Lurker

14

Mandy didn’t sleep well. How could she? As she lay in bed, her mind was filled with rambling voices and frightening lines of text.

What if I want 2 hurt u?…When I slice open your belly and stick my hands inside, I’m sure you’ll feel very warm. Nicki didn’t think so either, but I think it’s hilarious. Hahaha…CUL8R.

She pictured the Witchman, threats spilling from his thin lips like a black cloud. His cackling laugh cut through her mind. Kyle appeared, looking older and cruel, saluting her with a palm stretched over wild animal eyes. Every car that rolled down the street, every rustle of bush and whisper of wind outside was Kyle coming for her. A board creaked in the hallway, and Mandy’s heart leaped into her throat before she heard her mother’s voice, speaking quietly to her father. When sleep came, she dreamed of the terrible wooded place where the Witchman stalked her and kids sat at misty computers, typing, always typing. Then he was in her room. He crouched like a gargoyle on the end of her bed, his black coat pooling over her comforter like a bloodstain. Motionless, he hunched on the covers with his beaklike nose and his pointed chin. His eyes were as narrow as slits.

Mandy thought she woke up then, but the monitor of her computer glowed like a ghostly window. It must be part of the dream. It had to be. Mandy squeezed her eyes closed in terror. When she opened them again, the screen was dark.

She was awake when the dawn came. Grim light filtered through her bedroom window, which suddenly reminded her of a giant computer screen. Groggy, she rolled over and stared at the nightstand, the clunky phone atop it.

CUL8R

Mandy began to cry. The tears came out of nowhere, scaring her with their intensity. She felt totally cut off and alone. She covered her face and let the tears come, let the stinging tears burn her eyes and cheeks. This wasn’t real. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

“I didn’t do anything,” she whimpered into her palms. Then something Laurel said pounded loudly in her head.

Now, you think someone is playing you, and you figure it’s got to be someone that has a reason to be playin’. I’m just sayin’ that some folks don’t need a reason. Some folks get their giggle on just knowin’ you’re scared, whether they know you or not.

Life couldn’t be that random, Mandy thought. It just couldn’t. If it were, then she would never be safe, not truly safe. And again, Laurel’s words were there to knock away her protest with a harsh philosophy, one directed at Drew during Nicki’s candlelight vigil.

Psychos aren’t interested in morality plays. They hunt and they slice and it’s usually the innocent that take the blade…. And if you think being all innocent and sweet is gonna protect you from anything, then take a good look around, because the next one of these is yours.

“No, it’s not,” Mandy said, sniffling loudly. She took her hands from her eyes, wiped the tears away. She wasn’t going to be just another victim, another yearbook photo for the nightly news anchor to pretend to care about. Determined to protect herself, Mandy scrubbed the remainder of her tears away and sat up in the bed.

Across the room, her monitor glowed. Suddenly, icons began to pop up on her wallpaper.

“Oh God,” she whispered before running from the room.

Mandy sat with a cup of coffee, her back to the only wall in the kitchen that didn’t have windows. When she heard her parents walking down the stairs, she lifted the knife from the table and returned it to the holder on the counter. She thought of the gun Laurel had offered, wishing she’d said yes, but knew the knife would have to do for now. She’d sneak it upstairs later once her parents were busy. Her parents greeted her with sleepy “mornings” and poured themselves coffee. They didn’t look as angry. In fact, their expressions were soft and understanding. They took turns kissing her on the cheek.

“Sleep okay?” her father asked.

“Yes,” she lied.

“You look like you were up all night,” her mother said.

“Thanks a lot.”

“I’m allowed to be worried. Did you really sleep?”

“I’m fine, mom.”

At ten-thirty, Officer Romero called. She didn’t have good news.

“The file you sent me crashed my system,” she said. “Our support people are going through it now, but they think there was a virus attached to the picture. It might have infected your e-mail, which is how this guy was able to access your files.”

“What about the username and e-mail address?” Mandy asked.

“Nothing yet, but it’s the weekend. Nobody moves very fast. I’m sure we’ll have something soon. How are you holding up?”

Mandy looked around the kitchen to make sure her parents weren’t near and said, “I’m scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” Officer Romero told her. “But the more I think about this, the more I believe we just have a geek with a sick sense of humor.”

“I hope you’re right,” Mandy said.

“We’ll keep a car in your neighborhood. You hang in there.”

“Thank you. I will.”

Mandy hung up the phone. She stared at it, expecting it to ring, expecting Kyle to be on the other end taunting her. When that didn’t happen, she pulled the big kitchen knife from the holder, held it close to her side, so she could hide it if her parents surprised her in the hall, then went up to her room.

She stepped inside, her eyes immediately drawn to the monitor. The swirls and lines of her screen saver played over the screen. Leaving her door open, Mandy went to the bed and slid the knife under her pillow.

At her computer, she killed the screen saver and looked at Kyle’s picture file. What do you look like now? she wondered, her hand hovering over the mouse.

He was even older. His hair now completely white and jutting from his head in wisps like the fluff of a cotton ball. The nose was bigger, the wrinkles deeper. A virus, she thought. An advanced program masked as a jpeg.

She wanted to delete the image, just double click it into oblivion, but Mandy knew she couldn’t. Officer Romero might need her to send it again, or else the police might send computer experts to examine her system. It was the only real evidence they had.

In an act of defiance, refusing to completely give in to her fear, Mandy left the image open. It would remind her to be scared, remind her to be careful.

Sitting on her bed, she lifted the handset of the clunky phone and dialed Laurel’s cell number. It went directly to voice mail, and Mandy remembered her friend was at “gun school.” She left a message, insisting Laurel call as soon as she could. Then, she called Drew, but she couldn’t talk because she was at Corey’s with Jacob having pancakes.

“Call me later. It’s important.”

“I will. Swear to God.”

Finally, she called Dale. His father answered the phone, his voice gruff with annoyance. Mandy remembered what Dale said about him being so unhappy and, for a flicker of a moment, she wondered what else the man could want. But then Dale was on the phone.

“You okay?” he asked. He didn’t sound angry or hurt anymore. That was good.

“Didn’t sleep very well,” she admitted.

“Me either. I don’t think I slept at all.”

“Can you come over?” Mandy asked. “I think I’d really like to have you here right now.”

“Is that cool with your parents?”

“Sure. I mean, I think so. They said I could have friends over.”

“Okay,” he said. “But I have to do some things around here first. Dad is having a particularly asslike day. It might be an hour or two. Is that cool?”

“As soon as you can,” Mandy said.

Back at the computer, she saw that the picture had changed again. She’d only been on the phone for less than three minutes, but already, the white tufts of hair were thinner. The eyes narrower. The dark smudge, where a hairbrush had been, was fading. She could almost make out an object, silver and metallic, beneath. She looked away, out the window. When she looked back, the picture had changed again.

“It can’t be,” she said.

She saw it then, the resemblance to another face. Before, he had hid behind youth, but now that façade was crumbling away.

It was a face she’d seen on a news broadcast. The face she’d stared at in horror after Laurel downloaded his image from the Web. The face of the man in her dreams. The Witchman.

“I’ve never heard of anything like this,” Laurel said. “I’ll give it to the freak, he’s got skills.”

“Yeah,” Mandy said nervously, twirling the phone cord around her finger. “Let’s all compliment my personal psycho.”

“Sorry, M.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m just creeped out, but the police are circling the neighborhood. My parents refuse to leave the house, and Dale will be here in a few minutes.”

“What’s he look like now?” Laurel asked.

Mandy looked at the screen, at the picture of the man. Thinner hair. Nose more pronounced than ever. Chin pointed. A slightly younger version of the Witchman she’d seen on the video scowled out at her from beneath a saluting hand. In his other hand where there was once a hairbrush, he held a long, narrow-bladed knife that caught a glimmer of light.

Ten minutes ago, when she was absolutely sure it was the same man, she called Officer Romero, whose computer was still out cold from the invading virus. Less than two minutes later, she saw a police car circling her block. The men didn’t park or come in, which Mandy thought was odd, but Officer Romero assured her that she herself would be at Mandy’s within the hour. By then, the traces on Kyle Nevers would be in.

“Hey,” Laurel said. “You still there?”

“I’m here, just don’t ask me about the picture again.”

“So, how is this going to play? You need some company tonight?”

“Yes,” Mandy said. “But I can’t have it. The police don’t want too many people wandering around the house. They say it makes their job harder.”

“Well, you know I’m there if you need me.”

“I know,” Mandy said. Then, before she knew it, she was saying, “I love you, L. I never tell you that, but you’re a great friend.”

“Love you, too, Girl. Be strong.”

“I will,” she said, and hung up the phone. It felt like she was saying good-bye forever.

Mandy walked through the house, looking at the sleek furniture her mother adored, finally able to see some beauty in the hard smooth surfaces. Despite their cold appearance, they brought light to the rooms, bits of sun dancing off glass tables and the facets of crystal knick-knacks. She found her parents in the kitchen. Both were still drinking coffee. She hugged them tightly.

She was safe here, with her family. The doors were locked. Dale would be there soon. She was so very afraid, but she was also rational (Laurel always said so), and logic told her she was safe. She would go upstairs and lie down until Dale arrived—Where are you?—and they’d all wait together until the police called to say they’d caught the son of a bitch, and they could resume their normal lives.

“Keep your door open,” her father reminded.

“I will.”

And she did. Upstairs, she walked into her bedroom. Still really creeped out, she checked under her bed, looked through her closet to make sure no one broke in while she was in the kitchen. Finding the room empty, she dropped onto her bed, exhausted but still buzzing from fear.

Her eyes were just closing when a tone from her computer announced new mail in her e-mail folder. She didn’t care. It would still be there after her nap.

But you never signed on, a tiny voice reminded.

Mandy’s eyes shot open and she leaped from the bed. Her Internet homepage covered the screen, and an instant message window was open in the corner.

Kylenevers: It’s L8R now.

Panicked, Mandy closed the window and clicked on the pull down menu. She signed off of the Internet service. The pages vanished, leaving nothing but the open picture file in the middle of her monitor.

It had changed again.

She couldn’t tell if the photo of the Witchman was fully realized or not, because he was gone, and so was the room he’d been standing in. Instead, Mandy looked at the image of a brightly lit lawn. Sprinklers soaked the grass in a gemlike cascade. The image shook, and she realized it was no longer a photo at all, but rather a movie playing in the picture box.

Whoever held the camera taking this film had shaky hands. The edges of the scene blurred and trembled in a disquieting tremor. The camera panned up and Mandy saw a white fence and a stretch of sidewalk.

It looked so familiar, but she couldn’t place it.

Then the image progressed, down the walk past the house. She saw rows of nice houses. The houses of her neighbors! Oh no, she thought. A police car slowly pulled into the frame, eased its way down the street. Her street!

Oh God, she thought. He’s coming.

The movie progressed faster and the cameraman stood in her driveway, aiming the camera up at her window.

But the police are out there. They had to see him. This can’t be today. Can’t be now.

The cameraman walked forward and pushed open the front door of her house. The image swept across her living room, back to the stairs, to the den, back to the stairs. Whoever held the camera began to climb toward her room.

“No!” Mandy cried, running to the hall, looking at the stairs.

Only to find them empty.

“Mom. Dad!” she cried, but her throat was so tight with dread, hardly any sound escaped. She ran back through her room to look out the window.

The police car was still retreating down the block. Another car pulled up. A silver Audi. It turned into her driveway.

Thank God, Dale.

He climbed out of his car. Dale looked up at the window, saw Mandy, waved.

“He’s a good kid,” a raspy voice said at her back. “I should drop him a note sometime.”

Mandy spun toward the voice, her heart tripping hard. Her throat clenched with fear.

The Witchman stood by her door, wearing a black coat and a vicious smile. Mandy screamed, and this time the sound was piercing, dreadful. Below, her parents called out for her, and she heard their steps pounding up the staircase. The Witchman slammed her bedroom door, turned the lock.

“Think you might want to kiss me?” he asked.

Mandy remembered the knife under her pillow and dashed to the bed, grabbing the handle and stepping back, brandishing it before her. The Witchman didn’t seem to notice a thunder of fists on the door at his back. Her parents’ concerned voices, calling her name, demanding she let them in.

“Open the door,” Mandy said, jabbing the knife forward, stepping to the end of the bed. “He’s in here,” she screamed.

None of this seemed to affect the Witchman in the least. He stepped away from the door toward the desk.

Now, not even the bed separated them. The only obstacle between him and her was the blade of her knife.

He looked at her computer screen and laughed his terrible staccato laugh before turning his attention back to Mandy. She cast a quick glance at the monitor, saw herself brandishing a long knife.

“Why don’t you stupid brats just delete the file?” he asked. “You leave the gate wide open.”

“You came through the computer? It…it isn’t possible.”

“I’ve been doing the impossible for many, many years, Mandy. People see only what I want them to see. For generations I’ve been called warlock and sorcerer and bogeyman. But the world changes. So, I’ve gone high tech.”

“Get out of here!” Mandy screamed.

“I’m afraid I can’t. The fuel I need is inside you.”

From the other side of the door, she heard Dale call her name. A heavy thud pounded against wood. Both of her parents were screaming with tears in their voices.

Something in Mandy snapped. She could no longer take the smug, evil amusement on the Witchman’s face. She ran forward, drawing the knife down to deliver an upward slice. But he stepped to the side and grabbed her, holding her tight to his body, her arms pinned at her sides.

Up close, his face was even more horrible. Like old leather, cracked and dusty, his skin stretched over bumpy, pointed bones. His eyes were the charcoal gray of a dead computer screen. His grip was like iron.

“Time to go,” he said.

No. Please no.

Suddenly, Mandy felt herself falling, as if the floor had just dropped out from beneath her. The pounding on the door, the screaming of Dale and her mom and her dad, faded and grew thick as if heard from beneath water. Her body began to tingle and then burn as she felt herself coming apart, every cell letting loose of those around it. She tried to scream, but all she heard was static, like the crumpling of a paper bag.

Then Mandy’s room was empty. Against the wall stood her desk. On the desk, her computer monitor glowed. A picture box in the middle of the screen still played a movie, showing a police car parked next to a curb. The doors opened and two burly men in blue uniforms ran forward as if right through the camera, leaving the image of a pleasant neighborhood. A terrified face appeared for a moment and was then pushed aside by a pale, old hand, dotted with liver spots. It appeared again, eyes wide, mouth open and screaming. The girl in the movie was struggling, slapping at the camera, crying for her parents, crying for a boy named Dale.

Dale threw his shoulder against the door and the jamb splintered, snapped and exploded inward. He didn’t see Mandy. He ran to the closet, threw it open, but it was empty. Her parents were already at the window, looking out.

“It’s locked,” her father said.

Dale crouched low and looked under the bed, but saw nothing except long plastic containers, where Mandy kept her sweaters. Standing up, he noticed the open picture window on Mandy’s monitor. Two police officers burst into the room, their guns drawn.

“Where are they?” one shouted.

“I don’t know,” Mandy’s father said, his voice tearful and trembling.

“Where’s my daughter!” Mrs. Collins screamed.

At the computer, Dale leaned down to get a better vantage on the picture window. When he saw the image there, his stomach knotted and he felt like he was going to be sick.

“Oh, Mandy,” he cried.

There is a picture on the screen. It is just a simple picture, harmless in and of itself, but it carries a dreadful power. The image is of the corner of a blond brick building. Next to the building is a field of tall dead grass; beyond that, a stand of trees, dark and impenetrable despite the glow of bright afternoon sun.