Lurker

by Stefan Petrucha

  “The file you sent me crashed my system,” she said. “Our support people are going through it now, but they think there was a virus attached to the picture. It might have infected your e-mail, which is how this guy was able to access your files.”

  “What about the username and e-mail address?” Mandy asked.

  “Nothing yet, but it’s the weekend. Nobody moves very fast. I’m sure we’ll have something soon. How are you holding up?”

  Mandy looked around the kitchen to make sure her parents weren’t near and said, “I’m scared.”

  “It’s okay to be scared,” Officer Romero told her. “But the more I think about this, the more I believe we just have a geek with a sick sense of humor.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Mandy said.

  “We’ll keep a car in your neighborhood. You hang in there.”

  “Thank you. I will.”

  Mandy hung up the phone. She stared at it, expecting it to ring, expecting Kyle to be on the other end taunting her. When that didn’t happen, she pulled the big kitchen knife from the holder, held it close to her side, so she could hide it if her parents surprised her in the hall, then went up to her room.

  She stepped inside, her eyes immediately drawn to the monitor. The swirls and lines of her screen saver played over the screen. Leaving her door open, Mandy went to the bed and slid the knife under her pillow.

  At her computer, she killed the screen saver and looked at Kyle’s picture file. What do you look like now? she wondered, her hand hovering over the mouse.

  He was even older. His hair now completely white and jutting from his head in wisps like the fluff of a cotton ball. The nose was bigger, the wrinkles deeper. A virus, she thought. An advanced program masked as a jpeg.

  She wanted to delete the image, just double click it into oblivion, but Mandy knew she couldn’t. Officer Romero might need her to send it again, or else the police might send computer experts to examine her system. It was the only real evidence they had.

  In an act of defiance, refusing to completely give in to her fear, Mandy left the image open. It would remind her to be scared, remind her to be careful.

  Sitting on her bed, she lifted the handset of the clunky phone and dialed Laurel’s cell number. It went directly to voice mail, and Mandy remembered her friend was at “gun school.” She left a message, insisting Laurel call as soon as she could. Then, she called Drew, but she couldn’t talk because she was at Corey’s with Jacob having pancakes.

  “Call me later. It’s important.”

  “I will. Swear to God.”

  Finally, she called Dale. His father answered the phone, his voice gruff with annoyance. Mandy remembered what Dale said about him being so unhappy and, for a flicker of a moment, she wondered what else the man could want. But then Dale was on the phone.

  “You okay?” he asked. He didn’t sound angry or hurt anymore. That was good.

  “Didn’t sleep very well,” she admitted.

  “Me either. I don’t think I slept at all.”

  “Can you come over?” Mandy asked. “I think I’d really like to have you here right now.”

  “Is that cool with your parents?”

  “Sure. I mean, I think so. They said I could have friends over.”

  “Okay,” he said. “But I have to do some things around here first. Dad is having a particularly asslike day. It might be an hour or two. Is that cool?”

  “As soon as you can,” Mandy said.

  Back at the computer, she saw that the picture had changed again. She’d only been on the phone for less than three minutes, but already, the white tufts of hair were thinner. The eyes narrower. The dark smudge, where a hairbrush had been, was fading. She could almost make out an object, silver and metallic, beneath. She looked away, out the window. When she looked back, the picture had changed again.

  “It can’t be,” she said.

  She saw it then, the resemblance to another face. Before, he had hid behind youth, but now that façade was crumbling away.

  It was a face she’d seen on a news broadcast. The face she’d stared at in horror after Laurel downloaded his image from the Web. The face of the man in her dreams. The Witchman.

  “I’ve never heard of anything like this,” Laurel said. “I’ll give it to the freak, he’s got skills.”

  “Yeah,” Mandy said nervously, twirling the phone cord around her finger. “Let’s all compliment my personal psycho.”

  “Sorry, M.”

  “No, it’s okay. I’m just creeped out, but the police are circling the neighborhood. My parents refuse to leave the house, and Dale will be here in a few minutes.”

  “What’s he look like now?” Laurel asked.

  Mandy looked at the screen, at the picture of the man. Thinner hair. Nose more pronounced than ever. Chin pointed. A slightly younger version of the Witchman she’d seen on the video scowled out at her from beneath a saluting hand. In his other hand where there was once a hairbrush, he held a long, narrow-bladed knife that caught a glimmer of light.

  Ten minutes ago, when she was absolutely sure it was the same man, she called Officer Romero, whose computer was still out cold from the invading virus. Less than two minutes later, she saw a police car circling her block. The men didn’t park or come in, which Mandy thought was odd, but Officer Romero assured her that she herself would be at Mandy’s within the hour. By then, the traces on Kyle Nevers would be in.

  “Hey,” Laurel said. “You still there?”

  “I’m here, just don’t ask me about the picture again.”

  “So, how is this going to play? You need some company tonight?”

  “Yes,” Mandy said. “But I can’t have it. The police don’t want too many people wandering around the house. They say it makes their job harder.”

  “Well, you know I’m there if you need me.”

  “I know,” Mandy said. Then, before she knew it, she was saying, “I love you, L. I never tell you that, but you’re a great friend.”

  “Love you, too, Girl. Be strong.”

  “I will,” she said, and hung up the phone. It felt like she was saying good-bye forever.

  Mandy walked through the house, looking at the sleek furniture her mother adored, finally able to see some beauty in the hard smooth surfaces. Despite their cold appearance, they brought light to the rooms, bits of sun dancing off glass tables and the facets of crystal knick-knacks. She found her parents in the kitchen. Both were still drinking coffee. She hugged them tightly.

  She was safe here, with her family. The doors were locked. Dale would be there soon. She was so very afraid, but she was also rational (Laurel always said so), and logic told her she was safe. She would go upstairs and lie down until Dale arrived—Where are you?—and they’d all wait together until the police called to say they’d caught the son of a bitch, and they could resume their normal lives.

  “Keep your door open,” her father reminded.

  “I will.”

  And she did. Upstairs, she walked into her bedroom. Still really creeped out, she checked under her bed, looked through her closet to make sure no one broke in while she was in the kitchen. Finding the room empty, she dropped onto her bed, exhausted but still buzzing from fear.

  Her eyes were just closing when a tone from her computer announced new mail in her e-mail folder. She didn’t care. It would still be there after her nap.

  But you never signed on, a tiny voice reminded.

  Mandy’s eyes shot open and she leaped from the bed. Her Internet homepage covered the screen, and an instant message window was open in the corner.

  Kylenevers: It’s L8R now.

  Panicked, Mandy closed the window and clicked on the pull down menu. She signed off of the Internet service. The pages vanished, leaving nothing but the open picture file in the middle of her monitor.

  It had changed again.

  She couldn’t tell if the photo of the Witchman was fully realized or not, because he was gone, and so was the room he’d been
standing in. Instead, Mandy looked at the image of a brightly lit lawn. Sprinklers soaked the grass in a gemlike cascade. The image shook, and she realized it was no longer a photo at all, but rather a movie playing in the picture box.

  Whoever held the camera taking this film had shaky hands. The edges of the scene blurred and trembled in a disquieting tremor. The camera panned up and Mandy saw a white fence and a stretch of sidewalk.

  It looked so familiar, but she couldn’t place it.

  Then the image progressed, down the walk past the house. She saw rows of nice houses. The houses of her neighbors! Oh no, she thought. A police car slowly pulled into the frame, eased its way down the street. Her street!

  Oh God, she thought. He’s coming.

  The movie progressed faster and the cameraman stood in her driveway, aiming the camera up at her window.

  But the police are out there. They had to see him. This can’t be today. Can’t be now.

  The cameraman walked forward and pushed open the front door of her house. The image swept across her living room, back to the stairs, to the den, back to the stairs. Whoever held the camera began to climb toward her room.

  “No!” Mandy cried, running to the hall, looking at the stairs.

  Only to find them empty.

  “Mom. Dad!” she cried, but her throat was so tight with dread, hardly any sound escaped. She ran back through her room to look out the window.

  The police car was still retreating down the block. Another car pulled up. A silver Audi. It turned into her driveway.

  Thank God, Dale.

  He climbed out of his car. Dale looked up at the window, saw Mandy, waved.

  “He’s a good kid,” a raspy voice said at her back. “I should drop him a note sometime.”

  Mandy spun toward the voice, her heart tripping hard. Her throat clenched with fear.

  The Witchman stood by her door, wearing a black coat and a vicious smile. Mandy screamed, and this time the sound was piercing, dreadful. Below, her parents called out for her, and she heard their steps pounding up the staircase. The Witchman slammed her bedroom door, turned the lock.

  “Think you might want to kiss me?” he asked.

  Mandy remembered the knife under her pillow and dashed to the bed, grabbing the handle and stepping back, brandishing it before her. The Witchman didn’t seem to notice a thunder of fists on the door at his back. Her parents’ concerned voices, calling her name, demanding she let them in.

  “Open the door,” Mandy said, jabbing the knife forward, stepping to the end of the bed. “He’s in here,” she screamed.

  None of this seemed to affect the Witchman in the least. He stepped away from the door toward the desk.

  Now, not even the bed separated them. The only obstacle between him and her was the blade of her knife.

  He looked at her computer screen and laughed his terrible staccato laugh before turning his attention back to Mandy. She cast a quick glance at the monitor, saw herself brandishing a long knife.

  “Why don’t you stupid brats just delete the file?” he asked. “You leave the gate wide open.”

  “You came through the computer? It…it isn’t possible.”

  “I’ve been doing the impossible for many, many years, Mandy. People see only what I want them to see. For generations I’ve been called warlock and sorcerer and bogeyman. But the world changes. So, I’ve gone high tech.”

  “Get out of here!” Mandy screamed.

  “I’m afraid I can’t. The fuel I need is inside you.”

  From the other side of the door, she heard Dale call her name. A heavy thud pounded against wood. Both of her parents were screaming with tears in their voices.

  Something in Mandy snapped. She could no longer take the smug, evil amusement on the Witchman’s face. She ran forward, drawing the knife down to deliver an upward slice. But he stepped to the side and grabbed her, holding her tight to his body, her arms pinned at her sides.

  Up close, his face was even more horrible. Like old leather, cracked and dusty, his skin stretched over bumpy, pointed bones. His eyes were the charcoal gray of a dead computer screen. His grip was like iron.

  “Time to go,” he said.

  No. Please no.

  Suddenly, Mandy felt herself falling, as if the floor had just dropped out from beneath her. The pounding on the door, the screaming of Dale and her mom and her dad, faded and grew thick as if heard from beneath water. Her body began to tingle and then burn as she felt herself coming apart, every cell letting loose of those around it. She tried to scream, but all she heard was static, like the crumpling of a paper bag.

  Then Mandy’s room was empty. Against the wall stood her desk. On the desk, her computer monitor glowed. A picture box in the middle of the screen still played a movie, showing a police car parked next to a curb. The doors opened and two burly men in blue uniforms ran forward as if right through the camera, leaving the image of a pleasant neighborhood. A terrified face appeared for a moment and was then pushed aside by a pale, old hand, dotted with liver spots. It appeared again, eyes wide, mouth open and screaming. The girl in the movie was struggling, slapping at the camera, crying for her parents, crying for a boy named Dale.

  Dale threw his shoulder against the door and the jamb splintered, snapped and exploded inward. He didn’t see Mandy. He ran to the closet, threw it open, but it was empty. Her parents were already at the window, looking out.

  “It’s locked,” her father said.

  Dale crouched low and looked under the bed, but saw nothing except long plastic containers, where Mandy kept her sweaters. Standing up, he noticed the open picture window on Mandy’s monitor. Two police officers burst into the room, their guns drawn.

  “Where are they?” one shouted.

  “I don’t know,” Mandy’s father said, his voice tearful and trembling.

  “Where’s my daughter!” Mrs. Collins screamed.

  At the computer, Dale leaned down to get a better vantage on the picture window. When he saw the image there, his stomach knotted and he felt like he was going to be sick.

  “Oh, Mandy,” he cried.

  There is a picture on the screen. It is just a simple picture, harmless in and of itself, but it carries a dreadful power. The image is of the corner of a blond brick building. Next to the building is a field of tall dead grass; beyond that, a stand of trees, dark and impenetrable despite the glow of bright afternoon sun.

  EPILOGUE

  Anne laughed, or more rightly, cackled. After a moment, Shirley joined in, showing her white teeth. The lively sounds echoed against the wounded plaster and peeling paint, rising above the rumble of the storm to fill the gloomy room with noise. Pieces of old wood ticked and settled as if the laughter itself had moved the building just a bit.

  Finally Mary stood up, annoyed.

  “That was awful!” she said, forgetting to whisper. “There was no point! No moral! No spiritual substance. That poor girl died like an animal. Like a rat in a cage.”

  Shirley clasped her hand to her mouth to stop her giggles, but her eyes caught Anne’s and she started to guffaw again.

  “That’s enough,” Daphne cautioned.

  “Check the stats, Mary,” Anne said, dark eyes glowing in the lantern flame. “We all die like animals. You’re just a big rat. A big blond rat with curls.”

  Then she started laughing again.

  But Mary was upset. “Are you that dead inside?”

  “Inside and out,” Anne said, leading to another round of harsh laughter.

  “Aren’t you even disappointed it wasn’t your story?”

  Anne waved her off. “Not. I don’t expect it to be anymore. I just roll the dice and talk the talk. It’s no PlayStation, but what is?”

  As their voices rose, Daphne began shushing them in earnest. “Quiet down now, all of you. That’s enough.”

  Shirley exhaled and turned her head sideways to look at the bones. She whispered, “Do you think maybe, even if they’re not ours, the story that com
es to us has something to do with us? With who we are? Anne is the darkest of us, no offense.”

  “Yeah, because I’ve been dating so much recently,” Anne said.

  Mary shook her head and also spoke softly as she repeated her earlier theory. “The only pattern we know is the one that wins. The rest is just guessing.”

  “Like rats in a maze,” Anne said. She let out another noisy laugh and buried her head in her hands to stifle the sound. Hearing that, Shirley started giggling again and this time couldn’t make herself stop. She had a serious case, laughing louder and louder until all the girls were shushing her.

  Finally, Daphne leaned over and shook a finger in her face. “Quiet! The Headmistress may hear you.”

  Anne and Mary simply fell silent at the mention of the name, but Shirley’s eyes went wide. She visibly trembled in the lantern light. “Did you have to say the name? Why did you have to say the name?”

  Realizing her mistake, Daphne knelt by her and tried to be calming. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You were getting so loud.”

  “Is she here? Is she coming?”

  “No, no, Shirley. Just relax,” Mary offered.

  “I can’t! I can’t relax if she might hear me! You told me it was safe!”

  Anne leaned forward. “Shirley, look, it is safe, if you relax! So will you shut the hell up?”

  Mary’s eyes flared. “Anne, that is not helping!”

  Far off, there was a different sort of noise. It wasn’t the usual settling of the old building, or the mysterious scraping of rodents. This sounded more like a far-off door opening. They all heard it, but only Shirley was certain she knew what it was.

  “She’s coming! She’s coming!” Shirley said, panting now like a sick dog. She rose and looked all around. In an animal panic, Shirley ran straight toward a wall with nary a fingerhold to be seen and started to climb it. She skittered up the smooth white wall, higher and higher, not even disturbing the cobwebs, like a moth trying to get through a window.

  Then she vanished into the ceiling.

  The remaining three girls stared up at the spot where she’d vanished and started calling to it.