by Tracy Deebs
A weird feeling hits me, and I reach for my cell phone, dial Jules. Wait impatiently, but it never starts to ring. I pull it away from my ear, check the reception. No bars. Of course not. Why is it so difficult to get decent coverage out here? I live near the lake, not in the middle of the wilds of frickin’ Africa.
Tossing my cell down on the table, I cross the kitchen. Reach for the cordless phone I almost never use anymore, and dial Jules’s number: 555-3782.
Nothing happens.
What. The. Hell?
I hang up and try again: 5-5-5-3-7-8-2. Put the phone to my ear and wait even more impatiently. Still nothing. I click the Off button again, then hit Talk. Hold the stupid thing to my ear. There’s no dial tone. Nothing. Just the strange, eerie silence of a dead line.
4
The eerie feeling is back, along with an increasing uneasiness that has me glancing across the room at my computer and the words that have just started scrawling across it again. “Total annihilation in 10 days.” The 10 flashes.
I wait for the countdown, for the earth to blow up again, but nothing happens and I shake myself out of it. I can’t believe I’m letting a video game weird me out. Talk about ridiculous. Especially since the loss of service isn’t all that unusual out here.
Like I said before, I live by the lake, which has a lot of advantages—including the dock and boat right at the bottom of our property. But one of the disadvantages is that a lot of the time, coverage out here leaves something to be desired. If there’s a storm, or even just a really windy day, we lose the phone and sometimes even electricity.
I glance outside. The sky is growing dark, but without a cloud in sight. And the trees are barely moving. Still, that doesn’t mean anything. I’ll give whoever’s in charge of this kind of thing at the phone company a few minutes to figure it out and then try again. No big deal.
But just then, the fan on my laptop starts running full speed. The screen blinks off and on. It whirrs some more and then does the same thing again and again. I rush over, try to shut it down, but it won’t do anything. Won’t budge from Pandora’s Box. I try to force the game closed, but it doesn’t work. Nothing does, and I’m starting to get a little nervous.
What is going on?
I head for the stairs, for my mom’s office, with some half-formed plan of checking out her computer, making sure it’s okay. I’m halfway up before I register the unnatural silence in the house. Waste of energy or not, I always have something going, always have some noise around me. It helps me feel less alone. In this case, I know I turned on the TV as soon as I got downstairs, started streaming Supernatural.
But the TV isn’t streaming anything—instead, there’s just the bright blue AT&T U-Verse screen that usually comes up whenever I first turn on the TV.
Are you kidding me? Totally frustrated, I go back down the stairs. I push a few buttons, but nothing happens. No streaming. No regular TV channels. Nothing. The TV signal’s out, too. Terrific. Emily’s going to love that when she comes here tonight.
At that moment, the light over the stairs flickers off, on, off, on, off, on again.
I hate the dark and I panic, am out the front door before my brain even registers leaving as an option. Either the utility companies are having the mother of all bad days or the house is suddenly possessed. Whichever it is, I’m done trying to figure it out.
I pause at the end of my driveway, try to decide what to do. I’m being stupid, I know I am, yet I can’t bring myself to go back inside. Maybe I should check with the neighbors, see if they’re having the same problems I am. If they are, then it’s no big deal. I can go back home and get ready for the birthday dinner that suddenly feels like it’s a million miles off.
And if they’re not having the same problems? a little voice whispers in the back of my head. What then?
I ignore it, shove it back down where it came from. So not going to deal with that eventuality right now.
Instead, I try to figure out which neighbors to crash in on. To my right are the Hensons, but they’re both doctors and usually aren’t home until eight or nine. To my left are the new neighbors, the ones who moved in a couple of weeks ago. I haven’t even met them yet.
After a quick mental debate, I turn left, praying the new people are home and that they don’t mind answering the door to strangers. Especially strangers who are having a really, really weird day and look a little crazed because of it.
By the time I get to their front door, about five minutes have passed even though I came close to running the whole way. That’s because out here houses are a lot farther apart than in your regular suburban neighborhood. Most of the homeowners—especially the celebrities looking for a retreat from Hollywood and the crazed paparazzi that stalk them—are very big on privacy.
I ring the doorbell, and when no one answers in the first five seconds, I start pounding on the door. Please, God, let someone be home. I don’t want to go back to my house alone right now.
After another minute, the door flies open, and I look up, up, up … and straight into Theo’s eyes. I’m not sure which one of us is more surprised. He’s my new neighbor? But how has he lived here two weeks without me seeing him? Or Eli? We go to the same school, have the same schedule. Surely I would have noticed.
But I didn’t, and neither did he, it seems, as he looks as shocked as I feel. “Pandora?” he asks incredulously. “What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t exactly sound happy to see me, a feeling that I assure myself is totally mutual. Still, when I try to tell him why I’m banging on his door like a crazy woman, nothing comes out. It’s like the connection between my brain and my tongue has suddenly stopped working, and all I can do is stutter. “I—I—”
“Are you here for Eli?” His face changes as he asks the question, settles back into the cold, emotionless lines I’m used to seeing.
“No. I’m … I … It’s just …” I cough a little, rub my neck as I can’t help remembering what it felt like to have his hands wrapped around my throat. The memory irritates me even as it jump-starts my brain and I blurt out, “Is your phone working?”
“My phone?” Blankness changes to puzzlement, then concern. “Are you okay? Did you have an accident?” This time, when he looks me over, I can tell he’s checking me for damage, looking to see if my bizarre behavior is the result of hitting my head too hard.
“No, no, I’m fine.” I point back toward my house. “I live next door and I’m having some weird problems with my phone and utilities. I was wondering if you were having the same issues over here.”
“Next door?” he asks.
“Yeah. Small world, right?”
“Come on in.” He opens the door a little wider, waves me inside.
I cross the threshold but do my best to keep out of reach. No use tempting fate or anything. A smirk flits across Theo’s face, as if he can tell what I’m thinking. Then, almost before I can register it, it’s gone.
“So, what kind of problems are you having?”
The question jerks me back to attention and I tell him.
He frowns. “No, I think everything’s good here.” He walks into the kitchen, gesturing for me to follow him. Picks up his landline, listens. “We’ve got a dial tone.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t have to sound so disappointed.”
“I’m not.” I turn all my attention to the phone in his hand, try to ignore how nervous I am around him. “I was just hoping the whole area had been hit by something. Then people would be trying to fix it, and I wouldn’t have to …” Wouldn’t have to what? Worry that my house has been taken over by demons? It sounds so stupid in my head, I can’t imagine saying it out loud.
“Wait around for a repairman?” He finishes my sentence. And since his interpretation sounds so much better—so much saner—than mine, I go with it.
“Exactly. A repairman.”
“You can call from here if you want.” He sits down in front of the computer resting on a small desk in the corner of t
he kitchen. “Do you need a number?”
“Um, yeah. AT&T.”
He nods, types the info into Google. I glance at the bulletin board above the computer and blink a little at the pictures there. Each one shows a small airplane in a different stage of construction, from beginning to end. Theo’s smiling in all of them, his face lit up with so much joy and satisfaction that I almost don’t recognize him. In each he’s standing next to a very tall man who bears a striking resemblance to him. His father?
I start to ask what it was like to actually build an airplane, but when I glance down at him—and the screen he’s scrolling through looking for the customer service line—the computer blinks off. Then on. Then off again. I freeze, because it’s almost the exact same thing my laptop did when everything in my house went nuts. From upstairs, someone calls, “Hey, is the Internet down?” And that’s when it hits me. If Theo’s home, Eli probably is, too.
I run a self-conscious hand through my hair, glance down at my shirt and jeans to make sure I’m presentable. When I look up again, I realize Theo is staring at me. He saw my whole little primping routine, subtle as it was. And even worse, he knows who it was for.
Ugh. I glance at the ceiling, wonder what the hell I’ve done to piss off the universe so completely. Because I have to say, this is the Worst. Birthday. Ever.
I brace myself for a snide comment or twelve, but he doesn’t say anything about my idiot behavior. Instead he starts to reboot the computer, and I spring into action.
“Wait! Don’t do that!”
“What’s wrong?” he asks impatiently, and I’m not sure what to say. How to explain what I’m thinking—particularly when I’m not even sure what’s going through my head. I only know that this whole thing is strange. Really, really strange.
Is it possible that some kind of virus attacked my house and is now spreading to my neighbors’? Maybe it’s working its way down the block, one house at a time … Just thinking it sounds insane, but what other explanation can there be? Laptop? TV? Phone? Internet? Electricity? Everything acting funky at once. I mean, I’m no computer expert, but everything I’ve ever heard says that isn’t possible—at least not without a major storm or disaster.
My gut, however, says that’s exactly what’s happening. I just don’t know how, especially since I have a Mac and I’ve always been told they don’t get viruses.
“I logged on to Pandora’s Box and everything went to hell,” Eli yells down.
At first Theo doesn’t answer, just scowls as he restarts the computer despite my warning. Only then does he call up the stairs, “Hey, come down here. Your little friend just showed up.”
I bristle at the words and the tone he says them in. Like I’m some kid and he’s the grown-up I’m bugging. It’s annoying and I start to snap at him, but I glance at the stairs just in time to see a pair of faded jeans and huge bare feet take the last few stairs in one giant step.
Eli has arrived. Big and strong and a lot more rumpled than he was during class this morning. The large kitchen suddenly feels stifling with both of them in such close proximity. I back up, try to get a little more breathing room. I mean, seriously, has the world been invaded by giants and I just didn’t get the memo?
Eli spots me before I move more than a few inches. “Oh, hey, Pandora. What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t know you guys moved in,” I blurt out, wanting to make sure he knows I’m not stalking him.
“Yeah. We moved in a couple of weeks ago, the same time Theo and I started school.”
Now they’re both looking at me, which makes me realize that I need to say something else. I clear my throat, try not to choke on my own spit—which, incidentally, is not as easy as it sounds.
I turn to Theo. “No Internet?” It’s not brilliant, but it’s the best I can manage.
“I don’t know. The computer won’t even restart.” He frowns at Eli. “What did you do this time?”
“Nothing.” Eli’s face is closed, his response surprisingly defensive. But there’s that whole undercurrent again, the one from earlier in class. It doesn’t feel any better this time around. “I told you, I logged on to Pandora’s Box and the whole thing just wigged out—the TV, my PlayStation. Everything.”
“Pandora’s Box?” I ask. “I logged on to Pandora’s Box a little while ago.”
“Oh.” Eli looks a little puzzled. “That’s cool, I guess.”
Theo gets the connection right away. “You think there’s some kind of virus in the game?”
“I don’t know. I mean, nothing else makes sense.” I nod to the blank computer screen. “I got some weird message I’d never seen before and then everything went nuts.”
“What was the message?”
“You’ve reached the point of no return. Welcome to the real Pandora’s Box.” It’s Eli who answers, and I glance at him, startled. He smiles at me, dimple flashing, and I duck my head.
“What the hell does that mean?” Theo demands, yanking me back to our present dilemma.
“I don’t know. Then it just started with this strange countdown,” I tell him.
“To what?”
“Total annihilation.” Eli and I answer at the same time.
“Total annihilation?” Now it’s Theo who sounds like a parrot.
“Yep.”
He stares at me blankly for a moment, before rubbing his hands over his face and then up through his hair—the universal gesture for stressed out and a little pissed off. I know, because I was doing the same thing not very long ago.
“Okay,” he says after a minute. “Let’s think about this rationally. Did you have landline phone service before you logged on to Pandora’s Box?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I didn’t check it or anything until after my cell phone stopped working, too.”
“Your cell phone isn’t working, either?” Now he’s completely incredulous. But still, he and Eli reach into their pockets at the same time, check their own phones. From the looks on their faces, I’m guessing their luck is about as good as mine is today. “That’s not possible.” Theo turns his phone off and then back on again, frustration stamped into every line of his body.
“That’s what I said, but it’s happening—”
“No, I mean, really. It’s not possible. They run on totally different networks. There’s no way your landline and cell phone can be infected from the same virus—at least not this quickly. And not if it started from an MMO you were playing online.”
I don’t say anything, but then I don’t have to. Because it’s glaringly obvious that, whether or not it makes sense, it appears that’s exactly what has happened.
The million-dollar question is, what do we do now?
5
At that exact moment—as if in answer to my silent query—the computer on the desk blinks back to life. We all watch, mouths open and eyes wide, as a series of bright red words scroll across the screen:
You’ve reached the point of no return.
Welcome to the real Pandora’s Box.
“What. The. Hell?” This time it’s Eli who asks what all three of us are thinking.
Theo reaches for the mouse, tries to exit the game. It won’t let him close, however, won’t let him do anything, no matter that he tries to force shutdown using about five different ways I never even knew existed.
Instead, the same numbers I saw at my house—the countdown from 10 to 1—flash one after the other. It’s even creepier watching it over here, when I know that Theo never logged on to Pandora’s Box from this computer to begin with. Plus, the fact that it’s not just me, that it’s happening to them, too, makes it all seem more real. Less about the demon possession I originally feared and more about some kind of technological meltdown.
I think I’d almost prefer the demons.
Finally, Theo reaches over and unplugs the computer from the wall. The screen goes blank, of course, and we all breathe huge sighs of relief. I know it sounds stupid, but for a minute I was really beginning to
believe that there was no way to turn the thing off. That somehow Pandora’s Box had done what its namesake had and seized control of our whole lives with whatever evil was inside it.
Theo waits about a minute or so, maybe a little longer. The silence is heavy around us, but nobody breaks it. Eventually what Theo deems is enough time passes, and he reaches down and plugs the computer back in. Then he turns it on and we wait for it to start up.
Now, like I said before, I’m a Mac girl, and this is a PC, but even I know within a few seconds that something’s not right. It doesn’t ask for a password, but it doesn’t load the desktop, either. Instead, it just sits there grinding away for a few seconds, and then the same words scroll across the screen:
You’ve reached the point of no return. Welcome to the real Pandora’s Box.
Theo still doesn’t say anything, just shoves back from the desk and takes the stairs behind us three at a time.
That snaps Eli into action. “Hey, where you going, man?” he demands, starting up the steps after his stepbrother.
“To get my laptop. Get yours, too, okay?”
The next few minutes are oddly surreal as I follow them, watching as Theo systematically checks every computer in the house. Then he checks his iPad, and Eli’s—all with the same results. We can’t access anything but that stupid message. He flips on the TV in the media room and we all stare as the blue AT&T screen quickly flashes to the Pandora’s Box message. I wonder if it’s the same at my house now.
Eli tries to change the channel, but nothing happens. He unplugs the TV while Theo heads to the hall closet and resets the whole box. When the television comes back online, nothing’s changed. The same black background is there, the same words slowly scrolling across it as the numbers count down.
“What the hell?” Eli says again.
Theo ignores him, focusing on me instead. “Is this what happened to you?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I didn’t check everything in the house, just my laptop. And my TV didn’t have any message. It was blank.”
