ELEVEN: RESPAWN

Everything came back in a rush of color. Blues. Browns. Greys. Hints of red and yellow and orange. Mostly earth tones. And greens. Lots of green. A proverbial ass load of green, in a whole Bob Ross palette of shades. In fact, as Lars wobbled on what felt like brand new legs, he noticed that almost everything in front of him was green. It reminded him of that time he had celebrated St. Patrick’s Day in the Windy City and got so smashed he went for a swim in the Chicago River.

The green enveloped him then, just as it did now.

As his eyes slowly gained focus, the green took on a texture. It wasn’t just green for the sake of green. No, it came in long strands that started at the rocky ground and stretched to the baby blue sky splattered with white clouds above. It was like standing in a forest, except there were no trees only…

“Bamboo? No, that isn’t right,” he squeaked. “Hey! What the hell is wrong with my voice?!”

Instead of a deep baritone, his words came out high pitched, like from huffing helium after a wild birthday party. Not quite like a child, but not quite like a grown man, either. He decided it had to be some issue with the respawn. Or the game. Or it could have just been the whole disintegration thing.

Disintegration was new to him and he didn’t know what was normal procedure for getting blasted into atoms.

He shook the thought away. Frankly, he didn’t give a shit about the voice. The wall of green captivated Lars. It was so familiar to him, like he had seen something just like it when he was a child. He had a vague memory of a funny man with glasses. It had to be one of mom’s many boyfriends. The guy had probably taken him to the run-down playground in the park to impress her until she headed off to bingo. Then he came back to the trailer to crush a dozen Busch heavies out in the car port and forgot about Lars playing with broken bottles and old needles in the trailer less lot next to the playground.

“Nah, that ain’t it,” he squeaked. “It wasn’t a guy that was seeing mom it was”—he snapped his fingers—“it was from a movie! About that nerdy dad that zapped them kids all tiny-like! That’s what this reminds me of!”

So, the surrounding wall certainly wasn’t trees or bamboo, though that was close.

It was grass.

Good, old-fashioned grass. Just not the kind a gang of shrunken rich kids might find in a suburban backyard, but what you might find on an overgrown lot in the bad part of town. And the grass had grown to an enormous size.

He reached out and wrapped a hand around a stalk. It was about as big around as a shovel handle and fanned out as wide as the spade towards the top, like a bigger version of plain, mow-it-once-a-week grass.

He shrugged. “Kinda cool, I guess. Feels pretty real for a game.”

Lars pursed his lips and stepped forward. Now that had a second take in his surroundings, he saw he was in a clearing. An empty patch several dozen feet across with a gravelly bottom and yellowish dead thatch spread throughout.

“Weird.” He glanced across the opening and realized the kid was nowhere to be seen. The kid that had said he would be waiting for him. “Finn, kid? Are you here?”

There was a soft rustle in the distance.

“Finn? Quit playing around and come out.”

Another rustle.

“Seriously, kid.” He stroked his long beard in thought. The tip was… white? He shook it off. “You know that disoriented thing you were talking about? Well, I’m officially disoriented. For the second time in about five minutes, actually. And I’m hungry. Really damn hungry, kid. I sure hope you didn't forget my snacks.”

The grass in the distance waved, like the tops of trees in a breeze. Then the patch directly in front of him vibrated once and stood still.

“You can quit dicking around, all right? You got me, okay? Ha, ha. The little guy scared the big guy. You win. Now come out.” He stepped forward and reached his hands out for the grass, drove his palms in vertical, and spread it apart. “Finn, you—what in the hell?!”

A torrent of water poured down on top of Lars. It hammered him from above like a firehouse. A firehouse that spewed foul smelling water…

It dripped into his mouth, and he gagged.

“Yeah, that’s piss.” He licked his lips and made a sour face. “Definitely piss. But where is it...”

Lars snapped around to see the source and nearly fell over backwards.

Across from him stood the biggest guinea pig Lars had ever seen in his life. And this wasn’t any common guinea pig, either. The thing was head height at the shoulders, with thick mottled brown fur and long curved yellow teeth, far more sinister than any guinea pig Lars had ever seen in a pet store. It was a monster that could only be the creation of someone with a disturbing imagination.

Some kid that spent his spare time creating free computer programs for fun.

A gamer.

A gamer had created this thing. There was no doubt in his mind.

They had done fantastic work on the animal, too. Blood and gore were mashed into the bristle-like hair around its mouth, leaving no question as to the wildness of the beast. Then—with a dog-like bark that made his ears hurt—it bared its forearm length teeth at him, flinging a mixture of drool and viscera in his direction.

His heart jumped in his chest. He didn’t know how much like a real guinea pig this thing was, but he had seen enough nature documentaries to know that sudden movement was the worst thing he could do when face-to-face with any big animal.

“Hey there, piggy,” he said in his calmest tone possible. “Why don’t you turn around and head the other way? You don’t want to eat nasty ole Lars, do you? I’m mostly fat and scar tissue. I’d taste awful.”

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The guinea pig blinked its coal-black eyes, then cocked its head.

Lars held out a shaking hand. “That’s a good piggy. You didn’t know I was standing in your pissing spot, did you? You’re just startled, is all. Look here.” He dipped his head and took a step back. “The Ogre is backing away. I’m getting out of your territory. No harm, no foul, right?”

The guinea pig blinked again.

“Good. Good, piggy.” Lars took another step backward. “You know, piggy?”

It padded its paws against the ground and wrinkled its nose, puffing foul breath right into Lars’ face.

“I’ve alway liked guinea pigs. Never had one, though. Mom wouldn't allow it. Said we didn't have room, can you believe that?”

The guinea pig dipped its head and locked eyes with Lars, then flared its nostrils open and shut so fast it looked like a blur. It licked at the gore around its mouth and panted like a virgin at a gentlemen's club. With nary a sound, the big rodent backed away until it disappeared into the tall grass. Then suddenly, all the ambient noise around him—bird calls, fluttering wings, the buzzing of insects—disappeared. Instead of the sounds of nature, all Lars could hear was a rapid clicking of massive teeth, like a certain rodent was gearing up for an all-you-can-eat Ogre buffet.

Lars drew in a sharp breath, then said, “I think it’s time to run now.”

He twisted around and bounded towards the wall of green in front of him, just as a wicked snarl told him the big rodent had lunged. He dove and flew into the stalks headfirst, tucking his head and turning the maneuver into a roll, ducking just in time to miss a swipe from a paw with razor-sharp claws the size of avocados.

He snapped to his feet and pumped his legs like pistons, driving each foot into the ground like his life depended on it. Lars chanced a glance behind him and wished he hadn’t. The vicious guinea pig was a brown blur behind him, matching his every move and gaining.

Just ahead, he saw a sliver of light shining through the grass on his left.

Dropping his hand down towards the ground, he used it to scoop up a basketball sized stone, then checked behind him again. The rodent was still racing after him, animal hunger in its wild eyes. He ran towards a thicker patch of grass to his right, stopped, and threw the stone out in front of him with every bit of force he could muster. Lars squatted down, waited for half a second, heard the beast take the bait, then darted off to his left and into the opening with the sliver of light.

And immediately wished he hadn’t.

All the grass in front of him—for as far as he could see—was bent over a quarter of the way up, like the crop circles he saw in books as a kid. Or in the movie Signs. And just like that cornfield outside the Hess family home, there was nowhere to hide. And he could hear the pig getting closer.

But just then, he noticed something new. Just beyond a copse of trees—actual trees—was a massive wooden wall. And in front of it was some kind of two-story structure enclosed with hand hammered metal on the sides.

It was his only chance.

He made a break for it.

He ran over the bent stalks with swiftness fueled by survival, using every fiber of being to push his body to its limits. His breath grew ragged. The pain in his sides made him want to vomit. His legs burned, but he willed himself on.

The wall inched closer and closer, and before he knew it, he was within a ring’s distance from the odd structure. All he had to do was crawl under it, or climb up it, or get behind it. Truth be told, he didn’t know how it would save him, but deep in his soul he knew it would… until he tripped over a stalk and fell face first into the mud.

He flipped over and tried to scramble to his feet, but something had pinned him down. He reached down to push away the thing on his chest, but it was no use. It was the rodent's paw. The animal cocked its head at him, licked its beaver-like teeth, and drove the tips of its black claws into his chest. He gasped in pain as the talons drove into the meat.

Then the beast opened its mouth and lowered its red-stained face down for the kill.

And licked his naked legs.

Lars gasped. "The fuck?"

It was teasing him. The bastard was teasing him! Tasting his flavor before it began its meal.

But right before the animal bit down and ended whatever new life Lars had found himself in, a shadow fell over them both. Then a massive green hand swooped in and lifted the oversized rodent into the sky.

And Lars Ochre, one of the toughest men to ever get into the ring, screamed.

***

“Giant!” Lars bellowed, his unfamiliar voice cracking with fear. “Oh, my fucking god it’s a giant!”

The massive shadowy form looked down at him, reached out a clawed hand, and barked a low grumble. “BISSS!”

Lars scrambled to his feet, not even bothering to wipe the mud from his face, and ran for the wall, muttering as he went. “First, I get turned into a Jello jiggler, then I get sucked through a straw, lose my body, get pissed on, and then I almost get eaten by a rabid monster guinea pig. And now Gogamog here wants to grind my bones to make bread. Well, that ain’t happening because this Jack is about to climb that damn beanstalk!”

The ground shook as he reached the base of the structure in front of the wall. He looked up and licked his lips. “It’s pretty damn high. Been a while since I climbed anything other than a turnbuckle.”

The giant roared again. “SCUT!”

Lars glanced back and saw the giant’s foot come crashing to the ground. The dirt beneath him trembled and drove a shiver up his spine.

“Man, that’s terrifying. No time like the present to see if you can still climb, I guess.”

Lars wrapped his hands around the wooden post at the corner and shimmied up. After he made it a dozen feet off the ground, he came to some sinewy lashings connected to a horizontal post. On top of the horizontal post sat the metal box he had seen from across the clearing. A series of similar lashings connected the box to the corner post and ran all the way to the top.

Lars smiled. Whoever had built this thing probably hadn’t intended it, but they had given him a built-in ladder. Like a ladder match. He could do a ladder match.

He latched on to the first rung and pulled himself up hand over fist, without even bothering to hook his feet as he went. To an outside observer, he probably looked like a firefighter that showed up to work after a three-day meth binge. He reached the top, took one more look at the approaching giant, and yanked himself over the edge to what he hoped was safety.

It wasn’t. Not quite.

Instead, Lars Ochre went plunging into a pool of warm, algae-green water.

Not exactly what he had hoped for, but it would work. As long as he could hold his breath, that is. Then the realization hit him. He was playing a game. It wasn’t real. None of this was real. Sure, it looked real as all hell. But it was still a game. He didn’t need to hold his breath. Only a maniac would code something like that into a game. Shit, he probably didn’t even need to run from the guinea pig. He could have just taken his literal licks and respawned again.

For all he knew, whatever glitch that kept him from squeezing his fist would be fixed by then.

Suddenly, a sense of calm washed over him.

He knew what he had to do.

He relaxed, and let himself sink to the bottom of the pool like Cameron in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. He could wait that giant out. So Lars drifted right above the bottom for the longest time, watching his arms floating in the green-tinged murk around him. It was actually kind of calming.

Until he saw a giant larva that looked like a dragonfly without wings floating in front of him. The break in the calm made him realize—by no reason other than the burning flame in his chest—that he was running out of air.

Lar Ochre opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out.

Instead, water rushed in as everything faded to black.