Kill Screen

by Joel A. Sutherland

  Leda looked more confused than before.

  “Is Morrie a nickname for Maurice, or maybe Morris?” I asked.

  “No, I don’t think so. This is so frustrating. I always had such a good memory, I …” Leda trailed off. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. She froze in silent contemplation.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Not Morrie. Mori. And Memento.” One corner of Leda’s mouth curled up slightly. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was the closest I’d seen her to looking happy. “Memento Mori!”

  “Memento Mori?” I said, then turned to Harold.

  Before I could ask him to Google it, he said, “Already on it.” A short moment later, he looked up from his screen and said, “It’s Latin for ‘remember that you have to die.’ In Ancient Rome, slaves were assigned to follow victorious generals who’d returned from battle to remind them that they were mortal and would die one day. Apparently, it kept them from getting too big a head. Now, mementos mori are objects and artworks that remind people of their mortality — lots of skulls, basically.”

  “That’s it,” Leda said. “It’s coming back to me.”

  “What else?” I asked.

  Leda scrunched up her face and continued to think.

  “Keep searching,” I told Harold.

  He scrolled through websites until one caught his attention. “Some people think there’s a secret society called Memento Mori. I can’t find much info on them—”

  “Because they’re secret,” I quipped.

  Harold continued talking without acknowledging me. “But conspiracy theorists believe Memento Mori members are interested in paranormal activity and the afterlife, and have chapters across the country.”

  While still facing Harold, I said, “Any of that ringing a bell, Leda?”

  She didn’t answer.

  I turned. Harold looked up.

  Leda was gone.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Where did she go?” Harold asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “You mentioned the secret society and then she just … poof.”

  “She’s got an annoying habit of disappearing.”

  “No kidding. But she is a ghost, after all.”

  Harold sighed. “So what do we do now?”

  “We could try to find her.” I looked out the window. The street was still filled with thick fog, making it impossible to see more than five or six metres in any direction. “But where would we even start to look?”

  “Even without Leda’s help, we have to try to stop the Wisp.”

  “But we have no idea where she is, either.”

  “Let’s work backwards,” Harold suggested. “What does the Wisp want to achieve?”

  I held up Leda’s notebook. “According to this and what Leda has told us, she wants to kill every single human on the planet and enslave our souls.”

  Harold blinked and ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s ambitious.”

  “The good news is she can’t kill people herself. So, there’s that.”

  “That’s weird. The Wisp killed you every time — well, every time except for the last time — you reached her in the game.” Harold was silent for a moment, then shrugged and added, “Anyway, how will she kill us all if she can’t, you know, kill us all?

  I gave it a little thought. “She’s going to need help.”

  “Like in …”

  “Like in Kill Screen.” I didn’t want it to be true, but it was what it was. “She’s going to amass an army of the dead.”

  “Of course,” Harold said quietly. “And she’ll use the ghosts to do her bidding. She’ll have them kill everyone.”

  I nodded. “We’ll be lucky if the Wisp in the game is similar to the Wisp in real life.”

  “Why?”

  “Because then we’ll know how to beat her. I’ve done it once, and I can do it again.”

  Harold snapped his fingers and smiled. “We submerge the Wisp’s orb in water or sand.”

  “But first, we have to figure out where the Wisp is.”

  “Leda said she found most of her info about the Wisp by hacking into a website, probably Memento Mori’s,” Harold said. “Too bad we can’t do the same.”

  “We don’t need to.” I held up the notebook. “Leda already did that for us, remember?” I flipped through the pages again and scanned the handwriting while Harold peered over my shoulder. About two-thirds of the way through he told me to stop and pointed at the top of the page.

  Wisp: stuck in the Netherrealm (lucky for us!), but can be summoned. Maybe? Do more research!

  Saancticae: ancient, forgotten language. A Saancticae chant must be spoken aloud to summon her. Look for such a chant — could be fun to add to game (authentic)!

  I had read the words out loud at the end of the game. Me. Add that to the list of reasons I was ultimately responsible for the mess the world was in.

  Other ghosts of the Netherrealm can be summoned by

  - séances

  - mediumship

  - channelling

  - using Ouija boards, crystal balls, mirrors, candles, spirit trumpets, spirit slates and spirit cabinets

  - countless other ways

  Location of the summoning is important for success! Ghosts can only return through a location of personal significance (grave, or location of their death). But summoned spirits can bring others with it.

  — I can use this in Kill Screen! (Wisp summons one or two evil ghosts, who then bring others with them, providing plenty of ghosts to beat in each level.)

  Not all Netherrealm ghosts are evil. Some are good and fight to prevent evil spirits from returning. Most souls pass on beyond the Netherrealm to places unknown, never to return.

  I turned the page and read the next paragraph but abruptly closed the notebook and slipped it into one of the pockets of my cargo pants.

  “Hey,” Harold said, looking at me in confusion. “Why’d you do that?”

  Leda had written that if anyone ever managed to summon the Wisp, they would be given a position of power at her side in the Netherrealm. And if they refused, they would be destined for an eternity of pain and suffering … As would their friends and family, everyone close to them.

  I tried to think of an excuse for why I closed the notebook when one suddenly appeared. I pointed at the window and said, “Look.”

  Sunlight poured through. The mist had cleared from the street. It had drifted up the hill to the west and swirled around Fort George on Citadel Hill.

  “I think we now know where the Wisp is,” I said.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  We came up with a plan as we walked. First of all, we needed salt, as much as we could carry. I tried not to look at the fog as we entered Pete’s Fine Foods.

  We went straight to the baking and spices aisle.

  “We should keep our hands as free as possible,” I said. “Take as many boxes of salt as you can carry in one bag.” I tried sliding a box into one of my cargo pants pockets — it just barely fit. “Plus one for good measure.”

  Harold opened the metal spout on the side of one of the boxes. “I like this. It’ll be much easier to shake on ghosts than salt packets.”

  I glanced down the aisle and realized we weren’t alone. A woman and her preschooler stared at us in bewilderment. They had obviously heard what Harold had just said.

  My cheeks grew hot and I blurted out the first excuse I could think of. “It’s for a … school project. We’re making a … student video.” It might have been more believable if I hadn’t paused to think of what to say next.

  “A Ghostbusters spoof,” Harold added, not exactly improving the situation. And then, just when I thought he couldn’t make it any worse, he added, “Who ya gonna call?”

  The woman shook her head, grabbed her son’s hand and quickly pulled him away.

  “Just trying to keep you all safe,” I said under my breath, too quietly for either of them to hear.

  We paid for the salt — inc
luding the box in my pocket — and stepped back out onto the street. We didn’t have Kill Screens strapped to our forearms, earpieces to hear paranormal activity or tongue piercings to amplify our voices and help make ghosts follow our commands. We each had a bag full of table salt. It was the best we could do.

  As we walked north on Dresden Row, the road grew congested with people, most of whom were staring up at Citadel Hill. When we got closer to the crowd I realized the majority of the people were ghosts. Light blue glow, pallid skin, dead eyes … the works.

  “You seeing this?” I asked Harold.

  “The fog on the hill?”

  “No, the dead people staring at the fog on the hill.”

  A couple of teenage girls suddenly stopped in front of us.

  “Super weird, right?” one said to the other.

  “Super weird!” the second teen confirmed with excitement.

  “Selfie!” they exclaimed in unison, then turned their backs to the fog, held up a phone, made faces (one pretended to look shocked, the other made a duck face), took a few pics, laughed and continued down the street. They walked right through a ghost, completely unaware that they had briefly passed through someone’s soul.

  “Were those two girls ghosts?” Harold asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Then no, I don’t see any dead people staring at the fog on the hill.”

  It made sense that only I could see them. Harold could see Leda, but she’d chosen to be visible to him.

  The ghosts in the street were confused, anxious and more than a little afraid.

  I could relate. I felt the same.

  “What is going on?” one of the ghosts asked me as we passed. He was an old man with a grey beard and a colourful shirt …

  Tie-Dye.

  “You’re still here,” I said with a mix of wonder and sadness. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t passed on, well, anywhere yet.

  Tie-Dye ignored the comment and pointed at the fog on Citadel Hill. “I don’t like that.”

  The other ghosts within hearing distance muttered agreement.

  Tie-Dye turned and looked at me for the first time. He frowned for a moment before a look of recognition appeared on his wrinkled face. “You,” he said, and some of his concern washed away. “I know you. You’re the girl who can see us.”

  The other ghosts crowded around and looked at me with hope.

  “Do you know what’s happening up there?” Tie-Dye asked.

  I nodded.

  “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

  I nodded again.

  “Can you stop it?”

  I paused. I didn’t know what else to do, so I nodded one more time.

  “Thank you,” he said, and the others smiled, sighed in relief and clasped my hands.

  I knew they meant well, but their confidence made me feel a little sick to my stomach.

  I broke through the ring of ghosts and beckoned for Harold to follow. Once we were out of the ghosts’ earshot, he said, “You just talked to a bunch of dead people, didn’t you?”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, my nausea increasing.

  Because, after what I’d read in Leda’s notebook, I no longer felt so confident. So I’d lied to the ghosts. I was making a habit of lying to give people false hope and assurance. First Harold, then Tie-Dye and the others. If only I could lie to myself.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  We crossed Sackville Street, began to climb the hill and entered the fog.

  A cold feeling washed over me and a chill in the air turned my breath into puffs of soft frost. With every step my anxiety grew and it felt like I was walking underwater. The Pete’s Fine Foods plastic bag I carried got heavier and heavier. It was unnaturally quiet — even our footfalls sounded muted. But the worst part was that I couldn’t see more than a few metres in any direction. At least we didn’t have far to go. We knew the fort was dead ahead.

  A small white rectangular building suddenly appeared ahead of us. It had three white tiers above the main floor, resembling a wedding cake. The first tier had only windows, the second had a large clock face on all four sides with narrow windows in between, and the third tier housed large bells. On top was a green dome.

  “Old Town Clock,” Harold said.

  “Huh,” I said.

  “You shouldn’t have come here,” a voice whispered behind us.

  Harold and I jumped.

  It was Leda.

  “You scared us,” Harold scolded. “Why’d you disappear earlier?”

  I had a feeling I knew why, but I waited to hear her answer.

  “I panicked,” she said quietly. “I’m ashamed.”

  “Of what?” Harold asked.

  She didn’t make eye contact with us. “This is all my fault. How could I have forgotten what I’d done?”

  Harold looked at me. I looked away. He turned back to Leda. “What did you do?”

  “It came back to me as I started to read my old notebook. As I said, I was researching the Wisp for Kill Screen. I found Memento Mori’s website and hacked into it. The stuff I read there — about ghosts and the afterlife, the Wisp and the Netherrealm — it was weird and bizarre and more than a little freaky. What was even weirder at the time was that people believed in it all!” She laughed once, but the sound had a tinge of sadness. “But look at me. I’m proof everything Memento Mori has discovered is true. It’s all true. And that … that’s a scary thought.”

  “But your notebook said the Wisp can’t kill anyone and yet, in the game, she killed Evie hundreds of times,” Harold said.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said. “Only one hundred and twelve times.”

  “I couldn’t design a game where the end boss can’t kill you,” Leda said. “I might not have been the world’s greatest video game designer, but I knew I had to change that.”

  “Why did you add the Wisp’s summoning chant to the game if you knew it was real?” I asked.

  “I didn’t know it was real at the time,” Leda said defensively. “If I had known I wouldn’t have done it, but I thought it would be fun to add it to the end of the game as a hidden Easter egg. The idea was the player beats the Wisp and wins the game, but then the summoning chant pops up, opening the door for a possible sequel. I swear I had no idea it would actually summon the real Wisp. I wasn’t even sure if the Wisp was real before I died.”

  “About that,” Harold said. “Do you remember why the name Morrie was written in your day planner the day you died?”

  Leda closed her eyes and nodded. “That was something else I remembered in my office. Memento Mori found out that I’d hacked their website. I received a letter at work on November first, the day after the game came out. There was no stamp or return address, and no signature — just a drawing of a skull with hourglass eyes, which I’d seen on the website. The letter said they knew what I’d done but also said they were impressed, not mad. They offered to meet with me in a public place — the Victoria Jubilee Fountain in the Halifax Public Gardens — to share even more information in the hopes I’d make a sequel, as long as I promised not to tell anyone anything about Memento Mori — that’s why I wrote Morrie in my day planner. I didn’t want to ruin my chances — it sounded too good to be true. Unfortunately, as I was crossing the street in front of the Lord Nelson Hotel, everything went black. I didn’t even see the car coming.”

  “And the game,” I said. “The glitches. Were those put there on purpose to make it more difficult to beat?”

  Leda laughed again, and this time it sounded a little more good-natured. “No. You’re familiar with Grim Reapings’s previous efforts, Rainbow Crayon Unicorn and Sharkey Shark and the Monkey Munch. As bad as Kill Screen is, it was actually a giant step up from those two games. The glitches in Kill Screen turned out to be the key to the game’s success, but they were not intentional.” She looked at me and smiled. “If you weren’t so good at video games, maybe none of this …” She trailed off and her smile faded fast.

  A sick feeling stabbed me in the gut
.

  “It’s not your fault, Evie,” she said. “After I died and discovered the Wisp is real, I knew there was a reason no one should beat Kill Screen, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember what that reason could be. Then I learned that you were close to beating it and I panicked. I tried to warn you, but I wasn’t in my right mind. You didn’t know what would happen.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled.

  “So that’s why you left?” Harold said. “Because you remembered adding the chant to the game?”

  “Yes, but …” Leda hesitated. “I left not only because I remembered what I’d done, but because I remembered what we’re up against. And I didn’t want you two to be put in harm’s way because of a mistake I made. I was hoping you wouldn’t come here. We might not all survive.”

  “We have to try,” I said, feeling a little courage return.

  “It’s not going to be easy,” Leda said.

  “Maybe not, but I have an idea how to beat the Wisp,” I said.

  “But to get to her, you have to get through them.” Leda pointed past Old Town Clock, up the hill.

  The fog had dissipated a little. I could now see Fort George’s closest wall. Standing on top of it, staring down at us, were three nasty-looking ghosts.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  They slowly faded out of sight.

  “Who are they?” I asked Leda.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But they didn’t look happy to see us.”

  I nodded. The way they had looked at us reminded me of the ghosts that had to be beaten in Kill Screen in order to get to the Wisp. One was a young woman in an old-fashioned grey dress, another was a man in a red military uniform and the third, standing apart from the two adults, was a girl with long, wavy red hair who looked about eight years old. I didn’t know why, but the girl creeped me out the most. She looked more like an antique porcelain doll than a kid.

  “You might not know them, but I do,” Harold said.

  “What?”

  “I know them,” he repeated. “You don’t remember?”

  I shook my head.

  Harold sighed, as if he wasn’t surprised. “Guess you weren’t paying much attention during our field trip. The tour guide told us a few ghost stories when we were in the museum — the Cavalier Building, I think it was called. He said there have been hundreds of ghost sightings over the years, but the three that are most often seen are known as the Grey Lady, the Sergeant and the Cuckoo Girl. Now do you remember?”