Unexpected Souvenir

America Mochi

When you think of the word "vacation" the first thing that comes to mind is not manicured lawns in front of government buildings. Washington DC was not your idea of an awesome vacation. It's not as bad as trekking across some untamed wilderness with only a backpack full of supplies and no phone service, but it's not tanning on a tropical beach either.

You follow your hyper friend around as he snaps pictures of the White House. He's not really your friend per se. You're watching him on behalf of your actual friend Arthur, who didn't want to come on this trip himself. So you're stuck looking after his cousin, or was it his brother? You don't really remember.

"Wow! This is so neat!" Peter exclaims as he takes another picture. "Arthur and the others will recognize me for sure if I know all about their capitals!"

You don't really know what he's talking about, but you go along with it anyway. "How many countries have you visited, kid?"

The bushy browed youth puts his camera down to count on his fingers. "Let's see. I went to England, France, Spain, Germany, Italy, and once I tried to go to Denmark, but that didn't go so well. I'm making a big scrapbook full of pictures from all the places I've gone."

"Oh really?" You feel a little pathetic inside. If this kid is telling the truth, then he's seen more countries than you could ever imagine seeing yourself. "Where are you from then?"

"Sealand!" he tells you excitedly. He snaps a picture of the confused look on your face before running away laughing.

"Sealand, huh," you say to yourself as you follow the hyper kid. "So he's either a big liar or he's the weirdest kid I've ever met."

You follow Peter from place to place as he takes pictures and reads all of the visitor signs. He has fun chasing pigeons around the Lincoln Memorial, and almost falls into the Reflecting Pool. You catch him by the back of his sailor outfit just before he lands face first into the water.

"What the heck are you doing?" you ask him in an exasperated tone. "If you really wanted a bath you should wait until we get back to the hotel."

"Sorry," the youngster says with a sheepish grin. "I just wanted a good picture of the tall thing back there."

"You mean the Washington Monument?"

"Yeah! That! Let's go!" He takes off for the white obelisk. All you can do is groan and follow.

You are thoroughly exhausted by the time Peter is done sightseeing. You swear you're going to make Arthur pay for this, big time. He's already paying for all the expenses of this entire "vacation", but you'll find a way to get back at him for having to babysit this bundle of energy. Perhaps by filling in the spaces between his monstrous eyebrows with a sharpie, or writing music using his eyebrows as the staff.

Walking all the way back to your hotel doesn't sound fun at all, so you get a taxi to drive you back. The ride is fairly quiet since the hyperactive youngster fell asleep as soon as he sat down. You finally get some peace and quiet, but all you really feel like doing is going to sleep too. Your eyes droop slightly, but you don't let yourself drift off. The last thing you need is for this taxi driver to drive you around for the next few hours while you're asleep and charge you a fortune for it.

Suddenly, an odd sign catches your attention. "Hey, can you take us to the closest movie theater?"

The driver looks at you momentarily from the rear view mirror. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, lady."

It takes a few more minutes, but he takes you and Peter to a big theater. You nudge the sleeping boy awake. "Hey, kid. Get up."

"Are we there already?" he asks as he rubs the sleep from his blue eyes.

"Well, kind of," you answer. It was a rather impromptu decision to come to the theater instead of your hotel. "I thought we'd do something else fun while we're out and about."

Peter notices the theater outside of his window. "The movies! Yay!" He hops out of the cab and takes off for the theater.

"Dang, that kid," you mumble as you pay the taxi driver.

"Kids," the driver says with a chuckle. "They're trouble if you're not careful."

"Yeah, you're telling me," you say as you exit the car.

Peter's already inside, so you hurry to make sure he's not getting into any kind of trouble like the cab driver warned. When you get inside you see him admiring the poster for some kid's movie. You breathe a short sigh of relief before getting in line for tickets. You're not seeing some dumb kid's movie.

"Ready to go in, kid?" you ask the blonde boy after purchasing some tickets.

"Are we going to see The Little Prince?" he asks hopefully.

"Nope," you say with a hint of a smirk. "We're going to see Haunted Sunday."

"B-but...that's a scary movie," Peter says as he goes slightly pale.

"Don't worry. It's PG-13," you say in a somewhat reassuring way. "You are 13, right?"

"Y-yeah! Of course. W-why would you even ask that?" He tries to look confident, but his wavering voice gives him away. It's also really hard to take him seriously in that sailor outfit.

"Alright, lead the way then," you say as you hand him a ticket. "It's theater 3."

The lights have already been partially dimmed, but you can still tell the theater has more people in it than you would have liked. You had figured this would happen since you saw the movie being advertised from a billboard. Other people probably saw it and stopped to see the movie too.

You steer Peter away from a shady looking group in the back. He's already trembling slightly, and you're sure that sitting by some weirdos won't help. You're afraid you won't be able to find some decently secluded seats until you spot almost an entire open row. Someone had left a bunch of popcorn bags and soda cups lying around, but other than that it looks fine.

"Let's sit here," you say quietly. The blonde boy just nods. If you knew going to a scary movie would keep him quiet, you would've done this a long time ago.

You slide down the row until you're sitting in the seat next to all of the popcorn bags. It's not ideal to sit by someone's trash, but it's the closest to the center, which is always the best place to sit. You make yourself comfortable and watch Peter sit down nervously. He looks like he might pass out, so you ruffle his hair through his sailor hat.

"Loosen up, kid. These movies aren't that scary anyway."

"T-then why d-did you want t-to come?" he stutters out. "I thought p-people came t-to get scared."

"Nah," you say with a wave of your hand. "I came here for a good laugh."

Peter looks at you with a confused look, like he's not sure whether to take you seriously or not. That's when another voice interrupts your conversation.

"Hey, dude! Do you like horror movies too?"

You turn around to look at the seat you thought was empty. Your eyes meet bright, sparkling blue ones. A blonde ahoge pokes up out of a round, white thing sitting in the chair.

"You're the one who ate all this stuff?" Of all the things you could have said, that's the thing that comes out of your mouth.

"Yup! Theater popcorn is the best, dude!" it says happily. You look around self consciously at the sound of the object's rather loud voice. "Oh, sorry," he says in a softer voice when he notices your discomfort. "I'm not so good with this whole quiet thing."

"Yeah, I've noticed," you tell him. Or at least you think it's a him. You notice little lines around his blue eyes that look like glasses before the lights start to go out.

"Ooo! It's starting!" he whispers excitedly.

You watch some boring trailers with half interest. Your mind lingers on the odd objects sitting next to you munching on popcorn. Peter seems to have calmed down a little next to you as well. The trailers are distracting him from his earlier fear of the horror film.

Then the movie starts. Everything goes fine until the first signs of paranormal activity. You can hear Peter whimper a little when something strange flickers across the screen. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. This idea is also reinforced by the odd thing next to you. He starts making little gasping noises whenever anything happens.

"Kyaaa," he says with eyes shut tight. "These movies are too scary."

"Nothing's happened," you tell him quietly.

"But it will!"

Just as he says it a horrific looking ghoul jumps on screen and starts killing people. The white thing yelps and jumps in your lap as Peter grabs your hand. Both of them scream. The blonde boy has a death grip on your hand, and the round object is promising some higher power he'll lay off the burgers if he lives.

You just snicker at the obvious special effects. These kinds of things don't phase you because they're always the same. Something tragic happens, the place is haunted, some cocky people show up thinking they can calm the spirits, they fail, they die, the end. Sometimes there's more blood involved, but you don't need a lot of blood to enjoy a horror flick. Every once in a while they'll let one of the cocky guys survive and beat the ghost with some stupid, half baked plan. You've never figured out why they didn't just start with that plan in the first place. Oh wait, that makes too much sense.

You give Peter's hand a light squeeze. "Don't worry, kid. It's not real."

He nods slightly but doesn't release your hand.

You look down at the thing in your lap. "Hey, you. White thing. Do you mind?"

"I have a name you know," the thing says with a huff. "It's America Mochi, and don't you forget it, dude."

You roll your eyes. "Enough with this dude thing. Obviously, I'm not a dude. Now would you please get off my lap?"

"Usually you tell someone your name when they tell you theirs," America Mochi says in a rather cheeky way.

You give him a glare. "Fine. I'm (y/n). Now will you please move."

Another shriek comes from the movie, and your two companions flinch from the noise. "N-no can do, dudette. I-it's too scary."

You look at the white thing incredulously. "Seriously? You came to a horror movie, by yourself, and now you're too scared?"

"Y-yup," America Mochi says in a shaky voice. "These things are my favorite. I've seen this one twice already."

Now you look at him completely dumbfounded. "You've seen this twice and you're still scared?"

"Uh huh. The part when the ghost rips off that guy's arm is the worst."

The words are barely out of his mouth before the ghost reappears to do exactly what America Mochi described.

He shudders and closes his eyes. "Gets me every time."

You feel a sudden pressure near your shoulder, and you turn to find Peter with his head against your arm. He has his eyes shut tight to keep out the carnage on the screen. You have to admit it's getting pretty gory. Even you have to look away when the ghost starts biting people's fingers, noses, and ears off. This is a little much for being only PG-13.

"Maybe we should get out of here," you suggest.

"Not yet! This is when it gets good!" America Mochi insists.

"B-by g-good do you mean m-more b-b-blood?" Peter asks in a quivering voice.

"No! The hero shows up and saves the day!"

You look back up at the screen, and sure enough, one of the cocky guys that showed up to kill the ghost has managed to exorcise it by sticking a cross in its face and mumbling some mumbo jumbo. The ghost gives one last cry of agony before shriveling up into nothing.

The three of you watch in disbelief as the credits roll.

"That's it?" Peter asks no one in particular. His earlier fright forgotten. "They just kill it and that's the end?"

"These movies are all the same," I tell him. "They spend so much money on the effects that they have some crap ending because they spent too much."

"Whoohooo!" America Mochi cheers. "It's always better the third time!"

"What are you talking about?" you ask the thing in your lap. "You were scared out of your mind! You were practically crying!"

"No, I wasn't!" he insists, but you're not listening.

Your eyes widen and you point down the aisle. "The ghost!"

"Ahhhh! No! I don't taste good! Don't eat my fingers!" America Mochi wails.

You and Peter burst out laughing. The youngster clutches his sides while you try not to drop the round thing onto the floor. He looks up at you with a bit of irritation in his eyes.

"Not cool, dudette."

"You have to admit it was funny," you say as your laughter dies down.

Peter keeps chuckling for a while, and you watch him slightly amused. This kid is starting to grow on you.

"The funny thing is you don't even have fingers," the boy tells America Mochi.

This sets of another round of laughing, America Mochi included.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," he says with an embarrassed chuckle.

"We should probably get going," you say as you notice the empty theater. The credits are long over, and the lights have come back on. "I don't know about you, but I'm beat."

Peter lets out a loud yawn. "Okay. Let's go."

The two of you stand up and walk out of the row of chairs, America Mochi securely held in your arms. You manage to call a cab while the other two wait on a bench. The bushy browed kid's eyes keep sliding shut, and his head bobs occasionally. There's no doubt he'll be asleep by the time you get to the hotel.

"So where are you going?" you ask America Mochi after joining the two on the bench.

"I dunno," he replies. "Just wherever I feel like."

"Do you even have a place to stay?" you ask with concern. You're not the type to invite strangers to stay with you, but he's not exactly normal, or suspicious for that matter.

"Not really," he admits. "I just kinda hang around wherever."

"Okay, then you're coming with us," you tell him. Seems like spending time with Peter is bringing out a protective, motherly side you didn't really know you had.

"Is he really?" Peter asks in a sleepy voice.

"Yeah, kid. He is," you answer.

"Cool." The boy pulls out his camera and snaps a picture of you and America Mochi.

"One for the scrapbook," you say with a soft smile.