What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Zombier (7 page)

She looked up and saw, sitting at one of the tables, Samuel, her classmate known as the Computer Guy. Quietly she got up and went to sit beside him.

“Hi!”

He, with the disheveled dark hair and the unshaven face of those who have been studying for too long, raised his head from the books and looked at her rather annoyed. “What’s the problem, today? Did you delete again an important file by mistake and your life is at stake? “

Claire giggled. “A little edgy, huh?”

Samuel took off his square glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I have to pass this damn exam and I’m running out of time. What do you need? I hope it’s a quick fix.”

“A strange thing happened. Last night I entered a site by mistake...”

He grabbed her laptop with a snort. “I get it. Give it to me. Is the antivirus up to date?”

Claire nodded.

Samuel began to fiddle around opening several windows.

“What site was that? “

“
Ladyx
something, I can’t remember the exact address. Today the page opened by itself...”

He scratched his beard. “I don’t see anything strange, no virus or trojans or other malware, your computer is clean. You probably have accidentally clicked on the browser history. Everything works fine and I even cleaned the cache. Just make sure to run the antivirus once in a while and you’re good to go. Now if you don’t mind, I have to finish this huge and heavy book.”

“All right, thank you...” replied Claire, still a little puzzled, then she returned to her seat and began to work.

The hours passed quickly and the day began to get darker.

Claire yawned and decided it was time to go home. But before turning off her computer, she remembered that she hadn’t checked her mail yet.

Among the many spam emails and social network notifications was a strange message with no subject.

The sender was
[email protected]
.

The text contained a single sentence.

T is for Torment

Claire deleted it immediately and turned everything off.

Yes, she had definitely caught something. But now the library was empty, and it was too late to call the assistance, and maybe it was nothing to worry about, just a spammer. She put the laptop in her bag and get in the hallway heading out of the campus.

A strange feeling crawled along her spine. The impression that there was someone else, that a shadow had passed behind her.

She turned around. Nothing. Empty and silent.

She continued on her way. Further along the corridor there was a turn that led to the department of languages. She froze; her eyes wide open.

There was someone, who seemed to emerge from the corner, a girl in profile. She could see only the tip of her pale nose and brown hair that overshadowed her face. She stepped forward and Claire saw her clothes, which looked like a yellowed and tattered nightgown...

“There you are!” said a shrill voice making her jump and turn white. “Claire! What are you doing here standing still in the hallway?” A couple of arms hugged her, along whit a whiff of floral bouquet perfume. Only then she realized that it was her friend Veronica.

“You scared me to death!” sighed Claire.

“What a face, are you feeling okay?”

“No... I mean, yes, it’s just... never mind.” She shook her head and looked back at the smiling face of the girl.

“Then we’re going out tonight, right?” It was impossible to say no to those blue eyes.

Claire nodded. “I believe that having some fun will do me good, but I have a thirty-minute bus ride to my home, and the last one is at nine.”

“You’re such a bore! Come on, we eat something, then go to the club, and tonight you’re staying with me at the dorm, what do you think?”

Claire did not hesitate, the idea of returning home and spend the night alone didn’t thrill her, so she gladly accepted the new plan.

The club was crowded and dark, they had a couple of beers and Veronica was already half-drunk. She began to laugh out loud attracting the attention of every male in the room. A couple of average guys sat at their table and started to chat.

A sudden ring startled Claire; it was just her cellphone. She took it out from her purse and saw that there was a new message.

It came from an anonymous number.

I is for Incoming

Claire turned white again.

“Something’s wrong?” asked one of the guys, the one with the goatee that said his name was Joe-something.

“It can’t be...” she muttered. She deleted the message and forced a smile. “Nothing, just a stupid prank.” She turned off her phone and put it back in her purse, then swallowed a sip of beer.

Veronica, with her usual sexy laughter and soft vice, said, “I really have to go to the ladies’ room. Will you come with me, Claire?” and without giving her time to answer, she grabbed her arm and dragged her to the bathroom.

The room did not shine because of its cleanliness, but at least it was quiet and peaceful. Veronica pulled out a pink lipstick from her purse. “What do you think? Should we bring them home tonight?” She sneered. “That Joe looks cute,” and poked her with her elbow.

But Claire was not in the mood. She was about to reply when the cellphone in her purse rang again.

“How is it possible, I turned it off!”

“Who is it?”

She rummaged through her things and pulled it out. “Unknown caller.” She was staring at the phone, ringing and vibrating in her hands, as to wait for it to stop, but it seemed not willing to give up.

“Come on, answer it,” urged Veronica.

She nodded, and pressed the button to take the call. “Hello?”

Silence. Claire stared at her friend that pronounced a quiet “Who is it?”

She shook her head.

“Hello? Who is there?”

Nothing. Except... there was some kind of repeating sound, like a gasp, a breath...

“Who are you? What do you want from me?” yelled Claire, upset but also slightly worried.

A voice, hissing and distorted, which seemed female, whispered, “
E is for Embrace
.”

“Very funny!” said Claire with a crack in her voice. “Now stop it or I call the police! I’m not joking!” and she ended the call. She made sure the phone was really off this time and put it back on her purse. She had goose bumps. “Stupid phone pranks,” she said.

Veronica touched her shoulder as if to reassure her. “Come on, forget it, let’s get back to the guys,” she chuckled.

Claire forced a smile and tried to enjoy the rest of the evening.

It was 4 a.m. and she still wasn’t able to sleep.

I can understand the email, but my phone number? How did they found out? It is not possible; I have never entered it in any social networks...
She could not get over it. And the thing she had seen in the hallway? Only suggestion?

She rolled over in bed several times, while her friend Veronica slept peacefully beside her, sometimes giggling even in her sleep. The bed was big enough for the two of them, but she knew the students weren’t allowed to have guests and if someone had found out it would have been a problem. Anyway, she did not want to sleep alone that night.

She got up for a glass of water, but Veronica’s fridge was empty. There was a vending machine in the hallway. She was too thirsty and maybe stretching her legs wouldn’t hurt.

She stepped into the dark, lit only by the green glow of the emergency exits.

Again that strange feeling made her shiver all over her body. She quickened her pace, she was barefoot, wearing only a T-shirt that she had borrowed from Veronica, and was terribly cold.

She counted the coins in the dim light, put them in the machine and pressed a button. The bottle rolled down with a thud amplified in the silence.

She was about to pick it up when something caught her. Two icy arms entrapped her in a grip of steel, stifling her breath.

A wind as cold as death blew on her neck, she felt the pressure of a damp head rubbed against hers, then two lips of ice touched her ear: “
N is for Night
.”

It was the same creepy voice she had heard on her cellphone. Claire was paralyzed with fear, trembling, trying to resist to that grasp.

The lips went down on her neck. The teeth sank into her shoulder, biting the fabric of her shirt. A stabbing pain. Claire finally cried.

Woken by the screams, the other students came out in the hallway, the lights turned on. Claire was alone, kneeling on the floor, sobbing, holding her shoulder with her hand covered in blood.

“Are you sure you haven’t seen the face of the aggressor? And you have no idea of who could he be?” asked the police officer.

Claire shook her head. She had already told everything about what had happened in the last two days, but an examination of her computer and cell phone led to nothing, no emails, no messages, no calls.

Veronica stood next to her with a mortified expression on her face and held her hand to reassure her.

After having filled in all the documents, they sent them home.

“What if I stay at your place tonight?” said Veronica; now her smile was cracked too. “I don’t feel very safe at the dorm.”

“I think it’s a good idea.”

Throughout the day, Claire did not touch her computer nor the phone, occasionally the wound on her shoulder throbbed, but she tried not to think about it, even though the approaching night increased her anxiety.

They made sure that windows and doors were closed, then dined in front of the TV and tried to keep each other company telling funny stories. When the tiredness took over, Veronica settled on the couch and Claire returned to her room.

It took her a while to fall asleep, but eventually she slipped into a dark nightmare.

An obscure presence haunted her and she tried to run, but her legs were too heavy, and everything was dark. She trudged, stumbled and fell in a sticky red puddle, then the creature reached her, slamming her to the ground. She felt its weight oppressing her, she felt its cold breath on her face.

Claire woke up with a start, with short breath and her heart pounding.

The room was dark and silent; the night was cold. Again she felt thirsty and got up to reach the kitchen connected with the living room, where Veronica was sleeping.

A slight noise, like a dripping, the same she had heard in the speakers of her laptop the first time. Maybe it was just a leaking tap.

Another noise overlapped; the rubbing of something metallic. Instinctively she turned on the light.

There was a phrase written on the white kitchen cabinets; it was red and blurred, uncertain, and said:

C is for Close.

Claire turned toward the couch.

Veronica’s body laid on her side, her throat was slit like a red smile and her blood was dripping into a puddle on the floor. Her blue eyes were staring lifeless.

Claire filled her lungs to scream, but an icy hand pressed over her mouth and dragged her back with incredible strength.

It threw her to the ground, and then it was on top of her.

A white face disfigured by scars, matted hair, sticky with dried blood, her cherry smile now coagulated in a dark shade, huge eyes, wide open, black like pits.

Claire let out a cry full of anguish, but something hard and sharp chocked it in her throat. She spat a spurt of blood.

She lifted her head, straining the muscles of her neck, and saw the large kitchen knife stuck in her chest.

The creature, above her, laughed insane and happy with her shrill voice, and finally whispered the last sentence.

“
E is for End.”

They were called
Pixies
. They were so small and cute, with their big black eyes, their tiny body and their rounded head, without hair, their mellifluous voices, their language so singsong and mysterious.

They came from another planet, light-years far away from the solar system.

Their mother ship was hovering above Washington, and they landed like angels from the sky.

They charmed and captivated everyone.

So small and sweet.

The President received them in the Oval Office, with his full crew. Everyone wanted to meet them; their culture was so advanced. Those
Pixies
brought unimaginable technologies, unthinkable medical developments.

But most of all, what stroke about them was their great hunger.

Incredible for such tiny beings.

Yet, when they started to chew the Secretary of State, everyone had to change his mind.

JoeX wrote (0:45)

Rose, it was a wonderful first date

don’t you think?

JoeX wrote (0:58)

I’m sorry you can’t answer me

JoeX wrote (1:06)

but I’ll always hold on to the knife I used to eviscerate you.

Welcome to the horror room.

The game started when you opened this page.

A totally random system will decide your personal horror level.

At the moment you are alone. You’re staring at your screen with a bored look wondering if the tale you’re reading will scare you, if it will be interesting, or if it will make you yawn.

Your fingers quiver on the mouse wheel. You’re already starting to analyze the writing style, the opening, the author voice, the point of view, and you’re thinking about what you’re going to write in your review.

Let’s keep going. A mosquito is buzzing around the room; it’s so thin and light that it looks like waving in the air. It lands on your shoulder.

No, don’t move, or it will go away. Here, it flew off. Not a problem, it will bite you later; it feels the smell of your blood, it’s hungry. It’s not the only one.

The room is dark. The night is falling, and you lit the lamp on your desk. The surface is full of books and notebooks, the ones where you take the notes for the novel you’re writing, even if most of it it’s here, on your computer, scattered files in which you talk about things that matter for you: the atmosphere of a rainy day, the adventures of a world that doesn’t exist. You know, by the way, that reality is just a thin membrane covering the world of images and dreams? It’s not my quote, but I like to remember it and I’d like you to know it. Maybe it will help you understand, in a while.