I start to pull and kick.
I'm not gonna move. The restraints are obviously, unmistakably keeping me right where I sit. Feet perfectly trapped, sides completely unprotected - and I can't even pull my thighs together. And it didn't go to all this trouble to keep me in pain. Hell, no.
I'm given another smoke...
"What?" Check says.
"I didn't say anything."
"You thought of something. I saw it on your face."
I shrug - or try to.
"Tell me," it says. "Tell-llll meeeeeeee. Or else I'll make you tell me."
This sucks. I'll probably be babbling every thought that enters my head in an hour anyway. "My truck."
"Yes?"
"It's..." Shit. I already know what Checkmate's going to say next. But it's too late to take it back now. I heave a sigh. "Somebody sees the truck, sitting right out there -"
"You must be more spooked than I thought, Russo. Damn. I'm almost insulted."
I close my eyes. "Okay, it -"
"The truck's been hidden ever since you conked out. You should know me better than that."
"Aw hell, Checkmate, listen, I gotta get through to you, this is the worst thing ever, locked down like this -"
"Brutal, complete, magical tickling for you."
I start to giggle. Can't help it.
My smoke is pulled from my lips and tossed aside.
A jug rises up to my hands. Uncaps.
"Nooooh hoooo hooooh hoooo-oooo," I beg, trying to rear back.
Light green oil is cresting the mouth of the jug. Falling... and running down my right arm. Then my left arm too.
"Missed a spot," Checkmate laughs.
And there they are. My doom.
A pair of gloves. First pair! Simple, black leather. Too big for my hands, probably - and they look alive. Full and almost graceful in their flight.
"No, no, please!" I yell.
It's really, actually gonna do this to me -
As if confirming the thought, more gloves are coming.
Six gloves - no, shit, here comes another pair.
"You can't, Checkmate, I'm so t-ticklish, nooo-oooooo," I groan. This is impossible. I can't survive this...
Oil rolls down my chest. Gloves are between me and the jug, getting their fingers greasy.
The weirdest laughter I can remember churns out of my throat. It's like I was trying to order the damn gloves to get away, but there's this hysterical edge to it.
Check's going to start with eight hands, and they're landing on me. Shoulders. Back -
"Noooo-oooooo hah hah nuh haah," I bark.
"Hang on," Checkmate says. "I'm not even tickling yet. This doesn't count."
Fingertips touch my sides.
I'm looking at phantom gloves, right there, ready to boogie. I'm having trouble swallowing -
"You wanna know what I'm thinking about?" it said slyly.
"Don't think so. Thanks."
"Skin and muscle. Oil. Where to put each glove. How wonderful it's going to feel to light up all of these nerve endings here, root around in these armpits. My hands - on Terry Russo! No quick little pokes as you're trying to get away. No risk of some son-of-a-bitch hearing you laugh, and breaking in here to get you away from my hands."
A big, relieved sigh.
"Oh noooooo," I groan, like an idiot.
"Oh... yeah."
Others coast down to my belly. I'm already fighting not to giggle.
"I feel really powerful," Checkmate says.
"Don't do this," I grunt, through gritted teeth.
The gloves begin to move.
Slowly... gently.
Tensing up and writhing doesn't make them any easier to bear.
I try to choke back a squeal.
Checkmate snickers at me. Easy laughter with a sinister tinge. "I'm going to do this for hours today. Hours and hours -"
Shit, I'm barely being touched and it's making me flop around as much as I can. No chance of escaping from its hands. I'm dizzy at the thought of all these fingers speeding up, digging in.
I gasp suddenly.
A deep, brawling laugh blasts out of my mouth.
"There we go," it says. "What's the matter, jock? Do these gloves... tickle?"
"Pleee-hee-nnnnaw haw haw haw haw!"
Throwing my head around doesn't help. Oh, shit, light pressure is sliding across my gut. Across my ribs on each side, easing up to the next set, coasting back. My spine, my collarbones - it's crazy! So unbearably sensitive!
My head's back, and I'm laughing so loud it's scary. Still not enough. The need to laugh harder is one more frustration. My arms won't move, I can't roll...
Checkmate snickers in my ear. It's so pleased.
And it's just getting started.
This is impossible to take.
It freaks me out so much that I'm laughing like - like I'm on fire or something. Somebody grabs your side, you pull away. Except I can't. These damn shiny hands are sticking close and I can't move anywhere near enough to throw 'em off. That's just infuriating. I could go totally crazy, right here.
Leisurely fingers. Sliding palms. Only the start, I keep thinking - and that phrase makes me wanna laugh harder.
Locked in here, and Check is so interested in doing this to me that I'm creeped out. And trapped. It's fascinated with this shit. Nowhere near done yet, not even close.
A part of my brain just frickin' refuses to believe this is happening...
And every tickled area is just screaming. Other times I've been tickled were kid stuff, compared to this. Straps are making sure I can't get off the damn bench. My eyes are blurry, but there's still dark strips around my upper arms. They're attached to the frame somehow. I can't turn, and I need to get moving!
Current shoots through me from each roving glove.
I laugh at the damn wrist-cuffs and try to keep tugging. Chained way up there. This is impossibly cruel.
Oh, hell, my hips are getting squeezed. Fingertips skate around my belly-button.
Howling like a baboon.
Chest heaving, skin everywhere just throbbing...
"That was sweet!" Checkmate shouts. "Wow. Fifteen solid minutes of pure tort-"
"M-minutes?" I wail. It kept things slow, too.
That was impossible. I can't go through that again. But my tickler's made sure I don't have a choice.
It laughs triumphantly. "I get the whole deal now - about slowing things down when you start to pass out. I've got your number, Terry. Hooooh yeah. Gonna rock all day and all night."
A water bottle comes up.
"C-cigarette," I beg.
"Hmmmm. Do I wait five minutes to start tickling you again - or get busy right now?" It laughs happily.
The gloves latch back on and ride me again.
"It's just driving you crazy!" Check yells. Pure glee.
I nod, snickering like a loon. Unearthly fire is plowing into me, all over. Kinda busy laughing my guts out -
Wait. Nodding is bad. Don't...
Something about helping Checkmate.
I throw my head around instead, and the chaos inside is a much bigger deal than anything happening to my gut or my pits.
The gloves are scrambling my brain. This level of excitement is making me insane. Legs won't move, toes are caught, my hands can't budge...
"Perfect," it gloats.
Checkmate won, alright. No way it's going to stop.
18sep12