I didn’t realise how late it was, at first. The arcade is a maze of neon lights and stimulation. I knew my friends had been picked up, one by one. Even the birthday kid was gone, waved off with much fanfare.

But the games were still on, and still FREE. I was determined to make the most of it before Dad peeled me away. Drifting from cabinet to cabinet in a gleeful haze, trying and failing at every booth in the shop over and over, giggling and cheering and groaning to myself as I rode the highs and lows of adrenaline and dopamine whipped together by machines designed to milk me of coins.

Until the “GAME OVER” screen refused to listen to me pounding the restart button. I moved to the next cabinet and found it also displayed “GAME OVER”. As did the next.

Turning around to stare down the corridor of games, I found each was flashing “GAME OVER”, a synchronised pulse painting the darkened ceiling red in time with my heartbeat.

Oh. Clearly the free time package had run out. It was nice that they’d just set the machines to not allow new tries, rather than turning everything off in the middle of my last run. (Which had gone really well! If only I’d had one more try…)

Now that I was thinking, my mind freed from the relentless allure of the games, I realised I must have been here for *hours*. Where was Dad? Had he forgotten to pick me up?? I hurried down the red-lined lane towards the main desk, where we’d all been made to leave our phones.

The security guy was gone. Must’ve left me playing and gone for his rounds. Nice of him, but it did leave me at a loss. I had no idea where my phone was stored, and without it I couldn’t text Dad, access the arcade website, or even just amuse myself.

Ugh.

Jaunty beeping broke the silence. I assumed one of the cabinets was still running, but everywhere I looked, all I saw was that slow, relentless pulse of “GAME OVER”.

The low-res music continued. Definitely a game theme, though not one I recognised. Then I heard clattering, like a bunch of people walking on a wooden floor.

But… the entire arcade was carpeted, a thick plush black carpet with thin lines of bright colour forming crazy swooping patterns. I’d always wished I could have a carpet like this. So did Mum, though her reasoning was that an entire stampede of children rushing through the arcade could barely be heard.

So where were the footsteps coming from?

My gaze swept left and right - then finally, prompted by some movement, shot up.

Eyes. That was the first thing I registered about the monster. Its giant, glassy dark eyes which reflected the “GAME OVER” messages flashing below. Its mouth hung open, a large floppy grey tongue dangling in a way which would’ve been funny if not surrounded by long gleaming metal fangs. I could barely see the rest of it, only glimpses of a twisted spindly body with millipede-like legs that dragged it along the ceiling.

Part of this was due to the monster’s form being… blocky. Warped. Fuzzy? It took a moment for my brain to process what I was seeing; a real entity made of millions of pixels, as if on a huge and impossibly complex shifting computer screen.

As our gazes met it *grinned* and the boops it was crooning shifted to a sharp, pumping tune.

Chase music.

A combination of gaming experience and primal instinct made me wheel around and dash for the entrance. Behind me its footsteps stayed steady, a slithering march I was sure I could outpace, at least long enough to get to the front door where-

The doors were shut. A glass barricade letting me see freedom yet holding it out of reach. And standing in front of them was my dad. Squinting down at his phone and frowning, probably grumbling to himself about not being able to get hold of anyone while I ran for my life from this freakish cyber monstrosity.

I screamed. He looked up.

He saw me. He saw what was chasing me.

His mouth flopped open and his eyes bugged out and-

He dove sideways, out of the way. Out of sight.

My breath tangled in my throat.

What did I expect? That my dad, my dumpy bespectacled dad, who claimed having an allotment was a full exercise routine and thought *supermarket halloween costumes* were more than enough horror for a whole year, would-

Then he stepped back into view, eyes wide and manic, setting his feet like a cricket batter and hefting a familiar tool.

He’d spent hours teaching me how to use that jack. Even made me calculate how the long handle added force. Waxed lyrical about the wonders of leverage while I pretended to listen and longed to go play.

Now he swung again and again, the wonders of leverage and steel and desperation reducing the glass screen to pieces.

I felt stinging across the arm I threw up over my face. I knew some of the glass shards had cut me. But with the breath of the monster hot against my back, stinking of dead electronics and rotting meat, I wouldn’t have cared if the glass hit my *eyes*. I threw myself into one last rush, crunching over the destruction to grab my dad’s hand, and we ran for the car.

Dad dropped the jack on the pavement, all his lessons about proper storage of tools cast aside, just as this was the only time he ever started the car with the back hanging open and me not having my seatbelt on.

As we roared out of the parking lot I looked back, and saw the monster in the doorway. Its screen-like eyes now flashing “PLAY AGAIN?”