Freddy Krueger's Tales of Terror #3: Virtual Terror by David Bergantino

Author:David Bergantino
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sf_horror

Chapter 7

Skrag Morton floated up from sleep unwillingly as a dream about two particularly vivacious Doublemint twins faded to black. As he awoke, his last sleep-sensation was that of incredibly fresh breath. He immediately tried to reclaim the dream, but could not make it back to the beach where they lay in the sun. Instead, he was in bed, in the dark.

An engine revved loudly nearby and the smell of exhaust assaulted his nose. He tried to sit up, but couldn't seem to move. His entire body ached, and when he turned his head toward the clock, his bruised jaw exploded with fireworks. He was just able to make out the time: 3:30 a.m.

The pain reminded Skrag of his fight with Mario. He had punched the kid's buttons too hard that time. And the kid had punched back, with his fists. Well, he blew it, thought Skrag. Before the fight, he had told Mario's secret to no one. Afterward, he had told Sandra, because she demanded an explanation. But as of tomorrow, the whole school would know. The cat would be out of the bag entirely. And scratching in the litter box.

After dropping Sandra back at the coffee shop so she could pick up her car, he'd returned to the ramshackle Elm Street house he rented. He had celebrated the trouble he was about to cause with a six-pack of beer (or two — he couldn't quite remember) and fallen asleep. Some would call it passing out, but he liked to think of it as hard sleep.

Recalling the evening had almost put Skrag back to sleep. But outside, the engine roared again, and this time the sound brought him fully awake. It was the engine of his own beloved Mustang. Someone was stealing it! He tried to get out of bed, but found he couldn't move. Originally he had thought his sore, stiff muscles were restricting his movement. Now it felt like he was tied down. In the dim light he could see bungee cords wrapped around his wrists and ankles, tethering him to the bedposts. He struggled against them, but could not escape.

"Hey! What's going on? Hey!" he yelled. The engine revved even higher and drowned out his voice. He shouted a few choice swear words, but those, too, were lost in the engine's roar. Exhaust billowed in from the window above Skrag's head. The fumes were so strong, he started to choke. Much more and he'd suffocate.

The engine settled into a rumbling idle. The exhaust thinned out and Skrag could breathe again. He waited to hear the car pulling away, the engine noise fading as it drove down the street. But nothing happened. It merely sat there, idling. If the car wasn't being stolen, then what was going on? he wondered. And why was he tied up?

Fear suddenly pulled him under like a riptide.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Is somebody there?"

A car door opened, then slammed shut. Skrag listened. He heard strange noises, but he couldn't identify the source. Some scraping.

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