Invisible Terror Collection Part 6

Z.

Becka's mouth dropped open. Quickly she reached for the keyboard and typed: Z? How do you know these things, Z?

But there was no answer. Only the last set of words: Be very careful. There is far more danger than meets the eye.

12:11 a.m. FRIDAY Scott hadn't bothered to tell Rebecca about the little breaking-and-entering routine he and Darryl had cooked up for that night. He figured she had enough on her mind. Come to think of it, so did he. But a promise was a promise. And revenge was sweet no matter what time of day ... or night.

"Give me a boost," Darryl's screechy voice whispered.

Scott laced his fingers together and held open his palms.

Darryl stepped into them, and Scott hoisted him up to the tiny bathroom window at the back of the Ascension Bookshop.

Darryl had gone into the bookstore a few hours earlier, when it was still open, snuck into the bathroom, and unlocked the window. "I saw this on an old MacGyver episode," he squeaked, "or was it Matlock? Come to think of it, maybe it wasn't either.

Maybe it was - "

"Just push open the window and get inside," Scott whispered.

"I can't reach it. Let me stand on your shoulders." Before Scott could protest, Darryl scrambled out of Scott's hands, up his chest, and onto his shoulders - leaving plenty of greasy tread marks along the way.

"Oh, man," Scott whined as he looked down at his T-shirt.

"I still can't reach it. Let me stand on your head."

"Do what?!"

"I'm too short to reach the window. Let me stand on your head." Again Darryl's little feet scrambled, and again Scott wound up with tread marks - this time across both ears and his forehead.

Suddenly a voice demanded, "Whad - whad're you doin' down here?"

The boys froze. Because of Darryl's weight on his head, Scott couldn't turn, but he shifted his eyes as far to the right as they would go. It was Mr. Leery, the town drunk, staggering home after another long night of tipping brews. Mr. Leery continued his stumbling approach until he was staring directly up at Darryl, who was towering a good five feet above him.

"S'not right, you boyz bein' here."

Scott's mind raced. Mr. Leery was right, of course. Standing in a back alley and breaking into a bookstore at midnight was not exactly the role of a model citizen. So what was this old man going to do? Blow the whistle on them? Call the police? And what was Mom going to think when she came home and had to bail her son out of jail?

"Great," Scott moaned silently, "just great." Mr. Leery wagged his head from side to side. "S'not at all right.

You - you shudn't be here," he repeated as he continued staring up at the giant before him. "The Lakerz are playin' tonight - you should be with the res' of yer team, gettin' thoze rebounds and makin' them fanzy bazkets ... they need you, boy." Mr. Leery threw a look up to Darryl. The little guy nodded down at the man but said nothing.

Mr. Leery nodded back, pleased that he'd made his point.

"Go - go get sooted up then," he ordered and held out his hand, waiting for a high five.

Darryl reached out and obliged. Of course Mr. Leery didn't quite connect with his hand, but it was close enough. The old-timer turned and staggered away, pleased that he'd done his part to help the L.A. Lakers toward another championship.

Scott stared after him. He knew his mouth was hanging open, but he didn't much care.

As soon as the man staggered out of sight, Darryl burst out laughing.

"Come on," Scott ordered, "you're killing my head." Darryl resumed twisting and turning atop Scott's skull (grinding in any grease he hadn't already wiped off on Scott's face and T-shirt) until he finally pushed open the bathroom window and squirmed inside.

"How long will it take?" Scott whispered up to the window.

"Just long enough to get her computer up and load in the program. Ten minutes max."

Scott breathed a sigh and threw another cautious glance up the alley. He looked down at his stained T-shirt and began rubbing the top of his head. This revenge business sure could be painful. He glanced at his watch. They still had to run over to Hubert's and get him to reprogram the astrological charts. But with any luck, they'd have the Ascension Lady making a major fool of herself by morning.

12:54 a.m.

Earthquake!

The thought exploded in Becka's mind and sent her bolting upright in bed. Having moved to California, she figured she'd eventually experience some rocking and rolling from Mother Nature. She just hadn't planned on experiencing it quite this soon. But here it was.

Or was it?

Her room was lit by only an outside streetlamp that shone through the window, but even then she could tell that nothing else in the room was moving. Not her bookshelves, not the lamp on her nightstand, not even the water in the fishbowl on her dresser. Only her bed.

She laid her hand on the mattress. It wasn't her imagination - the bed really was vibrating. Not a lot, but enough.

Next she noticed the cold. Saw it, really. White puffs of breath coming from her mouth ... exactly as they had in the mansion.

She threw a look to the window. It was closed. Even if it had been open, it was spring outside. And spring in this part of the coun-try did not mean this type of cold.

The shaking increased. Soon the headboard started banging against the wall. But there was another sound too. A buzzing - faint at first, then it grew louder and louder with the shaking. Becka pulled the blankets up around her. Part of her wanted to leap out of the bed and run for her life. And part of her was too frightened to move. For the moment, the "too frightened" part was winning.

She shivered. But it wasn't from the cold or even from the fear. It was something else. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something even icier, even more frightening, in the room. Something she'd felt before ...

Her heart pounded. It was the same cold dampness that had brushed against her in the hallway of the mansion. And now it was touching her face.

The shaking of the bed turned to violent lungings. The buzzing sounded like a thousand flies circling her head, like a chain saw roaring. She opened her mouth to yell to her brother in the next room, but no sound came. The cold dampness had wrapped itself around her throat and was quickly tightening its grip. She tried breathing, but her air was being shut off. It was strangling her, suffocating her.

It was trying to kill her.

She reached to her neck, clawing at it, trying to peel whatever it was away. But there was nothing to grab. Just icy dampness.

Her lungs pleaded for air. She twisted and struggled, trying to draw in the slightest breath. No air would come.

The bed was bouncing out of control, its headboard crashing into the wall with every leap. Becka's lungs burned, screaming for air. The outside edges of her vision started to grow white. She was going to pa.s.s out; she knew the signs. She had to do something, and it had to be fast. Mustering all of her strength into one final act of defiance, she lunged forward and - Becka bolted awake in bed.

It had been a dream! She sat on her bed, gasping for breath, filling her lungs with precious oxygen and her mind with blessed reality. Strange. Everything had seemed so true, so real. It was definitely not your average nightmare. But she was awake now.

She was safe.

Yet, even as she sat there, catching her breath, forcing herself to relax, she noticed something that sent another chill through her body. Small white puffs of breath were coming from her mouth. The same chill she had felt in her dream was there, in her room. The same cold dampness. And this time it was for real. She looked at her window and sucked in her breath. A thick layer of frost had formed ... on the inside.

"Scott!" she called. "Scotty!" There was no response.

She threw off the covers. She was getting out of there. She was not falling victim to this thing a second time.

Her feet barely touched the f loor before she stopped.

The skin on her arm p.r.i.c.kled as something icy touched it. The sensation traveled up her arm and across her body, making her give an involuntary shudder. Then it was gone. Almost. Whatever it was, it was still in the room.

She'd had enough. This was her bedroom - she wasn't about to be driven out of her own room. She cleared her throat and demanded, "What ... who are you?" There was no answer, but she would not be put off that easily. "I said, who are you?" Still no answer.

Then, remembering all that she and Scotty had learned about spiritual warfare, Becka tried again. "In the name of Jesus Christ, I order you to reveal yourself."

Becka watched and waited in speechless antic.i.p.ation. Soon the air began to ripple. In the middle of the room an image wavered and slowly formed. At first it appeared to be a darker version of the darkness that already filled the room. A shadow within a shadow. But gradually it took shape. Features slowly formed. Becka gasped. Although it was still transparent, there was no mistaking who it was. Little Juanita.

Becka tried to swallow, but her mouth was as dry as cotton.

"What ... what do you want?" she demanded.

The girl turned to her, c.o.c.king her head as if she didn't quite understand.

"What do you want?"

The image shimmered and grew more solid. Now it was possible to clearly see the girl's face. She was puzzled, confused, and very, very frightened. Remembering the writing on the window, Becka tried again, this time in Spanish, " Quien es? Que quieres?"

Before the girl could answer, another image suddenly rippled in the air and formed to her left. It seemed to be a handsome woman with long, beautiful hair. She wore an expensive black nightgown. Becka had only seen her once but recognized her immediately. It was Priscilla, the Ascension Lady.

Priscilla looked to Becka with her tired, sad eyes and smiled.

Then, turning her attention toward the girl, she knelt down and reached out her arms. It was an offer of help, of comfort. At first the girl resisted, afraid to come near. But the Ascension Lady waited patiently, making it clear that she was there to help.

At last Juanita took a tentative step toward her. The Ascension Lady smiled broadly. Encouraged, the girl stepped closer. Then closer again. The Ascension Lady continued to smile, waiting.

Another step, and then another. Now the little girl was standing directly in front of the woman. Becka watched as, with great tenderness, the Ascension Lady reached out and wrapped her arms around the helpless child.

There was no missing the gentle affection. The woman looked over to Becka and smiled.

But the smile suddenly froze. Her expression turned from joy to surprise ... and then to horror. There was a tearing sound, as if something was ripped. The woman screamed, her voice shrill and agonizing as she grabbed her stomach and fell back from the girl.

The little girl turned to Becka, confused, afraid, and looking very helpless. But in her hands were shredded pieces of the woman's nightgown.

The Ascension Lady was writhing on the floor, screaming, holding her stomach in agony. Juanita looked down at her with deep pity ... and confusion. Then, without warning, she leaped on the woman and began beating her with powerful blows and clawing at her with suddenly razor-sharp fingernails. The woman screamed and tried to protect herself, but she was no match for the child's superhuman strength and animal-like claws.

Somehow, for a brief second, the Ascension Lady managed to pull herself free from the girl. That's when her eyes found Becka's.

They were full of anguished pleading. "Help me," she gasped, reaching for Becka. "Help - " Before she could finish, the girl leaped on her again, and again she tore into the woman.

Becka managed to shake herself from her horror. "Stop it!" she screamed. "You're hurting her!"

The girl did not hear.

"I order you to stop!"

Instead, Juanita reached out and, to Becka's astonishment, picked up the woman, lifting her as easily as though she were a stuffed doll. She raised the Ascension Lady effortlessly over her head, then flung her across the room. Priscilla hit the back wall hard and slid to the floor in a daze. The girl looked puzzled over what she had done, as though confused at her own powers.

Becka took a step closer and shouted. "You're hurting her! I command you to stop!"

Juanita paid no attention. She began searching the room, looking for something. Then she found it. The lamp on Becka's nightstand. In a flash she leaped to it. She grabbed it, ripped off its shade, and bounded back to the Ascension Lady.

For a moment she stood over the groaning woman, looking down at her with pity and compa.s.sion. Then slowly, sadly, she raised the lamp high over her head.

Becka understood what was coming. Whether the child knew what she was doing or not, she had to be stopped. Becka was certain that if she didn't do something, the girl would smash the lamp into the semiconscious woman. She stepped closer and angrily shouted, "Stop it! I command you to stop it and leave my room!"

The little girl turned to her. This time her confusion was mixed with hurt. But hurt feelings or not, she had to be stopped.

"In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth ..." Becka faltered. The little girl had started to cry. Becka watched a moment, unsure what to do. Tears streamed down the sad little face, but Becka forced herself to continue. "In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, I command you to go. Leave!"

The child was sobbing now. Helplessly. Uncontrollably.

Becka bit her lip. What was going on? Was she doing the right thing?

With the lamp still poised over the Ascension Lady, Juanita looked at Becka. Her face was stained with tears; her bottom lip trembled with emotion. Her eyes seemed to plead with Becka, as though she hoped she would give her permission to finish the job.

Becka shook her head. "No. I command you to leave! Leave my room, now!"

Juanita's expression dropped even lower. She turned as if to leave, then suddenly raised the lamp and brought it crashing down on the woman's chest.

"Nooo!" Becka screamed. "I command you to leave! Leave my room! Now - !"

Rebecca shot up in bed, wide awake. Another dream! A dream within a dream.

She quickly reached for the lamp on her nightstand. It was time to flood the room with light, with reality.

But the lamp was not there.

She threw off the covers and raced to the wall switch by the door. She snapped it on and squinted as the overhead light glared into the room, replacing the darkness with bright, cleans-ing light. The brightness hurt her eyes, but it was a small price to pay.

Until the light revealed something across the room, near the corner. It was hard to make it out at first, since it had been broken and the shade ripped off. But after a second, Becka realized she was staring at the shattered lamp from her nightstand.

Chapter 6.