Virtual Terror

by David Bergantino

  * * *

  Keith woke up with a start, catapulted from a nightmare. He remembered nothing except for an image of Mel smiling eerily and waving at him, as he had that evening. Keith looked across the room toward "Mysteria," which hung shrouded in the darkness of his room. Whatever Keith had felt from it earlier was gone. If it had been there at all. Or maybe whatever strange energy the poster possessed was simply dormant for now. Waiting. That brought him back to the Virtu-Illusions cashier once more. He wondered if Mel, who professed a belief in "invisible forces," had perceived anything strange about the poster. Maybe that's why he had been so anxious to get rid of it. Suddenly Keith was very curious to ask Mel some questions.

  Checking his clock, Keith found that only an hour had passed. Conceivably, Mel might still be at the coffee shop. That possibility stoked Keith's curiosity, and he quickly made up his mind. He had to try to find out more about the poster tonight. Mel's strange smile flashed in his mind again. Yes, Keith realized, he knows something.

  Keith got out of bed and dressed quickly. He left the house as quietly as he could, and got to his car. His only fear was that the sound of the engine starting would waken his mother. As he pulled out of the driveway, he watched her bedroom window for a light. It remained dark. As he drove away, he realized that she might just now be reaching for the light switch. If she did wake up, and found him gone, he'd be in big trouble when he returned later. Oh, well. He'd deal with it. In the meantime, he had other things to worry about.

  Back at Wide Awake, Keith found Mel still sitting at the same table. When Keith approached, Mel seemed pleasantly surprised.

  "Hey, man! Have a seat," he said, pointing to the empty chair opposite him. "What're you doing here?"

  "Couldn't sleep. Wondered if you were still here," Keith said as he pulled out the chair and sat down.

  "You were lookin' for me? Cool." Mel seemed genuinely surprised, and flattered. "Good thing you came when you did. I was about outta here. So, what's up?"

  "I wanted to ask you about the poster you sold me." Keith watched Mel stiffen slightly. "Did it ever make you feel weird or anything?"

  Mel's face had become a blank. "What do you mean?" he asked evenly.

  "I mean, when you touched it, or looked at it?"

  Mel regarded him curiously, as if Keith were putting him on. But then he realized Keith was serious. He shook his head.

  "Nope. I didn't notice anything. Why?" He sat forward, obviously intrigued by Keith's question.

  "I know this is going to sound strange," Keith told him, "but, I don't know, it gives me a bad feeling."

  A thoughtful "Hmmmmm…" was Mel's only reply. Keith forged ahead.

  "And tonight I saw a face in it," he said. "And the really weird thing is, I knew who it was, too. This guy Skrag…" Keith stopped when another eerie smile lit up Mel's face.

  "The guy your buddy was fighting tonight," Mel told him.

  "You know him?"

  "Oh, yes," Mel admitted, smiling as if Keith had caught him with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. "I came here tonight to meet him. We had a little… ah… business to transact." He chuckled to himself. "But the fight messed that up. I just decided to hang out and watch people. I just love watching people."

  So, Keith realized, Mel was one of Skrag's "customers." That explained an awful lot. But before Keith could think about it any further, Mel returned to the subject of the poster.

  "So you saw Skrag's face in 'Mysteria, huh?" He was darkly amused. "Freaky."

  "Especially the way he looked," Keith explained. "I think he was being tortured or something. He was definitely screaming." Keith braced himself for a burst of derisive laughter from Mel. But Mel did not laugh. Instead, his eyes lit up gleefully.

  "Tortured, huh?" he said dreamily, staring off into space. Apparently he liked the idea of Skrag being tortured. "So you want to know what I think?"

  "Yes," Keith said anxiously. Mel's reaction had been strange, unnerving, but this was why Keith had come back tonight.

  "To tell you the truth, I think you just don't like Skrag too much. And you're projecting your feelings, or something like that." Keith's expectations were shattered. When Mel noticed Keith's disappointment, he asked, "But you think something else is going on?"

  Keith tried to make him understand. "I wasn't even thinking of Skrag. It just happened. I thought you understood weird phenomena."

  This hit Mel where he lived, and for the first time he seriously considered Keith's problem.

  "Okay, let's say you did see the face in the poster. It still could be you." Keith started to protest, but Mel continued. "Or it could be a combination of you and the poster. I've heard of all sorts of things that fit what you say, and only a few of them mean you're nuts." He laughed to show Keith he was kidding. "Anyway, on the one hand, the poster could be acting like a TV or something, showing you pictures. Or the poster could be reflecting what you see in your head, like a psychic mirror."

  Finally Keith was getting what he had come for. "But I've never had an experience like this before," he pointed out.

  "Well, that's where the poster comes in. Some people need catalysts to trigger their abilities. Happens all the time, from what I've read. Y'know, like witches had familiars and all that? Either way, Skrag's image in the poster could mean something."

  "But what?" Keith wondered aloud.

  "Usually it's a warning. I'd say something bad is going to happen to Skrag." Mel seemed quite sure. "If he were a friend, I'd warn him if I were you." Then his voice became low and sinister. "But Skrag's not a friend, is he?"

  "No," Keith said, his fear rising, "but…"

  Mel interrupted him by laughing. "I'm only playing with ya, man."

  Keith didn't respond. Mel's erratic behavior was getting to him.

  Mel saw that he wasn't amused, and tried to be more serious. "Look, there's nothing you can do. How could you call Skrag up to tell him he's in danger? How would you explain his face in the poster? He'd think you were nuts. In any case, I wouldn't tell anyone about this."

  "Why not?" Keith asked.

  Mel answered with a question. "Do your friends think you're strange?" The mischievous glow was gone from his eyes.

  "Probably," Keith answered, sure that it must be true to some extent.

  "But do they treat you like a weirdo?"

  "Of course not. Why?" Mel had shifted gears on him again.

  "And what about other people? Acquaintances. How do they treat you?" He seemed on the verge of some great revelation.

  "I guess everyone treats me normally," Keith told him. "What are you getting at?"

  "See, I thought so," he said, gesturing emphatically with his coffee cup. "No offense, but I think you're strange. I dunno, something about you. But I treat you normal, too, don't I?"

  "I guess so," Keith answered suspiciously.

  "Start spouting off about seeing faces in a poster, and they're gonna stop treating you like a normal person. That's what happened to me." Mel saw Keith's baffled expression and explained. "See, when I was in high school, I was an outcast. I know — big surprise. Okay, so I did some drugs then, too, but the thing is, people treated me like I came from another planet. People like you and your friends. Of course, not like you and your friends, 'cause from what I've seen, you seem like good people."

  Then he frowned. "Your buddy is a little scary, but he's probably okay, too. But anyway, I got treated like a goon so much, no matter how I acted after that, people still treated me like a goon. So eventually I became one. But sometimes I wonder: If the other students hadn't treated me like that, would I be that weird today?" He paused and nodded slightly. "You know what I'm getting at?"

  "If it's a problem," Keith asked, less than sympathetically, "why don't you just stop acting weird?"

  Mel threw his hands up in resignation. "It's too late. I'm me already." He sighed. Leaning his chin on his hands, he seemed to become depressed.

  Then he shook it off and smiled. "All I'm saying is
, if you tell your friends this stuff, then they'll start treatin' you like a weirdo, and next thing you know, you'll end up like me!" This time Keith was able to laugh. "Listen, if it'll make you feel better, I'll see what I can find out about 'Mysteria. Who knows? Maybe something wacky is going on. That'd be a kick, huh? Stop by the pushcart later this week."

  "I will," Keith replied. "Thanks. I'll probably wake up tomorrow and feel like an idiot for telling you all this."

  "Nah, don't sweat it," Mel said as he rose from the table. "But I gotta go now. I'll catch ya later."

  Keith left shortly after Mel. The guy was definitely unique, he thought. And strange. But he decided Mel wasn't so creepy after all.

  Pulling into his driveway, Keith found the house as dark as when he'd left. His mother hadn't awakened after all. This contributed to Keith's sense of relief — until he approached his bedroom door. After his talk with Mel, he didn't know how he'd react to the poster if it started sending out weird signals again. Or worse, produced another inexplicable image. He turned the knob slowly and pushed the door open. Entering the room, he faced "Mysteria." The poster appeared utterly harmless. Keith relaxed again and changed for bed. Sleep came easily this time, and lasted, unmarred by nightmares, until his alarm woke him for school in the morning.

  Chapter 7

  Skrag Morton floated up from sleep unwillingly as a dream about two particularly vivacious Doublemint twins faded to black. As he awoke, his last sleep-sensation was that of incredibly fresh breath. He immediately tried to reclaim the dream, but could not make it back to the beach where they lay in the sun. Instead, he was in bed, in the dark.

  An engine revved loudly nearby and the smell of exhaust assaulted his nose. He tried to sit up, but couldn't seem to move. His entire body ached, and when he turned his head toward the clock, his bruised jaw exploded with fireworks. He was just able to make out the time: 3:30 a.m.

  The pain reminded Skrag of his fight with Mario. He had punched the kid's buttons too hard that time. And the kid had punched back, with his fists. Well, he blew it, thought Skrag. Before the fight, he had told Mario's secret to no one. Afterward, he had told Sandra, because she demanded an explanation. But as of tomorrow, the whole school would know. The cat would be out of the bag entirely. And scratching in the litter box.

  After dropping Sandra back at the coffee shop so she could pick up her car, he'd returned to the ramshackle Elm Street house he rented. He had celebrated the trouble he was about to cause with a six-pack of beer (or two — he couldn't quite remember) and fallen asleep. Some would call it passing out, but he liked to think of it as hard sleep.

  Recalling the evening had almost put Skrag back to sleep. But outside, the engine roared again, and this time the sound brought him fully awake. It was the engine of his own beloved Mustang. Someone was stealing it! He tried to get out of bed, but found he couldn't move. Originally he had thought his sore, stiff muscles were restricting his movement. Now it felt like he was tied down. In the dim light he could see bungee cords wrapped around his wrists and ankles, tethering him to the bedposts. He struggled against them, but could not escape.

  "Hey! What's going on? Hey!" he yelled. The engine revved even higher and drowned out his voice. He shouted a few choice swear words, but those, too, were lost in the engine's roar. Exhaust billowed in from the window above Skrag's head. The fumes were so strong, he started to choke. Much more and he'd suffocate.

  The engine settled into a rumbling idle. The exhaust thinned out and Skrag could breathe again. He waited to hear the car pulling away, the engine noise fading as it drove down the street. But nothing happened. It merely sat there, idling. If the car wasn't being stolen, then what was going on? he wondered. And why was he tied up?

  Fear suddenly pulled him under like a riptide.

  "Hey!" he yelled. "Is somebody there?"

  A car door opened, then slammed shut. Skrag listened. He heard strange noises, but he couldn't identify the source. Some scraping. Clicking. A cord of some kind sliding over metal. Then just outside the window, two sharp clicks, each accompanied by a crackling sound. Bright orange sparks darted into the room and fell. The flow faded as they landed.

  "Hey…!" Skrag started to yell again, but stopped when something sharp bit into his left ear. Now he was screaming in pain, struggling against his bonds. It felt as if his ear had been torn off. His eyes flicked to the left, but all he could see was darkness. The pain was excruciating. Suddenly a strong, gloved hand grasped his forehead. Then his scream was choked off as a second gloved hand thrust a coppery-tasting object into his mouth. A spiked vise clenched his tongue. Looking down, he saw a large plastic V-shape extending from his mouth. A red plastic-sheathed cord ran from the shape and out of his sight through the window. The thick smoke of burning flesh rose from his mouth. His screams became nothing but pathetic gargles. Skrag knew what was happening to him.

  The revving of his car's finely tuned engine was the last sound Richard «Skrag» Morton heard as his brain surged with electricity.

  Chapter 8

  "Has anybody seen Sandra?" Carrie asked as she approached Keith and Pam at lunch the next day.

  "No," Keith told her. "Why?"

  "Well, Mario wouldn't tell me what he and Skrag were fighting about yesterday. I was hoping Skrag had told her something. Did he tell either of you?" Keith and Pam shook their heads no.

  Carrie pulled up a chair next to Keith. "I just have this weird feeling today. I don't know what it is?"

  Pam nodded seriously. "I'm feeling the same way. I thought I was coming down with a cold or something. But it's not me. It's something else."

  Keith shrugged, feeling nothing wrong. In fact, he had felt great when he woke up that morning. Even his embarrassment for last night's strange obsession with the poster didn't bother him much. Just then, the doors to the cafeteria burst open and Mario came running up to their table.

  "You guys are not going to believe this," he gasped, out of breath. "Skrag's dead."

  Pam went white. "Oh my God!"

  "Worse than that, he was murdered. Someone skragged Skrag." Mario could not hide the glee in his voice. He sat down heavily next to Carrie. "And listen to how they did it: hooked him up to his own car battery with jumper cables and fried the sucker."

  "Oh, no!" cried Carrie. She was close to tears.

  "My bet is some drug deal went down bad, and they cooked his goose, but for real."

  "How can you talk like that?" Carrie demanded of Mario. "Someone died. So what that you didn't like him, you don't have to enjoy what happened." Tears streamed down her face. She rose quickly from the table and ran from the cafeteria.

  Mario swore to himself. "Sorry, guys. We'll be right back." He left the table to follow Carrie.

  "Keith?" Pam's voice floated to him as if from a great distance. "Keith, what's wrong?" Panic edged her voice.

  The moment Mario had announced Skrag's murder, Keith had gone into shock. He had known. The poster had told him what was going to happen. And even how. The V-shaped object, he now realized, had been the jumper cable handle. He had known — and done nothing. Keith's consciousness retreated to a far corner of his mind, fleeing the implications of what and how he had known. He felt pressure on his shoulder and was shaken roughly. Then he heard a voice, Pam's voice, loud and close to his ear:

  "Keith, the police are here. They're taking Mario away!"

  That broke Keith's stasis and he returned.

  The cafeteria rotated crazily around him, then clicked into proper orientation. He reached up and placed his hand over Pam's. She pointed out the cafeteria windows. They ran over and looked out on the parking lot.

  Mario was not handcuffed, but two police officers walked closely on either side of him. One opened the back door of a squad car and motioned for Mario to get in. Keith threw open a window and called Mario's name. He caught only a glimpse of his friend's face as the officer closed the door. In that moment, Keith saw fear and desperation. The police ignored Keith's shout, a
s well as the shouts of the other students. The officers climbed into the squad car and drove away.

  "What happened?" Keith asked Pam.

  "After Mario walked away, the police stopped him at the entrance to the cafeteria. I guess they asked him to come with them." Her words were delivered between sobs. "I thought you were paying attention, but you were, I don't know, gone. Completely gone. What's happening, Keith?" Pam was at a total loss.

  "I don't know," he replied. "But where's Carrie? We have to find her."

  "Right," said Pam, straightening up. "I'll check the rest room." Pam found her there, and within minutes, the three reconvened in the cafeteria.

  "It's because of the fight last night," she told them. "Everybody saw it."

  "Could they really suspect him?" Pam asked, wide-eyed.

  "I guess. But getting into a fight and cold-blooded murder are two different things," she said. "Besides, we all know Mario. He wouldn't do something like that. The police will figure that out. They're not that dumb."

  "Except for one thing," Keith said hesitantly. "You remember where he comes from, and how he was when he got here. For all we know, he may have a record."

  Carrie turned to him, suddenly fierce. "What do you mean by that? We don't know that he has a record."

  "Right, but that's because he won't talk about his past. Maybe it's something he's been hiding."

  "In that case, we have to do something," Carrie concluded.

  "I can call my dad," Pam offered. "He can get Mario a good lawyer. He knows lots of lawyers."

  "Great," said Keith. "I mean, he probably won't need a lawyer. They'll ask him some questions, and then let him go. But you never know."

  "I'm cutting the rest of the day," Carrie announced. "I'm going to go down to the police station and keep a vigil. You guys coming?"

  "I'll go with you," Pam told her. "I can call my father from there. Come with us, Keith."