Scary Out There (27 page)

She stopped, the door halfway open. Without looking, she turned her head and slowly closed the door.

•  •  •

Alex liked to lie on her bedroom floor—sometimes on her stomach, sometimes on her side—while she did homework. Today was a stomach day. But she'd managed to get only halfway through her math before putting her work aside. She'd been listening to music on her phone, and she turned it off and removed her earbuds. She still hadn't gotten so much as a single text from her friends, so she'd decided to give them a call. Steve, too, maybe, although if he was out somewhere having fun with his friends, he'd probably ignore her call and let it go to voice mail.

She opened up her contacts list and stared at the screen in shock. It was empty. She checked her saved texts only to find there were none. Same for her e-mail archive. She used her phone's Facebook app to access the site and discovered she had no friends there. She checked Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, and Tumblr, but it was the same everywhere. No saved messages or images, no contacts or friends.

“Something's wrong with my phone,” she said aloud, more to break the silence than anything else. Or maybe all her accounts had been hacked somehow. It was possible, right? With a trembling hand she placed her phone on the carpet and left it there. She stared at it for a moment, unsure what, if anything, she should—or
could
—do next. And then she heard the sound of the garage door opening, and the relief that hit her was so strong, so overwhelming, that for an instant she couldn't move. But then she was on her feet and running down the hall.

She was standing in front of the door to the garage when it opened and Renee walked in, carrying a plastic bag from a fast-food fried chicken restaurant. Alex was so happy to see her stepmother that she threw her arms around her neck and gave her a massive hug, almost knocking her down in the process.

Renee laughed in surprise and gently pushed Alex away with her free hand.

“What in the world did I do to deserve that?”

Renee was a petite woman, shorter than Alex by a couple
inches. She had a round face and short, black hair that always looked perfect, even when she first got up in the morning. She wore a white blouse, black skirt, and black flats. She'd once told Alex that she'd rather wear prettier shoes, but given how much walking she did on her job, flats were a smarter choice.

“I'm just glad to see you,” Alex said. “Is that all right?”

Renee narrowed her eyes, as if she was suspicious—or more likely, just confused. But she said, “Of course it is.” Then she smiled. “It's nice to be welcomed home like that.”

Alex eyed the plastic bag. She hadn't noticed before, but it wasn't very large.

She frowned. “Is there more chicken in the car? Do you want me to go get it?”

Now it was Renee's turn to frown. “I don't understand.”

Alex pointed at the bag. “It doesn't look like there's enough in there to feed all of us.”

Renee gave her a puzzled look. “All?”

Alex's voice froze, and for a long moment she couldn't say anything. When she was able to speak again, her words came out sounding like a desperate plea.

“You know . . . you, me, Dad, and Steve.”

Renee cocked her head slightly to the side.

“Who?”

•  •  •

Alex didn't eat much, and after a while she asked Renee if she could be excused from the table.

“I don't feel all that well, and I still have a lot of homework to finish.”

“Of course. What is it? Your head? Your stomach? Do you want some medicine?”

“No, I'll be okay. I just want to get my work done and go to bed.”

Renee looked concerned, but she said, “Sure. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Alex nodded. She picked up the paper plate with the remains of the chicken leg she'd nibbled on, threw it in the trash, and then headed down the hall toward her room.

She didn't bother finishing her homework. What was the point when there was a good chance none of her teachers would be there tomorrow to accept it?

She changed her clothes, turned off the light, and crawled into bed. She had her phone with her, but she didn't check for texts, e-mails, or missed calls. She knew there would be none.

She had no idea if she was going crazy or if what seemed to be happening was real. And if it
was
real, was it happening everywhere? If she used her phone to access the Internet and check out a news site, would she see a headline about thousands, maybe millions of people mysteriously disappearing? If she looked up the number of people living on earth, what would it be? If she remembered right, it should be something like six or seven billion. What would it be right now? Three billion? One? Even less?

She decided against looking. Whatever she found, she knew she wouldn't like it. Instead, she plugged her earbuds into her phone, put the sound receivers into her ears, and put on some music. At least she tried to. But instead of music, she heard whispering. She tore her earbuds from her ears, threw her phone across the room, and wept.

•  •  •

Alex remained awake long after her tears dried. She lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling—or rather, the darkness where the ceiling should have been. Her room was across the hall from Renee and her dad's room. It was just Renee's room now, she supposed. She listened to Renee getting ready for bed, and then, later, to her stepmother's soft snoring. Renee refused to believe she snored, even though everyone in the family told her that she did. It wasn't a big deal though. She didn't snore that loud, and tonight Alex found the noise comforting.

She wasn't sure how long she lay awake listening to it, but sometime during the night it abruptly ceased, and Alex knew that in the morning she'd find herself alone in the house.

•  •  •

Alex stepped out into bright morning sunshine. She didn't have her backpack. No reason to go to school if no one else was there. Before leaving the house, she'd worked up the courage to check on Renee. She hadn't been surprised to find her bed empty.

The weather was exactly the same as in her dreams, and
she wondered if she'd somehow found a way to cross from one world to another, from reality to nightmare. Or maybe there never had been a difference between the two, and only now she was aware of it. And of course, there was always the chance she was insane, that she was only imagining all this. That seemed a surer bet than the entire world changing around her. But whatever was happening, she knew she wouldn't find any answers staying inside.

She walked out into the street, picked a direction at random, and kept going.

She had no idea if she'd managed to get any sleep last night. If she had dozed off, she hadn't stayed asleep long enough to dream. That was one thing to be thankful for, she supposed. As in her dreams, the world was silent. It was weird, but she had dreamed of being here so many times that, in a way, it almost felt comfortable.

She'd had a lot of time to think last night, and she'd decided to do what Ms. DiPietro had talked about. She had to come to terms with her fear. Understand it.
Embrace
it. So, instead of running from the Whisper-Whisper Men, today she intended to seek them out. She was scared at the prospect, downright terrified, in fact. But she could think of no other way out of the living nightmare she'd found herself trapped in. So, as she walked, she listened closely for soft whispers, kept a sharp eye out for quick, shadowy movements. But she heard and saw nothing. Had the shadow-things abandoned
her too? Yesterday, she would've felt relieved to find herself free of them. But today? Without them she was truly, utterly alone.

Tears came then. Tears of anger and frustration. And despite her earlier determination not to run, she found herself walking faster, then jogging, then finally running all out. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought that maybe if she re-created the circumstances of her dream, the Whisper-Whisper Men would come. Maybe they were like cats, attracted to an object if it moved like prey. But still she detected no movement, heard not a single whisper.

She released a loud cry of anguish, slowed, stumbled, and went down on her hands and knees. She remained that way for several moments, gulping air in between sobs, but eventually she looked up and realized where she was. She'd stopped directly in front of the house she always ran to for help when the Whisper-Whisper Men began to approach her. There was still no sign of the shadow-things, but Alex rose to her feet and started toward the house anyway. This time when she reached the front door, she didn't bother knocking. Instead, she tried the knob and found it unlocked. She took a deep breath, then opened the door and stepped inside.

It was dark, and when she closed the door behind her, it became pitch-black, like the inside of a deep subterranean cave, a place where light could never reach. It had been warm outside, but in here it was cold, so much so that she immediately
began to shiver. She stood there, shaking, heart pounding in her ears, trying to decide what she should do next.

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

At first there was only silence, and then she heard it: the whispering. Dozens of voices surrounded her, all speaking at once. And this time she thought she could make out what they were saying. Part of it, at least.

Alone
 . . .
alone
 . . .
alone
 . . .
alone
 . . .

Is that what the Whisper-Whisper Men were? Her greatest fear brought to shadowy life? But then the whispers became louder, more distinct, and she realized they were actually saying two words.

She's alone, she's alone, she's alone.
 . . .

The words struck Alex like a punch to the stomach. She knew what they meant, and she understood that her greatest fear wasn't for herself, but for someone else. Someone very important to her.

I'm afraid of being alone. Like Mom.

You need to get to the root of a fear, the place where it all started.

In the darkness she spread her arms wide, and the Whisper-Whisper Men glided forward to embrace her.

•  •  •

Alex's vision cleared, and she found herself looking at a rain streaked windshield, wipers swishing rapidly back and forth, making a sound like whispering. It was night, and the headlights
from oncoming traffic were bright distortions viewed through running, rippling water. Their light threw shadows onto the side of the road that looked remarkably human shaped. The car was moving, not all that fast from what Alex could tell, but there was a strong wind outside, and it pushed against the car, making it hydroplane from time to time.

Alex turned to look at the driver. The woman behind the wheel appeared to be in her thirties, and she had curly brown hair, just like Alex's. She wore a dark jacket—Alex couldn't make out the color—and she gripped the steering wheel tight, hunched forward as if it would help her see better.

“Mom! It's me! Alex!”

Her mother frowned, but she didn't turn to look at Alex.

She can't see or hear me,
Alex thought. No, that wasn't entirely true. She'd frowned when Alex had spoken. She reached out and tentatively touched her mother's elbow. Her mother reacted with a start, causing the car to swerve. She got control of the vehicle, and then turned to look at the passenger seat. She squinted, as if trying very hard to make out something that she couldn't quite see. After a moment she shook her head and faced forward once more.

So Alex
was
here. Kind of.

She next tried to touch the steering wheel. If she could grab hold of it just before the accident, maybe . . . But her hand passed through it as if it weren't there. She tried to grab her mother's arm, and the same thing happened. Gentle touches
she could manage, but that was it. There was nothing she could do to change things. Her mother was still going to die. But then Alex realized there was one thing she
could
do.

She scooted close to her mother and gently laid a hand atop one of hers. Her mother stiffened for a moment, and then relaxed, a small smile on her face.

“I have no idea how I got here. But I
am
here, Mom. You're not alone. Neither of us is.”

Alex increased the pressure on her mother's hand, smiled, and waited for what was to come next.

Tim Waggoner
has published over thirty novels and three short story collections of dark fiction. He teaches creative writing at Sinclair Community College in Dayton, Ohio, and in Seton Hill University's MFA in Writing Popular Fiction program in Greensburg, Pennsylvania.

Website:
timwaggoner.com

Twitter:
@timwaggoner

Facebook:
facebook.com/tim.waggoner.9

NEAL & BRENDAN SHUSTERMAN

I
t was not an alarm, but the incessant beeping of a microwave that woke Darren up. He could sleep through the sounds of battle and the wails of the dying—but a relentless microwave was hard to ignore. It was still dark outside, and the faint smell of burned food filled the entire apartment. He looked around. His mattress, which sat like a beached whale in the center of the kitchen, had a green energy drink spill near his feet that looked like toxic sludge, and beside it the refrigerator door was ajar. From the other room came the sound of swarming zombies and the
rat-a-tat-tat
of gunfire.

“GET THE KIDS! SOMEBODY SAVE THE KIDS!” shouted a voice he didn't recognize.

He crawled up on his spindly legs, raising himself to his feet. There was no kitchen table, or at least, not anymore; what was left of it sat in a broken heap of tangled wood in a corner, a bed sheet draped over it as if it were a corpse. He carefully stepped across the floor, trying to avoid bugs of various species traveling from one Doritos bag shelter to the next. He kicked aside a half-eaten bowl of mac and cheese that had
more larvae than mac or cheese, and made his way to the beeping microwave, which was smoking. Inside, Darren found an inedible mélange of blackened foodstuff. The kind that comes frozen—the kind any idiot can cook. His mother or his father must have set it for fifty minutes instead of five and had promptly forgotten about it. Eating, after all, was only secondary to them now. He pulled the corpse of the TV dinner from the microwave and threw it into the overflowing trash. What time was it? It was dark, and the clock on the microwave was no help; it blinked a perpetual midnight. In this house it was always the witching hour.