Fear: 13 Stories of Suspense and Horror

  “Do you know how to run all this?”

  Bobby gave her a how-stupid-do-I-look glare. “Who grew up on Xbox and could hand-build his own computer from the age of nine? Besides, as an intern, I spent a few weeks here slinging coffee and doughnuts for the post-production crew. I learned everything I could. You’d be surprised what doors a Double Whip Mocha Latte will open for you here.”

  She turned in a circle. “What do I have to do?”

  “First, you’ll need a new outfit.” He pointed to a row of black spandex suits hanging on a row of pegs. The bodysuits had Ping-Pong balls glued all over them. “You can change behind that curtain.”

  She took a deep breath, grabbed the smallest of the suits, and retreated behind the curtain. She quickly stripped to her bra and panties and shimmied into the tight outfit. Once done, she stared down at her body. The spandex clung like a second skin. She felt naked—and stupid.

  White Ping-Pong balls marked each joint and curve of her body.

  “What’s taking you so long?” Bobby called to her. “I’m all set here.”

  She stepped from behind the curtain and pointed to him. “Not a word!”

  His mouth dropped open at the sight of her. He lifted a finger to his chin and closed his mouth, but his grin remained and spoke volumes.

  He crossed to her and handed her a pair of goggles that looked like a large black scuba mask. The goggles trailed a set of black cords.

  “What now?” she asked.

  He pointed to the neighboring studio, wrapped all in green. “The motion-capture suit works best against a green screen. Put on the goggles and you’ll see everything I do on the computer.”

  Bobby walked her into the empty studio and helped her put on the heavy goggles. The inside of the mask was one big digital screen. A computerized test pattern filled her vision.

  “Okay,” he said. “Just stand there until I say go.”

  “Then what?”

  “Do what you do best. I’ll run the controls while you just paint.”

  She heard him plug in the goggle’s cords, then retreat out of the studio. The door closed. She felt suddenly alone. Over the years she had developed a suspicion of technology, going back to the machines that had failed to keep her mother alive. She had turned instead to what her mother loved: the simplicity of oil on canvas, of spray paint on walls. That was magic enough for her. She had no use for the cold calculating world of computer technology.

  That was Bobby’s domain.

  She had to trust him—did trust him.

  Bobby’s voice reached her through tiny speakers built into the goggles. “Soo, wave your arms for me. I want to make sure the computer is properly capturing your motion.”

  She obeyed, feeling silly.

  “That’s it! Perfect calibration. I’m activating you now.”

  The test pattern in her goggles dissolved away, and she found herself staring into a new world. It appeared as if she were standing in front of an easel in the middle of a meadow brimming with wildflowers. Butterflies fluttered among the blossoms while birds spun and twittered. She raised an arm to block out the sunlight—only it wasn’t her arm that rose in front of her, but a computer-generated facsimile.

  “Is it too bright?” Bobby’s voice whispered from tiny speakers in the goggles. “It’s hard to judge from the monitor.”

  “Yes . . . a little too much glare.”

  “I’ll adjust.”

  Soo-ling squinted into the meadow. The sun suddenly sank toward the horizon, shadows stretching.

  “How’s that?” he asked.

  “Much better,” she said. “But what do I do now?”

  “Paint your tag, Soo. That attracted the beast before. Call him into the virtual world. I’ll record from here.”

  Steeling herself, she inhaled sharply and reached for the paintbrush and palette of oils. Though nothing was truly in front of her, the motion and response was so perfect that it made her feel like it was. She swore she could almost feel the brush in one hand and the palette in the other.

  After a few fumbling attempts, she fell into her usual rhythm. She dabbed her brush into the oil and tentatively drew her first stroke, a slash of crimson on the white canvas. The remaining thirteen strokes completed her characteristic tag in a few breaths.

  Clutching her virtual paintbrush, she waited.

  Nothing happened.

  “Bobby?”

  “Did you paint it correctly, Soo?”

  She studied her work. It was perfect.

  What am I forgetting?

  Then it dawned on her. She reached a finger through empty air, while in another world, a computer-generated finger rose and reached for the center of the painted glyph on the canvas. As contact was made, a familiar tingling surged up her arm. Soo-ling tensed, holding her breath. She waited for several heartbeats.

  Still nothing.

  She started to drop her arm when a stabbing cold seized her wrist. She wanted desperately to pull away like before—but she knew this time she must stand firm, hold fast, not disgrace the family as her ancestor had done so many centuries ago.

  Foreign memories suddenly flooded into her consciousness, like dreams long forgotten slipping back into focus again. She remembered Shandong Province with the sun rising over the Yellow Sea; she remembered fishing with her brothers, cherry blossoms floating on the water; she remembered her first love, Wan Lee, turning his back on her after her shame.

  “Soo?” Bobby had an uncertain edge to his voice. “What are you doing? There’s this old woman dressed in a robe on the screen where you’re supposed to be.”

  Soo-ling barely heard him, floating between past and present. She began to understand as more ancestral memories filled her.

  “She’s a friend,” she finally mumbled, knowing it to be true. “I don’t know quite what’s happening, but your hunch was right. It’s coming. I sense it. Like electricity before a thunderstorm.”

  The cold crept up her arm, seeking her heart. Dusty laughter, old and cracked, followed and crumbled into words. “I have found you at long last, siu far, my little flower.”

  Distant memories intruded. A foggy glen, surrounded by towering trees, the lowing of cattle from a distant rice paddy, and a creature of nightmares crouching, its voice mocking.

  Soo-ling’s lips moved, but she did not know who spoke: herself or her ancestor. “Gui sou.”

  More dark laughter. “Ah, you know my name. You have hidden well over the years, siu far. But now it is time to be plucked. I shall wear you as an ornament once I am free. Free to stalk the world of man.”

  A mist rose from the meadow floor and coalesced into an ancient face, yellow and wrinkled like a dried apricot. The face split into a leer, lined by fangs. The fog continued to encircle her, forming the coils of a snake—along with a reptilian claw that gripped her wrist.

  Old fears arose, like smoke from an extinguished fire.

  Trapped, must escape, flee!

  Her head throbbed, and the world began to tilt, eyes blurring.

  “Soo-ling!” Bobby’s voice jolted her to the present. “I can see that monster on the monitor. Get out of there!”

  The spiked and scaled body of the beast appeared in the mist. She began to yank her arm away when a foreign thought intruded.

  No. Stand firm, child. You must resist.

  “Soo, I’m ending the program.”

  “No, Bobby!” she yelled. Understanding dawned in her. “The circle isn’t complete. It will follow me out.”

  “Let it try!” Bobby said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  His words—full of bravura and love—conjured more recent memories. Running the back alleys with Bobby. Fleeing police and gang members, laughing. Planting tags throughout the city. My city! Our city!

  “Just do as we planned,” she said. “Complete the circle.”

  The gui sou leaned closer, suspicious, its breath stale as an open grave. “Who do you speak to, little one? Prayers, perhaps? Do not bother seeking aid
from your puny gods. Prayers will not save you.”

  “Who needs prayers, when you’ve got friends who love you?” And she knew it to be true. “Now, Bobby!”

  “Engaging copies!”

  The empty meadow suddenly filled with thirty-four other easels, exact copies of her original. They encircled the field. Disembodied arms, floating free, repeated what she had painted earlier. Thirty-four arms picked up brushes and palettes and painted identical symbols in unison. Then they all reached forward to touch the center of their glyphs.

  A flash of confusion swept over the creature’s jaundiced features. Its fiery eyes darted everywhere. The claws gripping her hand faded back to mist. Snaking coils dissolved back to fog. The mocking face leaned close. “What trick is this, witch?”

  She knew the answer. “A spell broken long ago is woven again.”

  “Impossible. There are no other guardians. What trickery is this?”

  The gui sou collected its mists, like a woman gathering her skirts, and glided across the meadow. It tried to break out of the circle but was stopped by an invisible wall of force. It flattened its mists against the barrier, probing for an opening. With a shriek, it thrashed back and forth across the meadow, flinging itself against the sides of its new prison.

  After a full minute, it stopped and rushed at her. “Drop your arm, siu far, break the circle, and I will let you escape again.”

  Same old trick.

  “Not this century,” she sneered.

  “You’ll never be able to stand there forever,” it warned, rearing up in threat and fury. “You’ll tire! Then I will devour you!”

  She faced the monster with an arched eyebrow. “Really? Then let me welcome you to the new millennium! You’re nothing but a ghost of the past. And the past is where you will remain. Locked forever in memory.” She called more loudly. “Bobby, hit it!”

  “Saving to disk now!”

  The world within the goggles pulled away, shrinking smaller and smaller until the digital window was the size of a postage stamp. As it receded, she saw them appear, standing behind each of the other easels: different Chinese women, of varying ages, the murdered provincial guardians from the ancient past. They bowed to her, acknowledging an ancient debt paid in full.

  At the last moment, a whisper reached her, full of love and pride.

  Si low chai . . .

  She knew that voice, those tender words. Tears welled, bursting from her swollen heart.

  “. . . Mother . . .”

  A warmth filled her as the tenuous connection faded.

  Soo-ling struggled to hold it—but it was like grasping smoke. The connection ended, as it must. That was not her world.

  Still, the warmth remained inside her.

  The true ghost of her mother.

  Her everlasting love.

  The image of a computer desktop snapped into place inside her goggles. It held frozen the last picture: thirty-five guardians encircling a demon. Then that file dropped away into a computerized folder icon. A symbol of a combination lock overlay the folder. It clicked closed.

  “We’re locked up!” Bobby called out.

  Soo-ling took a long, shuddering breath, then pulled off her goggles. She stood again in the empty studio. Behind her, the door banged open and Bobby rushed inside. His expression grew concerned as he saw her face.

  “Soo, are you all right?”

  She wiped her tears. “Never better.”

  And she meant it.

  Bobby crossed to her and handed her a recordable DVD. A thin crust of frost caked its surface. “It should be trapped in there, right?”

  She nodded and took the DVD. “I hope so.”

  “So then we’ve won,” Bobby said, blowing out his relief.

  “The battle, perhaps, but not the war.”

  She knew the gui sou was only a small part of the Chaos Lord. There was still a wall in Riverside that needed her handiwork—or come dawn, Los Angeles would really rock and roll.

  Bobby stood before her. “What now?”

  “Time to go to work. Do you have a can of spray paint?”

  He raised his eyebrows as if insulted. “Of course.”

  She leaned and tipped up on her toes again. This time she kissed his lips. “Then let’s go save the world.”

  RAY GUN

  ▼ TIM MALEENY ▼

  When you’re sixteen you often dream of being a hero, but rarely do you actually get to save the world. Ray just hoped he was up for the task.

  His full name was Raymond Gunstein but friends called him Ray, and his dad called him Ray Gun, which he kind of liked. If he really were a hero—a superhero, with a badass costume and everything—that’s what he’d want to be called. But right at this moment, hanging from the roof of a speeding train, he had bigger problems than choosing a nickname.

  Ray tightened his grip and watched as blood ran down his leg, over his ankle, then vanished in the rushing wind. The train was moving at over a hundred miles an hour, so no matter how much he bled, not a single drop would hit the tracks below. And if he lost his grip, they could scrape a mile of track and still not find enough DNA to identify the body.

  It was a new high-speed rail, much faster than the Amtrak commuter train that used to run from New York to Washington. Each car had a door at both ends. Signs all over the train advised passengers to hold on carefully when moving between cars, and a white placard with red letters warned that climbing ladders to the roof of the train was strictly prohibited while the train was in motion, even for railroad employees. Ray’s mom was a lawyer, so he knew what prohibited meant—it meant only an idiot would climb onto the roof of a speeding train.

  I must be an idiot, thought Ray, hanging on to the narrow railing that ran along the roof of the dining car. Ray took a deep breath and tensed his muscles, hoping he had enough strength to climb to the top of the train.

  It all started with a lost lizard.

  Ray had been sitting in his compartment across from his dad. They’d left the door open so it wouldn’t feel too cramped, and the corridor was empty. Not that Ray’s dad would have noticed, his head barely visible above the screen of his laptop.

  “That’s bad for your eyes, Dad.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Ray’s dad was named Phil, and he was a scientist, which apparently involved being absent-minded. So Ray already knew what his dad was going to say. “Forgot my reading glasses. Bet they’re on my desk at home.”

  Ray yawned and took out his iPhone. “Want to play chess?”

  Phil Gunstein looked up from the screen and smiled. “I’d love to—later—but right now I have to run some numbers.”

  Ray was on spring break, traveling with his dad to a scientific conference in D.C. His mom was back in New York, preparing for an important case coming to trial. Something to do with a big energy company, accusations of fraud, and a senator who just got indicted. Unlike a lot of his friends, Ray got along well with his parents, but these days it seemed like they were married to their work instead of to each other.

  His dad squinted at the screen. “It looks like the phase induction is a lot bigger than I projected. Could be a problem.”

  At any given time, Ray liked to think he understood about half of what his dad was talking about. This wasn’t one of those times.

  “Does your, um, phasing problem have anything to do with your presentation at the conference?” Ray thought he sounded less clueless than he felt.

  His dad scratched his head with both hands, a sign he was struggling to make a complicated idea sound simple. “You know all the buzz about alternative fuels?”

  Ray nodded. His school had been on a green crusade for some time. Recycling, composting, homework sent by e-mail to save paper. “Wind power, solar. Renewable energy.”

  “Solar, sure . . . or something entirely new.” His dad raised his eyebrows dramatically. “Think Starship Enterprise .”

  “Antimatter?” Ray leaned forward. His dad had DVD box sets for every season of Star Trek and The Ne
xt 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.”