The Delusion

by Laura Gallier

The grotesque ritual was in progress. The Creeper fluttered its fingers, enticing a cord stretching from Riley’s head to burrow beneath its skin, sinking into its palm. Its garbled whisper sounded like an ensemble of anguished cries mixed with hissing. It gave me goose bumps.

  “I need to talk to you, Riley.”

  She cast a wide-eyed glance at her equally wide-eyed friends. A girl prompted the others to get up and give us some privacy. Perfect.

  I lowered into the chair across from her. “Do you feel okay?” My tone was more fatherly than friendly.

  “Um. Sure. Yeah. I’m fine.” She grinned, showing a mouthful of braces.

  “You sure? Nothing tingling or aching?”

  She shook her head, narrowing her eyes in confusion.

  “I know we don’t know each other, and this is gonna sound crazy, but . . .” How could I explain? “I’m wondering if you feel different than usual. Maybe sort of an . . . eerie sense?”

  “Uh. No.”

  My gaze drifted above Riley to the Creeper’s jacked-up face, and I zeroed in on the festering wound stretched across its forehead. I couldn’t peel my eyes away.

  Riley squirmed in her seat. “What are you—?”

  “Don’t move!” I tilted my head.

  What I had assumed were random gashes and scars on its face began taking shape in my mind, forming a word out of battered flesh:

  hopeless

  It looked like a brand, a deep burn on the Creeper’s decomposing forehead.

  Riley glanced over her shoulder.

  “Hey.” I leaned in, both fists on the table. “Are you . . . ? Have you been . . . ?” I swallowed hard. “Are you feeling hopeless right now?”

  As the word shot off my tongue, the Creeper’s head jerked in my direction, its threatening eyes targeting my face. I ducked down, almost wetting my pants.

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m all right.”

  I leaned close enough to whisper. “Are you sure?” I knew I was making her uncomfortable, but under the circumstances, I didn’t care.

  She slumped over and bit the side of her lip. “I’m okay. I guess.” Even less convincing.

  “Riley, I know this sounds weird, but if you happen to start feeling hopeless today—” The Creeper growled at me like a ravenous bear. “—please don’t listen to those feelings. They’re not coming from you and they’re not real. There’s always hope.”

  I needed to listen to the advice I was giving. “Promise me you won’t give in to . . .”

  Did I dare say it a third time?

  “. . . sadness.” No reaction from the Creeper. “Promise?”

  “I’ll try.” She sounded like she was defeated already, her smile now a drooping frown. She stood and crumpled her lunch sack, then stared at me, eyebrows raised. But I’d just given her all the advice I had.

  “See ya.” I didn’t know what else to say. I walked off, leaving her standing there, tethered to a hellion.

  But something inside me had changed.

  Without intending to, I’d taken Ms. Barnett’s advice. I’d found a new formula. I still wanted help for myself, but at the same time, I wanted to give help—to people like Riley. Time to quit obsessing over my sanity and switch gears, especially since I was more convinced than ever that what I was seeing was somehow real. Maybe another dimension intruding on ours?

  I was trapped in an evil mystery that had to be solved—for my sake, yes, but for everyone else, too. I wasn’t carrying torture tools like they were. Surely that meant there was hope for them. I wouldn’t stop until I found a way to intervene, to free them.

  But first, I had to get through seventh period.

  My coach called me into his office and gave me what can only be described as a bipolar lecture. First he’d shout, launching white balls of spit at my face, then he’d ask if I was all right. This up-and-down interrogation went on for most of the class period. I finally convinced him I’d been sick, which was basically true, and that I couldn’t run in this week’s track meet. It was our last one of the season, and we weren’t going to win whether I ran or not, so he let me off the hook without too much grief.

  I’d always considered my coach one of the strongest men I knew, but his half-dozen chains ruined that.

  As I was leaving school, I saw Jess across the hall, at her locker. She took a step toward me, but then stopped when Dan moved deliberately between us. Jess wrapped her arms around his neck, and he pulled her body to his.

  I turned and made my way toward the main exit doors, stomping my heels into the floor, squeezing my keys. Jess wasn’t just dating Dan. She was flaunting it.

  I couldn’t stand her flirting with him. More than jealous, I was worried about her. She’d told me stories about how he’d lost his temper with her. Grabbed her so hard during an argument that he’d left a bruise on her arm. And now she was back with him?

  On top of that, right or wrong, I was beginning to measure people—okay, judge people—by the number of chains and cords they had. People like Dan and my mom had tons. People like Riley and Ms. Barnett had just a few. Jess was basically in the middle.

  I was out the door and almost to the parking lot when I did a double take, skidding to a halt.

  How is that even possible?

  ELEVEN

  A GIRL WITH NO SHACKLE. Or chains. Or cords.

  And get this—she had a brilliant golden glow emanating from her feet onto the cement around her. It was mesmerizing, like nothing I’d ever seen before, but I guess that goes without saying.

  I followed as she moved toward the gym, her long blonde ponytail swishing back and forth. She looked to the side, and I recognized her—the girl who’d slammed into Jess last week. The same girl assigned to take me on a school tour my first day. I could almost remember her name. She lived in the neighborhood next to mine; I recalled her telling me that.

  I studied her as she bounced up to a friend and started talking her ear off, then disappeared with her behind the girls’ locker room doors. I waited outside until a female coach ran me off.

  It came to me—Ray Anne.

  I had to talk to her. Uncover the secret behind her freedom.

  She was now my official plan B.

  The harder I tried not to look at the accusation above my living room window, the more it consumed my attention:

  guilty

  I diverted my eyes to my cell phone, watching the minutes click by, anxious for evening to come so I could get on with my mission. It felt good—invigorating, really—to have a next step in mind.

  On social media, I found a picture of Ray Anne Greiner standing outside her house, and I planned to drive around her neighborhood until I located it. Ideally I’d knock on her door around seven o’clock, before sunset but after normal families ate dinner. For now, I sat on the sofa eating pizza rolls and watching mindless television, rubbing circles over my stomach. Nothing stopped the chill.

  The next thing I knew, my dog was growling, and it was dark outside. I opened my groggy eyes. 8:33 p.m. Later than I’d planned to head out, but not too late. I stretched.

  “Quiet, girl.”

  Daisy was on all fours making that inquisitive doggy face, nose aimed at the stairs. I stroked her head, but she didn’t budge, just flared her gums.

  “Maybe if the vet hadn’t cleaned your teeth, you’d be a little more intimidating.” I smiled for the first time in I didn’t know how long.

  I tried to pet her again, but she dodged my hand and started barking. Loudly. The strip of fur along her back stood on edge.

  “Hush, Daisy.” I wasn’t smiling anymore. She did this sometimes, but tonight it was freaking me out. “Stop it.”

  I heard chains banging around upstairs. “Mom’s getting up, that’s all.”

  As if I could reason with a dog.

  My mother’s bedroom door collided with the wall, and Daisy ducked her head and ran to the side of the sofa. A blast of cold hit me, carrying a familiar, rancid stench. I rolled over the back of the sofa and c
rouched down without taking my eyes off the staircase.

  It was normal for our stairs to creak now and then. It was not normal for the wood to sound like it was buckling under the weight of my petite mother. Daisy scurried behind the sofa too, pressing against me, a low-pitched growl rumbling in her throat. Neither of us blinked.

  I saw my mom’s bare feet coming down the stairs. Then her silky robe. Then her thin shoulders. Then . . .

  “Mom!”

  It was the worst possible scenario. A Creeper towered behind her back, advancing in stride with her. She looked like a dwarf shadowed by a dragon, entering the living room bound to it through a chain and cord.

  “Behind you!” I stood and pointed like a maniac.

  She looked over her shoulder the best she could, tipsy as usual, then glared at me. “What’s the matter?”

  Daisy barked her head off.

  “It’s got you!”

  “Quit it, Owen,” my mom slurred. She stumbled toward me, rubbing the sides of her head. “Tell that dog to shut up.”

  I backed away, nearly tripping over Daisy. “Mom, there’s a giant . . . It’s a massive . . .”

  “What’s gotten into you?” She finally quit coming at me and leaned on the sofa, catching her balance before stretching to grab a wineglass off the coffee table. She peered into it. “Clean enough.” She headed for the kitchen.

  I had to try again. “You’re in trouble!”

  She spun around, one eye narrower than the other. “Excuse me?”

  Her attacker was only a few feet away from me. I dropped my head back. All the way back.

  “Are you the one who does this to my mother? Makes her cry all the time?”

  It didn’t take any notice of me. It just kept gazing down at my mother’s head like a witch tending her brew.

  “Accuser!”

  I didn’t think, just read what I saw on its mutilated forehead. And when I did, the Creeper squinted at me and opened its mouth so that its menacing rows of teeth jutted out. Then it lowered its big head and hissed in my face like a two-ton cobra.

  I covered my head with both arms and—I admit it—screamed like a girl.

  “What’s wrong with you?” My mom stared.

  I backed away—more like fell backward—cupping my nose, then talked so fast I couldn’t catch my breath. “I told you, I’ve been seeing things, Mom! Things people aren’t supposed to see. Or can’t see. I don’t know, but it’s horrible. It’s evil! And I’m not trying to scare you—I’m really not—but Mom, there’s a huge, awful, Creeper-thing attacking you. Right now! It’s attached to you, and it hates you. Hates all of us!”

  “Stop it, Owen!”

  I followed her across the kitchen, talking louder as she rummaged through her liquor cabinet.

  “I know it sounds like a lie or something made up, but please, Mom, I’m begging you. Please believe me. I wouldn’t lie about this. I wouldn’t even know how to make this stuff up!”

  She poured herself a glass of wine like we were chatting about the weather, then wandered back into the living room, shaking her head.

  “Stop!” I stepped in front of her and pointed. “Do you see that? What it says above the window?”

  “I don’t see anything. Owen, I need you to—”

  “Okay, fine, you can’t see it, but someone—something—wrote on our wall. Guilty. It’s right there. I need you to believe me!” My cheeks were blazing hot.

  “I know what this is, Son.”

  “You do?” The thought that she might have some answers for me was like a tourniquet for my hemorrhaging soul, even if it was coming from a Creeper-bound person.

  “I’m not an idiot.” She took a sip of her drink, nearly spilling it. “You’re on something.”

  Not this again. I walked an aimless circle around the coffee table, raking my fingers through my hair. “I’m completely sober, Mom. I need your help!”

  She sighed. “Like the priest used to say, I can’t help until you confess.”

  What a load of garbage.

  About the only thing I knew about my mom’s childhood was that she hated being forced to go to Mass. That, and she ran away at sixteen to escape from her abusive parents. My mom didn’t respect the priesthood any more than I respected . . . well, her.

  But she was all I had.

  “I’m telling the truth, Mom.”

  She took another sip. “Sure you are.”

  That was it. I gave up and charged up the stairs, unwilling to be near Accuser another second. But halfway there, I stopped and faced my mom, the words welling up inside me like lava. “You’re a lousy drunk, you know that?”

  She winced and covered her mouth.

  The Creeper nodded, twisting its lips into a sinister, satisfied grin.

  TWELVE

  I DIDN’T LIKE THAT I’d insulted my mother, and I really didn’t like that it seemed to make that Creeper happy, but I could only feel so bad about it.

  She’d had it coming.

  I’d missed my chance last night to go see Ray Anne, but there was no way I’d let that happen today. There had to be a way to liberate people, and I was betting Ray Anne held the key. As furious as I was with my mother, I’d free her if I could. And Jess, and Lance, and, if I knew how, all of humanity.

  Okay, maybe not Dan.

  The protesters didn’t intimidate me today. Sure, it was irritating to be surrounded by a loudmouthed mob of crazies, but compared to the Creepers, they were houseflies. Even the deranged redhead—pesky but harmless.

  I was sick of walking through the school with my head down, like a puppy with its tail tucked between its legs. I kept my chin up today, dealing with the waves of anxiety as they came, all the while searching for Ray Anne.

  The presence of Creepers outside and inside the school not only gagged me but kept me so cold I trembled all day. They were everywhere, drifting among us. Some crouched in dark corners. Others hovered in midair. Some actually crept up the walls and along the ceiling, like gigantic spiders, twisting their long, skinny necks to stare down on us while their torsos and legs stayed facing upward.

  I noticed they would gather around trash cans and inside stinky bathrooms—at home in filth, I supposed.

  People gave me a hard time for dressing like it was winter. Stella Murphy wouldn’t shut up about it, so I flat out told her, “I’d wear shorts too, if there weren’t icy, evil creatures everywhere.”

  She laughed. I didn’t.

  Between classes, I ran up and down the halls, looking for Ray Anne, asking people if they’d seen her. Most didn’t even know who she was. I tried getting Walt to sneak a copy of her schedule to me during his office aid period, but he was afraid of getting busted. Wish that was my biggest fear of the day.

  I now noticed more shackle-free students—a much-needed boost of encouragement for me. I didn’t know any of them, but I caught up with one guy before fourth period. “Hey, I have to ask you something. You know you glow?”

  Yeah, that didn’t go well.

  As for me, I didn’t know what to make of my condition. No shackle, but no shine either.

  After school, I kept an eye on the girls’ locker room doors but never saw Ray Anne. I was back to my original plan. I’d go to her house.

  Dan’s fully loaded Ford F-150 was parked down the row from my bike, and there was Jess, hugging all over him. I couldn’t get used to it. And today . . .

  Dan had a Creeper attached to him. This particular one made me break out in a cold sweat.

  Ever seen a goat’s eyes? That’s what this Creeper’s pupils looked like—solid black horizontal lines immersed in dark red. And its eyeballs were bulging out of their sockets. Its slimy, blackened tongue hung out past its chin and came to a sickening point, curling and contorting like it had a mind of its own. The four letters singed into its forehead were clear even from a distance:

  lust

  How fitting.

  “Jess, get away from him.” I reached a hand out to her.

  As
usual, Dan had an arrogant smirk. He pulled Jess’s chin to keep her attention, and she actually let him.

  “You had your turn,” he said. He didn’t have the guts to look at me.

  My turn?

  Jess meant about as much to him as a Coke can. He’d use her up, then crush her and toss her in the trash heap—with the help of that obscene Creeper, no doubt.

  But what could I do to convince her of that?

  I took the long way home to clear my head. It didn’t work. I thought about getting into my mom’s liquor cabinet, but no. Surely the only thing worse than seeing Creepers was being drunk and seeing Creepers. And honestly, just the smell of liquor had always nauseated me.

  Around five o’clock, I got a text from Jess: Come outside.

  She was at the end of my driveway, in a skirt so short even I was surprised. I walked up to her, and she grabbed my hands, giving me a spunky smile—her way of trying to mend things, it seemed.

  “Take me to the bridge.”

  I didn’t know what bridge she was talking about, but I agreed to drive her. She slid onto my motorcycle and wrapped her arms around me. Like old times.

  Man, I want my old life back.

  We parked in front of a railroad bridge on a hilly back road that stretched over a river some fifty feet below.

  “This is where I go,” she said, taking my hand and leading me onto the bridge. “When I need to get away. And think.”

  We reached the center, and she stood back, away from the railing.

  “What?” I leaned on the metal rail and looked back at her. “Afraid of heights?”

  She cut her eyes like she was embarrassed. “You know . . .”

  Then I remembered. Jess couldn’t swim. She’d had her first asthma attack while taking lessons as a child and refused to go near water ever since.

  I reached my hand out. “I’d never let you drown.” I finally talked her into inching her way to me. Then we both stood there, taking in the awesome view—the kind of scene you’d expect to see on a puzzle box.

  I kept quiet—not to be stubborn, but because I couldn’t possibly explain the latest events of my life. Or what I knew was attached to her boyfriend.