Invisible Terror Collection Part 30

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 gla.s.ses, "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 gra.s.s under his feet, he heard the crunch of gravel. His mouth opened in surprise as he saw he was no longer standing in gra.s.s, 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 pa.s.senger'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 cla.s.sic 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?"

"Whatever." Krissi moved away. "Just as long as she doesn't try any of her hocus-pocus junk. Are you coming?"

"Yeah." Philip turned. Continuing to avoid Becka's gaze, he quickly moved to join Krissi as she entered the moving swarm of students heading for the cafeteria. At the last second he turned and called over his shoulder, "Tell Ryan we'll meet him in the parking lot right after school."

Before Becka could respond he turned and continued down the hall. She stood a long moment, silent and thoughtful.

She didn't like what was happening. Not one bit. But if Krissi and Philip needed her special type of help, did she really have any other choice?

The books had cost Scott nearly fifty bucks - a month's worth of lawn mowing and handyman jobs - but they were worth every penny. He'd gone downtown at lunch to pick them up from the local comic-book store. The first was simply a rule book: An Encyclopedia for Crypts and Wizards. But the second book, that was what really held his interest. It was a careful, step-by-step description with charts and diagrams explaining how to create the very best characters for the game.

Scott had started reading it on the way back to school, and thanks to the book's size (small enough to fit behind his geometry text), he continued reading and studying it well into fourth period. Carefully, he went through page after page, jotting down notes on armor, weapons, kill abilities, s.e.xual bent, ruthless-ness, pa.s.sion, using curses, casting spells, speaking with the dead, calling up plagues, divining animal entrails ... and the list went on.

Of course, he knew these weren't characteristics you'd neces-sarily want in real life, but, hey, it was just make-believe. Truth is, it was a rush being someone he could never be, doing things he could never do. In fact, when it came right down to it, fantasizing he was Ttocs had been the high point of the last few weeks.

At the moment he was deeply involved in the "Vengeful Characteristics" - when and how to be vengeful, why it can benefit you during a specific round. It was so fascinating that he hadn't even heard Mr. Patton call on him.

"Mr. Williams?" the stocky, bald man repeated. "Mr.

Williams?!"