Level Zero by Dan McDowell (books that read to you TXT) 📕

from it. Joe poured the clear liquid from the other cup onto Chris’s bleeding wrist. The penetrated skin soaked it in, healing in a moment’s time.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“What was that?” Chris said.

“Take another drink and see for yourself.”

Yeah, right. I’m smarter than I look. Who knows how long it will take before this stuff wears off?

“And why should I?”

“You’d be a fool not to, Chris. You’re my guest, and I welcome you to consume it. Don’t you like what you see?”

Chris drank the semi-sweet liquid again and the pain in his body dissipated.

“A path to relief. Know the pain… and learn the contrast. That’s the best way.” Joe spoke lingering words that would hover in the back of Chris’s weary mind, “I like to call this place, ‘Level Zero.’ Since you are going into the scare business, we can make it out to be one hell of a ride. That would be fun. Wouldn’t it? Heh-heh.”

Struggling not to slur his words, Chris raised his voice, “Stop laughing and let’s get down to business.” An otherworldly inebriation took hold.

What’s happening to me?

Creeper Joe’s eyes turned yellow, and his voice became an octave deeper. He grew stronger and more energized as he transformed. “Don’t you order me… You’re going into business with me, dummy! Not the other way around. I can give you a taste of scary if that’s what you want… Is that what you want?” He leaned in close, breathing in a savage fury toward Chris’s face as the warmth of his breath hit the whites of his eyes. A brass syringe fell from Joe’s pocket onto the floor. He kicked it aside.

Timidity lingered in Chris’s voice as he backed away, “No. I don’t want that. I’m sorry. This whole situation is a little… out of my comfort zone.”

“You are going into the business of scaring people!” Joe yelled. “There’s no such thing as a ‘comfort zone’ anymore. You’re professionally committing yourself to forever staying out of your… comfort zone and vowing to do that to as many others as you can. Why is that, Chris? Why is that? Oh, I know, maybe you’re just old-fashioned? Perhaps, two men having a meal together in a dark room seems odd to you. Not much of an ‘80s man, are you?”

Chris shook his head.

You have no idea.

He looked at his restored arm and said, ”No, no. It’s not that. It’s you. You’re not meant to be here. You’ve admitted that already.”

Joe’s demeanor changed as he massaged Chris’s shoulder. “I have? I already told you more than you needed to know about me. Some mysteries are best left unexplained. I can help you benefit from some of these… mysteries — if you play ball with me. Will you play ball?”

I feel like I’m going to be sick.

He maintained his composure as he replied, “Okay, yeah. Sure thing.”

Another thunderous clap knocked him to the ground, unconscious. The tunnel brightened as he and Joe appeared in a baseball stadium. A surrounding crowd of flat people watched them from the stands, accompanied by a dull hum of stadium noise. The exhibition was already in progress, and the score was five to four. Joe had the lead.

Chris stood hovering over home plate, mystified by the transformation.

What was in that drink? Good grief. That’s the last time I ever accept anything from a stranger.

“What do you think there, Chrissy boy? Let’s play ball,” Creeper Joe bellowed from behind the pitcher’s mound as he donned a red catcher’s mask.

The organ played, and the crowd roared. Joe wound up, preparing to pitch.

“I’ll give you a fast ball. Right down the middle. You better get a home run.”

He delivered the pitch, and Chris’s swing missed the ball.

Come on, now.

“Strike one, sucker! How about some pin stripes? Your uniform’s looking a little dull,” Joe said.

The next ball dropped from the sky into Joe’s hands.

“Same pitch. Don’t blow it… You can do it, buddy. I’d hate to call you a loser. You don’t want to be a… loser, do you?”

Cheeky dickens. Not going to trash talk me.

He gripped the bat — his fury increasing as he prepared to swing. Creeper Joe delivered the pitch. The ball flew across the left of home plate at an obnoxious speed, striking Chris in the chest.

“Oops. I’m sorry about that!” Joe said. “I could see the rage in your eyes. Don’t stir up trouble in the community with your anger. That’s one of the Cardinal Rules here, you know. Your anger will lead to that, even to having hands that shed innocent blood, you creep.”

“What?”

“I said… it’s a Cardinal Rule. Don’t you read the Bible? Proverbs 6. I would have pegged you for some kind of Bible Trivia champ. Or wait, are you more of a chump? Heh-heh. I’ll give you another. It could be the most important swing of your life — what you have left of it, anyway!”

Joe raised his eyebrows up and down a few times before hurling the ball. Chris swung early, catching a piece with a familiar crack. It soared through the sky toward the right-field fence.

“Going, going, gone! Home run for Chris Wilkerson! Time for the crowd to go wild! Oh, wait,” Joe paused. “I’m sorry. The perfect score is five to four — not five to five. You’re not allowed to change that. I should have told you. Oops.”

What the hell is going on?

Without warning, balls plummeted from the sky toward Joe as he flung them full force at Chris, pelting him mercilessly. Creeper Joe grew animated and moved, resembling an over-caffeinated pitching machine. The pelt-a-thon continued until Chris dropped to the ground. Soon after, the stadium’s lights went out, and the synthetic crowd faded away. Chris lay flat on his back, dazed. After taking a few minutes to recover, he came to his senses, staring at the tunnel’s ceiling as a rat ran across his chest.

“Loser. Loser. Loser! Sorry, Chrissy boy. I rigged that game. My stadium, my rules. Capiche? My tunnel, my rules!”

I hope I’m seeing the