The Game We Don't Play Anymore

By Mike DeFrench

"The Game" is a futuristic VR game that works kind of like the dream machine thing in Inception. One person is the "host" for a game and the other players enter the host's mind.
But when Camille finally hosts a game for the first time, she sends her friends to Hell. Like...literally Hell. It only lasted for a few seconds. But it felt like eternity.
For days after her experience, Camille can't shake the feeling that something followed her out. There is something watching her. Some evil around the corner.
But that's crazy. I mean it's just a game…right?
A high school terrifying suspense in the tradition of Carrie with psychological twists that make you question your own reality (in the spirit of such scifi writers as Philip K Dick).
There's a reason that we don't play that game anymore...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike DeFrench
• Release date: Oct 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215672938

Mike DeFrench

Mike DeFrench is a horror, fantasy, and science fiction writer from Indianapolis, Indiana. You can follow him on social media @defrenchwriter. Or go to defrenchwriter.com. To read the stories as they come out, and to stay up to date on any news, subscribe at defrenchwriter.substack.com

Book preview

Chapter One

Itold them not to let me host. I said it was a bad idea.

I took the link off my head and got that strange sensation I always got when coming out of the game—like floating back into my body from somewhere above. It was a bit more intense than usual because I was the host instead of just a player. I set the link down on the table beside me.

Jesus, Camille! Benji said, ripping the link off and practically throwing it on the ground. What the hell was that? Did you forget to take your pills or something?

I don’t know, I said. I knew we shouldn’t have tried!

I think I’m going to be sick. He said, putting his head down and breathing deeply. He seemed good for all of two seconds but then hurled right onto the carpet.

Is everyone else alright? He said, wiping his mouth.

I looked around the room. We were in Benji’s basement at his dad’s house, me, Benji, Cait, and Sofia. Cait had removed her link and was staring blankly at the wall. Sofia sat in her chair, eyes closed, the link on her head.

Are you okay? I knelt beside her.

Her eyes bounced like pinballs behind her purple eyelids. I unfastened her link, but she didn’t wake up right away.

Benji? I said. I think something’s wrong with Sofia. She’s not opening her eyes. She’s shaking.

Move over, he said. Let me see.

He slapped her cheeks lightly and said her name but she didn’t wake up. The shaking turned into full-on convulsions.

She’s having a seizure or something! Look at her! I said.

Oh my god.

I killed her! I said. This is your fault, you made me do it, I told you I can’t—

Shut up and call 9-1-1! Benji said, holding his hand behind Sofia’s head so that she wouldn’t bang it into the back of the wooden chair.

I don’t know where my phone is! I said. Cait, what’re you doing? Can you please help out here?

She ignored me. Or didn’t hear me. I couldn’t tell which.

Mine’s right there on the table, Benji said, pointing.

Please be okay. Please be okay.

My own hands shaking just as much as Sofia’s, I picked up Benji’s phone and called.

Yes, it’s an emergency! I said to the operator. I- it’s my friend, I think she’s having a seizure or something. She’s shaking. Um, she’s sixteen....No, I don’t think she has any conditions or anything. Not that I know of. I don’t know what happened. We were just playing the game and I think I messed up something because it—it all just went horrifyingly. I—I don’t know.

Okay, ma’am, the operator said. The ambulance is already on its way. Your friend is going to be okay. I just want you to calm down and answer these questions as best you can.

Alright, I said through shivers.

I could barely focus enough to answer anything though. So much chaos around me. The operator asking questions about Sofia in one ear and Benji yelling at her in the other ear. And Cait just looking like an empty shell of a person in the corner.

Maybe we should call an ambulance for her too....I don’t think she’s even blinked since she came out.

God. What happened? How did I do that?

I thought I was feeling fine before we all linked up. I wasn’t anxious. I took my pill this morning. Why was the game so fucked up then?

It was like...like we were in Hell or something.

It lasted all of five seconds before we all pulled out, but it felt like forever. I thought for a second that Sofia might still be stuck there. The thought alone made my legs weak.

But that’s not possible. We took the link off of her. She can’t still be stuck there.

Oh god, I hope she’s not stuck there...

The ambulance arrived, and they took Sofia. She was still shaking so they had to bring her out on a stretcher. One of the paramedics talked to Cait. Her vitals were fine, but she still wasn’t talking. But because there was nothing physically wrong with her, they didn’t take her to the hospital with Sofia.

Do we need to go with her or anything? Benji said.

That won’t be necessary, the paramedic said. We already got her emergency contact information from her phone and informed her parents. They will be at the hospital.

What was wrong with her? Is she going to be okay? I said, trying to get one last question in before they left.

She should be alright. You need to be more careful with what you guys are making up in that thing. The paramedic said, talking about the game. Your body can’t tell what is real and what isn’t. You’ve got to take it easier sometimes.

Well, I—

We’ll be more careful, Benji said. Come on, Camille. We can’t leave Cait alone downstairs.

But we didn’t go back into the basement right away. We stopped in the kitchen. It was a mess. The dishes were piled up in the sink, and whenever one was added, a horde of fruit flies would try to feast on whoever’s hand disturbed their resting place.

Do you have any idea what that was like? Benji said, serious.

Of course I do, I said. I mean, I was there too.

I don’t think you were there, Camille, he said. Look at you! You look fine. There’s no freaking way you just experienced what we did.

I definitely experienced it, I said. It was hell.

It was, like, capital H hell. Like, shit, I feel like I need to go to church or something. That was....it was too much, Camille. How did your mind come up with that?

I don’t know! I said. "I thought I was fine even up to when we started syncing. My mind was clear. I mean I wasn’t thinking about hell or demons or any of that shit. I don’t know what happened. It just went blank like it always does at the start, like I was falling asleep, and then in an instant, we were there."

Right when I said the word there, Benji cringed. He felt the skin on his arms, presumably ensuring it was still there.

I don’t want to talk about it anymore, he said. Not right now. I need a drink or something.

Let’s check on Cait, I said.

She’s fine. Benji opened the fridge and grabbed a can of beer.

Won’t your dad notice that a beer is missing?

He doesn’t notice anything.

Well, then can I have one?

I don’t know, Benji said. You did just send me to actual hell. Should I give you a beer for that?

Hey! I said. I went too. You don’t see me acting like such a baby.

That’s exactly what I’m talking about! Benji said. It’s like it didn’t bother you at all. It’s freaking weird—we were just in hell! You’d think you’d be a bit more messed up from that?

He handed me the beer he’d already taken a sip from and got a new one for himself. I took several gulps without breathing and drank almost half the beer.

I was worried for Sofia! I said. I wasn’t thinking about the hell stuff. You know what? Maybe you’re just a way bigger bitch than me. And that’s why you’re still crying about it.

He showed me his middle finger.

Honestly, I thought it was kind of cool, you know? It was like the cover of a metal album or something.

Yeah, Benji said. It was cool aside from all of the screaming and horror. Real fucking metal.

You don’t think so?

I think that Catholic school isn’t really teaching you anything. If you think hell is so cool.

I’m not saying I’d build a vacation home there or anything.

You’re really fucked in the head, girl, you know that?

Oh, I know. My therapist tells me every Thursday. But seriously, I said, come on, I’m worried about Cait. We should check on her.

Fine, Benji said. You go ahead. I’ll meet you down there. I’m going to get some stuff to clean up the puke.

While Benji was rummaging through cleaning supplies underneath the sink, I went back down the stairs into the basement. I loved Benji’s basement. It was very homey, although a little crowded. But it had a door that led to the backyard, straight from the basement, so it didn’t make me feel claustrophobic like most basements did.

The smell of puke was strong when I hit the bottom step. So strong that I had to cover my nose with my shirt. Cait was still staring at the wall, just how we left her.

Hey, I said, sitting in the chair nearest her. Cait?

I reached out and grabbed her hand.

Ice cold.

Honey, you need to say something, I said. You’re freaking me out. Hello?

Everything on her face was expressionless. Except for her eyes.

I looked into them. Green and slightly bloodshot. But they were full of fear. She wasn’t looking at the wall, I figured. She was still seeing what we’d just come out of. The barren wasteland. Pits of fire and tar. Hell.

It was just a game, I said, not knowing what else to say. "I’m so sorry. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to send us there. It wasn’t really hell, you know that right? It was just my heads fucked up version of it. That wasn’t real."

Nothing.

Should I, like, dump a cup of water on her head or something?

I moved my face directly in front of hers so that she was looking into my eyes. I could smell her perfume. It was lavender. I loved the smell. I always carried a tiny bottle of lavender essential oil. My Mom got it for me, for my anxiety issues.

Cait! I said, a little too loudly.

I— She finally said.

So you are in there, thank God!

I’m gonna throw up, she said.

Just then Benji came down the stairs with a roll of paper towels and a spray bottle of pet-friendly carpet cleaner.

We need a bucket, I said. Like, now!

Cait’s face was getting screwed up like she’d eaten something sour, and her jaw was slowly lowering. Benji took one look at her, dropped all of the cleaning supplies, and raced to the homemade bar on the opposite side of the room. He grabbed an ice bucket and tossed it over the bar, almost knocking over a bottle of tequila. I tried to catch it but fumbled. Still, I was able to pick it up and hand it to Cait before the vomiting.

Yuck.

I hate that sound.

Gross, Cait said, looking down at whatever she’d just produced in the bucket.

She wiped away a dangling line of spit from her chin using the sleeve of her pink jacket.

That jacket’s so nice! I said. Use this.

I ripped off a paper towel from the roll Benji dropped.

Thanks, Cait said, taking the paper towel but not using it for anything. Ugh, that was awful.

I know, I said. I’m so sorry.

I hate throwing up, she said. I feel like I can never get the acid out of my throat afterward.

You can wash it down with a beer! Benji said, setting an unopened can down on the table beside Cait.

I’m good, Cait said. But thanks.

Suit yourself, Benji said.

He went to work cleaning up his own vomit.

Do you have any Febreze? I asked, covering my nose with my shirt again. This place is really starting to smell unbearable.

Eh, no, he said, grunting while he scrubbed the carpet. But you can open the back door if you want.

Please, Cait said. I could use some fresh air.

I got up and walked to the door. It was one of those doors that basically laid flat on the basement ceiling. The steps leading up to it were cold cement. I could feel the chill from the late November ground through my sneakers. I undid the deadbolt and had to use my back to push the heavy door open. It landed with a thud on the grass outside. The cool air rushed into the basement, alleviating the stuffiness. The scent of puke rushed passed me and dissipated in the open autumn air.

You know, I don’t get it, I said, looking at the lone, bare tree in Benji’s backyard.

What? Benji yelled from the basement.

Aren’t there supposed to be barriers against shit like that in the game? I said. Like, the programmers, they put in filters and stuff. To prevent things like that from happening? I thought it was all pretty heavily regulated ever since that MacGregor kid from Chicago got in so much trouble last year?

Yeah, you’re right, Cait said.

She was walking up the stairs barefoot to get some air with me. I could tell she was cold, the way she kept hopping from one foot to the other. But it was still better than that nasty-smelling basement.

I thought it was like, hard-coded, or whatever that nothing that fucked up could happen anymore, Cait said. You can’t use it to fulfill all your rape and murder fantasies anymore. I mean, it’s like against the law, right?

Hold on, Benji said.

I could hear him throwing stuff away then pouring a bit of water into the puke bucket and tying up a trash bag. He struggled up the stairs with a trash bag over his shoulder and a bucket of slosh in his other arm. Cait hopped up the rest of the stairs and stood in the grass.

Here, I can take something, I said.

Thanks, he said and handed me the bucket.

Gross. Don’t look at it.

I did anyway and gagged.

Just pour it out over the fence. I’ll hose it out in a second, he said.

I walked over to the fence, wishing I had my jacket on when a gust of cold air brushed me. My hair fluttered, covering my face a bit. A pile of leaves jumped up from the ground, danced in the wind, and then made a new pile a foot away. The grass was hard and cold under my feet, making crunching sounds, almost like fresh snow, every step I took.

I wish I would’ve worn my combat boots.

It’s probably time to get out all of the winter clothes now. I bet we’ve seen the last of the decent weather until next year.

Maybe I’ll do that tonight.

I looked through the chain-link fence to Benji’s neighbor’s backyard. The yard was in desperate need of one last mowing before the winter came or they would have some seriously shitty-looking grass by the time spring came around.

Well, they clearly don’t care what the HOA thinks.

I tossed the grossness in the bucket over the fence into their yard and looked at the house. Incredibly tall, it dwarfed Benji’s one-story house. It must’ve had at least three levels. It looked very old but had this classic Americana vibe that reminded me of my grandparents’ house in Ohio.

It still gives me the creeps though.

Not sure why.

I walked back to the basement door, setting the bucket down beside the tangled mess of dark green hose on the way. It looked like a sleeping anaconda.

You what? Cait said.

Keep it down, man, Benji said.

What? I said. What’d I miss?

Benji said he fucking jailbroke the game! Cait said, still dancing like she had to pee to keep her feet from freezing off.

Dude! Benji looked around the yard like he was about to do a drug deal. "I said keep it down. The whole thing isn’t strictly legal you know?"

You jailbroke it? I said, trying to keep my voice low. I didn’t even know that was possible.

Of course it’s possible, Benji said, looking proud of himself. You can jailbreak pretty much anything these days.

When did you do that? Cait asked.

Last week, Benji said.

Who did it for you? I said.

What do you mean? Benji said. How do you know I didn’t just do it myself? I could do it!

Right, I said. I forgot, you’re a real computer hacker. Maybe you were the Voyeur all along. Someone tell them that they got the wrong guy!

Haha, Benji said. Very funny.

Well? I said. Who’d you get to jailbreak it?

Alright, fine. It wasn’t me. It was a kid from your school, actually.

Who? Cait said.

I can’t say, Benji said. They said it was top secret. I mean, it’s illegal. They could go to jail for it. Or get into some real trouble at least. They don’t want it going around, you know, that they do that stuff.

Did you have to pay for it? I asked.

A little, Benji said. It was totally worth it, though. Now we can do anything with the game. Anything we want! I was hoping he would be able to get mine done before Halloween. I wanted to do some really scary shit with it.

No thanks, Cait said. I’ve had enough scary shit for a while.

Then maybe a giant orgy? Benji said, smirking at Cait with mischievous eyes.

Ha! She said. In your dreams.

Worth a shot, Benji said. Anyways, we could literally do anything now. All of the limitations and barriers are removed. We can use it for whatever we want.

Hold on, I said. You didn’t fucking tell me that before I hosted for the first time?

Yeah. That was my bad.

You idiot! I punched him in the arm.

Ouch! I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think you’d make up something so dark. I just wanted to see what would happen.

Sofia’s in the hospital! Cait said, punching his other arm.

Hey, stop hitting me! I said I was sorry. What else do you want from me?

First, Cait said, You’re going to go downstairs and make me and Camille a stiff drink that doesn’t taste like cheap beer.

And then, I said, you’re going to go out and buy the biggest bouquet of flowers you can find, and the biggest, fluffiest fucking teddy bear in the world, take it to the hospital and apologize to Sofia!

Okay, okay, Benji said, hands up in surrender. Just stop hitting me.

Let’s get inside. It’s freezing, I said.

We sat at the bar Benji’s dad made. He was in construction and had finished the whole basement by himself. I think it added to the homey feeling of the room. It was just warm and inviting, like a fire-lit living room on Christmas morning. Benji stood behind the bar, making some kind of elaborate concoction of a drink. I’d lost track of the many different liquors he’d added to it. He poured it all into a shaker and danced with the thing like a fancy bartender.

Or an overly dramatic magician.

I pictured Job from Arrested Development. Benji poured the drink, which came out a foamy pink liquid, into two decorated glasses.

Enjoy, he said.

I looked at Cait. She seemed as hesitant as I was, but we shrugged and took a sip.

Wow, I said.

This is actually good, Cait said.

It’s my own recipe! Benji said.

What do you call it? I asked.

I don’t know. The Benji?

I took another sip. It tasted fruity and refreshing, a hint of grapefruit and coconut. Benji got himself another of the cheap beers.

Not going to make one for yourself? Cait asked.

Too girly, Benji said. I’ll stick with beer.

We sat in silence for a minute, the wind whistling through a seam in the window above the bar. An uneasiness came over me. Unexplainable and without reason, like someone had poured a bucket of liquid fear down my back.

It’s nothing.

I looked at Cait. She was lightly stirring The Benji with her finger. Her eyes looked like she was daydreaming.

It’s just anxiety.

We’ve been through it a hundred times.

A thousand times.

I looked at Benji. He was eyeing the clock then the various messes that still needed to be cleaned up before his dad got home. The uneasiness turned to a soft panic.

A thousand times a day.

Do your breathing.

I tried. A deep breath in.

One. Two. Three. Four.

I let the breath out slowly. My fingers started to go numb.

It’s not working.

Stop overthinking it! You know what this is. It’s not real. Look around you. There is nothing to be afraid of. You’re with your friends. Having a drink.

It’s just the anxiety. It’s not real.

I took several big gulps of the drink in front of me and put down an empty glass. The pink foamy bubbles slowly slid down the side of the glass.

It’s foundationless. Just like every other time.

But it didn’t feel foundationless. In the moment of panic like that, it never felt foundationless. I put my heel on the footrest of the barstool and started wobbling my knee back and forth.

You okay, Camille? Benji said, crushing his beer can and getting out a new bag for the empty trashcan. You’re, like, really pale.

I’m good, I said. I just—can you make me another drink? Or, actually just a shot. Please? Something strong.

Yeah, Benji said, a worried look on his face. Sure, here.

Thanks.

I drank the brown liquid he poured for me.

Gross, Cait said. I don’t know how you drink that. You don’t want something to chase it with?

I’m okay, I said.

I hardly tasted anything when I drank it, but the dry, wooden taste of the whiskey (or whatever it was) lingered on my tongue, and I couldn’t ignore it afterward.

Something else to focus on.

I need to go to the bathroom real quick, I said.

I got up from the bar, grabbed my purse, and started walking to the stairs.

You sure you’re okay? Benji said.

I hurried up the stairs. I closed the door to the bathroom and locked it. I sat on the toilet and tried my breathing again. Deep breath in.

One. Two.

God, this is awful.

But the closed-off bathroom helped. I liked the feeling of four walls around me, close, like that, when the panic got really bad. It just felt secure or something. I opened my purse and got out my medicine. I hated using it, especially after drinking alcohol, but sometimes it was the only thing that could help. I stared at it for a moment but then put it back in my purse.

I don’t need it this time.

I got out the bottle of lavender oil and rubbed some on my neck. The scent was soothing. And the breathing started to do its magic. I got up and