NINE

MY MOTHER STAYED IN her room all morning. I put some toast on a plate in the microwave for her. I wasn’t trying to be thoughtful; I just missed my old routine.

If I left in five minutes, I’d have enough time to give my sample to Ms. Barnett, then get back on my bike and off campus before the first-period bell rang. I honestly didn’t care anymore about class attendance or schoolwork or track meets.

No need to factor in time for picking up Jess. I figured she’d be at Emma Lancaster’s funeral this morning, anyway. Hopefully lots of people would. I wasn’t happy the girl was dead, but I did like the idea of the hallways being less crowded.

I promised myself I’d do what I had to this morning without overthinking it, without letting fear get the better of me.

I’d just sat down on my motorcycle when a familiar, sickening sound sent quivers swimming through my body. The female jogger I blamed for triggering this whole psychotic upheaval was jogging past my house again. I was sure it was her. Like I’d ever forget that woman.

I took heart. She still struck me as evil personified, but she didn’t send me into a panicky whirlwind this time. I needed that boost of confidence.

As soon as I turned onto the side street by my school, I could see protesters swarming, only this time there were chains and cords all over the place. My palms started to sweat. It felt like my throat was swelling shut. I pulled off the road and inhaled, long and slow.

The weight of uncertainty sat like a boulder on my chest. But I couldn’t turn back, not until I had some answers. A logical, reliable explanation. And hopefully a cure.

I eased my way back onto the street, giving a thank-you wave to a driver who was nice enough to let me into the flow of traffic. Never mind that she had hardware gripping her neck.

I tried to calm myself. They look like monsters, but they don’t seem out to kill you. My body wasn’t buying my pep talk. I was getting more light headed by the second.

I managed to pull into a parking spot. That felt like a real accomplishment. So did peeling my fingers off the handlebars, one by one. I clutched my backpack straps —my specimen bottle inside —then made up a mantra: “Act like you don’t see a thing. Get to Ms. Barnett. You can do this.”

Somebody slapped the back of my shoulder and about sent me into cardiac arrest. I pulled it together as fast as an unstable person can. It was one of my track buddies. “Hey, Walt.” I slipped my helmet off, mumbling my mantra.

“You’re running in the meet today, right?”

“Um, probably not.” Okay, so I could carry on a conversation while surrounded by metal-clad humanity. Good to know.

“Dude, Coach is gonna kill you.”

That was a very real concern of mine.

“I’ll talk to him,” I said, even though I knew I’d be long gone before seventh period.

I kept my eyes pasted to the pavement as Walt and I walked up the steps and into Horrorville —the foyer by the front office. The clashing of hundreds of chains dragging every which way overloaded my senses. And it was freezing.

Walt eyed me. “Hey, you okay?”

“I don’t feel good. But I’ll be fine.” I tried to pull off a grin, but my cheeks were too cold.

Why did my school feel like Antarctica? Walt didn’t seem to notice. No one else did either. But I started to shiver.

Walt gave me a jab on the arm and walked away, but not before I saw three chains attached to the shackle around his neck and four cords hanging from the back of his head.

I dodged through the crowd with my face angled toward the floor, stepping over countless chain links and cuffs before arriving at Ms. Barnett’s classroom. She was talking with a student. I didn’t like seeing my favorite teacher trapped in metal.

I tried to be patient but couldn’t keep from fidgeting.

“Hey, Owen!” Ms. Barnett walked over to me even though the student at her desk was midsentence. She looked me up and down, concern showing in her eyes. “Are you okay? You don’t look good.”

Restlessness, a belly shiver, and ghastly sightings have a way of taking a toll on a person.

“I’m all right,” I lied, wiping my icy nose. “I have a favor to ask. Could you examine this for me?” I handed her the demon water.

“Where’d you get it?”

“A bucket. In my backyard.”

It’s embarrassing to admit, but I had a lifelong habit of lying to keep myself from looking stupid. No premeditation; just a knee-jerk reaction. I mean, what moron drinks from an old, unfiltered, not to mention dry well? The backyard bucket seemed like a better explanation. At the time.

“My dog drank some, and now she’s sick. Acting . . . off. I’m wondering if the water’s contaminated. I figured since you’re a chemistry teacher —”

“Naturally I’d be able to do that cool stuff like on CSI, right?”

“Well, I was hoping you could run some lab tests and tell me if there’s anything in it —toxins or something?”

She stared at the bottle, turning it back and forth. I counted three cords spiraling down through her curly brown hair. “I’ll see what I can do, but I’m really swamped right now.”

“So how long do you think it will take?”

“I’m pretty sure I could have some results for you by Monday.”

Four days? For all I knew, I’d be dead by then.

“Could you do it sooner?”

She gave me a tight-lipped, exasperated smile. “Take your dog to the vet, Owen, and I’ll let you know what I find. On Monday.”

I tried to look normal as I backed out of the classroom, but probably failed. The bell was about to ring, so the halls were almost empty —a welcome reprieve. I was nearly to an exit door when Principal Harding stopped me.

“Owen Edmonds, isn’t your first-period class that way?” She pointed to the classrooms on the other side of the hall. Only two cords in her head.

I knew better than to challenge her. I nodded, then walked that direction. My plan was to turn and get out of there as soon as she left me, but the problem was, she never did. She opened my classroom door as the bell was ringing and winked at my teacher. Then she gave me a pat on the back, like she’d done me a favor.

I was really irritated, but I gave in and sat at my desk. I’d leave right after class.

I stared out the window so I could avoid making eye contact with Lance.

The same three oak trees I saw every day remained anchored in the grass, leaves fluttering in the overcast drizzle. Gusts of wind shoved a smashed McDonald’s sack aimlessly along the ground, and I actually felt sorry for it. I could relate.

I craved a normal life more than food and oxygen combined.

Jess’s ex, Dan, started in on one of his dumb rants. Went on and on about how he’d shot the biggest hog in Texas and gutted it himself. Whatever.

Out of habit, I looked over at Lance, but he turned away. I wanted things between him and me to go back to the way they had been, but I didn’t know how to make it right. I couldn’t apologize for what was happening to me.

It took great restraint to keep from jumping out of my skin when the tall girl seated in front of me, Jess’s friend Ashlyn, kept leaning back, waving her blonde-streaked hair and both of her sharp-tipped cords under my nose. I didn’t have to look hard to see a word etched into one of them:

anxious

Then the other:

vain

Unbelievable. I was seeing things jutting out of people’s heads that were labeled with . . . what? Troubled attitudes or something.

Ashlyn was complaining to another girl that a guy named Spenser had used her. From the sound of it, she’d given him the one thing he wanted, and he’d given her the one thing she didn’t want: a breakup text.

Ashlyn had only one chain, and it was coiled on the floor less than an inch from my left shoe. I thought about dropping something on purpose as an excuse to take a closer look at the open cuff, but no one was paying attention to me. So I just leaned and stared.

There it was, clear as day, inscribed on the outside:

spenser robert colson

This had to be psychological —my brain projecting a first name I’d just heard and using subconscious creativity to add a middle and last name. Maybe the name I’d seen on my mom’s chain was some cosmic coincidence. My disturbed mind had drawn on repressed memories and pulled up a name.

Hard to believe, but what other possibilities were there?

The teacher was giving instructions for an upcoming book report. I typed Spenser Robert Colson in a notes app on my cell. Just then a putrid smell wafted in my direction. It reminded me of the stink that had invaded my room the night before last. I looked around, but no one else was reacting. The nauseating stench got stronger. I put my hand over my nose. The guy next to me gave me a “What’s up?” look.

That second, my eyes darted to the closed door. I must have moaned or something, because several heads snapped in my direction. Believe me when I say this was beyond anything I could ever make up, toxified brain or not.

Its feet were stained dark with filth and sludge, and its rotten toenails projected several inches past its three bony toes. Asymmetrical scraps of black, tattered fabric shrouded its form and raveled just above its scrawny ankles. What looked like hip bones protruded beneath its slovenly garments, and its shoulder width seemed twice as wide as it should be. The thing was beyond emaciated but somehow still clinging to life.

And nearly as tall as the ceiling.

After the hideous being passed through the closed door, it stepped —yet also glided through the air as if riding on some hellacious conveyor belt.

I clutched the sides of my desk and leaned back as far as I could, shoving my chair into the desk behind me. The thing jerked its mutilated bald head around and glared at me. It slithered closer and closer, seeming bent on murdering my soul.

It was obvious that this vile being could not possibly have been born from a mother’s womb. Its skin was thin and gray like cinder block, eroding in spots. The smell of decay was unbearable.

The creature began moving down the aisle on my left. It had to be at least nine feet tall. I closed my eyes and tucked my chin in my chest, bracing myself for the assault.

Seconds passed. Nothing happened. I heard unintelligible whispers and hesitantly raised my head. The thing had stopped just short of me. It was mumbling but not breathing. It seemed to have no need for air.

I heard my teacher’s voice. “Let’s review the steps for constructing an A+ book report. You guys do know what an A+ is, don’t you?” My classmates chuckled. How? The most heinous creature of all time hovered in our midst, projecting fear into the atmosphere like ice-cold chemical pollution. How could they not feel it?

The creature stood motionless, peering down at Ashlyn. I forced myself to look up at its face, trying to make sense of its masculine jawline and feminine cheekbones. All of its features were disproportionate and out of whack. Its face was slashed all over —festering slices covering every square inch —and its parched lips were drawn back like a panting beast about to strike. Sweat dripped from its dirty chin.

It didn’t blink. Not once. Its clothing looked soiled and damp and reeked of vomit and burnt flesh.

I was desperate to escape but didn’t dare move.

Suddenly the thing dropped to the floor. I watched as it extended its left arm, placing its disjointed wrist into the open cuff at the end of Ashlyn’s chain. Like the rest of the creature, its hand was scarred and grossly malformed. I held my breath as the cuff slammed closed. I shuddered at the ringing reverberation of metal on metal.

I wanted to warn Ashlyn, but how?

The creature stood upright again, hoisting the two-ton chain off the ground like it didn’t weigh anything. It glared with absolute hatred at Ashlyn, as if it despised the mere sight of her.

Its movements suddenly became spastic and rushed. It leaned in over Ashlyn’s head. With its cuffed arm raised, it used its other hand to draw her cords to its gnarled face. Like worms roused to life, the cords began squirming while the creature scanned them as if only a certain one would do.

The monster finally chose a cord and extended its elongated fingers, beckoning. Then the cord slithered its way into the center of the creature’s palm. Like a bloodsucking worm, the cord began to burrow into the bottom of the intruder’s hand. The foul being rapidly pulsed its fingers, as if coaxing the cord to penetrate deeper into its wrist. I covered my mouth, repulsed by the slurping sound.

Ashlyn’s attacker raised its eyes and surveyed the room like a paranoid assassin. I felt like a coward, sitting there doing nothing, but how was I supposed to intervene?

In the midst of the horror, my teacher had the nerve to call on me.

“Owen, what’s another composition mistake we want to avoid?”

I dropped my hands from my mouth, but my jaw stayed wide open. I couldn’t comprehend her question, much less answer it. All eyes were on me. I searched for any indication that anyone else could see the beast by my desk.

My mind crashed —a cognitive Ctrl-Alt-Delete. Nothing was firing. None of my classmates looked familiar.

“Owen?”

“Just —say —anything.” I heard myself speak, the words bypassing my brain and slurring off my tongue.

“Well, that’s true. We don’t want to use random statements in our report that just take up space but carry no relevant purpose or description.” How she miraculously assigned meaning to my mindless muttering, I’ll never know.

The corrupted figure raised both hands and began winding the chain and cord around its wrists, taking up the slack. It then jerked its arms into its hollow chest, and something dusty and shadowy jarred inside of Ashlyn. I could only see it for a second.

The being continued mouthing something at her —an echoing whisper and a hissing mumble that sent an electric chill down my spine. I couldn’t understand its words, but I knew without a doubt that they were malicious.

Ashlyn raised her hand and responded to a question, still totally unaware that she was being assaulted.

Finally, a somewhat lucid thought: Take a picture. With the creature’s back now to me, I grabbed my phone and pointed it at Ashlyn. But the creature didn’t show up on my screen. Neither did Ashlyn’s chain or cords. Through the lens of my cell camera, the world looked safe and innocent.

Surely this was proof of my insanity. I was trapped in a mind trick, a torturous mirage.

The bell rang, and my heart skipped a beat. I fumbled with my phone, and it crashed to the floor behind the giant’s grimy heels. I let it lie there.

Ashlyn stood and chatted with the girl across the aisle for a few moments, then made her way to the door. The living dead was still connected to her —one with her —making every move in sync with its prey.

I wanted to tell her, but how could I make her believe me? I didn’t believe me.

They moved out of sight.

There was no easy way to get up and walk away after witnessing that kind of horror. I felt nailed to my chair.

I’d never believed in God, devils, angels, ghosts, goblins, or haunted houses —surely there was a reasonable, scientific explanation for what I’d just seen. Something was in that water, something hallucinogenic. That had to be it. Ms. Barnett would discover what it was, and then I’d be prescribed some sort of antidote and get my old life back.

In the meantime, I had to get up. Second-period students were pouring in. So were their chains. I grabbed my phone, then concentrated on putting one numb foot in front of the other. I entered the hallway with my head down. Someone called my name. Walt again.

“Owen, wanna go shoot hoops this weekend? Heard you were a star player at your old school.”

I nodded, giving zero thought to his question.

“Awesome. See you later, man.”

Where had Ashlyn and the huge creepy thing gone? I crossed the main hallway that cut through the center of the school, about to head for an exit, when I made the bold decision to look up.

Bad idea.

I froze in my tracks. Someone slammed into me from behind, but I didn’t budge. There were a dozen of them, rag-clad giants moving among the flow of students.

I couldn’t take it.

I sprinted out the door and through the rain to my motorcycle. Someone called my name, but I didn’t look back. I paid no attention to speed limits, red lights, or stop signs. Once home and barricaded in my room, I gave myself permission to break down.

I yelled.

I punched my pillow and threw things.

I clawed at my face and neck and pounded the ice in my stomach.

I have no idea how long that went on. I only know that what little sunlight there had been was gone when I began regaining some sense of control. I heard my mom say something about going out to eat, but I ignored her.

I sat pressed into the back corner of my room, plucking strands of carpet and pushing them into a pile.

After all of my analyzing, I’d arrived at one distressing question: I’m probably seeing evil that isn’t there, but what if it is . . . and everyone else is blind to it?

It was improbable, irrational, and, quite honestly, scary beyond comprehension. So I tried to dismiss it and cling instead to the hope that my condition would soon be explained —and remedied —through medical science.

My life depended on Ms. Barnett’s results.

Monday could not come fast enough.