Killer Game

by Kirsty McKay

  Suddenly, I sense a pressure change in the room; a teacher has walked into the library.

  A couple of teachers are on duty every evening, and they do the rounds to check that everybody is actually working. It’s Ms Lasillo tonight. Head of computer studies. Damn. If anyone is going to notice something amiss with the IMs, it’s her. A palpable wave of dread runs through the room. IMs ping out, like little birds warning each other of the arrival of a sparrowhawk. And that’s a good description of Ms Lasillo. Small, sharp, with quick eyes and a quicker brain. She does a lap of the main room, past the workers at the reading tables, barely seeming to look at everyone’s screens, but you can bet that she’s checking what everyone is looking at, and if anything extra-curricular is going on, she will strike. I’ve seen it in action: someone pulls a hack and logs on to a social media site, and they are toast. It’s Lasillo’s job to police all of this; she puts the gatekeepers in place, and when someone finds a crack in her coding, she comes down hard on them.

  Click-clack, click-clack.

  Suddenly, Lasillo’s heels are on the stairs behind me. I quickly log out of Crypt and return to my work.

  ‘Arse!’ Carl mutters, under his breath. He’s my nearest neighbour, at a desk to the left of me, but still a good three or four metres away.

  I see him try to hit a few keys, but by the look on his face something has gone wrong. I can’t see his screen from my seat, but Ms Lasillo will be able to, in a few seconds.

  I get up, a book in hand, then as I pass the back of his desk I fumble and drop it on the floor. As I duck down, Ms Lasillo approaches from the top of the stairs. I quickly pull the cable out of the screen of the desktop. Ms Lasillo is passing behind Carl. She stops in her tracks.

  ‘Carl?’ she says. ‘Is there something wrong with your machine?’

  ‘What?’ Carl looks up, as if disturbed from some deep thought. ‘Oh, sorry, Ms Lasillo, no – I just switched the screen off to avoid the glare while I was reading.’

  Ms Lasillo frowns. ‘Fine. Well, remember to switch it on again for the next person when you’re finished, yes?’

  Carl smiles. ‘Of course. Thank you.’

  Ms Lasillo peers over at me, where I’m still crouching on the floor. ‘Have you fainted, Cate?’

  ‘No, Ms Lasillo.’ Something about her always makes me prickle. ‘Just dropped my book.’

  She tuts and shakes her head, like I’m the clumsiest oaf in the world. ‘I’m sure you have some work to be doing, Cate. Please get up, and get back to it.’

  I’m sorely tempted to tell her to go jump out of the window, but there has been enough blood spilt in the quad . . . for now. Plus, she’s pally with Mr Flynn, and if he finds out I’ve given her lip I won’t hear the end of it from him.

  I nod my head and straighten up, and she trots off to the next work station.

  ‘Thank you,’ mouths Carl. I wink at him, then return to my desk. Lasillo is still walking around, but I can’t resist logging back in to Crypt.

  Skulk

  Nice work, Cate.

  My hands hover over the keys, ready to shoot off a reply – argh! I stop myself in time. If I respond, everyone will know my username.

  So, Skulk saw what went down with Carl? I fight the urge to look around the room, but visualize where everyone is sitting. Who would have a good enough view of what just happened? Is Skulk Carl? He’s the only one who could actually know what I did. I glance at him. He seems preoccupied with a book, not even looking at his screen. The cable I unplugged is still on the floor. He’s not risking fiddling with it until Ms Lasillo is out of the room. So that means Skulk can’t be him, doesn’t it? I suppose he could, in theory, write an IM with no working screen – the computer itself is still on, the keyboard connected – but it’s a bit of a stretch.

  Nobody is responding to Skulk’s message, too afraid that whatever they write will identify them, in the very least as Not Carl, and Not Cate.

  Another message pops up:

  Skulk

  *slow hand-clap*

  I take a breath. He or she is trying to taunt me now, trying to make me say something. They’re also running the risk that Ms Lasillo will see an IM, because she’s still here, although currently rummaging through some oversized books in the back corner. Any moment now and she’ll probably be making her way back towards the stairs and past the work stations.

  ‘What did I miss?’

  Vaughan plops down on the seat beside me.

  ‘God, I wish people wouldn’t keep doing that,’ I mutter, hand on my heart.

  ‘What, talking to you?’ Vaughan whispers. ‘I’m sure it can be arranged.’

  I turn round in my seat and look at him. ‘When you said you can’t tell who users are, were you telling me the truth?’

  Vaughan looks surprised. ‘Of course. Why would I lie to you?’

  I sigh. ‘Oh, to save me from myself, perhaps. Because you would know that at some point I’d start asking you who everyone was.’

  ‘Sorry, mate.’ He chuckles at me, leans over and ruffles my hair. It’s supremely annoying, just like it was when we were eight. ‘Other than using my excellent powers of deduction, I really can’t tell who each user is.’ He nods at my screen. ‘Who do you want to know about?’

  I shake my head, move my hand to the mouse and close my IM down, quickly. ‘Nobody. It doesn’t matter.’

  Vaughan looks disappointed. ‘Aw. Don’t want to share any more theories?’ He bats his eyelashes at me. ‘I was so looking forward to you being Watson to my Holmes.’

  ‘Yeah, I can see that you would be.’ I hesitate. ‘You’ve noticed, of course, that there’s one too many users.’

  He nods, green eyes smiling. ‘Adds an extra something, doesn’t it?’

  I frown. ‘People can do that? Make more than one profile?’

  He pulls a face. ‘I didn’t put any limit on it, initially. Somebody took advantage, and now they have an alter ego.’ He runs his hands through his black curls. ‘But the Elders noticed and asked me to change things so that no one else can do that. Makes sense, I guess. After all, only one of us is living a double life in the Game.’

  ‘You think the person with two usernames is the Killer?’ He shrugs. ‘Would be a good move, wouldn’t it?’

  I don’t answer, but inside I’m thinking, Skulk, Skulk . . . it has to be. I pack my bag, giving up any hope of achieving anything more on my computer. I’ll work in my study, and do the rest of the online stuff tomorrow. As I stand up, Vaughan grabs my hand.

  ‘Relax. Enjoy. You’re safe.’ He rubs his thumb up the inside of my wrist. The touch sends electricity up the inside of my arm. ‘You have the wristband, after all.’ He snags it with his thumb, and I pull away, embarrassed.

  ‘Yeah, safe.’ I throw my bag over my shoulder, unable to meet his eyes, and scuttle down the stairs and out of the library as fast as I can.

  It’s only when I’m back in my study, sitting at my desk, door locked, that I allow myself to breathe again.

  CHAPTER 15

  Monday morning, Tuesday morning, Wednesday morning . . . and I’m breathing easy.

  I love being safe. The little red snake around my wrist feels wonderful. Guild members eye it, some with envy. One of them is looking at it and mentally crossing me off their hit list – for this week.

  The Game is buzzing. I begin to live for screen time. Crypt is the place to be. Players are posting stuff constantly – jokes, theories, even pictures. Analyzing clues. Having fun. And part of that fun is keeping in the loop whilst keeping your username private, and not letting any non-Guild in on the secret.

  Suddenly, no internet is no big deal. My personal devices are connected to the school intranet and I can get on to Crypt whenever I like, as long as I’m in range of the Umfraville Wi-Fi. There’s a mad increase of Guild members carrying around tablets at all times, chuckling at them in lessons, lounging around with open laptops in the quad, trying to pick up a signal in the pottery studio or in the toilets. The staff
must think we’ve all become very industrious. We’ll have to be careful.

  But Vaughan is on point. By Tuesday afternoon, there’s a post on Crypt from him.

  Greetings, assassins; this is your webmaster.

  Please click on the link below to download this

  simple yet highly addictive game on to your personal

  machines. Once downloaded, in the event of an

  emergency, this game can be toggled to hide any

  Game IMs or Crypt page you might be viewing.

  Yours prophylactically, Vaughan

  I have to smile. He’s smart, that boy. I click on the link, and before long I’m playing a bright and obnoxious matching game called ‘Kreepy Klowns’.

  The days pass, with no Kills. Perhaps the Killer is too busy matching lines of clown faces and bantering online on Crypt. Perhaps one of us with immunity is next on their list, and they don’t want to waver from the plan. Perhaps they’re enjoying heightening the fun by lulling everyone into a false sense of security.

  But then on Thursday, the fun starts to sour.

  I don’t see it coming at all; I’ve had a good day. Swimming has been replaced by a choice of yoga or hockey, and I’m all about the om. I have double Art, and Art History winds up the day with the batty but charming Miss Biddulph. I’m coming out of class, chatting to Whitney and laughing about which Kreepy Klowns level we’re on, when Anvi comes running up to us, peroxide blonde hair bouncing in her usual ponytail.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Her brown cheeks are flushed scarlet, dark eyes wild beneath the long fringe.

  ‘Art History.’ Whitney looks at her friend as if to say, er, duh.

  ‘Not you. Her.’ Anvi nods at me. ‘Have you seen it yet, on Crypt? Everybody’s talking.’

  My heart sinks. I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I have a feeling I’m not going to like it.

  ‘Spill the beans, you tease!’ Whitney says.

  Anvi doesn’t answer, just grabs my arm painfully, looks from side to side and marches me round the corner of the main block of classrooms. She whips out a tablet.

  ‘Should pick up the Wi-Fi here.’ She swipes away Kreepy Klowns and Crypt pops up. ‘Look!’ she urges me. I do. Nothing untoward, just a newsfeed of various posts . . . she scrolls down. There’s a box with an arrow.

  ‘Cool.’ Whitney is looking over my shoulder. ‘Someone uploaded a video?’

  Someone did. Anvi taps the arrow, and the video begins to play.

  It’s very dark. The picture is blurred. For a moment I think it’s the caves, and I wonder why Anvi’s showing it to me, specifically. It’s obviously something to do with the Game.

  The cameraperson (female?) chuckles a little, as the focus comes in and out. We’re not in the cave, but that’s water, isn’t it? Then . . . stairs? Two blurred figures. Ah! It’s the grandstand at the swimming pool.

  Oh. Oh please, no.

  This is nothing to do with the Game. But everything to do with me.

  The camera zooms in, and in spite of the dim lighting, it’s easy to see what the two figures are doing. Kissing. Arms wrapped around each other, one on top of the other. The one on top stops for a minute, throws back her head and laughs. The one on the bottom laughs too.

  Me, and Daniel. Nope, nope, nope . . .

  I’m vaguely aware of Whitney suppressing a gasp in my ear. Anvi’s not so subtle. The tablet is shaking as she giggles. I snatch it.

  ‘Hey!’ Anvi grabs at it, trying to get it back, but I hug it to me.

  ‘Who posted this?’ I shout at her.

  She shrugs, face passive. ‘Smee.’

  Great. Smee, one of the users who I have no clue about. I have little sense of whether they’re friend or foe, male or female, Killer or not. One thing I do know about them now, however. I know they’re not Daniel.

  ‘Smee better damn well delete this!’ I shove the tablet back at Anvi, poking her in the chest with it. ‘And if you know who they are, make sure they get the message from me!’

  ‘Don’t get your big girl pants in a twist.’ Anvi says. ‘Be thankful that this actually makes you interesting for a change. Momentarily.’

  ‘Really, Anvi?’ I step up to her. ‘You find this interesting? Interesting enough to post?’ I push her shoulders. She’s half my size, but hard as nails, and she doesn’t budge.

  ‘Stop!’ Whitney steps in. ‘You need to calm down, Cate. You know Anvi had nothing to do with this.’ She looks at Anvi. ‘You didn’t, did you?’

  ‘No!’ Anvi says, revolted.

  ‘Great,’ Whitney says, turning to me. ‘Rise above it. Talk to Vaughan or Alex and get it taken down. After all, it’s seriously Off-Topic when it comes to the Game. Nobody’s going to care about old gossip after a day or two.’

  Nobody’s going to care? Daniel will care. Daniel will care a lot.

  ‘Fine.’ I turn tail and head off, not sure which direction I’m heading in. It’s true, in the grand scheme of things, this will be five-minute news. I’ll suffer for a few days, and there will be jokes for ever, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Daniel? A different matter. He will be devastated. He’ll leave the Game, for sure. He might leave school. He hates, hates this kind of thing, he cannot cope with it. Oh God, I hope he doesn’t think I’ve got anything to do with it. Would he think that?

  But instead of heading for his study or the music rooms, I run in a different direction.

  When I burst in to the study, Vaughan is bent over his laptop, tapping away.

  ‘Take it down.’

  He holds a hand up, still typing with the other. ‘Just a tick.’

  ‘Take it down!’

  He looks at me, shocked. Hits Enter. His hands lower. ‘OK. What am I taking down?’

  ‘The video, of course. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it.’

  ‘Yeeeah.’ He nods, overly serious. ‘You and Daniel.’

  ‘Of course me and Daniel!’

  ‘Of course.’ He tilts his head to one side. ‘I’m curious. Past or present?’

  ‘What?’ I say. ‘Past! Last term party past!’

  He nods, understandingly. ‘One-off?’

  ‘Look, not that it’s any of your business,’ I step inside the study and shut the door, becoming aware that a few people are lingering at the other end of the corridor, attracted by the drama. ‘But yes, it was a one-off. A random, stupid mistake on my part. Not to be repeated. And definitely not to be broadcast.’

  ‘On your part.’ Vaughan taps the top of his laptop with a restless finger. ‘But not a mistake as far as Daniel was concerned?’

  ‘Just take it down,’ I say. ‘Now.’

  I turn, and am about to flounce out, when I see a white school mug of hot chocolate sitting on the table next to Vaughan. Untouched.

  ‘Did you make that?’ I point to it. ‘Did it come with a note?’

  ‘What?’

  I don’t wait for a proper reply, just grab the handle, lean forward, open the study window, and chuck the drink out into the grass.

  ‘Oi!’ Vaughan protests. ‘What are you doing?’

  I stare at the bottom of the mug. No writing. Just an ordinary mug. An ordinary hot chocolate. Ex-hot chocolate.

  I fling it down, and the mug breaks. I leave.

  By the time I reach my own study and log in, the video is down. I’m relieved, but also slightly aggrieved. I wanted to view it again, in the privacy of my own room, and process how bad it really was. And also to look in that laughing girl’s eyes, and try and see what she saw that night.

  Daniel’s not at High Tea, nor in the library that night. I drop by his study, and the music rooms, but I can’t find him anywhere. Last thing before curfew, I find myself at the Loathsome Toad office. I see Marcia working in the brightly lit room. She’s on her own. I twist the temperamental doorknob, and look in.

  ‘Knock knock.’

  ‘Hi.’ She doesn’t look at me, but continues to type.

  I sigh. Walk in, sit down. Put my feet up on
the desk so she knows I’m not going anywhere.

  ‘Want a smoke?’ she says, still not meeting my eye.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘It’s been ages since I’ve seen you. You sneak in to the dorm, last thing before curfew. You avoid me at meals. You’re never in the study.’

  Marcia keeps typing, shakes her head. ‘I’m not sneaking, and I’m not avoiding. I’m busy.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure.’ I stretch my arms out, faking a relaxation I do not feel. ‘But you know, I’d have thought you’d make the time to apologize for ditching me at the beach the other night. And maybe check I was OK the next day. I’d have also thought you’d come and seek me out when some idiot posted that video on Crypt.’

  It’s Marcia’s turn to sigh. She leans back and snaps the lid of her laptop shut.

  ‘I knew you were OK after the beach. I ran because I wanted you to run, I didn’t want you to be caught.’

  ‘What about Vaughan?’

  She shrugs. ‘I felt scared for him, but what’s he to me, compared to you? I wanted you out of there.’

  My chest feels tight. ‘You should have known I wouldn’t leave. I’m funny like that. I don’t leave my friends when they’re in trouble.’

  She holds her hands up. ‘We all do what we think is best.’

  I look at her, but now it’s me who can’t hold her gaze. I stare at the floor. ‘And you thought it was best not to tell me when that video was posted?’ I tap my feet. ‘Posted first thing this morning, apparently. Don’t tell me you didn’t know about it.’

  ‘I did.’

  I look up at her, and she nods. ‘But I thought it was more important to tell Daniel about it. You can deal with this; Daniel . . . may not.’