Serial Vlogger: Part Forty-Nine
A horror novel in tiny slices.
Betty was lying face down on her living room floor, her head heavy on her arms as she lightly snored. Her days and nights blended into each other as she searched for her missing son. She rarely bathed in fear she’d miss any sounds or clues, so she’d often resort to a whore’s bath, a quick wipe of the pits and crotch, hastily wrapped braids, and off she went again. Her clothes were rank from digging through garbage cans and sifting through construction sites no matter the weather.
Piles of clothes and papers, cups, and hair ties dotted the room. A small pile of flyers featuring Bobby’s face and contact information lay on the table.
Her laptop was open. The sound of a gong clanged.
Betty startled awake. She sat up suddenly.
“Shit,” she said as she pushed at her forehead. Dizziness from sitting up too fast had her wobbling for a moment, and then she steadied herself. “Shit. Back to reality.”
The gong clanged again.
“What the – Oh.” Betty looked at the laptop. The gong video played. The clanging. The choir humming and trilling in the background. Subliminal messages woven between the sounds and words. “Get up. Get Ready. It’s Time.”
“Just a bit more sleep…oh, but I can’t…Bobby.” Betty choked back a sigh as she crawled over to the laptop and watched. The gong in the video was huge and golden. The vibrations poured from it. A hazy wave of sound and colour. Her eyelids were heavy.
Meditation has begun.
Betty fell into the easy cadence of the meditation voice that mingled in with the steady gong tone.
You are relaxed
She closed her eyes, drifting, pushing her agony aside as she struggled to be at one with the sound.
She sighed, breathing slowly in and out.
The golden gong slowly shifted, turning like a paddle boat wheel picking up speed. The golden shimmer spun into a giant golden coin of esoteric significance. It was a wheel like the Wheel of Fortune, all sliced up with hieroglyphics. It spun faster and faster.
The slow, steady gong sound went faster and morphed into the frantic clanging of slot machines.
Betty opened her eyes.
“Is it your turn? Your lucky day?”
“Everyone’s a winner!”
Clangclangclang whoosh
Tinkling chimes and a low humming resonated through her. Betty’s fingers tingled, the urge to play swelled up.
“Just one…just one…”
“You can do it. You’ll never regret a spin to win!”
Betty tapped at the keys, engulfed in the sounds and sights of the clanging.
The air in the room was thick, as if a fog had entered it.
She clicked.
“You’re a winner!”
The screen lit up with a bright yellow light, and then there was the rushing sound of coins pouring.
100
200
300
The numbers kept flipping until they finally landed on
$1010.10
Betty stared at the screen.
“I won?”
She clicked more buttons and soon she was staring at the amount in her bank account.
“I won.”
She blinked rapidly.
“I won, Bobby.”
A chill rushed through her.
“Bobby.”
Betty stood, wobbly from her sudden winnings and lack of sleep.
“I won, Bobby.” She cried out.
“Bobby!”
Her mind raced. How helpful that money would be for her search.
Rent!
More flyers.
More ads.
More coffee…
Betty staggered to the kitchen and clumsily made a pot. Her hands were shaking, tears streamed down her face.
“Today, I will find you, Bobby. I just know it.”
Meditation has ended.
