Some things come back to haunt you.
Not long ago I was locomoting through the Great Depression holdover that is the Muncie Mall. As per my usual routine, I visited the Galaga machine by the dollar theater. I was just leaving, proud of my new high score, when a sign caught my eye.
"Visit the NEW Sultan's Castle by the Mall Offices."
I don't even put up a fight. Temptation wins. I go.
I was pleased upon arrival. Video "arcades" such as Jillian's and Gameworks are not true arcades; they are "family-amusement centers." The new Sultan's Castle in the Muncie Mall, however, meets all expectations: It is a poorly lit, dank hole-in-the wall.
Before even looking to see which games they had, I had exchanged a dollar for tokens.
I could see pinball machines in the back of this Cave of Wonders. Something otherworldly pulled me towards their blinking lights. Due to the dim lighting, I couldn't quite tell which machines they had.
I got closer and then I saw "Funhouse."
I gulped. Rudy had found me.
"Funhouse" is a nightmare of a game. Rudy is the wooden-boy head found inside the "Funhouse" pinball machine. The funhouse is his "precious." You are welcome to enter, but it closes at midnight. Advance the game clock past midnight and Rudy will become very angry with you.
Rudy is not of earth. He is certainly not of heaven. He can only call Hell his place of residence.
"Funhouse" is the most difficult pinball game ever made. It is more challenging than "Dr. Who Pinball." It is superior to even "Pinbot." It is the ultimate of William's repertoire of pinball machines.
I'm not very good at "Funhouse," and I hate that fact.
Rudy and I go way back. My first encounter with him was when I was perhaps five. He had been tormenting my father at his local bar for sometime. Dad would often mention how much he "liked" "Funhouse." A foul tempter, that game is.
Dad took me to see the game. I didn't trust it. The way Rudy mocked my father when his ball went down the toilet frightened me. I didn't like anybody making fun of my dad.
Fast-forward 13 years to the summer before my freshman year of college. I'd found a "Funhouse" game at the Glendale mall in Indianapolis. My first encounter was a $20 casualty. I continued to play all summer until the calling of Ball State University saved me from Rudy's clutches.
Now he has me again. I am his slave. I will feed quarters to Rudy's machine in a futile attempt to feed pinballs into Rudy's mouth. He will laugh at me and call me "spunky." He'll threaten me with, "I'm getting very angry ... " when I raise my score.
Once in a blue moon I will advance the game's clock to midnight. Rudy will open his mouth, and I will shoot a ball straight down his darkened, black hole. It is those little victories that allow me to smile in an otherwise bleak existence.
Thank you Rudy; thank you for letting me play your game. I am in your debt. Here, have another quarter. I'll play nice this time.
Call me "Spunky" again, Rudy. Please?
Write to Ben at bbmcshane@bsu.edu
visit www.classicalgeektheatre.com
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