Nightmare (3 page)

It was almost completely dark in this first room, but the
musty smell of mold and mildew saturated my senses at once. The
exterior door slammed shut, seemingly on its own, and Angela
and Jill Jumped. Now it was totally dark and completely silent.

After a long twenty seconds of waiting, nothing happened,
and all three of us were still standing in the same spot.

"Are we supposed to do something?" whispered Angela,
breaking the silence.

As if in response, a deep, gravelly voice that was half whispering and half groaning spoke. The voice was distant, as if coming from somewhere else in the building, yet it was undeniably
directed at us as it slowly intoned, "You ... don't ... belong ...
here. "

I heard my two companions holding their breath as a pair
of red pinpoint lights appeared in the middle of the room and fixed on each of us in turn, disembodied eyes sizing the three
of us up.

I glanced to my left and saw in the darkness that Angela and
Jill had sidestepped instinctively toward each other for safety.

The deep, throaty voice spoke again, louder this time, as the
two eye-lights burned brighter in intensity. "GET... OUT...
OF... THIS ... PLACE!"

A door across the room leading farther into the building was
flung open with a bang, and without waiting to be told again, Jill
and Angela fled the kitchen to enter the next room. I hesitated,
appraising the two red lights, which had fixed on me now and,
remarkably, followed me as I walked toward the next room.

It was a nifty effect.

Inside the next room, the kitchen door behind me shut itself
silently this time. Angela and Jill were practically hugging each
other in the small dining room of the house, around which were
six chairs. And in each one of the chairs sat what I assumed
were holographic projections of ghostly figures. The clothes or
rags they wore billowed and flowed around them as if they were
underwater, and the figures themselves gave off a slightly bluish
glow, the only light in the room.

The figures were incredibly detailed and three-dimensional,
but my opinion of the ride's quality plummeted at the sight. Real
apparitions never looked anything like this. These "ghosts" were
pure Hollywood magic.

My companions were far more convinced than I was. Especially when the spirit at the head of the table, an elderly man with
craggy fingers and clothes that hung from his bones, turned and
locked his sunken eyes directly on to Jill. His eyes were filled with
hate, and seemed to pierce right through whatever remaining courage Jill was holding on to. His gaze grew in intensity and
vitriol until Jill inexplicably shouted, "I'm sorry!"

I still have no idea what Jill was apologizing for, but I knew at
the time that it was a knee-jerk response to somethingJill found
terrifying. The "spirit" looked down on her as if she lived in a
gutter, judgment and fury burning in his eyes. The expression
was a bit chilling, I had to admit.

The old-man apparition bared his teeth, which were broken
and black, to her and opened his mouth wider and wider until
it went far past the point at which a human mouth could be
opened. It grew bigger and longer, and ever so slowly, he rose
from his place at the table and started gliding across the floor
toward her.

Jill's hand reached out and grasped Angela's just as Angela
was about to slide away, leaving Jill on her own. As the old man
came closer to her, but never moving at more than a snail's pace,
the other five apparitions at the table rose from their seats and
began inching toward both Jill and Angela.

Angela screamed as the old man came close enough to touch
her, and suddenly everything went dark and a cold gust of wind
blew through the room, whipping up all around us.

I was starting to understand why this place was so popular. But nothing I'd experienced had brought me remotely close
to feeling fear. It was all extremely well done, using advanced
technologies to astounding effect. But it was too perfect, too
scripted down to the last detail, to elicit the desired response.
At least from me.

I knew better.

After a bathroom, a brief detour into the basement where
numerous things jumped out at us, and a bedroom, where the
bed and all the furniture hung from the ceiling, we entered a
long, narrow hallway. The house's power attempted to surge to
life, but managed only halfhearted blinks and flickers before
going out completely. Once all was quiet, something resembling
a guttural growl filled the hall, and it began to shake violently,
nearly forcing the three of us off our feet.

It was clever, this techno-paranormal wizardry.

I walked at a brisk pace, mostly to keep up with my terrified
and sprinting friends, in an attempt to keep them from feeling
ridiculous. I felt no fear at anything we'd seen or done. It was all
too much like being inside a special effects-filled movie on the
big screen. It may have contained a few vague references to the
reality of the paranormal-evidence of someone's attempt at realworld research-but there was nothing genuinely supernatural
about any of it.

The hallway grew narrower at the far end, and I followed Jill
and Angela through a small door, spilling out into yet another
dark room. This one was decorated as the house's living room.

I knew we had to be near the end of the attraction, as double
front doors lay directly ahead of us. But first, of course, we would
have to face whatever artificial "thrills" awaited us here.

From their pale-white faces and wide-eyed expressions, I could
see that my friends were ready to get out of there. I knew that in
another minute or two, they would be outside in the warm night
air, laughing it all off, pretending to have never been afraid at all.
But right now I was sure they were sweating.

Which I suddenly realized was odd, because I was feeling a
distinct cold sensation running through my entire body, hair to toenails. I had an abrupt chill, but resisted the urge to hug
myself, knowing this was probably just a cleverly directed airflow
built into the room.

Still, it felt oddly authentic, just like a cold spot. A real cold
spot, a phenomenon I knew very well.

No lights ever came on in the room, but my eyes had adjusted
enough to the darkness by now that I could make out most of
the room's mundane details-a dilapidated rocking chair, a crumbling fireplace against one wall, curtains barely clinging to the
windows on either side of the front doors.

I was taken aback for the first time when a mist suddenly
entered the room and began to swirl about. It didn't come down
through the chimney or blow in through a crack in the windows,
it passed through the wall to my left. Yet this white mist didn't
billow or blow, it flowed with intention, like living wind. It swirled
up all around me like a tiny whirlwind, and I was surprised to
find that it was no hologram or trick of lights. It was a tangible
substance that I could feel touching my skin, ever so lightly.

Only a few times before had I experienced anything like it,
and those occasions were genuine hauntings.

Okay, Ghost Town, I thought as the mist swirled through my
hair, moving it about. I don't know how you're pulling this off, but
bravo. This is your best trick yet.

A faint voice whispered in my ear, a female voice. I couldn't
make out what it was saying, but if it was a special effect, it was
impossibly good, because it couldn't have been coming from
speakers hidden in the ceiling or the walls. It was right beside
me, in the center of the room.

My heart thumped heavily as I rewound the voice in my head
and thought for just a moment that it might have said my name. I instinctively grabbed my own chest, trying to coax my heart to
keep beating.

My breath was visible as I exhaled, almost gasping.

The mist suddenly twisted and flew away from me and then
doubled back, bearing straight down on me. Just as it was about
to touch me again, it coalesced for a fraction of a second, a threedimensional white face emerging from the vapor before the entire
cloud passed through me.

I froze in place, trying to breathe, but it was as if my lungs
had been submerged in ice. At the same moment the fog passed
through my body, the very same moment I saw the face in the
cloud, I heard the female voice whisper one last time, so faint I
knew I must've been the only one to hear it. It was as if a pair of
lips were less than an inch from my right ear.

"The nightmare is coming," the voice breathed in a terrified
pitch.

The mist dissipated into nothing as floodlights suddenly
came up and the front double doors flung themselves open. The
ride was over.

Angela and Jill fled out into the safety of the amusement park,
but I stood stock still, the sensations and sounds and sights I'd
just experienced refusing to leave my senses.

Because the girl's voice I'd heard whispering and the face I'd
seen in the mist for a fraction of a second ... I was certain that
they both belonged to someone I knew.

Someone I hadn't seen or heard from in months.

Someone named Jordin Cole.

SEPTEMBER 22ND
One Year Ago

"You're Maia Peters, aren't you?"

I stopped in my tracks, my shoulders involuntarily clenching up to my neck. I was crossing the courtyard outside Greene
Hall and had almost made it to my dorm in peace when the
intruder called out my name. I knew I was being followed from
the moment I'd left Forensic Science class, but I was silently
praying the whole way to my room that whoever it was would
go away.

"Yes," I replied slowly, not turning around to see who'd asked.
My eyes danced across the East Campus residence hall entrance,
which was just across the courtyard from Greene, and now less
than twenty feet away. Its brick walls looked an awful lot like
safety and escape just now.

I really hated when people recognized me. Fame had never
agreed with me. It wasn't my fame they were recognizing, anyway.
I was just famous by association. Or perhaps infamous.

My Catholic mother and agnostic father-an eccentric pairing if there ever was one-were known all over the United States,
and much of the world. And anyone who knew of them, knew
of their daughter. Me.

Why couldn't people just leave me be? I didn't relish being a
loner, but it was a lot easier than dealing with every wacko who
wanted to be my friend just because of my famous parents-or
worse, the ones that were only interested in having a good laugh
at my expense.

"Jordin Cole. We're in the same English Comp class."

My thoughts froze. Could it be that this girl-a girl whose
name I recognized immediately thanks to Jordin's entirely different kind of reputation, despite having no memory of ever
seeing her in my English Composition class-had no interest in
my parents, or my past? Was she just hoping to copy my notes
from class, or something equally harmless and utterly, blissfully
normal?

"Mm-hmm," I said tentatively, turning at last but not bothering to hide my skepticism as I sized this girl up. It wasn't that I
meant to be rude, but I'd been down this road too many times,
and it was growing tiresome.

"I didn't recognize you at first ... I mean, you look a lot different than you did on TV."

It was true. When I transitioned into the college life, I cut
my hair and dyed it a darker color. I changed the way I dressed,
and had put on a little weight, too. That last bit was a fact I'd
decided I didn't care about. I was more comfortable in my skin now than I had ever been before; being on TV so often made you
obsessed about appearances, and now I wasn't anymore. It felt
good. I didn't consider myself overly attractive, but I wasn't ugly,
either. Looks just weren't a big priority for me these days. Maybe
after graduation I'd feel differently, but for now I was focused
entirely on my studies.

For her part, there was no getting around the fact that
Jordin was drop-dead gorgeous, without even having to try.
Sure, she wore designer jeans and a stylish top, and was no
stranger to hair or makeup products, but she didn't give off
the air of someone who put a lot of concern into either. Jordin
was naturally blond, more slender than I was, and had a set
of regally white, perfectly straight teeth. She radiated an easygoing, unfussy nature, while simultaneously giving everyone
that passed the two of us in the courtyard a taste of that milliondollar smile.