There was something cold in that room. You could feel it. This was more than unusual considering the house sat in west Texas, the time was about 3:30 on a July afternoon, and it was 101 degrees outside. When I entered from the hallway, a temperature drop had been readily noticeable. Still, it wasn't unbearable.

Putting climate aside, I began looking around the game room. I quickly could see why Jim had told me to 'give it a go' while he took his mother into El Paso for work. Said he'd be back in an hour and I was to relax after my long drive from New Orleans. Although a nap was probably doable, I opted for the family's prized recreational sanctuary.

A regulation pool table was the room's hub. Against the walls were two pinball machines and a 1950-era Wurlitzer juke box. A small bar stood next to glass sliding doors which led to the swimming pool area. On the walls hung autographed pictures of well- known recording artists and classic record album covers. Jimi Hendrix and the Rolling Stones shared space with 'Yellow Submarine' and 'Bat Out of Hell'.

Jim's late father had earned his bucks in the vinyl record business. The game room seemed to be a tribute to the man's business accomplishments. Dead of cancer two years now, the senior James Holmes had left the family a small castle along with a few million dollars. I had known Jim since high school and relished my first invitation to visit what he called 'Bucking Horse Palace'. Jim said the game room was the heart of the estate.

My eyes scanned the layout. The pinball machines were called 'The King' and 'Thriller', tributes to Elvis Presley and Michael Jackson. I liked both men's music, but for me, Jackson had been the better entertainer. I also admired his sense of irony...marrying Elvis' daughter had a nice historical touch. "Well, Elvis, he got the better of you on a couple of fronts." It wasn't unusual for me to talk aloud even though alone.

Both machines displayed graphics and colors that looked brand new. The Elvis machine highlighted Vegas, while 'Thriller' was similar to Jackson's album cover. Still, I decided to pass on pinball with its lights and noise. And for much the same reason, I left the jukebox silent. The occasional click-clack of pool would be a more peaceful relaxation after my drive.

After racking the balls, I began a game of 8-ball, left hand against right. On my lefty break, the red seven fell into a corner pocket. Okay, solids. I noted the 4-ball sitting about two inches from a side pocket. The purple ball disappeared on contact, but the free thinking cue ball caromed off a not-so-lucky 13 and headed down into a corner. "Scratch," I said to no one in particular.

I walked around the table and grabbed the offending cue ball and lined up right handed on the 11-ball. Drawing back the cue stick, a rumbling noise interrupted my concentration. Looking up, I noticed 'The King' pinball machine was shaking. Unexplainable, considering nothing else in the room was moving and I had felt no earthquake tremors.

Setting the cue stick on the table's green felt, I walked over to the machine and placed my hands on its top edges. All movement stopped; however, behind me, the Wurlitzer began vibrating. I turned in time to see its lights come on. Then, the red and white 'A, 4' buttons lit up, pushed in, and the inner workings of the juke box selected a record.

The game room filled with Elvis singing 'All Shook Up'. The King wailed "I'm a little mixed up, but I'm feeling fine." I answered with "What the hell! What is going on here?" I was very mixed up and feeling tired, and a little confused.

The room got brighter and I felt as if a spotlight was on me. The previously quieted Elvis pinball machine was now lit up like a strip in Vegas. The pull handle came back and launched a silver ball up the runway into play. The pull handle had apparently pulled itself.

"This crap has to stop," was my surprised pronouncement.

Unlike the juke box, 'The King' machine was plugged in and I wanted its power cut off. Moving quickly back across the room, I bent down to pull the plug from the wall. A blue sphere hit the same wall with a threatening thud about a foot from my head. Turning to see who had thrown the 2-ball, I was struck above my right eye by another airborne ball. "That hurt," I complained.

I threw myself flat on the floor. Two more balls flew over me, low, into the wall. Above me flippers flipped, game bells rang and some unknown pinball wizard's score climbed rapidly. Blood trickled close to my eye and then onto my cheek. I used a sleeve to wipe it off. My planned peaceful and unwinding afternoon had been transformed into a version of the 'most dangerous game'. It was a human hunt and I was the prey. Who the hell is the hunter?

The jukebox played, and Elvis sang, "Suspicious Minds". I was now sweating in what had been an unusually cool room.

I began to crawl toward the doors leading to the pool area. The volume of music and pinball bells was almost unbearable. I made it to the sliding doors in good time. Getting up on my knees, I pushed the button to the unlock position. Jumping up, I attempted to make my escape, but when I pushed the doors, they would not budge. I played some with the button, but still could not force the doors to slide open.

Another ball flew at me. I ducked and it missed. The ball cracked the glass in one of the doors. Then, two more flew my way...one high, one low. Throwing my body to the side didn't work. The move may have even worsened the blows. My left shoulder was struck just below the clavicle. In addition, there was a direct hit on my right knee cap. The plastic ball might as well have been the business end of John Henry's hammer. I went down like Frazier.

My knee seemed to swell very fast as I laid there. I looked for protection. Behind the bar would have to do. As I was about to resume crawling, a new noise caught my attention. The 'Thriller' pinball machine was moving away from its wall and turning in my direction. I had not noticed before that the machine was on rollers. I definitely noticed now, as it increased speed across the floor. The electronic behemoth, flippers and bells still active, zeroed in on me, lower side first. An easy target, I was now kneeling on one good knee in front of the sliding doors.

As the machine narrowed impact distance, I looked for an out. Using my good leg, I propelled myself toward the bar. I felt the pinball machine strike my sore knee before it smashed through the doors to the pool area. Glass was flying as I landed on the front edge of the bar. Bouncing off, I rolled back onto a stool and knocked it over. My body awkwardly fell on top of the stool. More pain, now some in the back.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Three more numbered balls hit the bar front in rapid succession.

I rolled off the stool and was once again hugging the floor. I could see the pool area through the shattered doors. Having disposed of me and the doors, a determined 'Thriller' rolled on aggressively until its wheels hit the elevated pool edge.

What happened then was 1920s cinema slapstick, but with sound. Thriller's front wheels stuck and the machine went 'ass-end' up and over in a cartwheel motion. It plopped on the water's surface and began floating. The graphics-laden scoreboard began to sink slowly. Suddenly, the machine went down as if pulled by a vengeful sea monster.

From the Wurlitzer came not a song, but a declaration, also in what I perceived as the voice of Elvis: "Now, that was a thrill. Jackson has left the building."

Were my painful injuries causing delusion? My eye was hurting and vision was blurred. The injured knee cap throbbed with awful pain. Also, a recurring back problem had been awakened. The leg area around the cap had nearly doubled in size and was red-orange in color. I probably needed medical attention for the knee.

A crawling escape was still the only option. I could do no more. Broken glass eliminated the shortest route to outside freedom. Obviously, I wasn't going to try the room's only window because the climbing out would make me an easy target. I studied the 30-40 feet of floor to the hallway door through which I had entered about 30 minutes ago.

To a fan of history, prospects were not good. The area to be crossed over brought to mind the valley charge of Britain's Light Brigade with cannonballs flying all around them. Or even worse, Picket's exposed men day three at Gettysburg. Crawling, walking or running, the vast majority were hit, and fell. That 1863 Confederate charge was historically debatable, but today, I had no choice.

In my mind, I counted the enemy's expended ammunition: the first two pool balls at the wall; two more as I lay on the floor by the pinball machine; three at the sliding glass doors; and three that banged the bar. Having started with 16... 15 solids and stripes, plus the cue ball... five remained that could do damage as I tried my rush to freedom.

Bang! Another ball struck the wall behind the bar. "Four." Evidently, my antagonist was comfortable in his ability to block my getaway no matter how many rounds were left. This was too much.

Fed up and without thinking, I pushed myself up and attempted a low-profile hobbling dash to the door. The bad leg created a natural zig-zag motion as I moved. It wasn't much of a zig-zag, but two more balls missed and soared by me. "Bad shot. You missed. Only two left," was my bold rebel yell as I kept moving. The answer was another ball which struck me in the middle of the back. I shut up.

At the door, I grabbed the knob, jerked open the exit, lunged and slammed the door behind me. I flopped down in the hall. Beginning a half walk-half crawl toward the safety of whatever room came first, I felt relief. Then, the game room opened behind me and my relief disappeared. I slid to the floor in exasperation, and apprehension.

Out of the room came the 8-ball. It bounced harmlessly on the hall floor, took a turn, and rolled gently up against me. As the door slowly closed, from within I heard Elvis's famous voice again, closing out perhaps his final performance, "Thank you, very much."