Fear: 13 Stories of Suspense and Horror (24 page)

“Antimatter?” Ray leaned forward. His dad had DVD box sets for every season of
Star Trek
and
The Next Generation
; the entire family had been hooked since Ray was a kid. “You're not serious.”

His dad nodded. “That's why I've spent so much time at CERN.”

Thanks to Google, Ray had seen countless pictures of CERN, so although he'd never been there, he visualized the underground complex as soon as his dad said the name. The home of the world's largest particle accelerator, built at the border of Switzerland and France. A racetrack ten miles in diameter, powered by electromagnets, where physicists sent subatomic particles racing close to the speed of light, smashing them together to see what might happen. CERN was a demolition derby for atoms.

“We discovered a simple way to create antimatter.” Phil Gunstein frowned. “But some people aren't happy about it.”

“Like?”

“Some of the energy companies still heavily vested in oil, or those who want to control the discovery for themselves. And a few skeptics who think we might accidentally create a black hole that would eat the planet.” He said “black hole” nonchalantly, as if discussing the weather, but the idea grabbed Ray's imagination in a choke hold.

“Will you?” Ray visualized a black ball with red eyes and sharp teeth gnawing its way through the planet like a worm through an apple.

“Not a chance.” Phil Gunstein looked suddenly impatient, like he'd been forced to defend his theories for too long. “That's just a dumb idea started by people who never studied science. Unfortunately most politicians fall into that category. That's why we're holding this press conference, to share our discovery with the world.”

Ray already knew who his dad meant by
we
—the four other physicists on his team, two men and two women, meeting them in Washington later that day.

“See for yourself.” Phil winked, then rummaged around a small suitcase until he found a metal canister. It looked like a stainless-steel thermos. There was a clear band running around the middle of the container, a translucent window into the device. Holding the object tightly at either end, Phil Gunstein twisted his hands in opposing directions and said, “Let there be light
.”

Ray felt the hairs on his arm stand up and suddenly the cabin filled with a brilliant blue-green light. The center of the canister was glowing like a miniature sun.

Ray looked away until his dad twisted the two ends back to their original position. A tickling sensation ran down his spine, then everything returned to normal. Ray tried to blink away the spots in his eyes.

“Cool.” He didn't know what else to say. And he did think his dad's work was cool, even though he sometimes wished his dad would get as excited about his life as he did about his life's work.

“Thought you'd get a kick out of that.” His dad held the thermos like a trophy. “The antimatter in this container could power an electric car for ten years.”

“And it's safe?” Ray trusted his dad implicitly, but the image of a hungry black hole had made an impression.

“Perfectly safe—unless you believe in
string theory
, but most physicists have moved on.” His dad looked almost embarrassed. “The stuff of science fiction, not science fact.”

“Tell me.”

His dad made a dismissive gesture but kept talking. Ray knew once you got Phil Gunstein talking about his work, the real trick was getting him to shut up. “Some people think there are other dimensions, other worlds.” He spread the fingers of his right hand and waved them in front of Ray's eyes. “Places where people like us might be moving around, right here, in the spaces in between things.” He closed his fingers into a fist, one by one. “Harness this kind of energy, then
theoretically
you could open a doorway.”

“And the people
there
could reach over
here
?” Ray shifted in his seat and pocketed the iPhone, neglected on his lap. This was getting interesting.

“Nobody knows.” His dad made a face. “That's one of the problems with string theory. Some think only energy could pass through, but if matter and energy are the same, why not something solid? It would be like moving from two dimensions to three, or from three to four—why not five or six? But even fringe scientists admit no living creature could survive the journey. . . .” His voice trailed off as he shook his head at his own foolishness.

“But what if something could come across?”

“Some
thing
, as opposed to someone?”

“Maybe a weapon.” Ray shrugged. “Or psychic energy. Or a message . . .”

“Maybe aliens?” His dad smiled. “You've been reading too many comic books.”

“They're graphic novels,” said Ray, his turn to sound impatient.

That's when they heard the scream.

It was a high-pitched yell followed by a curse, which preceded a blur that transformed into a girl. A girl in a hurry. She dashed into the corridor as Ray jumped to his feet and almost slammed into her.

“Have you seen my gecko?” The girl didn't miss a beat, just looked frantically past Ray, down at the floor, searching. She was Ray's age, give or take, with reddish hair and eyes that looked brown under the fluorescent lights. She was cute—more than cute, actually. She waved a hand in front of his eyes, then snapped her fingers, and Ray realized he was staring. “A gecko . . .
hello
?”

“Sorry, no.” Ray shrugged apologetically.

“It's a lizard, a little green lizard,” said the girl. “Name's Greeny.”

Ray held out his hand. “Ray.”

“My
gecko's
name is Greeny.” She smiled and took a breath, as if really noticing Ray for the first time.
“My
name is Amanda.” Her eyes radiated warmth as they locked on his face. When she blinked the connection was broken and Ray felt a pang of regret. His last girlfriend was a distant memory.

“Sorry about your lizard.”

“Not your fault.” Amanda looked back toward the neighboring compartment. “I'm traveling with my aunt—Aunt
Edith
—and she . . .” Amanda took a step closer and lowered her voice. “ . . . has a
dog
.” She made it sound like her aunt's dog ownership was a source of great embarrassment.

“I always wanted a dog,” said Ray, loud enough for his dad to hear, though it wouldn't be the first time he'd heard it.

“This isn't a real dog,” said Amanda dismissively. “It's alive, of course, but it's a
lap
dog. One of those yappy little things. Do you know why lapdogs were bred, back in Europe during the late 1600s?”

Ray shook his head.

“To attract fleas.” Amanda nodded. “It's true. People didn't have running water, and they didn't bathe much.” She wrinkled her nose. “So the idea was that if you had a lapdog, the fleas would jump
off
you”—she reached forward and pressed a finger against Ray's chest—“and
onto
your dog.”

“Did it work?”

“Got me.” Amanda shrugged. “But that dog is a menace.”

“How come?”

“Because lizards are afraid of dogs!” Amanda puffed out her cheeks. “Guess I should have thought of that before letting Greeny out of his box.” She scanned the corridor again. “I think he ran toward the dining car.”

“Let's go look.”

“Aren't you the gentleman.” Amanda gave Ray an appraising glance. He felt himself starting to blush, so he looked over his shoulder. “Dad, I'm going for a walk.” His dad waved absently, his head already hidden behind his laptop.

The train rocked back and forth as they moved toward the next car. Ray scanned the carpet but the light in the corridor was dim. The doors to the other compartments were all closed. No geckos.

They came to the end of the car, a sliding door with a round window.

“You been in there?” Amanda jutted her chin toward the door.

Ray shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Dining car.” Amanda smacked her lips. “Let's go.”

“What about Greeny?”

Amanda looked down at the floor, along the walls, up at the ceiling. “He's run away before but always comes back.” She sighed. “Truth is, I usually don't find him until he finds me.”

With a hard pull, she yanked open the sliding door. Fresh air and train noises washed over them. Instead of the
clack-clack-clack
of older trains, the wheels hummed, almost at a subsonic level. Ray could feel the vibrations through the soles of his shoes.

Carefully they stepped between cars. With another pull, they found themselves in the dining car. Ray heard a rumbling and realized it was his stomach. His dad always forgot to eat once absorbed in his work, and Ray had lost track of time. Lunch had come and gone, but the dining car never closed. Along the right side of the car, small tables were covered with cold cuts, bread, condiments. Enough food to stop a famine.

“This is sick,” said Ray, building himself a sandwich.

“Nuh-hmm-umm-huh
?” Amanda smiled broadly, her mouth already full. She had moved left, where a long table covered by a white tablecloth held the desserts. Chocolate balls stacked in pyramids like cannonballs on a pirate ship. A chocolate cake carved into triangle slices, the whole thing bigger than a large pizza. Enough cookies to crush a whole troop of Girl Scouts.

“Sorry?”

Amanda swallowed whatever she was eating in one huge gulp. “I said ‘Not bad, huh?'”

Ray smiled and looked across the tables. “Not bad at all.” The afternoon train was half-empty, most commuters preferring the morning express, so they had the car to themselves. But ten minutes later Ray had to get out of there. His stomach was bulging and an ache was on its way. An all-you-can-eat buffet and a sixteen-year-old male was a dangerous combination under any circumstances.

Amanda nodded her agreement when he said, “Let's go find your lizard.”

Dizzy from the sugar rush, they lurched across the connecting platform into their car and almost collided with a man standing just on the other side of the sliding door.

“Oops.” Amanda was first through the door. “Excuse me.”

The man said nothing. He was tall, much taller than Ray, and his skin had an unhealthy pallor. He wore a baggy suit, white shirt, and gray tie, and in his right hand he held a stainless-steel briefcase. His eyes were concealed by a pair of mirrored sunglasses.

Ray could see his own reflection in the lenses. He started to step aside to let the man pass, but for the second time that day, Amanda's scream locked his feet to the floor.

In the confined space the noise startled both Ray and the stranger, who stumbled backward and dropped his briefcase. Ray instinctively bent down and grabbed it, ready to apologize, thinking
Amanda must have seen her gecko, that's why she screamed
. But as he leaned forward, Ray caught her expression and looked more closely at the man in the sunglasses.

“Amanda,” he said in a voice he didn't recognize as his own. “Run . . .
now
!
”

The sunglasses now sat askew on the man's face, exposing one eye. An eye unlike any Ray had ever seen. Deep yellow, with a vertical slit for a pupil. The kind of eye you'd find on a cat or a snake, not a human being. The stranger blinked, and an eyelid the color of sour milk slid sideways.

Then he reached for his briefcase.

Ray gazed at the man's hand, the skin of his forearm as the jacket pulled back. Skin that had looked jaundiced in the weak light was, up close, really a dull green. This wasn't a man at all.

Amanda was on the balls of her feet, standing to the man's left. Ray was on the right, still holding the briefcase. He couldn't chase them both.

Ray made a decision. Taking a step backward, he pulled open the door that separated the cars.

From the corner of his eye Ray sensed the man reaching, a peripheral vision of a moss-colored hand and yellow eye, but Ray was already gone, leaping across the platform into the dining car. He sprinted the length of the car and didn't look over his shoulder until he reached the far end.

The good news was the stranger hadn't chased Amanda. The bad news was that he was chasing Ray.

Chasing
wasn't exactly the right word, because the man walked as if he had all the time in the world. His movements were deliberate, the legs stiff, his knees not bending the way they should. Step by painful step he advanced, as inexorable as the tide. As relentless as the monsters that hide under your bed.

The sunglasses were back in place, and for an instant Ray tried to convince himself it had all been his imagination. A full stomach, a pretty girl, a trick of the light. But any hopes were shattered when the man opened his mouth and his face tore itself in half.

The jaw wasn't hinged like a human mouth but was set farther back, so the top half of his head swung open like the tailgate of a truck, exposing row upon row of conical teeth. They glinted in the diffuse light of the car, each a white spear dripping with saliva. Ray didn't need a written invitation. He turned around and yanked the door handle with all his strength and lurched forward.

Only to smash his face against the glass. The door was locked.

Ray jerked the handle again, peered across the platform at the next car.
Where is the conductor?
He banged on the window but nearly broke his hand, his fist making a dull
thud
against the thick glass.
Did the creature come from this side of the train and then lock the door? Is there anyone in the next compartment, or are they all dead?
Either way, Ray was trapped. He felt the blood drain from his face as he turned to his captor, wondering if the man would be standing right behind him.