Invisible Terror Collection

by Bill Myers

  Suddenly the Jeep’s engine began to sputter. Then cough.

  Then it quit altogether. Philip glanced at the gas gauge. There was still a quarter tank left. Then he realized it wasn’t just the motor that had stopped. The headlights were gone too.

  He reached over to the key, switched it off, then back on. The engine turned but would not start. He turned the ignition off, then tried again. Same result.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Krissi said.

  “What?”

  “It’s okay.”

  He looked at her, not understanding. He gave the ignition a third try, this time grinding the starter over and over again.

  Suddenly, there was a blast of light — so bright and intense that he thought the craft above him had blown up. But it wasn’t an explosion; it was a light beam, five feet in diameter and as bright as the sun. It slowly extended from the center of the three crafts toward the stand of pine trees.

  Philip and Krissi shielded their eyes as the light continued to stretch toward the trees, but when it hit the top branches, it did not illuminate them. It ignited them. Instantly. They exploded into a giant fireball.

  Krissi screamed as they covered their faces from the light and heat that blasted through the windshield.

  Philip fumbled for the ignition. He had to get them out of there! He turned the key. Nothing.

  He looked back at the beam of light and froze. It was moving — so slowly that at first he thought it was the hot wavy air from the fire playing tricks, like a mirage. But this was no trick.

  The beam was moving off the blazing trees and inching its way toward them, igniting everything in its path.

  “Philip, get us out of here!”

  Philip pumped the accelerator. Still nothing.

  The light continued toward them.

  “Philip!”

  “I’m trying!” he shouted. “I’m trying!” Now the beam was fifteen feet away …

  “PHILIP!!”

  His hand was shaking. It was so sweaty that the key slipped as he tried to turn it.

  Twelve feet, ten …

  Now they could hear the moisture from the grass and shrubs hissing and sizzling under the approaching heat. Pieces of wood cracked and popped as if in a fireplace.

  Eight feet …

  “Philip!”

  Five …

  He reached for his door. “Let’s get out of here!”

  “What?”

  “Run! Get out of the car! Run!”

  Then, as instantly as it had started, the beam stopped. There was no light. Only the blazing trees ahead of them and the burning undergrowth beside them. Philip stared. The fire would not spread. He knew that. Everything was too damp and wet. He leaned against the wheel, trying to catch his breath, trying to steady himself.

  Krissi sat beside him, shaking like a leaf.

  They sat in the car, unable to move, as the pines continued burning. Both followed the line of charred vegetation, cut with razorlike accuracy from the trees to within five feet of their Jeep.

  Philip turned to Krissi. The light from the fire danced and played across her frightened face. With one hand he wiped away the sweat that had fallen into his eyes. With the other he reached out to her. “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  He craned his neck to look back up through the windshield.

  When Krissi finally spoke, her voice was weak and thin. “Are

  … are they still there?”

  The light from the fire was so bright it was impossible to see anything in the sky.

  “It’s too bright,” he said. “I can’t tell.” He heard the handle to the passenger door move. His eyes shot to Krissi, who was opening the door and getting out. “Where are you going?!”

  “I can’t stay in here. I’ve got to go.”

  “Krissi, we’re safe in here. At least safer than — ” But Krissi would not listen. “I can’t stay in here!” She stepped down into the knee-high grass. She tilted her head up toward the sky. Whatever expression she had on her face suddenly froze.

  “Philip …” Her voice was high and faraway.

  “What? What is it?”

  “Philip … they’re coming …”

  “Krissi, get back insi — ”

  The car pitched violently to the right.

  “Philip!”

  With the jolt came another light. Glaring. Powerful. Overcoming every shadow, every inch of darkness. But this light was different from the first. It was blue and carried no heat. Only power. The vehicle heaved under another impact and began to rock.

  “Philip!!”

  When he spotted her, she was still outside but clinging to the door with all of her might. Her feet were parallel to the ground and rising. Something was sucking her upward!

  “Philip!” she screamed, terrified.

  He lunged for her, but the shaking of the car tossed him like a pinball. One minute he’d grabbed her arm through the open window, the next he was thrown to the floorboard.

  Krissi’s grip on the door had been broken. She was now clinging to the side mirror, screaming hysterically. Philip struggled back up into the seat. He reached out the window and grabbed her wrists — both of them. They were so slick with sweat that he could barely hang on. He could no longer see her legs. They were above her head as she clung to the door, screaming.

  “Don’t let me go! Don’t let me go!”

  The car continued to lunge back and forth. For a brief second their eyes connected. There was no mistaking Krissi’s helpless horror. Adrenaline surged through Philip. He would save her.

  He would not let go of her, not at any cost. Still clinging to her wrists, he pulled himself to her window. But his grip was slipping.

  “Hang on!” he shouted. “Hang on!”

  “I can’t! Philip, help m — ”

  The car lurched violently. Krissi screamed as her hands slipped away from the mirror. The pull was too great. Philip could no longer hold her. She slid from his grip and disappeared into the night.

  “Krissi! Krissi!!”

  **********

  Becka bolted awake in her room. She’d gone to bed early and had barely dropped off when she had a dream. But this wasn’t just your run-of-the-mill dream. It was another one of those dreams.

  She couldn’t remember any specifics. Just terror.

  And Krissi. Somehow she knew the terror involved Krissi.

  For days Becka had tried to warn her onetime friend about playing with automatic handwriting. Becka knew the experience was legitimate. She knew somebody or something was moving Krissi’s hand.

  She also knew that the somebody or something was evil.

  Becka, Ryan, even her other friend Julie, had all tried to warn Krissi. But the autowriting messages had said the three of them were not to be trusted. So Krissi cut them off. It had been painful for Becka, but it was far from the first time she had been snubbed because of her faith.

  Actually, it went further than just her faith. Over the past several months Becka had been developing a certain skill, a "calling” if you will. It wasn’t something she wanted. On the contrary, what she really wanted was to blend into the crowd and be like everyone else. But that didn’t seem to be her lot. Instead, with all the supernatural battles she’d been involved in, she had developed a reputation as someone who was all too familiar with the occult. Someone who knew what to look out for, and if necessary, someone who could battle it.

  Kids at school had started calling her the All-School Ghostbuster.

  Now, as she lay in the darkness of her room, she could feel her gift at work again. The old, familiar dread surrounded her — but it wasn’t dread for herself. It was dread for Krissi.

  Prayer wasn’t something Becka was great at. Truth was, she knew she should be doing a lot more of it than she did. But with schoolwork, friends, TV, and the fast-paced life of high school, it was usually pretty hard to find time. Still, she tried.

  Especially tonight. She had to. When she felt this kind of drea
d, she knew she had no option. It was the only way she could battle

  … whatever was going on. And, at least for tonight, it was the only thing she could do for Krissi, the only way she could help.

  So Becka started to pray.

  **********

  Scott stared intently at the computer screen. Ttocs, the mystical holy man he had created, was locked in mortal combat with a blood-drinking banshee. According to Hubert, the Crypt Master, the ghoul had been lying in wait for just such an attack. Now the monster leaped onto Ttocs’s neck, dug her fangs into his arteries, and sucked with all her might. Not only was she drawing Ttocs’s blood, but his brains were also being sucked through the hollow, needlelike fangs.

  Scott hit the Alt, Shift, and R keys on his keyboard and watched numbers flash across his screen. This was the computer’s version of throwing dice.

  The numbers appeared: 11, 4, and 3. Scott groaned. The 11 meant he got away, but not without losing most of his mental abilities. The two low numbers meant he had lost his armor and long sword. In short, Ttocs had survived. Barely.

  Scott thumped his desk in frustration.

  Darryl, who was sitting in the station beside him, gave a loud sniff. “So, it’s just a game, huh?” He grinned.

  Scott ignored him. “What good is it being a holy man when there are goons like that who can destroy you in one round?”

  “You shouldn’t have used your sword.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re a mystic, right? A holy man?”

  “So …”

  “So, use your telekinesis powers — your magic. Instead of fighting them with swords, use your spells.” Suddenly Scott’s screen began to flash. One of the other players was challenging him to combat. He’d obviously smelled blood and was close enough to go in for the kill.

  Again Scott rolled the dice. Again the numbers were too low.

  And thanks to the attack of a common, everyday flesh eater, the great Ttocs suddenly died. His internal organs had been devoured and the rest of his brain sucked out. Scott slapped the desk again. He was out of the game.

  “And another thing,” Darryl sniffed while pushing up his glasses, “you were only playing halfway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “To really win at this thing, you have to play body, mind, and soul.”

  “I was.”

  “No way. Your character was too nice. Next time make up somebody ruthless and bloodthirsty. Save the nice-guy act for reality.”

  Scott gave him a look, then turned back to his screen and watched as his name and location were bleeped from the map.

  His face flushed with anger. He knew it was only a game, but still … part of him had been up on that screen. Part of him had just been destroyed.

  He folded his arms and leaned back. So Darryl thinks I’m holding back, does he? That I was too nice? Okay, fine. Next time I’ll create a better character. Next time I’ll play with everything I have. They want bloodthirsty and ruthless, they’ll get bloodthirsty and ruthless. He smiled grimly. The new and improved Ttocs will be unstoppable.

  As he waited for Darryl and the others to finish for the evening, Scott grabbed a paper and pencil, rose to his feet, and crossed to the Game Book on the center table. This was a book that listed various types of characters, explaining their abilities, weapons, powers, personalities, and so forth. He flipped the book open. He would need all the help and hints he could get.

  He would still keep the name Ttocs. But this new version would be the best player they had ever seen.

  Chapter 3

  Krissi!”

  Philip threw open the car door and staggered into the blind-ing blue light. She was his life, his reason for living. If she had to meet some awful fate, he would meet it with her. If he had to give up his life to save hers, he would.

  But once he stepped outside, the light was no longer blue. It was orangish white, like the sun. And it no longer hovered above him. It was rising over the mountains in the east, right where the sun would rise.

  Philip shook his head and blinked. It was the sun. He was staring at the rising sun!

  He rubbed his eyes and took half a step back. But instead of grass under his feet, he heard the crunch of gravel. His mouth opened in surprise as he saw he was no longer standing in grass, but on asphalt.

  What was going on?

  He looked around. He wasn’t in the field anymore. He was standing next to his dad’s Jeep on Highway 72!

  “What are you doing out there?”

  He spun around to see Krissi sitting up in the passenger’s seat. Her eyes were puffy from sleep, but other than that she looked perfectly fine.

  “What … ?” He swallowed. “Are you okay?” She gave a long stretch. “Yeah.”

  He looked back into the sky. It was blue and gorgeous and clear. Not a flying saucer in sight.

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” she asked. “What time is it?” Before he could check his watch, she squinted at the dash clock.

  “Six twenty-five! My folks are going to kill me. Hurry up, we have to get home.”

  Philip nodded numbly and crossed to his side of the Jeep. As he climbed inside, Krissi scolded him again. “You should have woke me.”

  He reached for the ignition. “I, uh, I didn’t know you were asleep.”

  “Yeah, right,” she scoffed. She pulled down the vanity mirror to check her hair and makeup. “I must have really zonked out.” Philip fired up the Jeep. It started on the first try. “What, uh, what was the last thing you remember? Last night, I mean.” She scowled, trying to think. “I was getting out to look for that stupid cow.”

  Philip took a deep breath to steady himself. “You don’t remember seeing those lights? You don’t remember getting sucked into the air?”

  Krissi gave him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He could find no answer.

  “I remember getting out of the car and you telling me I couldn’t possibly have seen a cow. You said the nearest ranch was twenty miles away and that — hey, wait a minute.” Philip turned to her.

  Krissi was looking into the vanity mirror. “Did you brush my hair?”

  “Did I what?”

  “My hair, when I was asleep, did you, like, try to brush it or something?”

  “Why would I — ”

  “I never part it on the left.”

  “What?”

  “My hair. That’s my worst side. I never part it on the left.” Philip stared. She was right. In all the years he had known her, he had never seen her hair parted on the left. He’d seen it up, he’d seen it back, he’d seen it cropped … but he had never seen it parted on the left.

  Krissi turned back to him, puzzled, her voice sounding more and more uneasy. “Philip, what’s going on?”

  **********

  “Just talk to her, that’s all I’m asking.”

  “Philip,” Becka sighed, “she doesn’t want to talk to me. She doesn’t even want to see me.”

  “I know … but if I can arrange something, if I can get the two of you together?”

  Philip stayed glued to her side as Becka arrived at her locker and opened it. The last thing in the world she wanted was another encounter with Krissi. The screaming bout in the hall last week had been enough. The girl was always so dramatic. Normally that didn’t bother Becka, but the fact that Krissi’s dramatics had been directed at her and that they’d been loud enough for everyone to hear did bother her. A lot.

  “Please, just a word,” Philip persisted.

  “She thinks I’m the enemy,” Becka answered. “You know that. She says I’m holding you guys back from evolving to your next spiritual level, whatever that means.” Becka dumped her books into her locker and grabbed her lunch.

  “I think it means we’re in way over our heads.” Becka turned to him. “Something happened?”

  Philip nodded and looked away. “Last night.” Becka waited, remembering her dreams, remembering her prayers.

  “We were supposed to
have a meeting with that alien thing, that Xandrak guy.”

  Becka closed her locker slowly. Philip, the intellectual — Philip, the always confident, always perfect Ken to Krissi’s perfect Barbie — was looking very pale. And scared.

  “Are you okay?”

  He tried to smile, but with little success.

  “What happened?”

  He cleared his throat and glanced at the floor. But before he could answer, another voice called out.

  “Philip?”

  They turned to see Krissi standing there, her hands on her hips.

  “Hey, Krissi. I, uh, I was just talking to Becka.” She took a step closer. The two girls nodded to each other.

  Becka could already feel the hall temperature drop several degrees.

  Philip continued, trying just a little too hard. “I was telling her about what happened last night, at least what I thought happened, and, uh, she wanted to go out and visit the place. You know, see for herself.”

  Becka threw him a look, but his eyes did not meet hers.

  Krissi turned from one to the other. Finally she shrugged. “I suppose.” Then, zeroing in on Becka, she continued, “I mean if it’s going to help convince you that it’s really happening.” Becka opened her mouth. She was about to explain that she had no doubts something was happening, but Philip stepped in.

  “That’s right, I think it would really help convince her that it’s for real.”

  “Oh, it’s real,” Krissi repeated. “I called up the Ascension Lady, and she said it was a classic case of alien abduction.”

  “Of what?” Becka asked.

  “You wouldn’t understand. But the Ascension Lady does, and she’s going to explain it all to us tomorrow.” The Ascension Lady was the woman who owned the New Age Bookshop in town and who dabbled in the occult. At one point, up at the Hawthorne mansion, Becka had actually helped her, saving her from a ruthless demonic attack. But it hadn’t taken long for the woman to return to her old ways. When Becka found out she’d gone back to the occult, she’d felt a type of defeat — with plenty of pain and regret.

  She suspected that was why Krissi was bringing up the Ascension Lady’s name — to rub a little more salt in the wound.

  “Good.” Philip jumped in a little too quickly. “Then we’ll meet after school, okay?”