Fear Manifested

When Justin and I were in our twenties, going to an adult-only roller rink at 10:30 PM would hardly have sounded like a wild night out. But tonight, that was exactly what we were doing, and it was the most adventurous thing we’d done together in quite a while.

“Can you believe we’re actually out at night together?” I asked, with what I hoped was the perfect amount of enthusiasm.

“Crazy,” he said, without looking up from his phone.

“You know, we left a bit early. Do you want to stop and grab dessert on the way? How about ice cream? A big one with a banana, some cherries, and chocolate; the whole shebang.” I flashed him a cheesy grin, hoping it would catch. Turn my head to look at him I swerved a bit.

“Jesus!” he said, looking up from his phone to see what could have caused me to drive so recklessly.

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. Justin knows that I don’t like ice cream. He has to notice that I’m making an effort. Did he even hear the question?

“So… it’s no to the ice cream?”

“Huh? Oh… I’m good.”

“Well, what do you want to do? We’ve got plenty of time before they open. There’s got to be something to do while we wait.”

“Aren’t you the one who planned this?” His tone was dry and accusatory.

What on earth did I do to piss him off?

He can’t be mad about my driving.

“I wouldn’t call it a plan,” I said defensively. “Skating was supposed to be the catalyst for spontaneity—one stop in a night full of little adventures.”

“Oh?” he said. Then continued whatever he was doing on his phone.

We sat in silence for a few minutes after that. I contemplated trying to start some small talk. I ran through the list of topics in my head: work, politics, the HOA’s bullshit letter about our fence. Conversation used to flow between us.

I miss that.

Suddenly feeling hurt, I decided to ask him what was so damned interesting on his phone when he looked up and said:

“Do you want to go to Nocturne & Hallows?”

A handful of questions jumped to mind, but I pushed them aside and said, “Yes. Where is it?” This was exactly what I had hoped would happen. We were out at night and free to explore… just like we used to.

“Did someone from work tell you about this… nightclub?” I ventured.

“No, it’s not a club.” Having suggested it, he still sounded uninterested. “I just looked it up. It’s a coffee shop. Oh… and they sell trinkets.”

I didn’t press it. Why spoil the surprise?

About ten minutes later, with only a few minor snips and quips about directions and the proper application of brakes, we arrived at Nocturne & Hallow - a “gothic-themed coffee lounge with a cabinet full of curiosities.” The building’s architecture screamed 1980s fast-food joint, and from the looks of it, it hadn’t seen regular maintenance in a decade.

There were a few cars in the parking lot, but the place was far from “happening.”

“This graveyard must look awful in the daylight.” The words escaped my mouth a millisecond faster than my filter.

“You know what, never mind.” He was already drawing his seatbelt across his body again.

“Hey, we’re already here.” Why did I sound so tired? Oh yeah… it’s already two hours past my bedtime.

“Let’s go in there and grab a coffee. Who knows, maybe they’ll spike it with a potion,” I teased.

He didn’t seem amused, but one thing he would never say no to was a cup of coffee.

The atmosphere inside was pleasant in that I’m so depressed I want to die sort of way. The furniture: a hodgepodge of different styles and eras was arranged to give several small groups distinct seating areas in what was otherwise one large room. The walls, painted black, were lined with shelves overstocked with occult books, souvenirs, and trinkets. All the windows were draped with maroon fabric, but the first thing anyone would notice was the oversized crystal chandelier hanging right above the menu at the bar, which boasted offerings such as:

Graveyard Shift — extra-strong cold brew with espresso shot

Coffin Nail — espresso + dark chocolate + cayenne

The Mourning Cup — lavender + vanilla latte

Ash & Ember — toasted marshmallow mocha

Widow’s Wake — black tea + cream + vanilla + spice

I took a quick glance around the room to get a look at my fellow creatures of the night. It was then that I noticed our car was on full display through one of the front windows. Anyone who cared enough to look up would have seen us bickering in the car.

Of the potential voyeurs in the room, one group stood out. They were dressed in full 90s goth, complete with studded jackets and eyeliner. You don’t see too many like that anymore, I thought.

Then I heard Justin say, “…and a large black coffee.”

He’d already ordered our coffee. Am I that predictable? A quick sweep over the menu told me yes, I wouldn’t have ordered anything different.

“That’ll be $12.38,” said the attendant, scratching hurriedly with a Sharpie on a pair of to-go cups. I pulled out my wallet automatically, but Justin was already tapping the POS terminal with his phone.

“See that door over there?” It was the barista again, pointing to an arched doorway draped with the same maroon fabric. “While you wait for your order, why don’t you go inside and have a look at our collection?”

I looked at Justin and, with a shrug that said why not, we quietly crossed the lounge into a room that would be considered small if it was a walk-in closet. A few curio cabinets lined the walls on either side, and there was a rope line in front of the back wall.

The items on the shelves could have been collected in a single trip to a local antique store or even a flea market, but each had a small card next to it explaining its “haunted” or “cursed” origin.

I read a few out loud in my usual joking, irreverent manner.

“Look at the Raggedy Ann doll! Classic.”

“Check out this trowel. It was supposedly found behind Saint Mary’s down the road. It was used in the construction of the mausoleum…”

“Hey, look at this planchette. It only says: we don’t touch this one.”

I looked over at Justin and could swear that a brick wall separated us. He didn’t hear a word I said. He was staring at a portrait hung on the wall behind the rope line.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, trying to etch my voice with concern rather than the annoyance I felt.

“Huh? Oh—yeah, sorry. I need that coffee to wake me up.” He gestured toward the painting. “I like that. I’d hang something like that in our dining room.”

I followed his gaze. A child leading a lamb by a rope.

I leaned over and read the card.

“This painting was donated by the Vouges Estate after the matron of the family passed away. Her sons stated that she was found dead sitting in this chair, staring into the child’s eyes.”

I glanced at the old rocking chair nearby;

Nothing special.

“How spoo….” I began, but a voice behind me cut in.

“Excuse me.”

I jumped, bumping into one of the shelves. It rattled violently, like the whole thing was held together by two nails and a few curses. A small glass trinket fell and shattered into a fine powder on the floor.

“Shit.”

I turned to see who had startled me and found myself face to face with one of the goths from earlier. She was holding two cups labeled Just-in.

“Makes sense for her to work here.”

“You’re not supposed to touch the shelves,” she said. “You’re going to have to pay for that.”

Justin must have seen the look on my face because he stepped in front of me to accept the coffee.

“Sure,” he said. “Why not?”

“But…” I started, then stopped. He was probably right.

That didn’t stop me from grabbing the card that had stood next to the now shattered relic and slipping it into my pocket.

“I might as well know what I broke,” I said, half daring her to protest.

She didn’t.

Justin handed me the cups and said, “Why don’t you wait in the car? I’ll take care of this.”

A few moments later, he hopped into the car holding a brown paper bag. The trace of a smirk lined the edge of his mouth.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“You,” he blurted out, laughing. “You’re so uptight. That girl was messing with you. They didn’t care about the vial.”

“What’s in the bag then? Dessert?”

“Huh? Oh, I have no idea what’s in the bag,” he said, holding it up so I could see.

The top was stapled shut, and in the same chicken-scratch Sharpie it was labeled: Mystery $30.

My filters worked this time. I stopped myself from asking why in the hell he had paid thirty dollars for what was almost certainly junk.

“Hopefully it’s not haunted,” I said instead.

The drive from the coffee shop to the roller rink was uneventful. We sipped our coffee, and Justin showed off his new toys: a cat-themed tarot deck, a few small polished stones, a feather with a BIC pen glued into it, and some stickers of varying occult symbols.

“Not a bad haul for thirty bucks.”

Our destination sat at the end of a dark street lined with warehouses. An overfilled dumpster surrounded by discarded couches made it clear this was not the best part of town. The rink looked like every other building on the block and was completely dark, presumably still closed. It looked like it hadn’t been open in decades.

“Is this the right place?” Justin asked, clearly unsettled.

“This is it…” I said, with zero confidence. “We’re a bit early. Do you want to bail?”

As if on cue, a burst of neon laser light exploded from all sides of the building. I glanced at my watch.

10:30 PM on the dot.

“We’re already here,” Justin said, opening his door. “Let’s go check it out.”

As I stepped out—one leg on the pavement, coffee in hand, I bumped the cup against the door and spilled what was left all down my jeans.

“Shit!”

I looked over at Justin. He was doubled over, laughing.

“How did you even do that?” he asked. “Why were you bringing your coffee in?”

“The sign says BYOB,” I shot back, there was nothing to do about it, so I joined him in laughing.

We were still laughing when we stepped inside.

The interior had that classic rink look: every wall a different color, neon astro carpet underfoot, blinking lights and glittering disco balls hanging from the ceiling. Music blasted at a volume that made conversation optional at best.

After a few quick interactions with the staff, and a few minutes lacing up our skates, we were rolling clumsily from the lobby onto the skate floor.

“What made you want to come here?” Justin asked.

“I thought it would be fun,” I said. “You know… fun? That thing we used to have?”

His face darkened.

“I thought you might be trying to kill me,” he said. “One fall on this floor, that’s all it would take.”

“Kill you?” I said, feigning offense. “How could I survive without you?”

We were the first ones on the floor, but after a few wobbly laps, the regulars started to trickle in. It didn’t take long to realize that what we had been doing barely qualified as skating.

A young couple flew onto the floor like twin jets, racing the track in perfect sync, smooth and effortless.

“They look like they were born with wheels for feet.” I must not have said it loud enough, because Justin just pointed at his ear and shook his head.

I let it go and focused on staying upright.

After about thirty minutes, we collapsed into a row of chairs along the far wall and watched the handful of people circling the rink.

A trio of girls had been passing a bottle of vodka between laps and were now skating worse than we had been. One of them took a fall that would have sent either of us straight to the hospital, but she bounced back up like nothing had happened.

A pair of employees in mascot costumes rolled past. We laughed, though not nearly as hard as the three drunk girls.

“Are you over it?” I asked Justin, who looked as sweaty as I felt.

“I could be,” he said. “Maybe a few more rounds… since we’re never doing this again.”

Before I could retort, he was already on his feet and rolling away.

I pushed myself up and caught up to him, slightly out of breath. I tried to slip my hand into his.

He pulled away sharply.

I tried again.

“I don’t want to hold your hand.”

“Why not?”

“Dude, you smashed glass at the coffee shop, then spilled your coffee all over yourself. I’m not going to let you drag me down with you.”

That stung.

I pushed off hard and sped down the rink, skating faster than I should have, trying to prove a point I wasn’t saying out loud. I hit the carpet edge too quickly and nearly went down as my wheels caught the transition to the carpet.

I glanced back.

Justin was still moving, but something about him looked… off. There was a blur around him.

Probably just the lights. I thought as I rolled back to the counter and returned my skates.

Reaching into my pocket for my keys, my fingers brushed against the card I had taken from the curio shelf.

It was damp at the edges now, the ink slightly smudged.

“Cont. Fear Manifested”

I snorted and tossed it into the nearest trash can.

I didn’t see Justin. Bathroom, I assumed, and headed out to the car to wait.

After a few minutes sitting in the car and scrolling through reels, I texted Justin: “Hey, I’m in the car. WYA?”

I waited.

No response.

That wasn’t normal. He might not hear me in person, but he always answered texts. Even while we were skating, he’d been texting a friend.

Something tightened in my chest.

I got out of the car.

The walk back inside felt wrong in a way I couldn’t explain, like I had skipped a frame in a film. The lobby was empty.

No staff.

Even the music was gone.

I froze and looked around.

We had been ID’d at the door. I had literally handed my skates to someone a few minutes ago. That person wasn’t there anymore.

I pushed forward, moving fast now, almost running toward the skate floor.

I was relieved to see Justin was still there.

Circling the rink.

But everyone else was gone… vanished.

And around Justin… there was that distortion again. Not a blur. Not exactly.

Like heat trapped in glass.

Was he inside a bubble?

For a second, my brain tried rationalizing—this was a prank, the staff was in on it. Justin was messing with me.

“How did he pull that off?” I muttered.

“You got me.” I called out as he passed.

Nothing.

He didn’t slow. Didn’t look. Didn’t acknowledge me at all.

But he was moving differently now, faster, controlled. Like he had always known how to do this.

Had the clumsy skating been an act?

Why?

I ran back to the lobby.

“Hello? I need help!” My voice sounded wrong in the silence.

No answer.

Even my footsteps felt too loud. The only sound left was wheels on cement, somewhere behind me.

Panic took over.

I jumped the counter, shoved my feet into a pair of skates, didn’t even tie them properly, and pushed off hard toward the rink.

Justin was still circling.

Smooth now. Effortless.

Better than anyone we had seen earlier.

I tried to catch him, but every time I got close I felt as though a force was pushing me back.

My frustration snapped into something sharper.

Fine.

If he wouldn’t stop, I would make him.

I cut into the center of the rink and waited.

He came around again.

Closer.

Faster.

The air around him seemed to ripple.

He didn’t slow.

Didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t even see me.

Justin didn’t hit me.

The bubble did.

It tore free from him like something breaking surface tension and slammed into me full force.

It felt like being struck by a car.

I was thrown across the floor into the corner near the chairs.

Everything went black.

I don’t know how long I was out, when I came to, I was still there on the floor.

The neon was gone.

The rink was lit in harsh fluorescent white, flat and clinical, like the place had been peeled back into something real.

A small crowd stood near the entrance. Uniformed officers were asking questions.

And Justin….

Justin was sitting on a bench with his face in his hands.

Relief hit me so hard it almost hurt.

“Justin!” I shouted, scrambling to my feet.

I ran toward him.

And slammed into something I couldn’t see.

A surface.

It flickered where I touched it, like light catching on glass.

I pushed again.

It didn’t move.

My breath caught.

And then I understood with sickening clarity:

I was trapped inside a bubble.