Virtual Terror

by David Bergantino

  "Hey, you hurt yourself, dude?" Mario asked when he came to the phone.

  "I think I broke my hand. Will you come drive me to Emergency? I can't move it."

  "Broke your hand?! How'd you do that?" Mario sounded more amazed than concerned.

  "I'll tell you on the way," Keith said impatiently. "Will you just get over here?"

  "I'll be right there," Mario said quickly, and hung up.

  * * *

  Hours later, Keith and Mario were leaving the emergency room. Keith's left hand was set in a stiff plastic cuff to prevent movement.

  "Lucky you didn't break it," Mario said as he unlocked the car.

  "Yeah," Keith answered quietly. The black circle had turned out to be carbon from the face of the hammerhead. The crunching sound had simply been Keith's knuckles cracking. But the bruise was serious and the doctor said the hand would have to remain immobile for at least a week. That meant no wrestling, and there was a big match in a few days.

  "Thinking about the Westview match?" Mario asked as he climbed into the car.

  "Yeah. Well, at least you didn't get hurt, Mario. That'd really be a problem." The rivalry between Springwood and Westview was strong. For ten years their overall records had been nearly even. But it was Mario who had tipped the balance of power squarely in Springwood's favor. With him on the team, Westview couldn't touch them.

  "Like it's not a problem you're gonna be out?" Mario asked rhetorically. "You're the captain, dude. You get the team motivated."

  "I can do that from the sidelines," Keith pointed out. "But you'd be no help on the sidelines."

  "Yeah, that's true," Mario agreed. But they both knew that it was actually Mario who motivated the team now. He could have been captain this year if he'd wanted to, but out of deference to Keith, he'd never pursued the position. Considering that less than a year ago Mario had been afraid to wrestle, things had turned out quite differently than Keith would have expected.

  Mario had started at Springwood at the beginning of the prior school year. His father had sent him to live with his aunt in the suburbs to get him away from the gangs and urban violence. But Mario was still somewhat tainted by the area in which he'd grown up. More than a little rough around the edges, he was a textbook fish out of water. But a piranha. Because he was new, troubled, and tough, he had gotten into frequent fights.

  Several weeks after his arrival, Mario and another student were on the verge of a serious fistfight at lunch. Keith happened to be nearby and managed to defuse the situation with his peculiar sense of humor. Mario had never experienced anything like it before. Where he came from, no one cracked jokes. They only cracked heads.

  Mystified, Mario had asked Keith who he was. Keith introduced himself and shook Mario's hand. He then invited Mario to finish out the rest of the lunch period at his table. Bewildered, Mario followed him and the two talked. When Mario explained what he was doing in Springwood, Keith had laughed and told him he had come to the wrong place to avoid violence. Then he told Mario about Springwood's unsavory history: Freddy Krueger, his death at the hands of the Elm Street parents, and rumors that Freddy still lurked — and killed — in dreams.

  Mario had found the story unbelievable, but took Keith seriously.

  "Don't worry," Keith said to reassure him. "They're really just a lot of rumors. But you should be aware. An awful lot of people — kids, mostly — die around here."

  After that, the two became close friends. The chip on Mario's shoulder quickly wore away and he focused his energies on athletics. He took to weight lifting. Then Keith invited him to join the wrestling team. Mario refused at first, without explanation. Then, hounded by Keith, he finally explained that he was claustrophobic. He couldn't stand to be pinned. He'd go nuts, he claimed. Fine, said Keith. Just don't get pinned. So Mario joined.

  And somehow, Mario had managed to follow Keith's advice. During the entire wrestling season, no opponent had pinned him. The few times it nearly happened, Mario had exploded in a burst of almost maniacal energy, quickly turned the tables, and won the match. Mario had told the truth: He truly was claustrophobic.

  No matter how close they became, Mario offered little information about his previous life. If pressed, he would admit that it had been bad. Really bad. But he would say no more than that. Keith guessed that Mario had not exorcised the demons of his inner-city life so much as imprisoned them within himself, only to let them out at crucial moments to do his bidding — when he wrestled, for example. Sometimes Keith wondered what would happen if Mario lost control of the demons.

  "By the way," Keith said, "I'm really sorry about what I said to Carrie today."

  "Sometimes you're too clever for your own good. But don't apologize to me, dude. You can call Carrie yourself."

  "I will. And another thing. I thought maybe…" Keith hesitated. He couldn't believe he was actually going to ask this. "We could double-date. You and Carrie and me and Pam."

  Mario pulled into Keith's driveway and shut off the engine. "You sure about that? I mean, it'd be fine with me, and I think Carrie would go for it, but you know, it's your party."

  Keith suddenly realized how delicately his friends had been treating him for the past six months. It was pathetic. He felt pathetic. Mario's reaction gave Keith the sense that they had been waiting for this moment for a long time. Even Carrie, it seemed. Now he was sure this was the right thing to do.

  "It's not my party anymore," he said confidently. "Wallowing? Been there. Done that. Ready to move on."

  "All right!" Mario yelled. He raised his hand for a vigorous high five.

  Keith raised his good hand tentatively. "Gentle. This is my last one."

  Mario laughed and lightly smacked his hand. "You gonna be okay tonight? Need anything else?"

  "Nope. I'll talk to you tomorrow." He got out of the car, then walked around to the driver's side. "Thanks a lot."

  "Not a problem," Mario said, waving as he pulled out of the driveway.

  * * *

  The kitchen clock read 10:15. He had been at the emergency room for almost four hours. The house was empty. There was no sign that his mother had been home since he'd left. If she had, she hadn't noticed he was missing. They were like the lizard and the bird on the Galapagos Islands that shared the same nest, but rarely occupied it at the same time. And of course, he had no father who might be concerned about him. He sighed. There was another kind of pain that had not yet gone away. He absently rubbed the plastic brace as he checked the refrigerator door. A single square of fluorescent pink paper was held there by a magnet. Much to Keith's amazement, it read CASSEROLE.

  Normally, weekend dinners at Keith's house were informal affairs. If they happened at all. He had expected to find a note with the usual three large letters: FFY, which stood for Fend for Yourself. This appeared on days when Keith's mother would not have the time to prepare any dinner in between weekend meetings of the various clubs, societies, and organizations of which she was a member, FFY had appeared so frequently in recent months that Keith had had the note laminated.

  Inside the refrigerator he found a reasonable rendition of a tuna casserole. He scooped some onto a plate and stuck it into the microwave. A few electronic beeps later and the food was heating for forty-five seconds on high.

  Forty-five seconds. An infinitely longer time than it had taken for Keith's father to die. The man had been a sales executive. Exactly what kind of sales executive — and for whom — he had long since forgotten. It seemed irrelevant to Keith anyway. What was relevant was that Keith's father had been alive once and now was not. He had died in a car accident when Keith was three. Keith could still remember his father, though his mother did not believe him. It was a memory of a presence, rather than an actual person, but Keith possessed that memory. And guarded it.

  Keith's sadness and sense of loss over his father's death had grown slowly as Keith grew. At the time of the accident, he had been too young to understand exactly what had happened. His mother experienced an extended per
iod of depression and withdrawal. Her outlook became perpetually bleak. She claimed to have lost the ability to feel. Then one day, her sadness abruptly vanished. She sprang back into life and quickly landed a job as an office manager for a local corporation. Soon, she had reentered the social scene in earnest. Within three years, she had actually met someone wonderful. Someone she planned to marry. At first Keith had instinctively distrusted the man, whose name was Terrance Hopely. Terrance did nothing wrong. On the contrary he was very kind to Keith and his mother. But Keith had a feeling. After long talks with his mother, and great effort on Terrance's part, Keith grudgingly gave in and accepted the man who would replace his father.

  The microwave pinged and Keith removed his meal. He went to the table and began to eat, chewing slowly, thinking.

  Mysteriously, Terrance had disappeared just before the wedding. He left behind a note that read simply, "I cannot explain, but know that I love you. Always." And he signed it. Some of the ink was smudged as if Terrance had been crying. Keith's mother was crushed. It was as if a husband had died all over again. Depression reasserted itself. But she had her job, and so the withdrawal was never quite complete and the sadness didn't last as long. This time, however, she strenuously avoided wading back into the dangerous waters of dating. Instead she turned her energies toward a variety of hobby and social service organizations. She was always quilting and volunteering and heading up projects. And with the exception of a few very brief, and intentionally hopeless, affairs with married men, she had never again actively sought meaningful companionship.

  So Keith had grown up without a father. And recently, with an absentee mother.

  As Keith finished his meal, he remembered the time he had seen a photograph of Terrance on the evening news. His general appearance had been altered — longer hair of a different color, glasses, etc. — but the identity was unmistakable. The story had appeared several years after the disappearance of the man who apparently went by the name of Terrance Hopely, Joseph Fishbuck and dozens of others. He was reputed to have been a so-called Thief of Hearts. Apparently he made a hobby of meeting women, usually widows, and wooing them until they accepted a marriage proposal. Then he would leave them standing at the altar. There was no financial gain involved; he did not swindle anyone out of money. According to the news report, his motive was simply to bring his victims to an emotional peak and then dash their hopes.

  Also according to the report, he had been shot dead by a former lover who had succeeded in tracking him down.

  There's your karma right there, thought Keith. What goes around comes around. Yessirreebob.

  * * *

  Keith left his dishes in the sink and went to bed. He had no idea when his mother would return, but wanted to be asleep long before then. He was in no mood to deal with her inevitable fussing when she saw his injury.

  Up in his room, «Mysteria» lay face down where it had fallen earlier. Keith picked it up carefully, expecting to find broken glass underneath it. To his surprise, the glass was not only unbroken, but the surface was completely unmarred. He couldn't even tell where the hammer had struck it. What luck, he thought. But then, a wave of dread washed over him as he propped the frame up against the wall. He let go of the poster and the strange feeling lessened, but this time, it did not disappear completely. A residue of fear seemed to cling to his mind. He tried to shake it off, but it remained as he dressed for bed. After he turned off the light, he felt the distinct sensation of being watched. And somehow, the feeling came from the poster. He tried to ignore the crazy feeling, but it would not go away, nor allow him to sleep. Finally he got out of bed and flipped the picture so it faced the wall. He felt silly doing it, but he also felt better. Less paranoid.

  Sleep came easily then. And with it, dreams.

  Chapter 4

  Keith stood in the bright square of light and looked up toward its source. The skylight framed a picture of a perfect, sunny weekend afternoon in Springwood. A rarity.

  And here I am at the mall, thought Keith. As usual.

  He looked back up at the blazing sun. A black sliver had begun to form on its right edge. Blackness grew like an infection, and soon the entire disk of the sun was eclipsed. The blue sky darkened. Day turned to night and the eclipsed sun became a crescent moon. Storm clouds formed, blotting out the moon entirely. Fierce lightning clawed across the sky. Rain pelted the skylight like stones.

  Suddenly a strong hand grasped Keith's arm and nearly yanked him off his feet. He yelped in pain.

  "Stop frowning, dude, or I'll give you a reason to frown!" croaked a harsh voice. Keith was roughly spun around and shaken for emphasis. Mario, a dangerous glint in his eye, held Keith firmly by the arm. "Come on, the girls are waiting." He shoved Keith ahead of them and the two began walking.

  From behind, there came a great crash and the sound of breaking glass. Keith stopped and turned. On the spot where he had stood a moment ago lay a large branch and hundreds of glass shards. Rain poured down through the smashed skylight. Mario pushed him forward again.

  "You'll get worse if you don't hurry up," he barked, "Dude," he added with disgust.

  Bewildered, Keith allowed himself to be herded to the yogurt stand. On the way, he noticed the mall was eerily deserted.

  "Get us some yogurt," Mario ordered. "They'll be here in a minute."

  "Hey, what can I get ya, man?" asked the yogurt store employee. It was Mel, looking more pallid than before.

  At first Keith could only stare in blank surprise. Then he realized that Mel was waiting for an answer. Turning his attention to the yogurt dispensers, he saw four, labeled CARRIE, PAM, MARIO, and KEITH respectively.

  "Uh, I'd like Carrie, please," he said shakily. Mel promptly dispensed some yogurt from the corresponding spout into a cone and handed it to Keith. Tentatively Keith tasted the yogurt. It melted on his tongue, the most amazing taste he had ever experienced. He was about to devour the yogurt when Mario greedily snatched the cone out of his hand.

  "That's mine. Get your own." With that, Mario ate the entire cone in three savage bites.

  Meekly Keith turned back to Mel, who smiled as if nothing unusual were happening.

  "Uh, I guess some Pam, then," he requested.

  In a flash, Mel held out a second cone. The flavor of this yogurt was distinctively different, but just as good as the first. Again, however, Mario took the cone.

  "That's mine, too." Mario glared at Keith threateningly. "Get… your… own!" He emphasized each word, then wolfed down the cone.

  Keith had only two choices left, KEITH and MARIO.

  "What do you recommend?" he asked Mel.

  Mel winked and leaned across the counter toward him. "Why don't you try some KEITH? Of course, it's not as flavorful as MARIO, but it's okay, CARRIE is sweeter and PAM is creamier, but you could do worse than KEITH. Besides, I can give you a deal on it." He leaned closer and lowered his voice further. "Between you and me, no one else'll buy it, unless I'm out of the rest. But I think you'll like it just fine."

  Keith was about to order when Pam and Carrie appeared beside him. Mel instantly forgot about Keith and turned to the girls. The cashier was drooling embarrassingly, but didn't seem to notice.

  "What can I get for you fine ladies?" he asked lasciviously.

  At the same time, both girls said, "MARIO!"

  "Thought so. Right away." He turned and quickly served them yogurt.

  As the group walked away from the counter, Keith glumly realized he was the only one who hadn't gotten any yogurt. But there didn't seem to be much he could do about it.

  Slightly ahead of him, Pam and Carrie chatted and giggled, but ignored Keith. Mario seemed generally calmer now that the girls were around. But when his eyes met Keith's, they glowed with hatred.

  "Wait till you guys see what I bought," Pam said brightly as she reached into the department store bag she was carrying. "This is the ultimate in TDF." With a flourish, she produced a long-sleeved, red-and-green striped sweater from the bag.
It was grimy and torn in places. "You wouldn't believe the discount I got. Or what I had to do to get it." She winked at Mario. Then she held the sweater up to his chest. "This is for you. Think it'll fit?"

  "Let's see." He quickly pulled it over his head. As he smoothed it out, the girls clapped. He nodded in grim satisfaction. "Perfect."

  "Uh, I don't know, Mario," Keith said. "It doesn't look too good. Maybe you should take it back and get another one."

  "Who asked you, anyway?" Mario snarled at him. "I sure didn't. Don't know why I would." He advanced upon Keith, forcing him back. "Look, you've been good for laughs, but frankly, we've only hung out with you out of pity. And that's old, dude, real old." Keith was pinned up against the wall. "But I think you're good for one more laugh. When I kill you. Dude."

  Mario threw his head back and laughed. It was deep, cruel laughter. Chilling. The girls joined him, but it was all the same sound. As it died down, Mario's face became a mask of pure hatred. Keith fled from the group. The mall lights flickered and then went out. The only light now came from occasional flashes of lightning from above.

  "Come on wif it!" yelled Mario, not far behind. "I take you out. I take you out right now."

  In the darkness, Keith soon lost his bearings. Tripping over a wire chair, he realized he was in the food court again. If Mel was still at the yogurt counter, maybe he could help. Keith started to stumble in what he hoped was that direction.

  "Mel!" he called out in a loud whisper. "You gotta help me. Mel!"

  "Over here, man." Mel's voice seemed to come from just ahead. Keith ran toward the counter. A dark shape moved behind it.

  "Mel?" he asked tentatively.

  "Yeah, it's me, man. What's up?" It was Mel's voice, all right, but he still could not see the clerk's face.

  "Help me," he pleaded. "Mario's gonna kill me!"