Members Only

Written By: Keegan Hughes

Kellan pulled up the rope ladder rung by rung, careful not to snag it on any branches. It was starting to fray, and he couldn’t ask Dad to fix it again. All he could do now was be extra careful. No more swinging, no more letting Tyson and Xander climb at the same time.

The twins were already eating spicy garlic chips and thumbing through his recently relocated manga collection. For days, he'd been stuffing volumes into his backpack and lugging them up the ladder. Now, his little particleboard bookshelf was almost full. Snacks and figurines and trading cards took up the rest of the space.

“Careful, you got red dusty fingerprints all over them last time,”  Kellan said. He flipped the trap door shut, double-checking that it was secure. The treehouse was full of his things. He liked it up here. Better than his bedroom in the house. Or anywhere in the house. The beanbags the twins flopped across made a cozy bed when pushed together, and Gran's old quilt doubled as curtains. There were enough batteries stashed in the tin lunchbox to power his lantern for a while, and then there was the noisy hand-crank flashlight from the time Mom and Dad took him camping.

It was hot up in the treehouse. Early-afternoon sunlight poured in from the glassless window, pooling on the rough wooden floor. Breezes were rare this summer. If he were lucky, the air would stir and gently sway the hanging braid Mom put up. No such luck today.

Tyson and Xander didn't seem to mind the stuffiness. They sprawled in the beanbags, snacking. A look from Kellan reminded them to wipe their fingers on their matching cargo shorts before they flipped to the next page in tandem. Kellan looked at his face in the mirror. Sweaty bangs stuck to his forehead. He pushed them to one side before turning to look out the window at the house. Dad probably had the air conditioning running. And the blinds pulled down. But that wouldn't tempt him; he was gonna stay out here tonight. He picked up the first volume of a ninja series he must’ve read a dozen times.

***

As he turned the last page of volume five, Kellan shivered. The sun was no longer so high in the sky, and a chill entered the treehouse. The twins noticed, too.

“Wow,”  Tyson yawned. “How late is it?”  

Kellan checked his digital watch. The one Dad gave him on his tenth birthday. It was four o’clock. This darkness was odd. The herbs on Mom’s hanging braid swayed in the window. Beyond that, thick clouds had hidden the sun away.

A voice broke through the silence. “Tyson! Xander! It's time to come home!”  It sounded like the twins’ mom.

The two brothers looked at each other, checking their wrists for watches they weren't wearing, patting down their pockets for cell phones that were confiscated for misuse during math class. Both turned to Kellan in unison. He waved his wrist, then showed his friends four fingers. Earlier than their mom would usually come home.

“Boys!”  the voice called. “I’m hungry! Come on home and help me!” 

Xander started to rise from his seat, but Tyson stopped him.

“Dude, she doesn't even know we're here,”  he hissed. “Not for sure, anyway. It's way too early for us to be calling it a night. What if we just hang out 'til five like normal, and then head back?” 

“Won't she be mad?” Xander whispered.

“Mad how? She's the one messing with the schedule. We'll say we were at the library. We have technically been reading. She'll eat that up.” 

Xander frowned like he'd just asked to use the bathroom, and had been loudly told to hold it. “What if she knows we're ignoring her on purpose?” 

“We've been here all afternoon! There's no way she saw us come up. She can’t see us through the window if we’re sitting. And she's not gonna climb up. Members only, right? No adults, no girls, nobody else. It’s not like Kellan’s dad is gonna talk to her.” 

Kellan tensed at the mention of Dad. But it was true; he didn’t talk with anyone from the neighbourhood anymore. Tyson put a finger to his lips and pulled another volume from behind the beanbag. He raised his eyebrows, grinning, and waved the book in front of his face. Xander seemed to relax. But as he eased back down, another call from the voice floated up into the treehouse.

“Boooooooys! I know you're up there! I can smell you! Will you come down, or will you let me in?” 

Tyson stifled a laugh as all the colour drained from Xander’s face. They locked eyes, with Tyson slowly shaking his head in a mock “no.” Xander gestured theatrically towards the trap door, but kept his mouth shut. Kellan watched this silent negotiation play out for at least half a minute. 

“Alright,” the voice called. “But if I find out you were hiding from me, you'll be sorry!“ She drew out the last word, making it hard to tell if this threat was playful.

Kellan listened closely for the sound of footsteps through the grass. Had he heard them approach? Before he could sneak over to check out the window, Xander raised one arm above his head and gave his armpit a tentative sniff. Tyson immediately burst out laughing.

“Dude, there's no way your pits smell that bad,” he snorted, grabbing his brother's arm and pulling it down. “But you’re in a tiny treehouse with two other people! Spare us!”

Kellan saw Xander’s face go from white to red in an instant. The twins had a habit of one-upping each other at every opportunity, and the last thing he wanted was an all-out stink-off.

“Plus she might turn around and see your arm through the window,” he added, hoping to change the topic.

Something about this addition really tickled Tyson, who kept laughing louder and louder. Kellan tried to shush him, but couldn't help laughing along, and soon Xander was doubled over in hysterics, too. All three boys laughed until they couldn't breathe, and at that point just looking at one another made them laugh even harder. This carried on and on, each boy attempting to get a hold of themselves before realizing the others were doing the same - resulting in another eruption. Kellan couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed this hard. Maybe that time his old dog Anvil had shown some unexpected energy and snagged a hot dog right out of Dad's hand. Dad had just sat down in one of the backyard camper chairs and had turned to pull a beer out of the cooler. Anvil saw an opening and went for it. The look on Dad's face was unforgettable. And when Dad got mad at Kellan for laughing, it just made him laugh even harder. When Mom got involved, all Dad could do was shake his head. That was when they still cared.

This was one of Kellan’s last pleasant memories of Anvil. The dog must've been about 11 when he stole Dad's supper, and labs don't tend to make it past a decade. Anvil slowed down. Kellan would have to coax him into the yard to do his business, and often when he went to refill the food bowl, he’d find the previous meal untouched. Then there was that last trip to the vet. The one after Kellan walked into the kitchen to find Mom crying, and Dad not even trying to console her. Things got worse from there. Dad got into that fight. He was on the phone a lot more, and Mom worried a lot, and they had to get rid of stuff like the second car and the big TV. They stopped talking to each other, and Mom went away.

Dad made weird new friends. They came over at all hours, but Kellan only saw them at night. The rest of the time, they were in the basement or the garage. Dad would get mad when Kellan asked him for anything, like fixing the ladder or making him dinner, so Kellan decided to spend more time in the treehouse. He hadn’t seen Dad in a while.

Kellan didn't feel like laughing anymore. He saw his friends had stopped laughing, too. They stared at him, eyes wide. Mouths open. He went to ask what they were looking at, but only a quiet, gurgling groan emerged. 

He couldn't catch his breath.

Laughter had emptied his lungs, and now they seemed impossible to fill. His chest tingled. No matter how wide he opened his mouth, no air entered. He tried to take a deep breath through his nose, and still came up short. Through his own watery eyes, he saw tears streaming down Xander's blue face. Tyson's hands pounded frantically at his chest. The air was still and heavy. All three of them were suffocating.

Kellan stumbled in search of breath. There had to be air outside. Fresh air. He thrust his head out the window. His fingers white-knuckled against the sill. No relief. Blood pounded in his ears while pressure built behind his eyes. He saw spots. Dark figures moving behind his bedroom window. Searching.

Tyson grabbed Kellan’s leg, causing him to turn around. He tripped over the twins. Nobody could make a sound as he tumbled wordlessly to the floor. Quick, wheezing refrains came from Tyson, who was now trying to stick his head out the window. Xander’s eyes were bloodshot and burning, desperately looking for an answer.

Just as fuzzy blackness began to descend, a gentle breeze drifted through the treehouse. “Come in,” it whispered.

Gasping and crying on all fours, Kellan greedily drank in this sinister air. He inhaled deeper and deeper. His lightheadedness disappeared, and then immediately returned. He collapsed, pressing his cheek into the floor, and breathed.

Eventually, Kellan sat up. He shuffled until his back was against the wall opposite the window. In between the rumpled beanbags, Tyson was taking deep, shaky breaths, his head between his knees. Xander sat beside his twin, looking every bit his opposite. His legs were extended straight out in front of his body, and his neck was craned so far up that it was hard to see his head. His skinny arms acted like a tripod, straining as they supported this odd configuration of parts.

Kellan attempted to speak, and ended up croaking. “Something's wrong with Xander.”

Tyson bowed his head deeper, took one more deep breath, and turned to look at his brother.

“Xan? Hey, sit up.”

No response.

“It was like the air stopped moving,” Kellan said.

“Can you breathe? Hey!” Tyson shoved his brother.

Xander was up in an instant. He shot straight to standing, getting his feet under him in a way that didn't seem possible. His expression was calm. He didn't look at his brother, nor Kellan. He just stared towards Kellan’s house.

“I have to go,” he said.

Without adjusting his gaze, he stepped to the middle of the treehouse, opened the trap door, and tossed the rope ladder down. Tyson was stunned, but this quickly pivoted to anger.

“What about me? We were gonna wait!” He insisted. Xander’s feet were already dangling from the trap door. “I have to go. She's hungry.”

“Hey! Are we gonna talk about the fact that none of us could breathe?” Kellan asked.

“I have to go,” Xander said, “She needs my help.”

Xander's gaze remained fixed. Not once did he check where he was putting his feet as he descended. Tyson dropped to his knees, shouting after him. He gave Kellan a desperate glance before kicking his legs out and dropping onto the ladder. The rope squeaked.

“Wait until he's all the way down,” Kellan said.

Tyson was already hanging from the rungs. The squeak evolved into a groan with both twins weighing it down. Each step Tyson took shook the ladder, while Xander continued his measured descent. Kellan watched on in despair as the rope shuddered, creaked, and then snapped. Tyson looked up through the trap door, locking eyes with Kellan. His hand came off the rung and reached up. Kellan flung himself to the floor, reaching down through space. Splinters dug into the underside of his arms and he grabbed wildly for his friend. He heard skin slap against skin, and then a meaty pop. Tyson was screaming. But Kellan had caught him. Bracing against the floor, he pulled as hard as he could. Tyson had managed to toss his other arm up, allowing Kellan to drag him into the treehouse by both limbs. As soon as he flopped onto the floor, Kellan saw that Tyson’s right shoulder was dislocated. His arm hung limp at his side, and it was clear he was in a lot of pain. Even so, Tyson had already shaken it off. He was using his left arm to support himself as he leaned out over the open trap door. Xander was flat on his back at the base of the tree, his head propped up on a thick root. A puddle of blood had begun to pool beneath him.

Tyson started screaming again. Not a scream of pain, or even of surprise. It was much, much worse. The sound made Kellan sick to his stomach. Dizziness overwhelmed him. He started pacing back and forth, picking up his belongings and putting them back down. There wasn’t a first aid kit in the treehouse, but maybe if he looked hard enough he could find one. Or pages from his books could be used like a bandage. Paper was absorbent after all. He grabbed the book Tyson had pulled out from behind the beanbag. It was a comedy manga from the 80s that had been translated a few years back. A lot of the jokes were outdated, and the plotlines never went anywhere, but the three of them always traded copies back and forth and laughed about how weird it was. This all could be a big joke! Especially if they got this down to Xander and used it to bandage up his head! Wouldn’t that be funny?

Kellan knelt beside Tyson and tried to show him the book. But Tyson didn’t even look. He just kept screaming down into the hole. The formless sounds coming from his mouth had become short, repetitive noises. Kellan realized that Tyson was saying, “Help him! I need to help him!“ Over and over and over again. But he couldn’t help him. If he tried to climb down with his shoulder all messed up, he’d end up like his brother. And as much as Kellan wanted to help, he knew that you shouldn’t move someone with a head injury if you didn’t know what you were doing.

Tyson had stopped screaming. In fact, he was excitedly thanking someone. Someone with a very deep voice. Kellan made his way to the trap door and found that Xander was no longer at the base of the tree. The puddle of blood remained, undisturbed.

“Who were you talking to? Where’s Xander?” Kellan asked.

“He said he was one of your dad’s friends.” Tyson was breathless and wouldn’t look up. “He said he was going to take care of Xander and that it was all going to be okay and that he was so strong and full of energy.”

The sliding glass door to Kellan’s kitchen opened and shut. A man in a black hoodie and jeans walked out wearing a medical mask. He looked up at the boys and waved.

“That’s him!” Tyson exclaimed. “Xander’s gonna be alright, just like you said!”

The man nodded and gestured towards Kellan’s house.

“Yes, your brother will be fine. We’ve brought him inside; he's resting.” He then gestured towards Kellan. “And you! Your father says you should come inside. It isn’t safe up there. That is, unless you’d like to invite us up? To watch over you.”

Kellan couldn’t even bring himself to reply. He just looked at the man. Dad’s supposed friend. He couldn’t tell what he looked like behind that mask. Not that he would even recognize him. His skin didn’t look healthy. Grey and greasy. The man looked down at the puddle of blood that Xander had left.

“Ah, what a waste,” he tutted, before turning back up to the boys. “You!” he said, pointing to Tyson.

“Yeah?”

“We helped your brother. Now we just need a small favour from you. A fair trade, don’t you think?” he asked.

“What do you need?”

“For you to come inside,” called the motherly voice from earlier.

“I would, but my arm is all-”

Tyson fell forward, somersaulting down through the trap door. He flipped once, landing head-first on the ground. The sound of his neck snapping turned Kellan’s knees to jelly. He couldn’t stand. He watched as the man placed his foot between Tyson’s shoulders, grabbed his dislocated arm, and pulled until it tore completely away from his body. The man pulled down his medical mask, revealing a set of razorwire teeth inside a mouth that opened like a trash compactor. It snapped shut with impossible force on Tyson’s arm, severing it above the elbow. The man was now holding what looked like a cheap Halloween decoration by the hand. The mouth gaped again, and he tossed the remainder inside.

“If only you boys had listened when I first asked!“ he admonished, still using the voice of the twins’ mother. “Then things wouldn’t have to be so brutal!”

All Kellan could think to do was close his eyes and cover his ears. Still, the voice spoke to him. Without sound, it told him things. That he could stay up in the treehouse for as long as he wanted. That he would eventually get cold. And lonely. And hungry. And when all of those things were true, its offer might be more appetizing. It told Kellan that his father had potential. That he could have joined the table, had he held out a little longer. But in the end, Dad was weak. Like the twins’ mother. Like the twins themselves. So many tried and failed to relinquish their attachments. But Kellan had so few left. And if he could join the table, he could feast on the weak and convert them to strength. He could live without worry, without pain. Not everyone had to end up like Anvil, devoid of energy, relying on others to care for them. He could avoid ending up like Dad, sad and alone in a dark house. He just had to make a choice. To invite them up. Or to go back down.

“What do you say, sweetie?” Mom asked.

Keegan Hughes is a writer, filmmaker, musician, and all-around horror enthusiast. His work can be found wherever a good scare is appreciated. He lives in Toronto with his lovely fiancée, Caterina, and their strange dog, Zamboni.
You can follow along with his annual Spooktober Horror Movie Marathon on Instagram @k33gan