Invisible Terror Collection (26 page)

“They’re going!” Philip cried. “They didn’t see us. Hey!” he shouted. “Hey, we’re down here!” He waved his arms. “We’re down here. Hey! We’re — ”

“They know,” Krissi said quietly. Her voice was so calm he turned to look at her. She stood on the other side of the Jeep.

“They want us to follow.”

“They what?”

“They want us to follow them. They’re staying above the road so we can follow.”

Philip stared at her, then looked back to the moving objects.

Sure enough, they were moving forward, but very slowly and directly over the road that stretched before them.

He climbed back into the Jeep. Krissi slid into the passenger seat. He started to put the vehicle into gear, then turned and asked, “You sure we want to do this?”

Krissi smiled. “What do you think?”

Philip had no choice. He wished he had, but the time to chicken out would have been back at the library or at Krissi’s house or on the highway. Not here, not now. He nodded, dropped the Jeep into gear, and they started forward.

Krissi’s eyes stayed glued to the windshield, focused on the pulsing lights that led them. They never grew brighter, they never grew dimmer. They just continued the same pulse from red to green to yellow and back to red.

As Philip drove he felt a chill start somewhere in his gut and slowly work its way up his back and into his shoulders. It was uncanny, the way the lights stayed in perfect formation, the way they kept the same distance from them, slowing when he had to slow, speeding up when he sped up.

The only sound was the jarring and bouncing of the Jeep as it dipped in and out of the holes and ruts. Neither Philip nor Krissi spoke. They remained as silent as the lights.

The road finally opened onto a large grassy area half the size of a football field. The lights slowly veered from the road and crossed to the far left side of the field, near a stand of pine trees.

There they came to a stop and waited.

Philip hesitated. He was not about to get out of the vehicle and follow the hovering craft. Nor was he crazy about turning off the road and traveling through some unknown field at night.

Who knew what ditches, stumps, or drop-offs lay ahead. Still, what other choice did he have? Reluctantly, he eased the Jeep off the road and crept through the field. It took several minutes, but at last he pulled to a stop twenty or so feet from the lights.

“Krissi?”

“Shh …” She was still staring up through the windshield.

Philip looked at her. Was she sensing something? Was she hearing something? He glanced back up to the silent lights.

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 dread, 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.