“Aliens?” I asked.
The stranger laughed again. I was intrigued by his response, but I knew if I pressed him for more info, he’d interpret our continuing conversation as a come-on.
“Let me buy you a drink,” he said, moving close.
“Thanks anyway; I’m not staying.”
“You’re cautious. I understand…We all are. That’s why the Coffin Club is the hottest underground club. We can all be ourselves. By the way, my name is Leopold.”
“Uh…I’m…”
I felt something vibrating in my purse. I reached in—it was my cell. Saved by the bell—or in this case vibration. “I have to take this,” I said, leaving the bar. I flipped my cell open and snuck under a stone archway.
“Raven?” It was Aunt Libby. I could barely hear her. “How are you?”
“Hi, Aunt Libby,” I shouted back. “I’m fine.”
“What are you doing? I can hardly hear you.”
I sauntered through the catacombs, heading away from the noisy dance floor.
“I have your stereo cranked.”
“You’ll have to turn it down. I don’t want my neighbors to complain.”
“Of course. I’ll turn it off as soon as we hang up.”
“Are you having a good time?”
“Can you talk louder?” I asked, holding my other ear closed with my index finger.
“Are you having fun? I’m sure you’re bored to tears.”
“It’s not too bad,” I bellowed back, continuing to walk.
“I wish you had come to class with me. Our teacher was from Kenya. He was truly amazing.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m having a great time by myself,” I said truthfully.
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“I’m having a great time,” I shouted as a few clubsters dressed in cosplay outfits passed me.
“Class will be letting out shortly. I’ll see you soon.”
“Take your time, Aunt Libby.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to rush on account of me.”
“I can’t hear you. We’ll talk when I get home. See you soon.” She hung up before I had a chance to stall her departure.
It was imperative that I beat Aunt Libby home.
I dropped my cell in my purse and realized I’d lost my sense of direction. Was the Dungeon dance floor to the right or the left? I had a fifty-fifty chance of making the correct choice. Naked bulbs lit the way through the stone tunnel, and a few more catacombs splintered off. I’d been so focused on my conversation with Aunt Libby that I hadn’t made any mental directional notes. I needed a trail of bread crumbs.
I noticed some skulls lining the tunnel like a kitchen border. I didn’t remember seeing them when I was talking on the phone, but then again, I wasn’t looking.
The tunnel was dimly lit and confining. The stone walls leaned as if caving in on me as I paced in indecision.
I heard some voices and laughter coming from one end, so I followed them. Cautiously I crept through the catacombs, trying not to trip on the uneven terrain. The winding tunnel dumped into a small room. THE COVE. A dozen or so clubsters, their backs to me, were listening to what I thought might have been a stand-up comic. I was curious why they chose to listen instead of jamming on the dance floor.
But this was no ordinary blue-jean-wearing comedian. He wore a dark hoodie, pulled over his head, obscuring his deathly pale face, and he wasn’t making the crowd laugh.
“The Dungeon should take a new direction. Why hide in obscurity when there is so much more we can do?” he challenged. Catching the glare of a single stagelight was a gold skeleton key dangling from a black lanyard around his neck like a backstage pass to a rock concert.
“I agree. Why deny who we are?” a girl asked, a snake wrapped around her neck like a mink stole.
“That’s why this club is so important, so we can be ourselves,” another began.
“But the Dungeon is a secret and safe place we can call our own.”
“Isn’t it time we make ourselves known?” the snake whisperer argued, caressing the reptile. “Many of us are becoming frustrated remaining hidden.”
“But many others feel safer among ourselves,” one clubster admitted.
“We don’t get along with outsiders,” another said.
“Maybe it’s time that we try,” a girl in the front row said.
“So we can be like them and lose our identity?” another asked.
The tension grew from both sides. The speaker held his hands up. “Calm down. We must all be united.”
A guy hanging next to me asked, “What do you think?”
All at once the group was staring straight at me. The snake, still coiled around his owner, hissed.
“I think it’s time for me to get back to the dance floor!”
I stole my way back into the once deadly tunnel. My eyes didn’t have a chance to adjust to the darkness and I bumped into a pair of girls. I stiffened but was too tired for a barroom brawl.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Do you know the way back to the dance floor?”
The girls, unlike the Pradabees at Dullsville High, weren’t confrontational. Instead I felt a warmth and friendliness emanating from them.