Experiment in Terror #Book 1 - Page 11

“First of all, I did not knock boots with him, and second of all, his real name is Mario.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Mario was not much better than Whiz.

“Well,” I tried to explain, “if you had actually told me what went on that night instead of ignoring me, maybe I would know that instead of a.s.suming the worst of you.”

“I love how naturally you a.s.sume the worst of me. Whatever, it’s irrelevant.”

“You’re irrelevant,” I countered. Poorly.

“Good one. Anyway, you’re the one who ran off alone. Talk about being irresponsible.”

“And, as you can now see, this is what I ended up doing. Exploring the lighthouse.”

“And scaring the s.h.i.t out of everyone.”

“And myself. There was a lot of stuff that happened later that I can’t even begin to explain.”

“OK, so write about it. Now! Look at these comments.” She started reading from them, “‘Can’t wait to hear what happens next, I’ve got goose b.u.mps’ and ‘This totally got me in the Halloween mood’ and ‘Where’s the rest of it? I want to know what happens, this is scaring the bejesus out of me.’ Hardly anyone has even made a peep of condolence for my swine flu.”

“Apparently they are too scared,” I offered.

Ada nodded slowly. With her eyes were returning to a non-psychotic state, I could see how sick she really was.

“Look, go back to bed. Get some rest. Work told me to stay home today so I’ll start writing the next part, OK?”

She batted her red eyes at me. “Can you go around and visit the blogs of everyone who commented...make a nice comment in their comment section, something like ‘Thanks for the blog support while Ada is sick, please come back tomorrow for the second installment’?”

“That’s like two hundred blogs!”

“It’s what you do! No one said blogging was a cake hop.”

Cake hop? She must have meant cake walk.

She got up and shuffled to the door, turning once more to look at me. “Please?”

I rolled my eyes and nodded reluctantly. What on earth had I gotten myself into?

***

As it turns out, I had gotten myself into plenty. My life turned into a blur of writing, editing, posting, visiting blogs, and answering emails.

So many people were interested in my experience, the majority of whom were emailing me solely to ask whether it was true or if it was a fake post. I had gotten so many of those inquiries that I decided to make an FAQ post on the blog where I could answer those kinds of questions.

What was really interesting, though, was how the story seemed to take on a life of its own.

The videos that I posted on the blog had to be uploaded to YouTube first before I could link them. YouTube was something of an afterthought. Little did I know that my videos, within days, had an average YouTube rating of four stars (which is pretty good), had at least sixty comments, and had thousands of viewer hits.

I have to be honest, that thrilled me to the very core. I was never popular at anything, so to see so much approval and attention paid to something that I did, which featured me (and, well, this Dex person), was an amazing feeling.

Sure, it was weird to find yourself an internet sensation—even if you couldn’t really make out that it was me in the video—but it was still flattering that so many people wanted to know what happened next, that people cared about this little experience I would have kept to myself like I had done so many times before.

In the weirdest way, I was happy that I was actually doing something with my life. Writing the blog posts, reliving the experience, crafting the video until it was on par with any ghost story, and just revving my underused creative juices in general, made me feel like I had a purpose. Sounds stupid and superfluous, I know, but I couldn’t help feeling that way.

Naturally, it was a real downer to have to go into work and face the reality of the rest of my life. I couldn’t stay home and blog forever. Eventually, the interest in my paranormal experiences would wane and the creative fever would subside and I would be back to answering phones for the rest of my life.

Answering phones and barely able to concentrate on doing so. I could only think about the blog all morning. How many people visited in the last hour? How did they find me? What did they think? How many comments were there now?

In the afternoon, my boss came out to see me. Earlier she had remarked that I looked a million times better and was glad that the rest did me some good, even though I noticed she was keeping a hypochondriac’s distance away.

Now, though, there was something else on her mind. She stopped just behind me.

“Hi,” I smiled up at her.

“I’ve got to show you something.” Frida leaned over and opened Firefox on the computer. She clacked away in the URL bar until YouTube came up. My blood ran cold. I didn’t like where this was going.

She entered “haunted lighthouse” in the search bar and up came my videos.

“Is this you?” she asked, pointing at the screen. I felt like I was going to get in trouble if I said yes, even though I didn’t know what exactly for. But my YouTube user name (PerrySlayer) kind of gave it away.

“Yeah,” I eked out slowly.

“You’re kidding me. I saw this video posted in my Facebook feed at lunch, so I clicked it to see what the fuss was about. d.a.m.n if I didn’t know you were a ghost hunter.”

She didn’t seem mad. She was acting different though. I couldn’t read the strange expression on her face.

“Oh, I’m not a ghost hunter.” I laughed uneasily. “My sister is a blogger and she wanted me to write a few posts for her. This is what I came up with.”

“But it’s all true, right?”

“Yeah, absolutely. I mean, I don’t really know what happened but what you see is what I got.”

“Perry, I must say I am impressed.”

Oh. She was impressed. That’s the strange emotion she was trying to express.

I shrugged. “Well, thanks. It was nothing really. Was actually kind of fun to write.”

She leaned against my desk, arms and legs crossed and looked me up and down. “I mean it, Perry. I had no idea you were so web savvy. To capitalize on YouTube like that, get that video on Facebook, get a group started—”

There was a group on Facebook?

“—not to mention all the links back to your sister’s blog. Those are some good marketing strategies.”

“Oh. Well I—”

“Plus the writing. You’ve got a real knack for getting people to want more. Have you taken writing cla.s.ses?”

Was she kidding me? Did she not read over my resume when she hired me?

“Yes, I have. In advertising school.” I raised my voice over the last few words.

She mulled that over. “Oh, yes. Now I remember. You went to Oregon State.”

“That’s what it says on my resume.”

She nodded slowly, not getting it. She straightened up and clapped her hands together.

“I have to tell you, Perry, this certainly helps your situation.”

“Uh, what situation?”

She c.o.c.ked her head at me. She obviously thought she was keeping me up to speed on things around here. She did remember I had been gone for the last few days, right?

“Can you fill me in to use the Pacific boardroom for next Monday at nine a.m.?” she asked, turning her attention to my Outlook calendar.

What situation???

“I would like to have a meeting between you, me and John,” she continued, “so we can plan on our next steps here.”

John Danvers was the CEO of the company. If she wanted a meeting with him and me, this definitely meant I was in a “situation.”

“Sorry if I seem to have missed something here, but what are these next steps about?”

“Your job, sweetie,” she gave me a quick squeeze on the shoulder. “But you don’t have to worry as much anymore. Things should turn around now.”

And with that, she left the reception area.

What the h.e.l.l was that all about? Don’t have to worry as much? Was I worried before? Things should turn around? I was in a situation?

Oh G.o.d, was I going to get fired? Suddenly it all started making sense. Maybe she sent me home on Monday so they could try out a few temps while I was gone and see if any of them were better than me. Maybe Alana wasn’t filling in for me after all. Only one way to find out.

I dialed Alana’s extension.

She picked up with a dry, “Yes?”

“Hi, Alana. Sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to thank you for taking over the phones while I was sick.”

“I didn’t answer your phones,” she spat out, clearly insulted. “They hired a temp for that.”

“Oh,” I replied as nonchalantly as possible.

“Yes, someone who doesn’t suffer from ‘ghost’ disease.” And at that witty remark, she hung up.

Very mature, Alana, I thought. It was safe to say now that everyone in the office knew about my newfound ghost fame.

I just couldn’t believe they hired a temp while I was gone.

Calm down, I told myself. Alana probably refused to do it and claimed she was overloaded with business card orders or something like that. A temp didn’t mean I was going to get fired.

Unless the temp did such a good job that they realized what fools they were to keep a slacker like me on the payroll and were planning all week to let me go.

Until today, of course, when my boss finally realized that I may actually be better suited to roles in the company other than answering phones and setting up meetings.

It was funny how I suddenly cared about keeping my job. I dreamed about this opportunity for such a long time, to be free of this horrid place and nine-to-five utter boredom. But even on welfare, which wouldn’t be much, I knew I would have to get another job. And dealing with finding another job was beyond me. So as much as I hated it, I needed this job.

There was that glimmer of hope on Monday, though. I started fantasizing. I know I said I didn’t want to stay in advertising, but it would be better than nothing. And who knows, I might actually be able to do something really cool with myself. Plus, my paycheck would be bigger and I would finally feel proud to answer the question “what do you do for a living?” without having to justify being a receptionist.

Still, the uncertainty was nerve-wracking, and I was in a bit of a downer mood when I arrived home after work. The reality was coming in cold and hard. I tried to keep an optimistic outlook but the jaded part of me kept telling me to expect the worst.

I walked into the house and heard my mom call me from the living room. I came in and saw her lying on the floor doing Pilates to a DVD. My mother was forever after the best at-home DVD workouts.

“Some man called for you,” she said without looking up. I absently watched her leg rise up and down in time with the instructor.

“OK...” That was a bit strange. I couldn’t remember the last time a man called for me, especially at the house.

“I gave him your cell number though. I thought he might have called you.”

I fished my phone out. No missed calls.