Virtual Terror

by David Bergantino

  "It was dark. I was in the woods. Lost. In the distance, I heard howling, like wolves. The sound was" — she took a deep breath, another sip, and then continued — "it was scary. Because I thought I could understand what the wolves — or whatever — were saying. Like when you can tell people are talking about you in, say, Spanish, even though you can't understand what they're saying. It was like that.

  "They howled again… more wolves, it sounded like — and they were closer. And then I knew. They were coming for me. They seemed to be everywhere. I began to run. Leaves and branches scratched my face and caught in my hair. The howling was continuous now. I covered my ears, but it didn't help. The sounds were inside my head. But the wolves weren't. I could see their eyes glowing among the trees. I was surrounded. Suddenly one leaped out of the darkness. Its jaws closed around my ankle and I fell. It started pulling me backward. Another bit my wrist and started pulling me in the other direction. This whipped the others into a frenzy. They poured out of the woods, biting me all over my body. It hurt so much. I tried to struggle, but it was no use. All I could see was fur and teeth all around me. And blood. My blood. Then the wolves started to leave. Next thing I know, I'm looking up into the glowing eyes of the biggest, most ferocious wolf. It growled and opened its mouth. Its teeth were huge. Saliva dripped from them and the drops burned the ground like acid. This one even frightened the other wolves, who backed away. Snarling, the huge wolf lunged at my throat, about to rip it out. I woke up then."

  Pam gulped the last of her cappuccino and placed the cup back down on the table. She was exhausted. She tried to laugh off her obvious fear.

  "You can bet I didn't get any more sleep. And of course, every time I started to doze off, a dog barked and I was wide-awake immediately."

  Keith took her hand and squeezed it. The Dream Exchange could be rough sometimes, but invariably, telling the dream made one feel better. Pam smiled back. The others also expressed sympathy for Pam. Even Mario, who remained skeptical about the Dream Exchange despite his own experiences, had been swept up in her dream.

  "The worst thing," Pam added, "was knowing the wolves were after me specifically." A slight shudder ran through her body.

  "Mine's a little one," Keith told them. "I don't know if it even qualifies as a nightmare." During Pam's story, he had remembered a strange dream from early the week before.

  "Whatever it is, dude," said Mario, "give it to us. That's what this is all about."

  "Okay," Keith began. "Like I said, it's not much. But I was walking in this empty room, and on the floor was a sewing needle. Even though the needle was tiny, and I didn't stoop down to look at it, I could see it very clearly. I could have avoided the needle easily — I didn't have shoes on, and the room was huge. Instead, I walked right toward it and stepped on it. I felt the needle pierce the sole of my foot. And…" Keith stopped. He felt ridiculous, but the others would force him to finish anyway.

  "I popped." He gulped down some steamed milk. Everyone was staring at him. He shrugged. "That's it. I just popped."

  Maybe it was the story, maybe it was the look on his face, but Mario pounded the table and erupted in a fit of laughter. The girls joined him not long after. But, Keith noticed, they all sounded like themselves, and the laughter was good-natured. Not the evil cackle of his nightmare.

  "You kill me, dude," Mario gasped. "You absolutely kill me." He mimicked Keith: " 'I popped. Man, oh man…" Laughter overtook him once more.

  Pam, also laughing, slapped Mario on the shoulder. "Stop that. You're so mean." Mario rubbed the spot she had slapped as if she had hurt him, but continued to laugh.

  "Hey, kidlets!" broke in a new, female voice. "What's so damn entertaining?" The group turned toward the voice and the sound of a chair scraping across the concrete floor. A girl with strawberry blond hair, torn jeans, T-shirt, and a motorcycle jacket pushed in next to Carrie, setting a cup of coffee on the table. Mario immediately stopped laughing. Though no one but Keith saw it, Mario briefly glared at the girl. The look was gone in an instant. But for a moment, Keith thought he had glimpsed the evil Mario of his nightmare.

  "Hi, Sandra," said Carrie as she moved over to make room for the new girl. "Keith just told us a dream he had, and Mario thought it was pretty funny."

  "Figures. So what was it?" Sandra asked Mario.

  "Oh, nothing," Mario told her. His voice was flat, as if he were holding back an angry outburst. "Keith'll tell you. I gotta go to the bathroom." He faked a smile and left the table.

  "What was that all about?" Carrie asked after Mario had left. Sandra was the only one not surprised by Mario's behavior.

  "Oh, don't worry about it," Sandra told them, her voice indicating that she thought it was extremely unimportant. "He and Skrag got into an argument the other day. They'll get over it." Sandra's boyfriend, Richard «Skrag» Morton, was the leader of the school's burnt-out grease monkey contingent. Two years older than the others, Skrag was a third-year senior. He chain-smoked, did drugs, and was rumored to be involved in a series of recent burglaries. Why he kept returning to school when he obviously lacked interest — or ability — was beyond the understanding of even the guidance counselors, who repeatedly urged him to drop out. Rumor had it he hung around to irritate the administrators and teachers who considered him one of their own failures. Others guessed he stayed in high school because it was the easiest way to meet girls.

  Anyone not knowing Sandra would assume from her appearance that she was made for a bottom-feeder like Skrag. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Sandra was intelligent and studious, at the top of the senior class academically. Skrag's dangerous image obviously excited her. And dating the smartest girl in the school was Skrag's revenge against the other students who treated him like a second-class citizen.

  Oddly enough, Skrag seemed to have a positive effect on Sandra. She had absorbed a bit of Skrag's brash personality without becoming as insufferable as her boyfriend. And she had still managed to maintain her friendships with the «regular» kids. Unfortunately, nothing of Sandra seemed to rub off on Skrag. He was still considered a thug and a loser.

  "So where is Mr. Wonderful tonight?" Carrie asked. Keith noticed Pam was quietly staring past Sandra toward the back of the coffee shop where Mario had gone.

  "Skrag's gonna pick me up here later," Sandra replied. "He had some work tonight."

  "Car work?" Keith asked. "Or otherwise?" Everyone at the table knew what «otherwise» meant.

  "He had to work on a car," Sandra told him patiently. She was used to the question.

  "Doesn't the other stuff bother you?" asked Pam, who had now returned her attention to the group.

  "He's quitting his drug business," Sandra announced, as if for the first time. But they had all heard it before. "Not all at once, but I've convinced him to start phasing it out." No one contradicted her. She became incredibly defensive if anyone reminded her that this was repetitious and doomed to fail.

  Carrie straightened in her seat, remembering something. "That reminds me, I need him to take a look at my car. It's making funny noises."

  "I'll tell him."

  "Thanks," Carrie said.

  "No problem. It still amazes me how he is with engines." Sandra extended her arms and spread her palms like a television evangelist. "I swear, the man just lays his hands on them and they're hee-alled!" They laughed, Pam a little less enthusiastically. Keith was about to ask Pam if she was all right when Sandra turned to him. "So what's this dream that's so funny?"

  He repeated the story, but it didn't come out quite as amusing this time around.

  "I guess you had to be there," he finished weakly.

  "Guess so." Sandra shrugged. "You want a dream, I got one for you." She hunched forward, getting into the mood. "I'm at something like a track meet, except I'm the only one running. There are people on either side of this real narrow track. Not people really, more like an angry mob. Most have axes and knives and hammers — all sorts of weapons. At the end of the straightaway is a g
lowing ball. I have to get that ball. A gunshot goes off and I start running. Someone takes a swipe at me with a knife and just misses, and that's when I realize I'm not at a track meet, I'm running a gauntlet. Luckily, they can't step into the track, just reach in with their weapons. And I get hit, too. And slashed. The ones without weapons kick, punch, and pull my hair. They keep knocking me down, but I get right back up and keep running. All I know is that I have to reach that ball.

  "One time, I can hardly stand after being knocked down. So I begin to crawl. It's slower, but the mob can't reach me as easily. That's when I get a look at my hands. The skin is loose and wrinkled. As I crawl forward, I realize I'm growing older. Rapidly. The glowing ball is what will return me to normal. But if I crawl, it'll take me too long and I'll die of old age first." Sandra stopped and laughed, but humorlessly. "I have to stand up and run; it's the only way. So that's what I do. I get up. I'm running. I get hit, stabbed, knocked to the ground, but I keep getting up. I know I'm covered with blood. But I'm getting older. Near the finish line, I fall. I put out an arm to break my fall, but as soon as my weight is on it, the arm splinters and breaks away like a dry branch. The pain should have woken me up then, because I can still remember the feel of it. I struggled to my feet and stumbled forward. There were only a few steps to go, but I could barely move because my limbs — the ones I had left — were withering and losing their strength. I looked at the faces of the mob around me. Each face was different, but they were twisted with the same type of hate. And it wasn't random hate, but hatred reserved specially for me. One of my legs shattered into dust and I fell. Now all I could do was drag myself forward. I only had a few feet to go, but by the way I was aging, any moment I might just crumble to nothing."

  Sandra looked down at her coffee. By the haunted look in her eyes, the scene was replaying itself inside her head. If there was more to the dream, her expression told them she did not want to continue.

  Finally Pam broke the silence. The power of Sandra's dream had overcome whatever had been bothering her. "So maybe this is a stupid question, but did you make it?"

  Sandra looked up from the coffee and shook her head.

  "That's the thing. Just as I would have crossed the line, the mob closed in on me and blocked the path. They cheated. I woke up as they started to tear my body apart." She paused. With a flip of her hair, she seemed to throw off the weight of the dream and smiled at them slyly. "Dreams are a bitch, and then you wake up," she told them all. Then she raised her coffee cup. "Here's to waking up."

  The others soberly raised their mugs to join in the toast that traditionally ended the Dream Exchange. But the sounds of a scuffle at the back of the coffee shop interrupted them. The noise quickly drew a crowd that obscured from view whatever was happening beyond the back entrance. Carrie's eyes met Keith's.

  "Mario never came back," she said.

  Instantly all four left the table and ran toward the back entrance. Pushing through the crowd and out to the back parking lot, they discovered two figures wrestling on the asphalt. One wore a leather jacket and had dark, greasy hair. The other was Mario.

  "Oh, shit," Keith muttered to himself. He turned to Sandra and grabbed her arm. "C'mon." They ran toward the fighters. Pam and Carrie followed.

  Before they got close, the dark-haired guy managed to roll on top, pinning Mario's arms with his legs. He began to hammer away at Mario's face. Suddenly, with a great yell, Mario threw his opponent off. Then he leaped onto his opponent and started raining blows on him. It was the same maneuver he used in wrestling. Only this time, Mario was out for blood, not just a pin.

  "Mario!" Keith yelled.

  "Skrag!" Sandra yelled an instant later. Neither fighter seemed to hear.

  Keith walked up behind Mario and hooked his arms around his friend. In the split second before he was going to pull Mario away, he saw Skrag's face.

  It was the face in the poster.

  Chapter 6

  Keith froze. Acting purely on instinct, Mario elbowed him sharply in the ribs. Keith went down, clutching his side and gasping for breath. When Mario realized what he'd done, he almost instantly forgot about the fight. Rising to help Keith, he turned his back on Skrag, who staggered to his feet and prepared to take advantage of the distraction. But just as he was about to sucker-punch Mario, Sandra stopped him.

  "That's enough!" she screamed. Seeing her, he dropped his arms to his sides and just stood there, breathing heavily from exertion. "What's going on?" Sandra demanded.

  "Why don't you ask pretty boy here," he said between gasps. Blood trickled from the side of his mouth. His eyes glimmered devilishly as he nodded toward Mario.

  Mario, kneeling beside Keith, replied with an equally malevolent look. "I'll get back to you in a minute." Then he turned back to Keith. "You okay, dude?"

  "I'm great," he groaned, positive that Mario had broken several ribs.

  "I didn't know it was you," Mario insisted. "I'm sorry."

  " 'S okay. I wasn't gonna wrestle this week anyway," Keith choked out before a spasm of painful coughing hit him. Pam and Carrie joined Mario at his side, their faces wrought with concern. "Don't worry," he told them. "I'll live." He tried to sit up, but the pain forced him back.

  A harsh adult voice suddenly commanded everyone's attention.

  "The police'll be here in three minutes," yelled Mr. Willis, manager of the coffee shop. "Anyone who doesn't want to get arrested better be gone in two." He made his announcement to the entire crowd, but his eyes were fixed on Skrag. The gawkers quickly began to disperse.

  "I think we'd better get out of here, kidlets," Sandra told the group. Skrag winced as he felt his jaw. "C'mon, baby," she said to him.

  "Yeah," Skrag said, his eyes fixed on Mario. "Got to get you away from that creep. You're not safe."

  Mario stood quickly. Pam and Carrie jumped up to hold him back. Skrag smirked at him, then started to laugh.

  "Shut up and come on," Sandra told him, and pulled him away. "See you guys tomorrow," she said to the rest of them, and led Skrag to his car. Soon the roar of Skrag's souped-up Mustang drowned out all other sounds. With a screech and a blue cloud of exhaust, the car tore out of the parking lot.

  By now, Keith had made it to his feet. His chest still hurt, but he felt no telltale grinding. No broken ribs.

  "Are you going to be okay to drive?" Pam asked.

  "I think so," he answered, not really sure. His arm wouldn't move without causing pain to flare in his side.

  "Tell you what," Mario said. "Pam, you drive Keith's car to his house. I'll follow behind and give you a ride from there. That okay with you, Keith?"

  "Yeah, fine."

  "Good, let's go. I think our time is almost up." Police sirens blared in the distance.

  The group split up and Keith gave Pam his car keys. He was glad not to drive. He hurt in more places than his chest. His hand wasn't doing that well and his headache had never gone away. He was surprised that his head had not burst open the moment he'd recognized Skrag's face from the poster. Too many images, too many questions, were crammed into his skull right now.

  After pulling out of the Wide Awake parking lot, Pam waited at a light in front of the coffee shop. The place had returned to normal very quickly. Most of the sidewalk tables were filled once again with groups of teens. They chattered animatedly, probably recounting the scene they had just witnessed. One table, Keith noticed, was occupied by only one person. He looked very detached from the other patrons. Not only did he not belong, he appeared uncomfortably aware of that fact. Then Keith saw that the person was looking at him. Staring. The light changed and the car started moving. All at once, Keith recognized Mel, the cashier at the Virtu-Illusions cart. Mel flashed Keith a creepy smile as the car passed. Then he nodded slightly and winked as if they were sharing a secret. Before Keith could make sense of Mel's gestures, they drove out of sight.

  Keith settled back in his seat and let his breath out with a groan.

  "You hurting?" Pam asked. />
  In reply, Keith started whistling, "Nobody knows the trouble I've seen…"

  * * *

  When they arrived at Keith's house, his mother's car was in the driveway, but the house was dark. He figured — hoped — she had gone to bed. Just as well, he thought. At the rate I'm collecting injuries, I might as well wait a few days and explain everything to her at one time.

  Mario pulled in behind Keith's car and he got out with Carrie.

  "I'm sorry again, dude." Mario seemed ready to apologize ad infinitum.

  "I'm okay," Keith insisted. "But the least you could do is be hurt yourself. You're the one who got in the fight. I don't even see any blood."

  "Carrie wiped it off in the car." Mario grinned. "Of course, it was Skrag's blood." He winked at Keith and turned to Pam. "Let's get you home."

  "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, Keith." Pam gave him a peck on the cheek and started to get into Mario's backseat.

  "Hold on," said Carrie. "I'll be right there." As Mario joined Pam in the car, Carrie approached Keith.

  "What a great reacquainted date, huh?" she said.

  "Classic," he replied, laughing. "Really, I'm glad we went out. Whatever happened. I think it'll be easy after this"

  "Yeah. Me, too. Take some Advil and get some sleep," she told him. Then she awkwardly held out her hand. He reached for it, then drew her into a quick embrace. They had not hugged in months. It felt good.

  "I'll be fine," he told her. "See you at school. G'night."

  Carrie returned to Mario's car, and Keith watched his friends pull out moments later.

  Keith went up to his room to prepare for bed. He expected that the pain in his body would keep him awake. But worse than that, his racing thoughts outpaced his need for sleep. He replayed the day's events over and over, always returning to «Mysteria» and its image of Skrag in terrible pain. The poster's eerie presence again permeated the room, as if a sinister, invisible light emanated from it in the darkness. Oh, this is all real, it was telling him, in a smooth, dark voice. And this is only the beginning. The evil droning continued on and on, eventually lulling Keith into sleep.