Invisible Terror Collection

by Bill Myers

  She was so tired. So lonely. Cut off. And no one cared. Not even Ryan. Why had he turned on her? Why had they all? She could have kept her mouth shut, played along and been like everyone else. And if she’d had her way, that’s exactly what she would have done. But oh, no, she had to try and help. She had to be the know-it-all who tried to warn them.

  Well, no more. She was through. If they wanted to mess around with that stuff, let them. If they liked playing with fire, fine. Who was she to stop them? She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t say another word.

  Becka shoved Muttly away and, with a loud sniff, rose to her feet. She hadn’t asked for the job, and she didn’t have to take it.

  Let God find somebody else. Let him find another person to be the All-School Oddball. She was through.

  Becka headed for the stairs when a sudden wave of compassion struck her.

  What about your friends? What about Ryan?

  “No!” she shouted at no one in particular. “They’re not my worry!”

  They don’t understand …

  “Stop it!” The tears were coming faster now. She headed up the steps.

  They need you.

  “They don’t need me!” she blurted. “They hate me!” She reached the top of the stairs as another set of sobs hit. She wrapped her arms around herself and leaned against the wall. It wasn’t fair. None of it!

  But that’s okay. She’d take no more. She was finished. She pushed away from the wall and started down the hall toward her room.

  “Beck — ” now it was the memory of her mother’s voice, of their conversation — “if you don’t tell people, who will?”

  “It’s God’s worry, not mine!”

  “When you gave him your life, you gave it all.” Becka closed her eyes to shut out the words, but they came anyway: “If you don’t tell people, who will? If you don’t tell — ”

  “Leave me alone!!”

  She passed her brother’s door and threw a look inside. There was a fresh mound of dirty clothes, evidence that Scott had dropped by. To her surprise the computer screen was still on.

  Scott was a major slob, but not when it came to his computer.

  Why was the monitor still glowing?

  She hesitated, swiped at her tears, then crossed into his room.

  “SQUAWK! BEAM ME UP, SCOTTY, BEAM ME UP.”

  “Shut up, Cornelius.”

  As though sensing her mood, the bird immediately waddled to the far end of his perch.

  She moved to the computer. On-screen there was a message from Z. It was addressed to her. Scott must have thought it was important and left it on for her to see. It contained only four lines. The first two were an address and time.

  233 Ramona Street

  Basement. 5:00 p.m.

  And below that was a single Bible verse:

  “Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light.” 2 Co rin thi ans 11:14

  Becka fought off a shudder. No way. She would not get involved. She stared back at the screen: “Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light.”

  She turned away. No. It was their choice. Let them live it.

  But what about that address? She turned back to the glowing screen. Z never left messages unless they were urgent.

  She glanced at her watch — 4:37. If she hurried …

  She turned toward the door. All right. Fine. She would go see what Z wanted, but that was it. She would not get involved. Her friends could do what they wanted, but she would not interfere.

  From now on, they were on their own.

  Chapter 8

  Julie had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, but when she awoke, the guardian was speaking to Philip, Krissi, and Ryan. It was the same con job he’d used on her, telling them how they were chosen, how they had been especially selected to bring the world to greater enlightenment. Only, while she had been asleep, he had apparently revealed his presence to them. Now he was speaking directly to them. He was still using her mouth and lips, but it was his voice, not hers.

  “You must give yourself over to the Universal Consciousness,” he was telling them. “You must become one with your angels and allow them to guide you into all love and power.” Julie wanted to scream, to cry out a warning. It was the same bait he’d used to trap her. The promise of power, of goodness and love … all they had to do was give up their wills.

  They’d have the power all right; it would only cost them their souls!

  “So if you’re Julie’s angel,” Philip was asking, “then where’s Julie?”

  “Julie is here,” she heard her mouth answer reassuringly, “she is just resting. Sudden exposure to such power and knowledge can sometimes be exhausting.”

  Liar! Julie shouted from deep within the darkness. You’re a liar! But the thought never reached her lips.

  Shut up! came the immediate response. If you try to speak, I will put you to sleep forever!

  Julie didn’t know if that was possible, but she didn’t want to take the chance. She had to survive if she was going to find a way to warn her friends.

  “So,” Krissi was asking, “how exactly do we do it? I mean, become ‘one with god’ and experience all this cool love and power?”

  “You have already started down that path, Krissi Petersen.

  Your guide has already begun his instruction.”

  “My writing?” Krissi asked excitedly. “Are you talking about my automatic handwriting?”

  Julie felt her lips smile and heard the guardian answer, “With his help and mine, you will all be ushered into the new age.”

  “When?” Krissi asked.

  “This very evening.”

  No! Julie shouted from inside. Don’t hurt them! You’ve got me, what more do you —

  SHUT UP! The guardian screamed back down into her. This is your final warning!

  Julie was desperate. How could she warn them, how could she stop them? Now there was another voice. Ryan’s.

  “Excuse me.”

  Julie felt her guardian stiffen with fear. Why? Why would the guardian be afraid of Ryan and not the others? She felt the creature force himself to relax, striving to sound calm and in control. “Yes?”

  “No offense,” Ryan continued, “but how do we know you’re really an angel? I mean, the Bible says a third of you guys were thrown out of heaven with Satan. How do we know you’re one of the good guys?”

  “Ryan,” Krissi admonished.

  “It’s just a question.”

  Julie felt more panic seize the guardian. For whatever reason, he was afraid to speak to Ryan. She felt him forcing himself to answer calmly. “The Bible is a great book, but surely you don’t believe everything you read in it?”

  “Shouldn’t I?”

  “What about hell?”

  Ryan had no answer.

  Julie felt a wave of satisfaction wash over the guardian.

  Apparently, this was something Ryan had been struggling with.

  That the guardian had this type of information must have sent the guy reeling.

  Now that Ryan was off balance, the thing pressed in. “And what of those in your student body? Do you really think they would vote for one with such superstitious beliefs?” Again Ryan had no answer. With his silence came the guardian’s gloating thoughts: He is so stupid. The fool has so much power, yet he doesn’t even know how to use it.

  Power? Julie thought. He didn’t acknowledge her. He seemed too focused on Ryan.

  “Your association with Rebecca Williams has darkened your thinking. Others have sensed it. You sense it yourself. Come join with us. Give yourself over. Your power will be the greatest of all.”

  Julie could only guess that Ryan’s silence meant he was still struggling.

  She could feel the guardian turning her head to the group as he continued speaking. “See what paralyzing influence she can have over you? This is the danger of which we warned. Rebecca Williams was needed to introduce you to our ways, but now she will only cripple your progress. She will only hamper and des
troy your growth.”

  “But how … how can we stop her?” Krissi asked.

  “She will be … disposed of. Tonight.”

  “Disposed of?” Philip’s voice was full of alarm.

  “But, she’s our friend,” Krissi protested. “At least, she was.”

  “She will feel no pain … in fact, she’ll find the experience quite enjoyable. But she will be stopped.” Once again Julie could feel her head turning. She knew it was toward Ryan. To scare him, to frighten him. The voice continued, “She and others like her will be silenced.”

  Suddenly Julie heard a loud crash and the sound of something shattering. Desperately she tried to reach the surface and look out her eyes, but she was held in the darkness.

  What was that? she demanded.

  One of your porcelain dolls, the guardian answered. It missed the boy’s head by inches.

  You threw one of my dolls!

  Not I, fool — one of my associates.

  There are others of you in my room?

  Before the guardian could answer, Julie heard her door open and someone race out of the room and down the stairs.

  Was that Ryan? she asked.

  Of course, came the smug, amused answer. Don’t worry, my associates will take care of him. But for now I must take care of your friends …

  **********

  Becka was grateful she’d worn her navy blue hooded sweatshirt.

  It was getting cold and it had started to rain. The clouds blot-ted out all light from the moon and stars, and there was a slight wind blowing against her face.

  She headed down Second Street, turned onto Ramona, and was surprised at the office building that suddenly loomed before her. It was an old, three-story brick affair. She double-checked the address. 233 Ramona. It matched. But other than a light in the front lobby, the building was completely dark inside. Pitch black.

  Becka stood a moment, feeling the chill run across her shoulders. She shook it off, then started for the entrance. She wondered why there was no sign on the building or any lettering on the door’s glass window. If this was a business, shouldn’t there be a sign or something? Reluctantly she climbed up the concrete steps, then reached for the weathered brass handle.

  She hoped it would be locked. She prayed it would be locked.

  It wasn’t.

  The door was left ajar with a small piece of cardboard between the bolt and the hole, preventing the bolt from locking into place. Becka pulled the door open and watched the cardboard flutter to the ground then blow off down the street.

  She called, “Hello?”

  No answer. There was a deserted counter with an equally deserted receptionist’s desk behind it. The lamp above the desk burned brightly, but Becka found little comfort in its soli-tary light. It just made the place seem more deserted … more spooky.

  “Is anybody here?”

  Still no answer. Reluctantly, Becka stepped into the lobby, letting the door close behind her. Suddenly remembering the lock, she spun around to catch the door, but she was too late. It shut and the bolt clicked into place behind her.

  She gave the door a push, trying to open it. Then another push, much harder. It did no good. She was locked inside.

  “Great,” she murmured, “just great.” She turned back to the lobby. Now what? She took a tentative step inside, then another.

  “Hello?” She searched the room. It was absolutely silent and still. There was a frosted-glass door behind the desk, but it was closed. To her right was an old-fashioned drinking fountain, an oak door labeled Restroom, and a set of stairs. What had Z done?

  He didn’t make mistakes like this. If he said meet somebody at five o’clock, there would be somebody at five to meet. That’s how he operated. So why wasn’t there —

  And then she remembered. The message on the computer. It had said to go to the basement.

  Becka slowly turned toward the unlit stairway. No way was she going down those. Not in the dark. She turned away.

  Still … the message had said, “Basement.” She glanced at her watch — 5:06. She stuffed her hands into her pockets. She looked around, then back at the locked door.

  She sighed. She rechecked her watch. Then, slowly, she turned back toward the steps.

  They really weren’t that dark. The first half, down to the landing, anyway, was lit by the desk lamp. It was a little dim, but she could definitely see where she was going. With another sigh she turned and started for the stairs. Slowly, carefully, one step at a time, she moved downward.

  “Hello?” Part of her wanted to make lots of noise so she wouldn’t sneak up on someone; the other part wanted to be absolutely silent so no one would know she was there.

  She reached the landing. That was the easy part. The lit part.

  Now the stairs did a sharp about-face in the opposite direction and descended into black shadows.

  Still, she had come this far.

  “Hello? Is anybody down here?”

  There was no response.

  Clinging to the rail, she inched her way into the darkness.

  “Hello … ?”

  Step followed step. Gradually her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, and by the time she reached the bottom, she could see wire-meshed, double glass doors straight ahead. They were newer than the rest of the building. They almost looked like hospital doors. She strained to see through the glass to the other side, but there was only darkness. She moved toward them. Three, four, five steps. She reached out and touched the doors; they were cold. She pushed against the right one, hoping it wouldn’t move. It did. She pushed harder. It opened.

  “Hello …” Her voice was much thinner. She stepped inside.

  It was cold in there. Very cold. Directly in front of her, within touching distance, were more desks. No, not desks … they looked like tables. She turned toward the wall, feeling. There had to be a light switch somewhere. Ah, there it was. She flipped the switch up. The entire room fluttered as the overhead fluorescents sputtered on. She looked around the room. She’d been right, there were tables in front of her. Three of them.

  And on the one closest to her, the one she could reach out and touch, was a body. Human. Dead. The bottom half covered by a sheet. The top half naked.

  Becka screamed. She stumbled backward, turned, and ran straight into another body. But this one was alive.

  At least, it was standing.

  **********

  Ryan’s Mustang had barely slid to a stop before he threw open the door, leaped out, and headed for Becka’s front porch. He was freaked. He’d been okay when the angel told him it knew about his doubts on hell. He’d even managed to hold it together when the thing talked about his desire to be student-body president. It was the threats against Becka’s life that did him in.

  That and the flying porcelain doll.

  Ryan had raced out of Julie’s room, not because the doll had barely missed his head, but because he now knew what he was dealing with.

  An angel? No way. He’d seen demons try to play that game before. In the mansion. And if the thing — or things — were out to get Becka, and she didn’t know … well, somebody had better warn her. And fast.

  Ryan knocked on the front door. Nobody answered. There had to be somebody home. The lights were on. He could see one in the kitchen and one in the upstairs hallway.

  He knocked again. “Becka! Scott!”

  Impatiently he grabbed the handle and gave it a push. It stuck briefly, then opened. “Becka? Mrs. Williams?” Still no answer.

  Except for Muttly. The little guy bounded toward him at full speed.

  “Hey, fellow,” Ryan bent down for the onslaught of slurping tongue and wiggling body. “Where is everybody? Huh, fellow?

  Is anybody home?”

  The dog whined and continued the licking attack.

  Ryan rose and moved toward the stairs. Somebody had to be there. They wouldn’t have left with lights on and the dog in the house. “Becka? Scott?” He started up the steps. “It’s me, Ry
an.

  Is anybody home?”

  Muttly did his best to follow, but he still hadn’t mastered the fine art of stair climbing. Not that he didn’t try. But each attempt was met with slips, spills, and some very impressive backward somersaults.

  “Beck …” Ryan reached the top of the steps and looked down the hall. What had happened? Had Julie’s guardian already struck? Steeling himself for the worst, he started down the hall.

  He’d barely reached the first door before he heard: “BEAM

  ME UP!”

  Ryan leaped out of his skin.

  “BEAM ME UP! SQUAWK. BEAM ME UP!” He turned to Scott’s room and saw Cornelius strutting back and forth on his perch. “MAKE MY DAY. MAKE MY DAY.

  MAKE MY DAY.”

  Ryan took a deep breath to steady his nerves, then spotted the computer screen. It was still on. “Scotty?” he called.

  Still no answer.

  Cautiously, he entered the room, stepped over the mound of dirty clothes, and moved to the screen. It read: TO: Rebecca

  FROM: Z

  233 Ramona Street

  Basement. 5:00 p.m.

  And below that, a Bible verse:

  “Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light.” 2 Co rin thi ans 11:14

  Ryan stood there, puzzled. Not about the verse. It only con-firmed what he already knew. It was the address. It seemed familiar. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but somehow he’d heard it before. He glanced at his watch — 5:12. That must be where Rebecca was. Maybe that was why everything was left on and Muttly was still in the house — she’d dashed out to try and make the meeting in time.

  If he was right, he was probably just a few minutes behind her. He turned and headed out of the room, darted down the hall, and took the steps two and three at a time.

  233 Ramona Street, 233 Ramona Street …

  The address kept ringing in his head. Why did it sound so familiar?

  It wasn’t until he was out the door and running for his car that it clicked.

  233 Ramona Street. That was a place they used to tease each other about as kids. That was the place they used to dare each other to visit at Halloween.