by Anthea Sharp
Next, a screen came up that said Character Design. It meant I could choose the clothing design, pick some accessories and other stuff. Everything else looked exactly like me, right down to my current hairstyle. I made a note to cut or dye my hair to see if my avatar’s appearance changed. That would be creepy. I guessed there was a camera somewhere that captured my image and saved it.
There were no weapons to select, which seemed odd for a game.
I chose comfortable, rather than elaborate, clothing: black leggings, a blue T-shirt, brown leather boots. From the accessories, I chose a silver necklace with a Tree of Life charm on it, also silver with a sparkly blue stone. I grabbed a backpack and loaded it up with food and drinks that had a high number of health points.
When I lifted my finger and touched the Finish button, Elizabeth asked: Are you ready to begin the first game now, Shade? This will be a mini-game, just to get you used to the basics.
I answered, “Yes.”
Poor Elizabeth if she’d been designed to be an extrovert. I wasn’t exactly chatty in new or challenging situations.
Suddenly, everything changed. It no longer felt like I was inside a helmet or attached to rigging. Something that felt like hard rubber touched the bottom of my boots and lifted me a tiny bit off the floor. The Treadtiles…
I stood at the bottom of a hill. It was covered in deep green grass that rippled in the wind, along with dandelions and weeds that threatened to choke it out. The sky was overcast, suggesting a storm was on the way. At the top of the hill stood an old Victorian-style house. It had two turrets in front, exactly like the Victorian house where I had first met Brandon the ghost. Shuddering, I felt the hair stand up on my arms and the back of my neck. I had goose bumps. I started to cry. This was too much. I missed Brandon and didn’t want to be reminded of those feelings.
Elizabeth spoke: You’ve been chosen for this mission because you’re a ghost whisperer. Go on now. You have a troubled spirit to save.
Raising my hand to wipe away the tears, I smacked my wrist against the helmet. “Ouch!”
Elizabeth said: Here, let me help. Warm air blew gently against my cheeks until my tears dried.
Maybe I should have said thank you, but I wasn’t yet sure how I felt about the intrusiveness of the AI.
I decided to test out the parameters of the game. I tried turning my back on the house and started walking in the opposite direction. I went nowhere, just walked in place. I tried moving to the left and right. Same result. It was like an invisible force was holding me in place until I chose the required direction.
OK, then. Up the hill I go.
I was about halfway to the top when I heard the crying. It went right through me. It grabbed at my heart. This was how ghosts always contacted me. They cry with anguish and I hear them. I follow the sound and help them solve some serious issue keeping them from moving on into the afterlife. In some cases, it involves finding the person who murdered them.
I could no longer turn back. My nature pushed me forward.
When I reached the old, dilapidated front porch with missing floorboards and peeling paint, the front door swung open, whining on its hinges.
My heart beating with the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings, I stepped inside. This house was in much worse shape than the one my mother had rented. This one had clearly been abandoned for a long time. Strips of wallpaper had peeled away from the walls, hanging there like paper pelts from a dead animal. A thick layer of dust covered the floor and decaying furniture.
The sad crying turned into an eerie wail. It was coming from upstairs.
Making my way up a long, winding staircase with a rickety banister, I discovered that the second floor wasn’t the goal. I had to keep going higher.
Finally, four floors up, I reached a closed attic door. The wailing came from behind it.
Testing the doorknob, I discovered it was locked.
In an eerie, moaning voice, whoever was behind the door said, “Are you trying the door before solving the puzzle to find the key?” After breaking into intense sobbing for a few seconds, she (it was a female voice) said, “You always need a key to open a locked door. Find the key.”
OK. So despite the elaborate design of the VR equipment, it looked like this was going to be a puzzle game. I’d played lots of non-VR puzzle games. I just had to keep my wits about me, not be intimidated by the obvious cost of the equipment and all the students who could afford to pay full tuition, and solve the puzzles. One thing I had going for me was that, inside the helmet, I couldn’t see the other students. I just had to keep my mind on the game and make direct contact with the ghost. Heaven knows, I certainly knew how to communicate with ghosts.
I searched all around the door and felt the steps for loose boards. Nothing there. Of course. That would be too easy.
Realizing that if this was anything like all good puzzle games, I’d need to search a lot of different things in a lot of different rooms. I headed downstairs, unnerved by the relentless crying of the ghost.
I decided to start in the living room. I flipped over couch cushions. Nothing there except food crumbs and stuffing that had leaked through rips in the fabric. I opened the glass door to a bookshelf. Inside, I found two ornate vases and a wooden box engraved with flowery designs. The vases were empty except for dust and a couple of shriveled-up bugs. Inside the box, I found a wedding ring. As I picked it up, a notice flashed in front of me that it was being added to my inventory. Was I supposed to show the ring to the ghost? Was it a clue? Or was I now a thief? Probably not a thief, as I didn’t voluntarily decide to keep it. It was simply added to my inventory.
Next, I searched the kitchen and found what seemed to be my first real clue. Inside a cookbook, there was a letter from someone named Alice to someone named Evelyn. Alice was confiding in Evelyn that her husband had learned her secret and was sure to take revenge.
My theory at that point was that perhaps Alice was the ghost, she’d been murdered by her husband and he’d kept the wedding ring, sticking it in the box where I’d discovered it.
I decided to search the master bedroom next. I spent a long time in there, looking for a weapon, but never found one. Instead, I found a note in the pocket of a single dress hanging in the closet. It was a riddle: I keep the key to my heart close to the chest. Hmmm…The expression close to the chest or close to the vest usually means keeping something secret. In this case, I figured it probably had a literal meaning. Although I didn’t find a vest in the room, there was a large chest at the foot of the bed. I found all kinds of letters, books and mementos in there. Finally, at the very bottom of the chest, I found an ornate puzzle box. It took me a while to open it; but, when I did, I found a key: an old metal key with an intricate pattern on top.
I grabbed it, ran up the stairs and pushed it into the lock on the attic door. My boots clattered noisily on the way up the stairs. Everything seemed incredibly real.
Click. The door unlocked.
A ghostlike woman stood up from the floor where she’d been seated. She wiped the tears from her face with the long, flowing sleeve of her robe. She was beautiful. Her voice was eerie and haunting. Thank you, Shade. I’ve waited a long time to be rescued.
Music started playing—loud, triumphant music. Then a golden banner unfurled in front of me with the words: Congratulations, Shade! You rescued Alice!
Lame. That was so freaking easy, it wasn’t even funny.
Elizabeth said: You may remove your helmet now. Congratulations, Shade! You completed the first level in Ghost Encounters.
For a brief moment, I felt as though I totally belonged at Ocean View College. No wonder they gave me full tuition. I had skills.
As soon as I removed my helmet, however, I heard everyone else talking about how easy that level was. I wasn’t special after all.
Dr. Webb clapped his hands. “OK! Quiet now, class!” As soon as conversation died down, he said, “You all did very well. That was the tutorial level, basically an easy one to introdu
ce you to the equipment. You all did exceedingly well today. Next class, things will get progressively more challenging and each of you will begin moving onto higher levels at your own pace.”
There was a mixed reaction. Most students looked excited, but a few looked worried. I figured I’d wait and see what happened.
The iridescent bags dropped down from the ceiling. Following Dr. Webb’s instructions, we detached the multi-colored wires from our suits. Taking off the gaming clothes and boots, we returned them to the bag and grabbed our own stuff. I put on my sneakers.
A bell rang and we were dismissed.
I was dying to know what Kai thought of her class.
Apparently, things were harder for the empaths. When I found Kai in the crowded hallway, she looked distressed. The black mascara she’d put on that morning had left a charcoal-colored trail down her cheeks.
When I asked if she’d been crying, she said, “Yeah. That was one upsetting class. I think we have people who aren’t empaths in our class. We had to follow a little girl into an abusive home and rescue her. I felt everything that she experienced. It was horrible.” Her face brightened. “Apparently, I did really well, though. I get to move up several levels in the next class. Hopefully, the game will become more meaningful as it goes on and I’ll get to develop my skills. You want to get lunch?”
The cafeteria was amazing. There was a huge assortment of food. I got a meatball sub and potato chips. Kai decided on steak fajitas with rice and beans. We both got ice tea. For dessert, I had an ice cream sundae and Kai had a brownie with chocolate icing.
By the end of the third week, things fell into a routine for both of us. We got used to our classes. Kai got to experience the emotional reward of helping people inside her VR game, rather than only feeling their pain. In the real world, she was already amazing at feeling pretty much everything other people felt. We made new friends. The food was always incredible. There were lots of recreational activities and even field trips. We started to get excited about going to college.
In the fourth week, something weird happened inside my VR game.
It’s funny how quickly we start taking things, even extraordinary things, for granted. When I first walked into the VR room where my assigned class was to play Ghost Encounters, I might as well have been the first person to walk on the moon. I felt blown away. Everything seemed surreal and otherworldly. By the third week, it all felt pretty normal. I wonder if astronauts eventually feel that way on the International Space Station. Does daily life up there eventually become routine and ordinary?
By the third week, Kai and I had settled into happiness. It was the first time in our entire lives. We laughed a lot. Instead of struggling with our difficult families, we hung out with each other and our friends—watching movies, playing games, going on hikes, talking about boys and clothes. Just being teenagers for a change. Classes became more challenging, but enjoyable. We felt that we were learning a lot and growing into ourselves, if that makes sense.
At the start of the third week, I got into my gaming suit, popped on my helmet in VR class, and got into the fourth level of the latest game I was working on. It was called Crystal. I still had no idea what that meant. Was Crystal someone I was supposed to save? Or was it someone else, possibly a killer? Or was it simply a crystal stone? In this game, I had weapons and spells. I had to fight my way through difficult terrain, killing enemies and healing good people who were in trouble. If you ask me, it just seemed like a regular game. I kept waiting for a twist that would reveal the real purpose of the game.
A few minutes into that level, I found myself in an especially scary place: an abandoned subway that had been flooded at some point. There were deep puddles between the tracks and the concrete walls of the tunnel. Icy cold water dripped from overhead. Lights flickered with the Bzzzzz sound of faulty electricity. Rats scuttled all over the place. Glowing eyes watched me from the darkness. I tried to figure out what kinds of creatures they belonged to. Some could have been dogs; others seemed more human.
I was already jumpy and on edge when something flew past me, screeching at the top of its lungs. I jumped and screamed.
Elizabeth said: You’re OK, Shade. Just breathe. I have to step out for a bit. Breathe. Control your breathing. I’ll be back.
Wait? What? The AI could step out of the game? What if I needed help? And, also, why? Why would artificial intelligence ever need to step out of the game? It’s not like Elizabeth needed to pee or eat or grab a cup of coffee or anything. And that message about breathing did not help. I told myself: Breathe in, breathe out. I slowed my breathing. Nevertheless, my heart raced out of control and my hands trembled.
I stared into the dark tunnel. The glowing eyes stared back.
Again, something flew past me, screeching its head off.
I screamed again, then shouted a number of swear words. I was glad my helmet kept my voice inside. I’m sure Dr. Webb wouldn’t have appreciated my outburst.
All of a sudden, the tunnel disappeared. There was nothing but static, both visual and auditory.
And, then…A red bird flew across the screen, the same size and making the same screech as the thing that flew past me earlier.
And then a tutorial for Angry Birds started playing.
What the…? That was the favorite game of Brandon, the ghost in the attic of the old Victorian house I used to live in and he used to haunt, after I introduced him to cell phones. He loved that game. The squawking birds and snorting piggies got on my nerves no end. Why was this playing in my VR helmet? It seemed like a cruel joke. Did Ocean View know about Brandon? I never said anything about that on my forms. Could Elizabeth read my mind?
While I tried to decide what to do, the screen changed. The squawking bird grew plumper and rounder. It flew onto the huge slingshot I knew so well from Brandon’s repeated gameplay. Three identical red birds sat on the ground nearby, jumping and flipping around, squawking with that annoying sound I remembered. The bird was shot out of the sling, went sailing through the air and crashed into a green pig sitting on a wobbly wooden structure. Squawking. Snorting.
As I touched my hand to my helmet to remove it, to ask Dr. Webb if someone had loaded the wrong game into my VR system, a voice spoke to me. Hey, Shade, it’s Brandon. I need your help.
Then Brandon appeared before me.
Tears streamed down my face as I gazed into his emerald green eyes. He hadn’t changed a bit. Ghosts stay the age they were when they died. “Brandon! What are you doing here? I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again. I thought you’d moved on into the afterlife after you did enough good here on Earth.”
He smiled. “I did. This is something new. A group of us are allowed to speak to the living through interfaces like these. You could say we’re ghosts in the machine.”
I laughed. Brandon’s jokes were always corny; but I was so happy to see him, I actually found it funny. I might even learn to enjoy Angry Birds if it kept him around.
Brandon continued, “We don’t have much time. I’m going to show you something here. Tonight at midnight, I need you to meet me by the pond on your school grounds. Do you know where that is?”
I told him I did. I’d been meaning to go there, although not for whatever he had in mind. I had planned to study on one of the park benches there.
In case I was losing my mind or treating something that was inside the game—a test to rattle me or something—like it was real, I told no one. At 11:45 pm, I stood up from my desk where I’d been trying to study all night. I must have read the same pages in my Journalism book at least half a dozen times, trying to concentrate enough to get the words into my head. I felt completely scattered.
Across the room from me, Kai was studying at her desk. I grabbed my jacket and flashlight and told her I needed to get some fresh air.
She was totally absorbed; just said, “’K,” and continued to read.
I slipped out the back door of our dorm. The wind had whipped itself up, blowing trash and tumblewe
eds around. The sky was dark and cloudless, the moon reduced to a glowing sickle, silvery but not bright enough to light my way. I shuddered, zipped up my jacket and flipped on the flashlight.
At the pond, the trees surrounding it blocked much of the wind. I waited fifteen minutes, jumping at the slightest sound.
I felt like such a fool. I’d obviously failed a test inside the game. I’d assumed it was real.
As I turned to leave, I heard Brandon’s voice. “You came. This will be like old times.”
Brandon floated across the water and landed in front of me. I went to hug him, but passed right through him. As I stumbled down the bank, I broke into laughter. “I forgot how this works. How are you?”
Brandon smiled, his green eyes glittering in the light from a lamppost. “I’m good. You would not believe the afterlife. It has layers. When I met you, I was in pretty bad shape, needing to atone for past sins and all. Now, I’m at a much higher level. I’m in an experimental group where we get to try to reach humans through their technology. You know how much I loved Angry Birds. I cannot even believe the games you have right now. For a guy who lived from 1959 to 1975, VR took some getting used to. It totally blows my mind.” He grinned from ear to ear. “You want to work with me again?”
I nodded in agreement, although I feared what he had in mind.
A somber look came over Brandon’s face. He turned and looked at the pond. I walked over, stood beside him and followed his gaze.
Brandon swept his arm in the direction of the water. “Someone’s buried under there, Shade. Do you hear her crying?”
I listened. “No. I don’t hear anything.”
Brandon looked disappointed. “Nothing at all?”
