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Brigadoon wasn’t so bad. Paul suppressed a yawn and leaned back in his seat. The actors seemed as though they liked their roles and it was put together well for a school play that no doubt counted their budget in pennies. He doubted musicals would ever be his thing but he was ready to like this one; it helped that the pretty girl who played Bonnie Jean had a nice voice, it also helped that he was going to get extra credit on the report he wrote about it.
It was a little weird when the lights changed to bathe the performers in vivid blue, the tone changed significantly, some song about what they wanted-- all inane things, like dealing with siblings, getting good grades, getting back at parents. But musicals were supposed to be a little bit weird, so Paul just sighed, rubbed his tired eyes and made a note of it in his brain.
Both the singing and dancing got noticeably better. The actors bounced around the stage, perfectly synchronized, like string puppets. Paul drummed his fingers on his knee, perhaps that all-encompassing blue light was getting to him. It washed out all other colors, when he glanced at his classmates they were nothing but grey shadows, the blue stage lights reflecting off their eyes and smiling teeth. Paul snapped back into his seat, eyes straight ahead and mouth pressed into a line. He was stupid for getting nerved up by some flashing lights. Nevertheless, the air felt thinner and he sank down, hoping no one would notice his anxiety.
On the stage the dancers were making shapes of stars, drawing out a long note in their song. They flowed into a tunnel of arms and Bonnie Jean ran through to the front. She struck a pose, letting the audience take it in as the other actors silently waved their arms in asterisks behind her. It was like they were one many limbed creature. She sang slowly, rhythmically. “We have a special guest today, so before anyone can run away, let's give a hand to finding our lead man~.” She posed again, pointing out into the audience.
They all turned to look. Where she pointed, a kid burst from his seat, spinning and singing the praises of the new lead. The audience around him gasped and then cheered. They must have planted actors among the audience, Paul thought, then appreciatively: how can they do all those stunts and still breath?
Bonnie Jean pointed again into the audience. This actor harmonized perfectly with the first one. And again and again, until at least a quarter of the audience were singing. Paul sank lower in his seat, he knew it was impossible but he didn’t want to be pointed to.
Then when Bonnie Jean pointed to a classmate of his-- His partner in biology, a lazy bum who couldn’t even learn the due date for their assignments if he’d wanted to-- And he jumped up and joined in with perfect tenor, Paul lost any conviction he was still stubbornly holding on to. Something weirder than musicals was going on. Stunned, mind spinning with what he was supposed to do. He stared at the stage-- And made eye contact with Bonnie Jean. Her stage smile turned into a grin. He looked away, inwardly screaming, but he knew somehow that she was going to point to him next. He had to get out of there.
He slid down to his hands and knees in the aisle. None of the audience noticed him crawl past, not even the teachers. The tiny, dull orange glow of the exit sign was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He would just sneak away and the weirdos could have fun with some other bloke.
“Paul~” Bonnie Jean’s voice sang. Paul froze, how did she know his name? “Paul, why are you leaving when the show’s only beginning?” Bonnie Jean-- He didn’t know her real name, he’d been given the playbill with all the actors’ names, but he’d barely glanced at it before stuffing it under his seat, so Bonnie Jean-- Leaped down from the stage. The other actors followed, perfectly choreographed. Paul bit the inside of his cheek and pushed himself up against the door, this couldn’t be happening. Slowly the rest of the audience stood to join the throng, every single person’s eyes were latched onto him.
“Do you want us to teach you the song?” Bonnie Jean crooned.
Paul snapped out of it. “No thank you.” He shouted and pulled the door open, slamming it behind him.
Paul was halfway down the hall when there was a screeching crash, he glanced back to see the door ripped off its hinges by the many excited hands. Their blue eyes stared down at him through the dark hall.
“La de da-da,” they sang as one. “La de da-da chase.”
And then the mob rushed him.
They scrambled toward him with gleeful desperation, falling to be trampled by their fellows, then crawling, hands and knees scrabbling across the floor with vicious speed, blue drool falling out of their mouths. He screamed like a little girl and ducked into a classroom, locking the door. Then remembering the fate of the first door he shoved as many of the dinky desks as he could against this one. Finally, he wedged a tall shelf away from the wall and toppled it with a crash onto the pile. Books spread across the floor and a heavy book-end hit the tile with a crack. Panting he rushed across the room to the windows. They were completely fogged over, letting in nothing but the dark blue light of the night, but he knew they were on the ground floor so escape would be as easy as-- Crap. The window was stuck, no matter how he flicked the locks or strained against the glass.
The crazed musical zombies were banging on the door, singing. Each strike was like a hammer against his skull, driving him into a panic. He covered his head with his hands, heart pounding. His fingernails dug into his scalp with each bang of the door.
Then he sucked in a hiccuping breath, he dragged his hands to cover his ears. “Okay, okay.” He started to glance about for someplace to hide. Unexpectedly, what came back to him through the panic, were the memories of playing hide and seek with his cousins on the holidays. He wouldn’t say he particularly liked any of them but his parents trusted him to keep them out of trouble and away from the grown ups. The worst goblin had a trick that would give him the victory every time. The mystery seemed unsolvable until his parents discovered a large warpage in their drop-down ceiling. When they investigated they had found a half eaten snicker bar, a couple cheese balls, and a happy meal toy that the goblin cousin had taken from a-more-helpless-but-no-less-goblinish cousin. They had been pissed and Paul had been grounded until the ceiling was fixed.
He ran back to the window and climbed onto the ledge. Carefully he stood, stepping up to balance a toe precariously on a bookshelf. He pushed up the ceiling tile and held his breath. Metal supports groaned as he lifted himself up. He quickly spread his weight out, hitting his head on the ceiling. There was barely enough space between the joists for him. With one hand and his knees, he maneuvered the tile back into place. In the dark, he took a few hot, stuffy, heavy breaths of relief, and then the banging changed to smashing. his barricade was thrown away from the door, the screeching of chair legs and the cracking of the bookshelf at horrible odds with their melodious song.
The zombies stomped around the classroom. “Paul~ we know you’re here,” they sang. Cabinets and drawers banged. Things clattered against the floor in a frantic search. Paul held very still. A chunk of insulation rested against the back of his hand, itching like mad. A stray nail poked into his ribs, and a pipe burned hotter and hotter against his leg. If they stopped singing, for a moment, he was sure they would notice the squeaking metal supporting him. He closed his eyes but it didn’t matter in the dark.
The sounds below slowed but got more frustrated as their search produced nothing.
“He’s not here.” One sang.
“He’s left us, why won’t he join the song?”
“Be still!” It was Bonnie Jean’s voice again, starting up a new melody-- Rousing the troops he supposed. “He will join us soon, see the beauty of the spotlight spinning like stars. Spread out! Spread your spores and trust the lyrics of the playbook poking through your mind. Let the mouse come out of his hole on his own. Our master loves a willing sacrifice.”
There was a choreographed cheer and the footsteps rushed out of the classroom, all stepping to the same beat.
It was quiet. Paul let out a shaky breath, brushing the shreds of insulation away. “Okay. Okay, okay.” He paused for a moment, listening to the very distant sounds of the violent musical weirdos. “Okay, this is ridiculous, this isn’t happening. This is just another nightmare… maybe.” He let his head thump down against the tile.
He would have stayed up there for the rest of his-- Shortened-- life, but the drop-down ceiling had other plans. The supports creaked loudly, it sank under him. Before he could even think about scrambling down, the metal gave in with a sharp twang and he crashed to the floor.
He lay there for a stunned moment. Realizing the sound could draw the singers back to him like piranhas, he scrambled to his feet. He was covered in house guts and his right side, where he’d caught the fall felt like one big aching bruise. Somehow he’d opened up the back of his hand. The color of the gash seemed darker than usual in the blue light. A red drop hit the floor, he quickly pulled his sleeve down to cover it.
Wary, he peeked out the classroom door. There was no one in the hallway. The window hadn’t worked, he wasn’t familiar with this school, but could the sealed windows be some sort of… weird regulation? He had to get to an exit, he decided, if he could just get out he was sure the nightmare would end.
He carefully navigated around corners and junctures. Whenever he saw anyone he turned around and went the other way, even when they weren’t singing. One group almost caught him by surprise so he backed himself into a closet, his breath freezing in his lungs as they passed by. He leaned back with a sigh of relief when they did, wincing as a shelf knocked into a bruise. His hand rested, almost miraculously, on the grip of a hammer. He stared at it in the dim blue light filtering through the grills in the door, the hammer’s rubber handle was sticky. Doubtfully he picked it up, but if this was the zombie apocalypse he would need a weapon. He tried to imagine tapping it on his English teacher’s dome but couldn’t. He snorted, but he brought it with him anyway.
When he finally found an exit there were three big theater kids guarding it. Around a corner hidden from view, he fumed silently, trying to think up a way around this. He’d had pretty good success sneaking around, but it seemed like somehow their numbers were increasing and he couldn’t keep this up. This was promptly proven when there was a gleeful shout behind him. “Paul!”
The guards perked up, instantly turning toward him. He spun to see a small patrol now sprinting at him.
Cursing, he dashed across the hallway and slammed through the stairwell doors. His pounding footsteps echoed on the stairs, but it didn’t matter because it was like the entire school had been woken up. A wave of dancing zombies started to pour in from the ground floor.
“Play with us, Paul!” they cried. “Don’t be boring, Paul!” He screamed and ran faster.
He had to thank his lucky stars that only a few had started to search the upper floors because otherwise, he would have been dead. They filtered in from floors already below him. One threw open a door right in front of him, pure excitement on his face. But before he could take one step, Paul slammed the door in his face and locked it. What was up with these freaks?
“Come on, Join us, Paul!” We’re all doing it, Paul, we’re all wonderful.” They sang. “You just have to open the door, Paul, and let it all out. Let us in!”
He took the door for the top floor, shutting it firmly behind him. Now he was out of sight he had about ten seconds to find somewhere to hide.
He picked the bathroom. The lurid green light and nasty tiled floor were about the same as at his own school. He picked a stall at random and left it slightly ajar so it wouldn’t look like anyone was there. He huddled on top of the toilet and covered his mouth. He could still hear their muted singing, all about how they would catch him and teach him to play, teach him to sing. He waited.
He flinched when one excited zombie smashed in. The student-- A stranger-- Was mumbling about how Paul hated his parents, hated his school, hated his life, and oh, how they could change all those things. Paul bit his knuckle, feeling the pressure of his teeth against his skin. None of it was true! But some of the details the singer included made Paul’s skin crawl. The student only glanced at and below each stall till the end, checked the closet, and under the sink, then hurried off to continue the search and sing his message elsewhere.
Soon the hallway quieted down and Paul let out a sigh, he had to get to an exit. But now he was farther away than when he’d started. Carefully he snuck out of the stall. He opened the bathroom door slowly and came face to face with Mathew, one of his classmates.
He yelped and fell backward, the hammer bouncing out of his grip. The zombie didn’t move.
“We are not friends.” Mathew sang with a too stretched-out grin.
Paul blinked, still cowering, surprised he hadn’t been ripped apart like that first door. “That’s a hell of a way to start this conversation,” he croaked.
“We help each other with homework sometimes.” The zombie drew closer, it was hard to believe that Mathew, the scrawny kid with the taped glasses, could be so intimidating. “I think you are boring and you think I am annoying.”
“Mathew, I’d never think that of you.” He mustered. “Yeah… you’re very-- Cool.” Even with his life on the line it sounded fake. Paul only studied with him because he needed somebody to study with, and Mathew only tolerated him because he needed somebody to talk to and Paul got good grades. He’d thought it was an unspoken agreement.
“This make’s everything so much harder.” Mathew wailed with a heart-rending soprano. “You don’t care anything about anyone at this school, and no one cares about you.”
“Well, that hurts.”
Mathew stopped in front of him. “Why don’t you join us?” He placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, eyes pleading. “You would be the hero, everyone would love you.” Paul was shaking, he tried to pull away but Mathew held on, his face worshipful. “The world would be full of singing and dancing, our own personal stage. What could be better than that?”
This was messed up. “Since when do you care about singing and dancing? The only thing Mathew likes is grades and himself.” Mathew fisted his hand in Paul’s collar and just stared at him with those freaky glowing blue eyes. Paul found himself rambling. “You can glow and look ridiculous if you want, Mathew, but I’m not a freak. This whole thing can’t be real, but even if it was, I’d rather die than become a freakin’ crazy drooling musical zombie like you.”
“That’s not true!” Rage cut through Mathew’s cheerful mask, and for the first time, Paul was absolutely certain that this wasn’t his loser classmate talking. “I’ll prove that isn’t true.” The thing growled. His hands closed around Paul’s throat.
All Paul could feel was Mathew’s fingers tightening around his air pipe. His head was going to blow up like a balloon. He scrabbled at his hands and kicked but there was no relent. His face went purple and his mouth flapped like a gasping fish. He wanted to say something, but there were no more words. Ever.
Thoughts grew dark and sticky. He was floating away, deeper into a void. He remembered the hammer only dimly. It spun before him, a lurid, bright blue in the bruised black and white expanse. He reached for it, arm at full extent, his fingertips barely touched the handle. He opened his eyes, blearily looking up at Mathew. The rage had been wiped away again and he only seemed cheerful, whistling a tune as he strangled a classmate.
With all the force panic could give him, Pual pulled the hammer into a tight grip and smashed it into the side of Mathew’s head. Mathew’s hands went slack, head rolling on his neck as blue stuff splattered everywhere. Paul scrambled to his feet. Impossibly, Mathew straightened in spite of the dent in his temple, blue liquid pouring down his face like a faucet. Paul realized with a lurch that the blue stuff was blood.
Mathew was laughing. “I told you.”
Mathew lunged at him again but Paul wasn’t going to go down this time. He stumbled to the side and landed another blow in the back of Mathew’s skull. Mathew fell, but immediately tried to get back up, his laughter was fragmented. Panicking, Paul got down on his knees and rained down as many blows as he could over Mathew’s head.
When Mathew finally stopped moving, Paul shakily rose to his feet. Mathew was blue pulp. He gagged and retreated into a stall.
He couldn’t throw up. Even though there was acid in his bruised throat, and his stomach roiled like a cauldron, all he could do was stare at that toilet bowl and heave.
When he finally realized that he wasn’t going to hurl or die, he tentatively exited the stall. His hammer was still by the mess but he didn’t bother to pick it up. He caught sight of himself in the dirty mirror. A complete disaster, hair cow-licking with dust and sweat, red hand marks around his neck, speckled all over with blue, and a nosebleed pooling down his upper lip. It was just the dark blue-tone-of-night, but the blood really did look closer to indigo than red. He quickly wiped it off on his sleeve and exited the bathroom.
The other searchers had all moved off to other parts of the building, Mathew must have been left as a lookout or something. He had to keep moving, he knew somehow deep in his gut, that even though Mathew hadn’t screamed, the others would know. But maybe he could turn this around to his own benefit, it was risky but just maybe they were all so caught up in chasing him the guards hadn’t returned to their post.
Hands shaking he crept down the hallway. He just had to get out.
He pushed the stairwell door open as quietly as he could. Everything was silent. After all the singing it felt ominous. He suddenly felt like this wasn’t a good idea. But before he could turn around the door slammed shut behind him. He spun, Bonnie Jean-- Or whatever her real name was, leaned against the wall, arm stretched out as though to keep the door closed.
“Hey, Paul,” she smiled brilliantly. “Mind if we have a chat now?” She spoke like a normal person-- But there was a buzz behind her words-- Like her head was full of honey bees all singing together.
Paul stepped away stiffly, how could he have been so stupid, and he’d left the hammer, he was a nincompoop.
Jane pushed herself off the wall, skirting around so he would have to brush by her if he wanted to make a dash down the stairs or for the door. He considered barging past her for a moment, but the memory of how unkillable Mathew had been, and the very fact that she was confident enough to corner him here made him shy away from the idea.
Her eyes seemed to be laughing at his fear. “I’ve been waiting for you, though I admit I didn’t expect you to kill Mathew.” He took another shrinking step back, she followed, gritting her teeth in a grin, limpid blue eyes the only light in the stairwell. “You’ve never been happy, have you?”
Paul froze. She’d echoed something deep inside him that he’d tried to ignore. He didn’t have a reason, nothing to make him sad or angry, but there he was, pathetic, crumbling.
There was something wrong with him.
Bonnie Jean smiled. “That’s something we can give you. That and so much more.” She held out her hand. “You don’t realize how wonderful the world could be, what true happiness would even be like. All you see is your grey, drab world, but we can make that full of light.” She grinned that alien grin, wildly joyful and all teeth. “This is something inevitable.” Whatever was behind Bonnie Jean’s face gave him a sly look and winked. She started singing. “This story will be so much fun. Our future is bright with you, like a star. Smashing everything in sight, like a meteor.”
He turned on his heel. “Just leave me alone!”
There was still one place he could run. He rushed up the stairs to the small plain door at the top, the entrance to the roof. He jiggled the handle-- Locked.
Bonnie Jean advanced on him, her steps measured, stage smile wide. The stairwell echoed her song like the whole building was possessed. “Paul! Don’t you see I’m giving the world to you, why won’t you take it?”
He braced against the wall and kicked the knob, again, and again. Using every dreg of panicked strength.
“If it’s all a stage then the people are merely puppets.”
The knob bent then broke with a clatter, it went bouncing on the steps. He knocked the knob on the other side of the door out, sending screws flying.
“We could do whatever we wanted.” She laughed. “Do you want to kill Mathew again?” Paul flinched at the words. “He tried to kill you, I can stitch him back together and you can make him suffer for the rest of eternity.”
Paul pounded up onto the roof, slamming the door behind him, but he could still hear her inside.
“No more war, no more murder, no more rules governing every inch of your life.”
He wedged his shoulder against the door, listening to her palms bang against the other side in rhythm with her lines. Tears oozed out of his eyes against his will, cooling his face. A fresh breeze blew over the roof, smelling like pine trees and the nearby pond. He shivered, the night air pinched his arms with goosebumps. Jane put her mouth right up against the hole for the doorknob, next to his face. Her teeth flashed in the moonlight. “This is the last door.”
He shivered, not answering, dread twisting his stomach. He could feel her warm breath brush past his nose, she smelled like coffee and the horribly sugary chocolate cupcakes they had been selling at the door before the musical, before all this started.
“Please, Paul,” She said. “We can do it together, you won’t have to be alone anymore. Let’s get out of here and show the world who we are.”
“You’re insane! No one can promise those things. Especially not some crazy zombie musical cult.”
The tempo of her fists on the door suddenly increased to a frenzied beat. “What do you want?” She screamed, throat cracking with rage. “I’m offering you everything, all you have to do is let me in. Be the lead man. My prophet.”
“This is just a nightmare.” He sobbed.
She was quiet for several heartbeats then the grin through the hole widened. “This is so much worse than a nightmare, this is how it begins.” Then the marching started.
It grew louder as the numbers on the stairs swelled and drew closer. There was no way he could match his weight against the hoard on the other side. He was trapped. They sang a chorus. Full of long held notes and awe inspiring volume. He scrambled away from the door, backing up to gain as much distance as he could.
They flooded out. Pouring out of the door like a river of rats. They clasped their hands together like an actual chorus. He spotted Bonnie Jean among them but she had been absorbed back into the mass. Just another joyful voice singing the same song. They surrounded him in a semi circle, its radius tightening as the roof filled up.
Paul backed up too far and his heel hit the low wall that bound the roof from a dizzying drop. Paul glanced down, it was a long way to the bottom and nothing but cement to meet him at the end. He couldn’t see the ground right now, thick fog cradled the school building in an unpierceable grasp, but he knew. He could see his skull splattered across the parking lot, misted over eyes staring, mirroring the dark, cold, clouded sky.
The chorus stopped all at once, none of them trailed off or missed the timing by a millisecond. First their chorus was booming through the air in a glorious finale, then he could hear the wind shuffling nervously through the trees. And they were all staring at him.
“Hi, Paul!” They all said with one joyful voice. “We’re going to teach you to be happy.”
This couldn’t be real. “I don’t want to be happy.” He shouted. No one could give him that.
“Yes you do.” They laughed, as though he was acting like a cute but still stupid child. “Together, we’re going to make the world perfect, harmonized.”
He leaned backward. “Someone’s going to stop you.”
The myriads laughed, tounges hanging out like wolves. “We’re not doing anything that needs stopping.” They pressed forward. “Is happiness wrong, Paul? Is peace? Are songs?”
The way you’re doing it, yeah, it’s kinda creepy.”
“You want this, Paul, we know, because you’re still here with us, you’re choosing us, and you will never regret it.”
His head spun, they were talking like a cheesy movie villain but backwards. He sat hard on the wall, hands gripping the stone.
“Come on, Paul,” they crooned. “We’re going to teach you so much. The world will be full of singing and dancing forevermore.”
Paul sucked in a breath. “I don’t like musicals.”
And he fell backward over the edge.
He jolted up in his seat. He gripped the armrests so tight the plastic squeaked. He was back in the theater, it looked like they were still in the middle of Brigadoon. His eyes darted around, taking in each normal detail with wide, terrified eyes. Everything was fine. It really had been a dream.
Shaking, he pulled his hands over his face, then clasped them into fists, focusing on slowing down his heart rate.
He remembered hitting the pavement, before that the wind whipping his face, gravity pulling him inexorably downward, faster and faster.
“Dude,” someone whispered.
Paul’s head whipped up. It was Mathew, turned to look at him from the row in front of Paul. The back of his neck prickled, he could still feel the sticky grip of the hammer in his hand.
Mathew pointed at his face. “You’ve got a nosebleed, cool.”
Paul looked down just in time to see a circle of bright cyan platter onto the back of his hand. It was quickly followed by red as the stream fountained down. He thought he could still see bright specks mixed in, no, he had to be imagining it all. But he couldn’t stop the confused panic jittering through his system.
Finally, a teacher noticed. She bent over his seat taking in the murder scene on his face. Gently, she told him to pinch his nose and clean up in the bathroom, but she didn’t hide the disgust on her face very well.
It was a huge relief to leave the theater. He walked quickly down the empty hall so he wouldn’t have to hear the singing.
He gathered up a huge wad of toilet paper from the first stall and stared at himself in the mirror as the red spread across the crumpled white paper. Absently, he noticed that somehow he’d opened a gash in the back of his right hand, close to the wrist.
Soon the blood petered out. He threw the toilet paper into the trashcan with force. The nearly empty bag inside snapped satisfyingly. Dreams were weird he decided, and nightmares even weirder, most importantly, nothing the waking world needed to worry about.
He slipped his hands into his pockets and exited the bathroom, but instead of returning to the musical he headed outside. His school’s bus waited patiently in front of the doors but he didn’t send it a second glance. It wasn’t that long of a walk home.