He Should Have Had a Beer

He Should Have Had a Beer

Twenty-one years ago, my best friend dreamed up a little game and now there’s no turning back.  The simple little dare evolved, reshaped, got ugly and now walked out of the swamp as a nightmare.

  Craig dared me to pull the best prank ever when we were eight.  Challenge accepted, but not played out on some unsuspecting idiot, but on Craig, himself.  Then, every year after, we pranked each other, and recounted the horror inflicted. One shining year I managed to steal his car, plant the bloody looking corpse scene and regal in my ability. I think he never forgave me for that one!  Every year they got better and better or worse, depending on your outlook. Now, cut to the present, there was no turning back, damage done, no returns, no running home and under the covers.  

Here I am, a grown-ass man, hiding in a locker cabinet ready to scare the life out of him.  My inner child was lurking and waiting to pounce with the scariest mask I could find.  Not a brilliant or unique idea, but my sheer determination and drive earned me scores of points on our running tally.  

Craig works as a promising - his words, engineer at the government affiliated Glen-Ex Corp for almost two years this coming June. Enough about his rise to the top of his game, he was always cancelling on beers with the guys because he had to stay late and finish a project or some other silly work related nonsense.  I get it, a career is important to him, but hey, he should get his priorities straight and friends are what really counts in life.  So, I planned on making him regret cancelling on us yet again.  I waited close to five hours tucked inside this tomb, waiting, sweating, and waiting some more to spring a mini coronary on my bud.  His shocked-faced image was the only thing sustaining me in these cramped quarters.  Then things went wrong.

My Freddy Kruegger mask, I know, not too original, was peeled off about three hours earlier after the sweat pooling in my eyes overruled my attack-ready posture.  What you do for friends, I’d shake my head for emphasis if I had room. Now, I lay in wait, and wait, willing my bladder to “man-up”.

After seventeen thoughts later of bailing on this plan, I was about to be rewarded.  I heard movement in the staff room.  No one else was to be working this late, no one but Boy Wonder ever did. I thought of changing my face into Freddy again, but didn’t want to risk exposure in the form of movement, mobility or comfort.  Suddenly, I heard voices. Multiple voices, deep and deeper and none belonged to Craig.

“Holy bunions Batman”, my feet were killing me cramped in this tin can and only to have Craig “bail”.  Wouldn’t you know it! I was about to swing my immature hiding place door open and let my inner child do his damage on these intruders when I heard warning words. My breath 

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stuck dry in my esophagus, making swallowing impossible. The word “Hack”, then something else I did not understand, then something else I could not hear, then the word again, “hack” and “ransomware”.  The word “hack” plus engineering company for the government, equals trouble and danger. I willed my breath to go into some type of animated suspension state, not sure if that was a real thing but I was gonna’ try.  I was sure my heart beat could be heard by all and was waiting on that not-so-baited breath for the hackers to grab the door, rip me out of my little prison and slice my throat open.  Hey, that would give Craig the biggest scare ever and the ultimate and final curtain call from Steve and Craig’s Pranks Unlimited, except mine would be very “limited”. 

There are two or three of them talking now about cyberwar and monetary figures that have too many zeros to be real.  Maybe this is a prank on me, but I let my ego or whatever the hell controls my ID, inner child or inner badass, take over and remain hidden.  Hey, I’m almost thirty years old, I want to live, which got me thinking about Craig. Where is he?  Is he alright?  The heat, the sweat, and the metal, seemed to shrink in on me.  

The hackers start to talk about dates, times, people and something coming up two weeks from now. They mention names, Joseph and Samuel, no last names.  They disclose some algorithm or set of numbers that will “show everybody what they are capable of”! I hear letters and numbers but can’t remember them as soon as they are spoken, too many. I’d make a lousy spy. 

Suddenly, they got quiet and my nerves seemed to do a salsa dance up my spine.  The quiet is unpredictable.  Did they find my little cubby? No. They seem to be still talking but in lower tones. I can only hear bits of depravity now.  A new voice enters.  He is talking about earbuds. Earbuds?!  Really! Maybe he’s having his own conversation. I am sure I am popping some vein or doing other internal damage as I strain to listen.  They must have moved closer to me, they sound a little clearer. Sneezing or the release of some other body function, races across my masochistic mind, but is dismissed as they continue.

“The earbuds will explode with this frequency once we set it to the command tomorrow.” New voice says.

“That’s only the beginning. Once we eliminate some of the employees with shattered eardrums, we’ll have less in the way and we can sequence the internal programs with new codes and set the attack.  The company will be at our mercy.” Deeper voice adds.

“All their codes for the missiles will be ours to have and to hold, trade or give back - for the right price of course. Oh, this little arrangement is going to cost them dearly.” Deep voice coos.

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After talk of calculations and results, the room became quiet. I breathed. It was not what I thought it would be. It did nothing to steady my now Zumba dancing nerves.  I breathed in stale sweat and fear.  If I make it out of this place alive, what should I do?  Could I go to the cops?  What proof do I have?  Would they kill me if I ruined their plans? Nothing, no, nothing again and a big fat yes! I've been cooped up alone too long.

I would have left the locker if it was up to my inner child, but  panic grabbed hold, smacked him in place and kept me inside for another hour, just in case. Finally I creaked open the door, only to find my legs would not move.  As I wiggled through the pain to get the blood flowing, I heard something in one of the other lockers. I saw a hand, an arm, finally the face I’ve known since Mrs. Clydestone’s third grade class, Craig!!!  He was in another locker.  Thank you baby Jesus.  He was alive.  

Before I could celebrate and rush out a jumble of words, the staff room door swung open and three people burst in.  My legs gave out  and the room got dark, then I heard “deeper voice” say, 

“It’s enough Craig.  We gotta' tell him!”