Virtual Terror

by David Bergantino

  "You probably shouldn't move around, buddy," the guard said, showing genuine concern.

  "No, I'm okay," Keith gasped unconvincingly, and stood anyway. His breathing was coming much easier now, and he shook away the last remnants of the overwhelming fear that had engulfed him. Before him was a rectangle of color labeled "Mysteria." He remembered now: The poster had «attacked» him. Or so he thought. Evidently he must have imagined it. "I gotta go, my friends are probably waiting for me."

  "You don't look so good, buddy. You should wait for the ambulance." The security guard looked worried. He must have been; he was the last of the crowd that had been surrounding Keith when he came to.

  "No, really, I'm okay," Keith insisted, this time more believably. "It was just something I ate. My friends'll take me home." Still, the security guard remained unconvinced. "Look, I'm up and walking. Heck, maybe someone's having a heart attack or a stroke somewhere else in this mall. This is a false alarm, honest."

  The security guard considered Keith's words for a minute, then, reluctantly, picked up his walkie-talkie and called off the ambulance. Shuffling away, the guard now appeared aimless. Only Keith and Mel remained at the pushcart.

  "That was incredible!" The clerk seemed excited, as if he had seen a UFO land in front of him rather than the unexpected collapse of a customer. Keith figured the crowd, the security guard, and the cashier had seen too much so-called reality television. Apparently everyone had hoped for a dramatic and bloody ending, rather than Keith's quick recovery.

  "Well, uh… sorry." Keith wasn't sure whether he was apologizing for his collapse or its ultimate lack of drama. "See ya," Keith said as he started to walk away.

  "Hey, wait," Mel called. Keith stopped and glanced back. "I feel, y'know, kinda responsible. Let me make it up to you." With that, the clerk picked up «Mysteria» and handed it to Keith.

  "Whoa! That's totally not necessary," Keith said, refusing the poster.

  Mel continued to push it toward him. "Look, man, it would make me feel better. Please?"

  Keith was about to refuse again, but the words seemed to stick in his throat. The cashier sincerely wanted to make amends. As unnecessary as that was, Keith couldn't bring himself to disappoint him. He took the poster.

  The instant he touched the frame, a sick feeling formed in the pit of Keith's stomach. He had to fight the urge to vomit, and worse, the urge to smash the poster to the ground. But he didn't want to insult the clerk. He also knew he couldn't just take the poster, so he reached for his wallet.

  Mel stepped back. "No, it's on me. Really."

  "C'mon," Keith insisted. "Let me give you something for it." He searched his wallet and came up with ten dollars. The poster actually cost a lot more than that, but Mel was going to give it to him for free anyway. At least it was something. Mel just stared at the money that Keith held out. He could tell the cashier wanted to take it. "Go ahead. I know it's not enough, but let's just call it even. Okay?"

  Mel hesitated another moment. Then he slowly reached for the money. "All right," he said carefully, considering it. Then he looked up at Keith and smiled. "It's a deal."

  "Good." Keith was relieved. By now he really wanted to leave. "Can you give me a bag for this? I don't want it to break." Actually, he didn't care remotely about the poster. But it was beginning to feel like an iron in his hands, getting hotter by the minute.

  "Sure thing, man," chirped Mel. He spun around, put the money on the pushcart, and fetched a bag from the compartment underneath. Deftly he grabbed the poster from Keith and bagged it. When he was finished, he handed it back.

  Since it was insulated by the paper bag, Keith couldn't feel any heat from the poster. But what had he felt? Obviously Mel had noticed nothing unusual. Keith wondered if he was coming down with the flu.

  "Well, thanks for not wanting to sue Virtu-Illusions," Mel told him, obviously relieved. Seeing Keith's confusion, Mel explained, "Some people think these posters can bring on epileptic seizures or something. That's what I thought had happened."

  Now Mel's reaction made sense to Keith. If, by giving away a poster, Mel could ward off a lawsuit, then his company would consider him a model employee. "Don't worry about it," Keith told him. "The thought never crossed my mind. Anyway, thanks for the poster." Keith turned to walk away, but Mel stopped him again.

  "Wait a sec, man. Do you believe in fate, or karma, or astrology, you know, stuff like that?"

  "Not particularly," Keith answered impatiently. He really wanted to go home and crash.

  "I'm into that stuff," said Mel. "Most people don't really believe, but it's all real, man." He looked around as if a fly were circling his head and said mysteriously, "There's all these invisible forces and energies that influence our lives." An amused smile appeared on Mel's face as he patiently explained to Keith, "See, maybe your reaction to the poster was fate. Like, you were meant to have the poster. It sure got your attention. I mean, maybe it's better if a gorgeous chick is meant for you, instead of a poster, but fate is what it is. It's mysterious. And me giving the poster to you, that's karma. Good karma. I do a good thing for you, and eventually, good comes my way. Y'know? What goes around comes around."

  Yes, Keith thought, it's definitely time to go home.

  "Yeah, well, thanks a lot for the karma," he said as he began to leave. Mel's voice stopped him once more.

  "Speaking of astrology, man, what's your sign?"

  Keith stopped abruptly and turned to stare at the clerk. Oh brother! he thought.

  "Right now it's EXIT," Keith replied as affably as he could manage. It was all he could do not to burst out laughing. "I gotta meet my friends." As he spoke, he walked backward away from the pushcart.

  "Right," Mel laughed. "You're a trip, man, you know that?"

  Keith slapped an I-know-sometimes-I-bust-myself-up grin on his face, waved, and turned around. He casually glanced back as he walked away, and saw Mel putting the ten dollars into his hip pocket.

  * * *

  Keith found Pam waiting by an exit with Mario and Carrie. They each held a large shopping bag. Apparently Pam — or more accurately, The Limited — had made a killing.

  "Sorry, I'm late," Keith called out as he approached.

  "We have to go right now," Pam said crossly. "I'm behind schedule. If I don't have dinner soon, I won't have time to rest up for my seven o'clock run. After that, it gets too dark."

  "As you wish, madam," he said taking her hand. Keith didn't mind not having an opportunity to explain himself. He really just wanted to forget the whole episode.

  "We'll walk you to the car. This is all Pam's stuff anyway," Mario said. They started for the parking lot. "What's that? One of those posters?"

  Keith frowned. Now he'd have to tell at least part of the story. "Eeww!" Pam said, wrinkling her nose. "You bought something from that creepy guy in the mall? Druggie?… I think so."

  "Maybe," Keith answered mildly. "He is kind of interplanetary, but whatever. He gave me a deal. Ten bucks!"

  They arrived at the car and Keith opened the trunk for the bags.

  "I don't even want to know what you did to get that much of a discount," Mario said suggestively.

  Carrie swatted his shoulder. "Don't be gross."

  "Ha, ha," Keith responded dully as he slammed the trunk closed. They stood around the car for a moment longer.

  "Which one'd you get?" asked Mario. " 'F-15 Fighters'? No, wait… 'Dinosaurs'!? That's more your speed."

  "Neither. You guys are going to laugh at me when you find out what I got."

  "Cool," said Mario excitedly, rubbing his hands together. "Never pass up a chance to laugh at you. Fess up, what is it? Do they have posters with naked women? I'd risk a headache to peep that!" Carrie wrapped her hands around his neck to gently strangle him.

  "Actually, I don't know what exactly is on this poster. The guy was gonna just give it to me for free." All three of his friends looked at him incredulously. No one ever gave things away for free. Reluctantly Keith exp
lained with a «lite» version of events, telling the others he became dizzy and had to sit down. He didn't want to talk about the strange things he felt or saw; they'd just think he was crazy. Finally he related Mel's riff on karma, and how the cashier had pocketed the money Keith had insisted on giving him. Carrie jumped on that.

  "That doesn't sound like good karma at all," she said. "Sounds to me like he talked you into helping him steal. That's not karma, it's theft."

  "I bet he'll use the money to buy drugs," Pam stated matter-of-factly.

  "Probably not," Mario told her. "Not much you can get for ten bucks these days."

  "Look," Keith told her, "He felt bad and gave me a discount." Then he added weakly, "Maybe he was making change or something and put the money back after I left."

  Carrie didn't believe it any more than he did. "You got used and you know it. You should do something about it."

  "If I hadn't turned around, I wouldn't have known," he said defensively.

  "But you did turn around," she pointed out. "And you do know."

  Keith found Carrie's tone irritating. It was a familiar sound from when they had been dating. Usually her clear head was good to have around, since he tended to be impulsive. Other times, she was too much like a parent.

  "Fine," he snapped. "If you have such a problem with the poster, then don't look at it. Besides, it'll be in my bedroom, so how would you get a chance?"

  Carrie recoiled as if she had been slapped in the face. Then she just turned and walked away. Mario and Pam at first looked shocked, then disgusted.

  "Nice move, Karpov," Mario sneered at him.

  "Carrie, I'm sorry," Keith called after her, but she ignored him. Pam shook her head in disappointment.

  "I'd better go catch up with her," Mario said when he realized Keith wasn't going to say anything more. He said good-bye to Pam, then turned to Keith. "I'll catch you later, dude," he said, and left without the ceremonial handshake. Keith knew he had screwed up.

  Keith and Pam watched Mario until he caught up to Carrie. Then Keith silently unlocked his car door and he and Pam got in.

  * * *

  They were barely out of the parking lot before Pam started in on him.

  "Aren't we Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde today?" she asked snidely.

  He was gonna get it, he figured. And how. "Look, I didn't mean it the way it sounded. She was just pissing me off. And… I'm still kind of dizzy from before. Anyway, it has nothing to do with us, I mean, me and you. Let's forget about it, okay?" He braced himself for her next onslaught.

  "Well, okay," she consented, her tone softening. "It's just that if it hadn't been for that Freudian slip of yours, I was going to suggest that we double-date soon."

  "Really?" Keith asked, utterly taken by surprise. Pam had always been jealous of Carrie. She often complained about having to compete with her, despite Keith's insistence that he was over his former girlfriend. "You'd be okay with that?" he asked, figuring there was a catch.

  "Yes," Pam assured him. "But only if you're okay with it. You seemed fine when we first saw them in the mall. The idea occurred to me while we where shopping. It's the first time I've been with them together, really, and talked to Mario. I always thought he was a punk."

  "Hey…"

  "I know he's your best friend," she told him quickly. "And I've always wondered why. But we talked today and now I know."

  Keith didn't respond immediately. Instead he drove silently, considering her suggestion. At first, when Carrie had left him for Mario, he had hated them both — Mario for stealing his girlfriend and Carrie for betraying him. But Keith had finally come to understand that people can't «steal» one another — the other person has to want to be stolen — and it was eventually possible for him to forgive Mario. They resumed their friendship within a month.

  His feelings for Carrie were harder to reconcile. His ego would not let him believe that she could want anyone else but him. So the pain stayed with him. And this was why he and Pam had never gone out together with them. They had run into each other before, and there was always the pain to deal with. Until today.

  "Actually, that might be good," he finally said. "For all of us. That is, if I haven't messed things up."

  "Carrie's a big girl," Pam assured him. "She'll get over it. I think it will be good. But you have to ask. Not because I suggested it, but because it's what you want."

  "It is," he told her with conviction. "And I will."

  Pam seemed very pleased.

  "Good!" Then her excitement level rose another two notches. "Now, you wanna hear what I bought while you were haggling over that icky poster?"

  Keith laughed. This double-date thing must have been important to have preceded Pam's review of her shopping spree. She took her shopping very seriously.

  "First off, I got this way cute lace-trim blouse. It's TDF!" she squealed.

  "To Die For," Keith snickered under his breath.

  "The blouse is pink and the trim is white. You'll love it…!"

  The rest of the way back to Pam's house, Keith listened raptly to her shopping report. He nodded, laughed, and gasped in wonder at all the right places. She had barely finished by the time he pulled into her driveway in the nice section of Springwood. He helped her carry her mall spoils into the house and said hello to her parents. Then she walked him back out to the car for a quick kiss where they would not be seen. Keith dutifully waited until she reentered her house before leaving.

  Driving home down Elm Street, Keith passed the old Thompson house. It was run-down and abandoned, though supposedly not quite empty. Rumor had it that Freddy Krueger still «lived» there. The houses on either side were pretty shabby as well. The only people willing to live along that part of Elm Street were families with low incomes who could not afford proper upkeep. Once, the city had tried to demolish the Krueger house in order to invigorate the neighborhood, but a series of accidents — some resulting in death — had stopped the project.

  Keith shivered as he drove past. He always did. A block later, the dingy, unkempt houses gave way to trim lawns and new paint jobs. A few blocks more and Keith was home.

  After he parked, Keith took «Mysteria» up to his room. Posters of all sorts, framed and unframed, already covered his walls. It almost gave him an excuse not to put up the new poster — after all, he didn't even know what was in it. In the end, he decided to challenge himself by attempting to discover the image that lurked in the colored dots. So to make room, he took down an old one taped near the closet door. From the garage, he brought up a tool kit and pulled out a hammer and one large nail. His mother didn't allow him to put nails in the walls, but she never came into his room, anyway. That was one of the good things about his mother. She pretty much left him alone and respected his personal space. He even had his own phone line, which she never touched when he wasn't home, agreeing instead to let the answering machine in his room pick up. As long as he didn't run up exorbitant phone bills — which he didn't — she allowed him the privilege of a private line.

  Keith removed «Mysteria» from the Virtu-Illusions bag slowly. Looking at its colorful surface, he braced himself for the terrible pseudopod or a burning sensation on his hands. Neither happened, but he felt an immediate tightness in his chest. Maybe he was coming down with a flu. Then Keith found himself remembering the pushcart cashier stuffing the money into his pocket, and his own argument with Carrie. A nagging fear dawned on him. Maybe he shouldn't have bought the poster. It wasn't the money. He suddenly feared that there was something wrong with the poster itself. Something that had caused his strange visions. Then he knew it with a terrible certainty and dropped the poster as though it were a dead animal. His feeling of dread retreated immediately. He could breathe normally. Whatever he had just felt, it was gone now.

  Keith picked up the poster. Holding it against the wall, he guessed at where to put the nail. His breath hitched again and he felt dizzy, so he set the poster down once more. After a few deep breaths, he returned once more to the
increasingly difficult job of hanging the poster. Determinedly he held the point of the nail against the wall. Holding the hammer in his right hand, he drew it back and solidly struck the nail twice. Strong, steady hammering was better than little taps, he had read in a carpentry book. Keith readied the third blow, preparing to put all his strength into it. He swung — but this time, he missed the nail entirely. Instead, he struck the back of his left hand. There was a crunching sound and a great deal of pain. Keith yelled and dropped the hammer. It fell squarely onto the center of the poster. Metal connected with glass and the hammer simply bounced off. The force knocked the poster forward and it fell facedown.

  Keith fell back onto his bed, thrashing in agony. Finally he was able to sit up and examine his hand. He stared at the perfect black circle, slightly larger than a quarter. The rest of his hand had turned a frightening shade of purple. The fingers would not move.

  Chapter 3

  Keith ran to the phone and pressed the speaker button with a finger from his good hand. Without listening for a dial tone, he hit the auto-dial button for Mario's number. A joyless female voice answered. Mario's aunt.

  "Hi, Mrs. Vasquez, it's Keith." He tried to speak normally, but it was difficult through clenched teeth. "Is Mario there?"

  "He's studying right now, Keith," she told him quietly. "He'll call you when he's through." His aunt was a strict disciplinarian who insisted on set times for homework. But she was fair, rewarding Mario's hard work with the freedom to do as he pleased when he was finished studying.

  "Could I please speak to him now?" he asked, knowing she would be shocked by his insistence. "I wouldn't ask, but I just smashed my hand with a hammer and my mom's not home. I may need to go to the hospital."

  Mrs. Vasquez was silent on the other end, as if trying to calculate if this was an adolescent ploy or the truth. "I'll get him," she said. Even if she believed him, her annoyance was obvious nonetheless.