anxious
Then the other:
vain
Unbelievable. I was seeing things jutting out of people’s heads that were labeled with . . . what? Troubled attitudes or something.
Ashlyn was complaining to another girl that a guy named Spenser had used her. From the sound of it, she’d given him the one thing he wanted, and he’d given her the one thing she didn’t want: a breakup text.
Ashlyn had only one chain, and it was coiled on the floor less than an inch from my left shoe. I thought about dropping something on purpose as an excuse to take a closer look at the open cuff, but no one was paying attention to me. So I just leaned and stared.
There it was, clear as day, inscribed on the outside:
spenser robert colson
This had to be psychological—my brain projecting a first name I’d just heard and using subconscious creativity to add a middle and last name. Maybe the name I’d seen on my mom’s chain was some cosmic coincidence. My disturbed mind had drawn on repressed memories and pulled up a name.
Hard to believe, but what other possibilities were there?
The teacher was giving instructions for an upcoming book report. I typed Spenser Robert Colson in a notes app on my cell. Just then a putrid smell wafted in my direction. It reminded me of the stink that had invaded my room the night before last. I looked around, but no one else was reacting. The nauseating stench got stronger. I put my hand over my nose. The guy next to me gave me a “What’s up?” look.
That second, my eyes darted to the closed door. I must have moaned or something, because several heads snapped in my direction. Believe me when I say this was beyond anything I could ever make up, toxified brain or not.
Its feet were stained dark with filth and sludge, and its rotten toenails projected several inches past its three bony toes. Asymmetrical scraps of black, tattered fabric shrouded its form and raveled just above its scrawny ankles. What looked like hip bones protruded beneath its slovenly garments, and its shoulder width seemed twice as wide as it should be. The thing was beyond emaciated but somehow still clinging to life.
And nearly as tall as the ceiling.
After the hideous being passed through the closed door, it stepped—yet also glided through the air as if riding on some hellacious conveyor belt.
I clutched the sides of my desk and leaned back as far as I could, shoving my chair into the desk behind me. The thing jerked its mutilated bald head around and glared at me. It slithered closer and closer, seeming bent on murdering my soul.
It was obvious that this vile being could not possibly have been born from a mother’s womb. Its skin was thin and gray like cinder block, eroding in spots. The smell of decay was unbearable.
The creature began moving down the aisle on my left. It had to be at least nine feet tall. I closed my eyes and tucked my chin in my chest, bracing myself for the assault.
Seconds passed. Nothing happened. I heard unintelligible whispers and hesitantly raised my head. The thing had stopped just short of me. It was mumbling but not breathing. It seemed to have no need for air.
I heard my teacher’s voice. “Let’s review the steps for constructing an A+ book report. You guys do know what an A+ is, don’t you?” My classmates chuckled. How? The most heinous creature of all time hovered in our midst, projecting fear into the atmosphere like ice-cold chemical pollution. How could they not feel it?
The creature stood motionless, peering down at Ashlyn. I forced myself to look up at its face, trying to make sense of its masculine jawline and feminine cheekbones. All of its features were disproportionate and out of whack. Its face was slashed all over—festering slices covering every square inch—and its parched lips were drawn back like a panting beast about to strike. Sweat dripped from its dirty chin.
It didn’t blink. Not once. Its clothing looked soiled and damp and reeked of vomit and burnt flesh.
I was desperate to escape but didn’t dare move.
Suddenly the thing dropped to the floor. I watched as it extended its left arm, placing its disjointed wrist into the open cuff at the end of Ashlyn’s chain. Like the rest of the creature, its hand was scarred and grossly malformed. I held my breath as the cuff slammed closed. I shuddered at the ringing reverberation of metal on metal.
I wanted to warn Ashlyn, but how?
The creature stood upright again, hoisting the two-ton chain off the ground like it didn’t weigh anything. It glared with absolute hatred at Ashlyn, as if it despised the mere sight of her.
Its movements suddenly became spastic and rushed. It leaned in over Ashlyn’s head. With its cuffed arm raised, it used its other hand to draw her cords to its gnarled face. Like worms roused to life, the cords began squirming while the creature scanned them as if only a certain one would do.
The monster finally chose a cord and extended its elongated fingers, beckoning. Then the cord slithered its way into the center of the creature’s palm. Like a bloodsucking worm, the cord began to burrow into the bottom of the intruder’s hand. The foul being rapidly pulsed its fingers, as if coaxing the cord to penetrate deeper into its wrist. I covered my mouth, repulsed by the slurping sound.
Ashlyn’s attacker raised its eyes and surveyed the room like a paranoid assassin. I felt like a coward, sitting there doing nothing, but how was I supposed to intervene?
In the midst of the horror, my teacher had the nerve to call on me.
“Owen, what’s another composition mistake we want to avoid?”
I dropped my hands from my mouth, but my jaw stayed wide open. I couldn’t comprehend her question, much less answer it. All eyes were on me. I searched for any indication that anyone else could see the beast by my desk.
My mind crashed—a cognitive Ctrl-Alt-Delete. Nothing was firing. None of my classmates looked familiar.
“Owen?”
“Just—say—anything.” I heard myself speak, the words bypassing my brain and slurring off my tongue.
“Well, that’s true. We don’t want to use random statements in our report that just take up space but carry no relevant purpose or description.” How she miraculously assigned meaning to my mindless muttering, I’ll never know.
The corrupted figure raised both hands and began winding the chain and cord around its wrists, taking up the slack. It then jerked its arms into its hollow chest, and something dusty and shadowy jarred inside of Ashlyn. I could only see it for a second.
The being continued mouthing something at her—an echoing whisper and a hissing mumble that sent an electric chill down my spine. I couldn’t understand its words, but I knew without a doubt that they were malicious.
Ashlyn raised her hand and responded to a question, still totally unaware that she was being assaulted.
Finally, a somewhat lucid thought: Take a picture. With the creature’s back now to me, I grabbed my phone and pointed it at Ashlyn. But the creature didn’t show up on my screen. Neither did Ashlyn’s chain or cords. Through the lens of my cell camera, the world looked safe and innocent.
Surely this was proof of my insanity. I was trapped in a mind trick, a torturous mirage.
The bell rang, and my heart skipped a beat. I fumbled with my phone, and it crashed to the floor behind the giant’s grimy heels. I let it lie there.
Ashlyn stood and chatted with the girl across the aisle for a few moments, then made her way to the door. The living dead was still connected to her—one with her—making every move in sync with its prey.
I wanted to tell her, but how could I make her believe me? I didn’t believe me.
They moved out of sight.
There was no easy way to get up and walk away after witnessing that kind of horror. I felt nailed to my chair.
I’d never believed in God, devils, angels, ghosts, goblins, or haunted houses—surely there was a reasonable, scientific explanation for what I’d just seen. Something was in that water, something hallucinogenic. That had to be it. Ms. Barnett would discover what it was, and then I’d be prescrib
ed some sort of antidote and get my old life back.
In the meantime, I had to get up. Second-period students were pouring in. So were their chains. I grabbed my phone, then concentrated on putting one numb foot in front of the other. I entered the hallway with my head down. Someone called my name. Walt again.
“Owen, wanna go shoot hoops this weekend? Heard you were a star player at your old school.”
I nodded, giving zero thought to his question.
“Awesome. See you later, man.”
Where had Ashlyn and the huge creepy thing gone? I crossed the main hallway that cut through the center of the school, about to head for an exit, when I made the bold decision to look up.
Bad idea.
I froze in my tracks. Someone slammed into me from behind, but I didn’t budge. There were a dozen of them, rag-clad giants moving among the flow of students.
I couldn’t take it.
I sprinted out the door and through the rain to my motorcycle. Someone called my name, but I didn’t look back. I paid no attention to speed limits, red lights, or stop signs. Once home and barricaded in my room, I gave myself permission to break down.
I yelled.
I punched my pillow and threw things.
I clawed at my face and neck and pounded the ice in my stomach.
I have no idea how long that went on. I only know that what little sunlight there had been was gone when I began regaining some sense of control. I heard my mom say something about going out to eat, but I ignored her.
I sat pressed into the back corner of my room, plucking strands of carpet and pushing them into a pile.
After all of my analyzing, I’d arrived at one distressing question: I’m probably seeing evil that isn’t there, but what if it is . . . and everyone else is blind to it?
It was improbable, irrational, and, quite honestly, scary beyond comprehension. So I tried to dismiss it and cling instead to the hope that my condition would soon be explained—and remedied—through medical science.
My life depended on Ms. Barnett’s results.
Monday could not come fast enough.
TEN
THE WEEKEND WAS a blur of nerve-exploding nightmares and conflicting discoveries. A quick social media search confirmed that Spenser Colson was a real person, a junior at my school, and he was definitely the guy Ashlyn had been talking about. Her status said she was in a relationship with him. His said, “Single.”
For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how or why I was seeing names on cuffs, but now that I’d witnessed the chains used as monstrous torture tools, I was even more obsessed with making sense of it.
Coach came to my house on Friday, along with a school counselor. I thought they’d never quit knocking.
Lance sent me a text on Saturday afternoon: Heard Jess is going to prom with Dan. What’s up? Maybe it was Lance’s way of trying to smooth things over. Fine by me, but if I couldn’t get him to believe me, our truce wouldn’t last long.
I was relieved to know I was off the hook for prom. But Dan? Why would she go back to her egotistical ex? Nice choice, Jess.
It was Sunday night, and I was hanging my entire future on Ms. Barnett’s explanation tomorrow of what parasite or poison was in that water. Around midnight, I left my bunker/bedroom and headed to the kitchen to fix a bowl of Apple Jacks. I did a double take when I saw the word guilty scribbled above the living room window. It hadn’t been there the day before. The blizzard churned in my gut.
On Monday morning the sky was radiant blue, the first beautiful day in a long time. Maybe the scary things don’t come out on sunny days.
I’d obviously watched too many vampire movies. I drove by a convenience store, and right there in broad daylight was another one of the ghastly beings, linked to a guy, just like I’d seen with Ashlyn. So they weren’t confined to my school. Another bitter disappointment.
I pulled over and stared at it.
What are you?
I couldn’t explain its existence, much less identify its species, and I still didn’t know for sure if it was real or a delusion. But I had to call it something. It didn’t take long for me to decide on a name. Creeper.
I pulled back onto the road and sighed. Did naming them mean I’d sunk to a deeper level of psychosis?
I finally made it to Ms. Barnett’s classroom. Without hyperventilating, too.
“Hi, Owen. I’ve got some results for you.” She headed toward me, hands in the pockets of her starched white lab coat.
“Great.” It was the most enthusiasm I’d felt in a week. “What did you find? Something toxic? Parasitic?”
“Nope. The lab results indicate that this water is pure.”
It felt like my energy was draining out through my fingertips, taking my hope with it. Ms. Barnett said something about an excellent Ph level and an abundance of minerals.
“Are you sure, Ms. Barnett? Did you check for rare contaminants?”
“Well, I’m not the FBI, but I gave it a decent look.”
“So the water is pure enough to drink?”
“Appears so.” She kept smiling.
“You’re sure?” I couldn’t get past the denial.
I’ve heard it said that right before you die, your whole life flashes before you. In that instant, that happened to me, only it was my future. I would never go to med school or be a doctor. Never travel to another continent, watch a game at Wrigley Field, or get married. Without a diagnosis and remedy, a normal life was out of the question.
“How is she, by the way?” Ms. Barnett asked.
“Who?”
“Your dog.” She crossed her arms, stepping close. “What’s going on, Owen?”
I knew better than to spill the facts—that had gotten me nowhere—but I did crave some guidance. “Nothing in my life is adding up anymore. Everything is—petrifying.”
She leaned toward me. “I’d quit adding and start subtracting or multiplying. Find a new life formula, Owen. A shift in perspective. It’s usually a good thing, a step on the path to maturity.”
She gave me a motherly hug, the kind that includes pats on the shoulder blade, but I left my arms at my sides. It was the most contact I’d had with a shackled person. “I’m writing you a pass to go speak with a counselor. You can—”
“No. I’ll be fine.”
A second later, she handed me a pink counselor slip and the printout of the lab results, then walked beside me as I shuffled out of her classroom. I didn’t thank her.
What now?
I had no plan B. No sensible next step or strategy. My feet walked without any directive from my brain, carrying me to my first-period desk. I hadn’t intended to go to class, but I had no idea where else to go. I stared at a random spot on the wall, unflinching. Until Dan opened his big mouth.
“I’m gonna party all night with Jess after prom.”
I snapped out of my stupor and took a long look at him—past his sun-glossed brown hair and pretty-boy face to the bolted shackle around his neck. He had eight cords jutting out of his head, skimming the back of his Abercrombie shirt, and ten or so chains lay spiraled next to his expensive shoes. If I could have lifted one of those freezing suckers, I’d have strangled him with it.
I let his comment go. For now.
Ashlyn took her seat in front of me. She was alone, as in not escorting a Creeper. She seemed fine, like nothing had happened.
Our teacher passed around a sheet of paper and asked us to write the name of the book we’d selected for the upcoming book report. I wrote down the title someone else four names before me had picked. That’s all I recall of that class.
The bell rang, and I wandered into the hallway. I noticed more words written on walls and a few lockers. Oppressive words like despair and anger. And there were droves of Creepers among us. I could smell their nauseating odor even when they were out of sight.
My freakish observations mixed with the mundane. Teachers piled a ton of makeup work on me. It was nearly impossible to concentrate, bu
t I found it sort of comforting to make an effort to do schoolwork. A connection to my old life.
Lunchtime came, and I was actually glad to see my friends. I was adjusting to the fact that, as monstrous as they looked, people weren’t trying to hurt me. I finally understood . . .
They were prey, not predators.
I grabbed a few things from the vending machines, then sat in my usual spot next to Walt and some other jocks, including Lance. He and I were polite but hardly talked.
Jess sat at my table, between Meagan and Ashlyn, ignoring me.
I still wasn’t sure what to do now that my toxic-water theory had been debunked, but I forced myself to stay calm, pulling open my bag of Cheez-Its along the seam instead of ripping it into a thousand pieces like I wanted to.
I tried to go along with the table talk, but people hardly looked my way. Had Lance blabbed about me?
I was down to my last cracker when I glanced across the cafeteria and saw a Creeper closing in on a girl, swooping down like a vulture on a carcass. I watched it shrink to the floor, then hoist up again with a chain fastened to its wrist. Between spastic glances in every direction, it fumbled through her cords, then picked one.
I could just sit there and do nothing, but that was getting old. I figured the worst that could happen is the Creeper would kill me, and that would almost be a gift. My friends already thought I was crazy, so nothing to lose there.
I took one last sip of my Powerade, then made the trek across the cafeteria, enduring the increasing drop in temperature as I got close to the assailant. I walked up to the girl, ignoring the Creeper behind her back and her giggling, whispering friends.
Freshmen.
“Hey.” I fought the instinct to run.
She looked around, finally pointing to herself.
I nodded, then reached out. She eased her hand toward mine, then held my hand about five seconds longer than normal.
“I’m Owen.”
“I know,” she said. A girl held up her phone and snapped our picture. More giggles.
“I’m—Riley.” She didn’t sound certain of her name.
The Delusion Page 7
