Chapter 2: The Rival

Chapter 2: The Rival

The engine of Liam’s beat-up sedan hummed a nervous tune that matched the frantic drumming in his chest. Beside him, Chloe was a beacon of warmth, her presence filling the small car with a scent of cinnamon and something floral. She was talking about a disastrous pottery class, her hands painting vivid pictures in the air, and her laughter was a bright, musical sound that made his own awkward silence feel ten times heavier.

He had spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, the grainy image of the skeletal man burned onto the backs of his eyelids. He’d told himself it was a prank. A hack. wallflower_75 was some twisted troll who had doctored the video feed to mess with him. It was the only explanation that allowed his brain to function, the only way he could force his trembling hands to grip the steering wheel and actually go on this date. But the explanation felt thin, a flimsy shield against a deep, primal fear.

“...and so the whole thing just collapsed! It looked less like a vase and more like a sad, clay pancake,” Chloe finished, giggling.

“Heh, yeah,” Liam managed, his voice a tight squeak. “Pancakes.”

She turned in her seat, her kind eyes studying him. “You okay? You seem a little quiet.”

I think a ghost from my apartment is going to murder me. Also, I’m pathologically terrified of talking to pretty girls.

“Just, uh, concentrating on the road,” he lied, his knuckles white on the wheel. “Don’t want to crash my, uh… my prized automobile.”

Chloe smiled, a soft, understanding expression that made him feel even worse. “Right. Of course.”

Mercifully, the neon sign of “Murphy’s Arcade” soon cut through the twilight, a garish, blinking promise of sanctuary. Inside, the assault on the senses was immediate and overwhelming. A cacophony of 8-bit explosions, synthesized music, and shouting teenagers echoed off the sticky floors. The air was thick with the smell of stale popcorn and electricity. For anyone else, it might be chaos. For Liam, it was a shield. The noise was a buffer, the flashing lights a distraction. Here, among the machines, he could almost pretend to be normal.

And for a while, he was.

Chloe’s excitement was infectious. She led him through the rows of glowing cabinets like an expert guide, her eyes alight with nostalgia. They played a two-player shooter, standing shoulder to shoulder, their arms brushing as they blasted pixelated aliens. They raced go-karts on a giant screen, and her triumphant laugh when she beat him was the best sound he’d ever heard. For a few glorious minutes, the gaunt man from his living room was a distant, hazy memory. He was just Liam, on a date with Chloe, and it was perfect.

“Oh my god, they still have Skee-Ball!” she exclaimed, grabbing his hand. Her touch was electric, a jolt that shot straight up his arm. “Come on, I bet I can crush you.”

He was grinning, a real, genuine grin, as he followed her. This was it. This was the connection he craved. For the first time, he felt seen in a way that wasn’t terrifying.

“Chloe! No way!”

The voice cut through their shared moment like a razor. A guy approached them, all bright teeth and easy confidence. He was handsome in that effortless way Liam had always envied—broad shoulders, a sharp jawline, and a casual swagger that screamed he’d never had an awkward moment in his life.

“Marcus!” Chloe’s face lit up, and she dropped Liam’s hand to give the newcomer a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Trying to reclaim my air hockey title,” Marcus said, his eyes flicking over to Liam with a dismissive glance. “Who’s this?”

“This is Liam, my neighbor,” Chloe said, gesturing between them. “Liam, this is Marcus. We were in the same photography class last year.”

“Hey, man,” Liam mumbled, his throat suddenly dry. The easy confidence he’d started to build crumbled into dust.

“Neighbor, huh?” Marcus said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. He turned his full attention back to Chloe. “Well, since I’m here, you have to grant me a rematch. Unless you’re scared.”

“You wish,” Chloe shot back playfully. “You’re on. But be warned, I’ve been practicing.”

Just like that, Liam ceased to exist. He became a spectator, trailing a few feet behind as Chloe and Marcus made their way to the air hockey table, their banter flowing with the comfortable rhythm of old friends. A bitter, familiar ache bloomed in Liam’s chest. Jealousy. Hot, acidic, and all-consuming. He hated himself for feeling it, and he hated Marcus for causing it.

As he watched Marcus lean over the table to whisper something that made Chloe laugh, a flicker of movement in the reflection of the pinball machine glass beside him caught his eye. He turned his head. Nothing. Just the neon glare and the press of the crowd. He shook his head, trying to clear it. His mind was playing tricks on him again, projecting the horror from last night onto the back of his retina.

Marcus scored the first goal with a triumphant shout. The pang of Liam’s jealousy sharpened. He glanced away, unable to watch, and his eyes scanned the dark corners of the arcade.

And then he saw it.

For a split second, between a Mortal Kombat cabinet and a claw machine, he saw a face. A pale, sunken face, dominated by a wide, fixed smile. It was there, and then it was gone, swallowed by the shifting bodies of the crowd.

Liam’s heart slammed against his ribs. It’s not real. It’s the lights. The stress.

“Your turn, Liam!” Chloe called out, waving him over. “Winner plays you.”

He stumbled forward, his legs feeling like lead. Marcus beat Chloe easily, his movements fluid and precise. He then offered a paddle to Liam with a condescending smirk. “Alright, neighbor. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The game was a massacre. Liam’s hands, now slick with sweat, betrayed him. The subtle tremor had returned, making his movements jerky and uncoordinated. The puck shot past him again and again, each goal a physical blow to his ego. Marcus was barely trying, laughing and chatting with Chloe as he casually dismantled Liam’s pathetic defense.

With every point Marcus scored, Liam’s world seemed to shrink and darken at the edges. The jealousy was a physical thing now, a clawing creature in his gut. And with it, the visions grew bolder.

He saw a grotesquely long, thin arm snake out from behind a racing game, its spidery fingers twitching in the air before retracting. He saw the gaunt figure standing in the doorway to the prize counter, its tall, skeletal frame silhouetted against the light, head cocked as if listening to Liam’s silent humiliation.

It was watching him. It was feeding on this.

“Game,” Marcus declared, sliding the paddle back onto the table. He leaned towards Chloe. “So, you wanna get out of here? A few of us are heading to The Taproom.”

Liam felt a surge of cold panic. The date was over. He had failed. He was losing her to this… this caricature of a confident jock. The jealousy burned white-hot, and as he looked past Chloe’s shoulder, his blood turned to ice.

Standing not twenty feet away, partially obscured by a Street Fighter II machine, was the Thin Man. It wasn’t a glimpse this time. It was fully there, impossibly still amidst the chaos of the arcade. Its pale, translucent skin seemed to pulse with a faint blue light. Its unblinking eyes were locked directly on Liam. And its smile, that wide, fixed, contented smile, seemed to stretch even wider, as if it was savoring every second of Liam’s spiraling despair. This wasn't a trick of the light. It was real, it was here, and it was enjoying the show.