Nightmare City Page 6

  No bars on the phone. No reception.

  He quickly stuffed the phone back in his pocket. He went to the computer on the desk. His fingers were so unsteady, he had to try three times before he could call up his browser. Maybe he could raise a friend, or contact the police by FaceTime or Skype or even e-mail. Something. Anything. He had to reach anyone he could.

  He waited for the browser page to load. What was taking so long? A monster in the hallway let out another soul-withering shriek and crashed into the door so hard Tom thought the wood would splinter and the door would fly off its hinges.

  “Come on! Please!” he whispered at the computer.

  But the only answer was the words that now appeared on the laptop’s screen: Connection timed out. He didn’t even bother to try again. He knew the Internet was down.

  He was trapped—trapped in here. Trapped in his room. With the creatures gathered out in the hall, trying to break in. With more of them on the ground outside, circling beneath his window in the mist.

  There was no escape.

  The monsters in the hallway roared and pounded on the door. What could he do? What could he do?

  Remember the Warrior . . .

  The Warrior!

  All at once, Tom did remember—and the memory was like a little flame inside him. The Warrior. Of course.

  He stepped to his closet. He reached into the dark at the back. He touched the cool metal of his aluminum baseball bat. He didn’t play much anymore, but he’d never let his mom give the bat away. He brought it out. Read the label. A Louisville Slugger Warrior. Burt had given it to him for his birthday one year—Tom couldn’t remember which year, which birthday it was. It was a good one, though. Burt had taken him out to the park the next day. He had pitched to him and given him tips on how to swing, how to play the game.

  Was this what Burt was trying to get him to remember?

  Well, he had it now. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but somehow just the feel of it in his hand gave him courage. The creatures might break down the door, but the doorway was narrow. They could only come through one at a time, two at most. Maybe he could use the bat to fight them off, keep them at bay—for a while, anyway—who knew how long he could hold them? Even if they broke through eventually—even if they killed him—he’d at least have the satisfaction of de-braining some of them on his way out. A little payback for all this terror.

  He returned with the bat to the bedroom door, posted himself in front of the dresser barricade. He gripped the handle of the bat in one hand—the bloody hand the monster had grabbed. He cradled the barrel in the other. He tried to ready himself.

  The door continued to jump in its frame. The beasts continued to make those awful noises out in the hall. Tom’s heart beat so hard, so loudly, the pulse of it filled his head. He waited. He waited for the door to give way, waited for the beasts to start coming through, waited, as the seconds ticked off one by one, for the final battle to begin.

  Then, with shocking suddenness, the noises stopped. All of them. The pounding. The snarling and growling and shrieking in the hall. The rattle of the shivering dresser. All the noises stopped altogether. Only the thudding of Tom’s heart continued, filling his mind as he went on staring at the door, as he went on gripping the bat in his sweating hands.

  Come on, he thought. I’m ready for you!

  But there was only silence. Silence and suspense—suspense worse than the terror.

  Then—so surprising—so frightening it went through Tom’s body like an electric shock—a man spoke from behind him, from right inside the room.

  “Tom,” he said quietly.

  10.

  Tom spun around so fast he nearly lost his balance. The voice seemed to have been coming from his desk. But there was no one there.

  Yet as Tom stared at the empty desk chair, the man spoke again: “Listen to me, Tom.”

  The voice was coming from the computer. The monitor had gone dark now. But Tom saw something flicker in that darkness. A faint, failing light. A suggestion of static. And a figure—yes—a silhouette, barely visible.

  “Everything will be all right,” the figure said. “If you just do what I tell you to do.”

  The man had a deep voice—deep and mellow. Even in that shocking moment, it had a warm, calm tone that Tom found somehow reassuring.

  “The creatures are gone now,” said the figure quietly. “You’re safe—for the moment, anyway.”

  “Who are you?” Tom said—he could barely muster a whisper.

  “I’m your friend,” said the dim silhouette. It could hear him! It could answer him. “I’m here to help you through this situation.”

  Tom took one quick glance at the door. It was still quiet out there. No more pounding. No more scratching or screaming. He turned back to face the computer. He dared to take a step toward it.

  “What do you mean?” he said. “How can you help me? What can you do?”

  The monitor flickered. For a moment, the man’s silhouette was almost distinct. Tom thought he saw the faint glow of the man’s eyes, watching him. The eyes made him feel cold. Goose bumps rose on his arms.

  “You already see what I can do,” the man responded quietly. “The hall is empty, isn’t it? Go out there. Look out the window. The malevolents are gone.”

  “Malevolents?”

  “Yes, it means—”

  “I know what malevolent means,” said Tom. “Evil.”

  “Evil. Yes,” said the man calmly. “And they’re gone, aren’t they?”

  Tom returned to the window, looked out. The fog was still thick out there, but the things he had seen moving in the depths of the whiteness were no longer visible. He nodded uncertainly, moving back to his post at the door. “Yeah. I guess. They seem to be gone. I don’t see them at least, or hear them.”

  “They’re gone. Believe me. I’ve sent them away.”

  “You did,” said Tom. “You can do that? You can control them?”

  “I can. For a time.”

  A rumble of thunder sounded outside. Tom glanced at the window just as a heavy rain started to fall. The drops pattered hard against the pane, streaking the glass as they rolled down. Tom faced the computer on the desk. There was a flash of lightning. The flash brightened the whole room for a shuddering second—and weirdly, it seemed to light up the depths of the computer screen as well. For that one instant, Tom seemed to see the man on the screen more clearly: a lean, dark, handsome face; high cheekbones; a thin smile; bright eyes, full of sharp intelligence. There was nothing particularly wrong-looking about him. Yet another chill went through Tom at the sight of him. The feeling was quickly gone and Tom pretended to himself he’d never felt it. The thing was: he needed help—badly—and the man in the computer was the only help on hand. He couldn’t afford to distrust him.

  “Who are you?” Tom said.

  “I told you: I’m your friend. My name doesn’t matter.”

  “Well, how can you control those things? The malevolents? How did you make them go away?”

  “It doesn’t matter how.”

  “It matters to me. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Yes, you hate that, don’t you? When things don’t make sense. You always want to figure them out. But you know, just because you don’t understand something doesn’t mean it can’t be understood.”

  Tom had to acknowledge the truth of that. He didn’t really understand calculus either, but he assumed it made sense to somebody.

  “Do you know why they’re here? These malevolents,” he asked now. “Do you know how they got here?”

  “I know,” said the man quietly.

  “Well, tell me!” Tom nearly cried out. “What’s going on? Please!”

  The man gave a low hum of sympathy. He said, “Yes. You want answers. That’s your nature. You don’t like lies. You don’t like secrets. You never met a mystery you didn’t want to solve.”

  “So help me, then,” said Tom.

  “I’m trying, Tom. But some mysteries are
very deep. Why is there evil at all, for instance? Why did Burt have to die? What’s happening to you now? If you want the solutions to puzzles like those, you have to go the extra mile.”

  Tom shook his head, trying to work through his confusion. “What’s it got to do with Burt? And what extra mile? What do you mean? What do I have to do to find out what’s happening?”

  “You have to do what Marie told you to do,” said the man in his gentle, almost hypnotizing tone. “You have to go to the monastery. The answers are there.”

  “The monastery . . .” Tom gripped the baseball bat harder in his frustration. “Look, if you know so much, how about you just tell me the answers?”

  “Because that’s not the way it works,” said the man gently. “You have to find the answers yourself. You have to face them yourself. The truth is not always easy, Tom. Sometimes it’s even horrific. It’s not enough to be told. You have to grasp it with your whole mind. You have to accept it with your whole heart. No one can do that for you.”

  Tom gave another hesitant nod. He had to acknowledge this, too. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

  “It is true. You know it is.”

  Lightning flickered at the window again and Tom turned to watch it. He kept watching until the lightning was gone and the low growl of thunder followed. He didn’t admit it to himself, but the truth was he didn’t want to see the computer screen light up again. He didn’t want to see the man’s face again so clearly. Something about the dude creeped him out.

  The lightning faded. Tom looked at the computer. It was dark. Silent.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

  The man’s voice answered from the speaker, reassuringly calm and mellow. “Go to the monastery. The path is clear for now, but you have to hurry. I can’t keep the beasts away forever.”

  Tom tried one more time to get something out of this guy. “At least tell me what I’m looking for. Tell me where my mom is. Is she all right?”

  “The monastery, Tom,” said the man quietly. “All the answers are at the monastery.”

  Tom cast a wary glance at the door. “And if I go out, I’ll be safe? The monsters are gone? I can get where I’m going?”

  “The monsters are gone. Everything will be fine,” said the man. “It’s perfectly safe for you now.”

  Tom kept eyeing the door. He turned his body to face it, still holding the Louisville Slugger in his two hands.

  “Go on,” said the man. “Go back to the monastery.”

  Tom glanced at him. “What do you mean, ‘back’?”

  “Just go,” the man insisted. “Time is running out. You’ll see. It will be all right.”

  The thunder rolled outside again. Tom let the head of the bat slip from his fingers. He lowered the barrel to the floor, still holding on to the handle. He felt deep misgivings about this—and about the man. Who was he? Why wouldn’t he tell him his name? Why did the sight of him make Tom feel afraid? And yet, what choice did he have but to trust him, to do what he said? He couldn’t fight the creatures off forever. Maybe the answers really were at the monastery. Marie said so. Why would she lie?

  “That’s right,” said the man on the computer soothingly, as if he were reading Tom’s thoughts, answering his silent questions. “That’s right. You want this to be over, don’t you? You want the answers. I know you do.”

  He so did! He wanted to solve this puzzle and end this nightmare. He wanted that as much as he’d ever wanted anything in his life. This was like being trapped inside a horror movie. He needed to get out.

  He made up his mind. He leaned the Warrior against the wall. He took hold of the dresser. With a grunt of effort, he shoved it back across the floor, removing the blockade from the doorway.

  “That’s right. Just have courage,” said the man in the computer. “Isn’t that what your brother would’ve told you? Have courage.”

  Tom thought he heard a faint tone of mockery in the man’s voice, but he told himself he must be mistaken. He picked up the bat again. He reached out slowly. He unlocked the door. He opened it.

  The hall was in shadow. There was a faint mist trailing across the doorway. But there were no monsters—not as far as he could see, at any rate.

  Slowly, cautiously, he stepped over the threshold, leaving the bedroom behind him. He stepped out into the hall and stood in the darkness.

  Just then there was another lightning flash. The silver-white light shot through the hall—and Tom saw the creatures. The malevolents were waiting for him, a crowd of them in the darkness to his right and his left. Drool was dripping from their eager mouths. Their eyes were bright with hunger.

  The man had lied to him—but then Tom had already known that, hadn’t he? Deep down, he had known the man was lying all along. He had been so desperate to believe him he had pushed down the knowledge, but it was always there. Now he saw the truth—but it was too late.

  The thunder crashed and the beasts rushed at him, swarmed over him, their claws tearing at him, their teeth ripping into his flesh.

  The last thing Tom heard in his agony was the voice of the man on the computer. The man was laughing.

  PART II

  THE HAUNTED SCHOOL

  11.

  Tom cried out in pain and terror—and he opened his eyes.

  Immediately, relief flooded through him. The nightmare was over. The monsters were gone.

  He was in heaven again, just as before.

  Just as before, he was standing on the brink of the vast and peaceful parkland with its stunningly green grass and its blindingly white Greek temples. The sky was a cloudless blue again. The light was golden, and the flower beds planted here and there were more colorful than any he had ever seen.

  He looked around him in wonder. What a beautiful place it was! It was as if he had dreamed about it and now he had come here for real. Those monsters in the hallway—the malevolents—they must have killed him. He must be dead now—dead and gone to heaven. That was the only way he could make sense of it.

  Some things were different here this time, he noticed. There weren’t as many people as there had been before. There were only a few now, a few men and women standing here and there. He particularly noticed this one guy again—the lanky young guy with long dirty blond hair. He was exactly where he’d been the last time. He hadn’t moved from his spot in front of one of the temples. His thin, hungry face with its sunken cheeks and darkly ringed eyes was still turning this way and that nervously, as if he were lost and wanted to ask directions but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.

  Whatever, Tom thought. The important thing, after being trapped in that horror movie of a house, was how beautiful this place was, how peaceful. No fog. No bizarre voices. No monsters. Maybe the Lying Man in the computer wasn’t such a bad guy after all. Maybe the lie he had told to coax Tom out of his room had been well-intentioned. Sure, there had been moments of terror and agony when he’d stepped out into that hall and the malevolents attacked him. But now he was here. In this peaceful place. So maybe the man in the computer was right to lie. Maybe things were going to be okay after all.

  Tom took a hesitant step forward. A wonderful thought had come into his mind. It was the same thought that had come to him last time, just before the phone had rung and brought him back to his bedroom. He thought: If this is heaven, then Burt must be here. He would be able to see Burt. He would be able to talk to Burt again. Burt would know what was going on. Burt would have the answers.

  What would Tom give—what wouldn’t he give—for the chance to hang out with Burt even one more time?

  A smile began to play at the corners of Tom’s lips as he started searching the faces of the people in the garden. But at the same time, he became dimly aware of a noise in the background. What was that?

  Oh no, Tom thought.

  It was his phone! Right on cue. His stupid cell phone was ringing again, playing the guitar riff from the old Merle Haggard song. A sour feeling came into Tom’s stomach and rose
from there up into his throat. If he turned away from the park . . . if he answered that phone . . . would it take him back? To the nightmare? To the pain? To the horror?

  He did not want that to happen. He did not want to go back.

  Well, why should he? All he had to do was take one more step, one more, and he would enter this beautiful and peaceful place forever. No more monsters. No more fog and fear. No more suffering. Why would he ever turn back? Why would he ever want to answer that phone?

  Behind him, the phone kept ringing, singing insistently. Tom gave a fierce shake of his head, determined to ignore it. He would continue forward. He would walk into the beautiful park. He would find his brother. He and Burt would be together again.

  Why was he hesitating?

  A memory. A memory from his childhood had sparked and flared in Tom’s mind, just a flash, there and gone in a single instant. Such a strange, random thing to think about. Why had it come to him? And why did it make him pause?

  He had remembered how three of Burt’s friends came to the house once for a sleepover a long time ago. Tom was just a little boy then, five or six. He was supposed to go upstairs to bed early. But he begged his mom to let him hang out with the big kids. Mom said he could stay up with them for a little while if it was okay with Burt. And Burt said it was okay.

  This was before Tom and Burt had redone the basement. The best TV they had was in the back room then. Tom was thrilled to sit there cross-legged on the rug and watch the movie Tuck Everlasting with the big kids. He didn’t say much. He was afraid Burt’s friends would make fun of him if he did. He just sat and listened to the big-kid talk and watched the show.

  After a while, Burt had gotten up and gone into the kitchen to make some popcorn. While he was gone, one of his friends—Vince Lindstrom, his name was—had started talking to Tom.

  “Hey, did you hear about the guy with the hook?” Vince asked him.

  Tom had not heard about the guy with the hook. Vince began to tell him. He told him that there was a man roaming around Springland who had a big hook where his right hand should have been. Vince said the hook guy crept into kids’ bedrooms at night, hooked them around the neck, and stole them away.