Invisible Terror Collection Part 32

The response came quickly: I know there are several available and that they are quite engaging.

Scott nodded. Z had that right. He typed: What about problems? Have you ever heard of any?

There was a long pause. Scott typed: Z, are you still there?

Finally a question appeared: Do you fi nd yourself relating too closely with your created character?

Scott fought off another s.h.i.+ver and typed: Maybe. How did you know?

It is quite common among fantasy role-playing games.

Psychologists have proven that extended time of living in fantasy can make it diffi cult to distinguish between fantasy and reality.

Scott felt himself growing defensive. He typed: That's only for children or the weak minded.

Perhaps, but Gary Gygax, the creator of one such game, Dungeons & Dragons, is quoted as saying: "You can get very emotionally involved. I've got several characters I've nurtured through many tension-fi lled, terror-fraught D&D games, and I'd be really crushed if I lost one of them. They can become very much a part of you." Scott stared at the words, then typed: But that doesn't make it unhealthy.

There was a pause. Finally: Please stand by for data: Scott knew Z was checking his resources. Sometimes this would take a few minutes, a day, or even a week. Not this time.

This time the information appeared in just a few seconds: The National Coalition on Television Violence has linked heavy involvement with the violence-oriented fantasy role-playing war games to over 90 deaths. These include 62 murders, 26 suicides, and 2 deaths of undetermined causes.

Scott studied the screen. More information appeared: Psychiatrist Thomas E. Radecki states: "While perhaps a hundred young people have been led to murder and suicide, the evidence suggests that thousands have committed more minor antisocial behavior, and hundreds of thousands have become desensitized to violence."

Scott typed: But I'm smarter than that. I'm not going to go out and kill somebody after playing Crypts and Wizards.

Probably not. However, if your created character is involved in s.e.x, violence, witchcraft, greed, or any other type of immorality, a small part of you actually partic.i.p.ates with him in those acts.

Scott snorted.

It's just fantasy; it's just in my head. I'm not really doing it.

What you frequently think, you start to become.

How can you say that?

It's a psychological fact. It's also in your Bible.

Where?

Christ states that if you hate someone, it's as if you've committed murder. If you l.u.s.t after someone, it's as if you've committed adultery.

Scott paused. It was true, that was basic Sunday school info he'd heard all his life. But still ...

Z's final words appeared on the screen: "For he is the kind of man who is always thinking about the cost. 'Eat and drink,' he says to you, but his heart is not with you" (Proverbs 23:7). Good night, New Kid.

Scott stared at the verse, then glanced at his watch. 5:56. The game would start in an hour. He had to make a decision.

Krissi continued gazing down the overgrown road. Becka could see she was trembling and moved to her side. "Are you all right?

Krissi?"

She finally turned, but when her eyes met Becka's they had changed from wide-eyed fear to narrow, suspicious anger. "This is your doing, isn't it?"

Rebecca frowned. "What?"

"You're trying to frighten me. You're trying to stop me from making contact."

The others exchanged discreet glances. Philip cleared his throat and reached out to put his arm around her. "Krissi - " She shrugged him off and continued glaring at Becka. "You know they're down that road, don't you? You know they're waiting for me, and you're trying to scare me off."

"Krissi," Philip repeated, "n.o.body's trying to do anything. If you don't want us to go any further, then we don't have t - " She spun around to Philip, her eyes widening in surprise.

"You're in on this too?"

"What?"

She started backing away, looking first at Philip, then Ryan, then Becka. "Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to stop me?"

Philip took a half step toward her. "Krissi, come on!

n.o.body's - "

"Liar!"

The accusation stopped him cold.

She looked over her shoulder, back down the road. From the look on her face, whatever was there both attracted and horrified her.

"Krissi ..."

She took another step back. A look of determination filled her face.

Philip continued. "Krissi, please, you're acting really weird.

You're scaring all of - "

Before he could finish she spun around and sprinted down the road.

"Krissi!" Philip was the first to start after her. "Come back!"

Ryan and Becka followed.

Krissi disappeared around the bend, but they knew she was still running. They could hear the brush rustling and twigs snapping.

"Krissi!" Philip's tone was both frantic and angry.

When they finally reached the bend and rounded it, they slowed to a stop. There, before them, was the field. The field Philip had described. But Krissi was nowhere in sight. Obviously she had left the road. But which direction had she taken?

"Krissi!" Philip shouted. "Krissi, answer me!" There was no sound, only the group's heavy breathing. Becka reached out to touch Ryan's shoulder, directing his attention across the field, to the left side ... to a stand of burned trees. The charred trunks looked like poles, the bare branches reached out like blackened skeleton arms.

"See?" Philip said, nodding. "It's exactly like I told you. No way was it a dream."

The three continued to stare until Becka motioned for them to be still. "Listen."

They did. There was a scratching, digging sound.

Philip shouted, "Krissi? Krissi, is that you?" No answer. Only more digging.

Becka pointed. "It's coming from the trees." They started through the tall gra.s.s toward the burned trees.

Becka wasn't sure whether her heart was pounding from excitement or fear. She had no time to decide. Immediately they came upon a long strip of burned gra.s.s about five feet wide.

Philip slowed to a stop. They took his cue. "This is the path the beam of light cut. It started at those trees and ran all the way to my Jeep."

Ryan stooped to the ground. He picked up a piece of burnt wood and gave a sniff.

The digging sound resumed. It was louder than before and mixed with another sound. Gasping grunts.

"Krissi!" Philip started up the charcoal path toward the trees.

Ryan and Becka followed. A moment later they arrived under the trees and discovered Krissi. She was on her knees, holding a large stick, and digging and drawing in the blackened dirt. With each stroke of the stick she grunted and groaned.

"Krissi ..." Philip dropped to her side, but she did not notice.

She was in another world, too preoccupied to notice anyone or anything. Her clothes were covered in ash, her face smeared with charcoal.

"Krissi ..." Philip grabbed hold of her shoulders. She continued drawing. He shook her. "Krissi!" Still no response. "Krissi, listen to me!" The shaking knocked the stick from her grasp, but she did not stop. She dropped onto her hands and began clawing the dirt with her fingers, grunting and groaning like an animal.

"Krissi!" He forced her to look at him. "Can you hear me?

Can you hear me?!"

She blinked. Once, twice ...

"Krissi!"

Recognition slowly filled her eyes. She looked at the others, her expression lost and confused.

"Are you all right?" Philip asked, his voice husky with concern and fear.

Suddenly, she threw her arms around him, clinging to him for all she was worth. "Help me," she gasped. "Don't let me go again! Don't let me go!"

"It's okay," he comforted. "We're here. We're here." She began sobbing. "Don't let me go ... Don't let me go ..."

"Shh, it's okay. You're not going anywhere. Shh ..." Rebecca looked on. She wanted desperately to help but knew there was nothing she could do. It wasn't until Ryan touched her arm and pointed toward the drawing in the dirt and ash that her concern gave way to another emotion. The markings were several inches deep. Only now it was clear they were not drawings.

They were words.

WE AWAIT AT CABIN.

Over at Hubert's, Scott stared at the screen as the Crypt Master took roll, typing each of the players' names.

Arzule?

Present.

Wraith?

Here.

The game was about to begin. Scott was more than a little uneasy about being there, especially after talking with Z. But he'd gone to so much work preparing and perfecting his character, he couldn't just quit now. Not until he saw how well the new and improved Ttocs performed.

The roll call continued.

Ashram?

Here.

Scott had decided he would play one more game, that was all.

Just one more. Only this one he'd play as Darryl had suggested: with everything he had, with his heart, his mind, and his soul.

If he lost, fine. He'd walk away knowing he'd given it his best shot.

Quantoz?

Yo.

Drucid?

Here.

If he won, so much the better. He could walk away knowing he had beaten the Master. But to stop after his first defeat ...

well, let's face it, that just wasn't Scott Williams' style.

Phantasm?

Here.

He trusted Z, of course, but what Z had written was still one man's opinion. And it wasn't like there was some specific verse in the Bible that said, "Thou shall not play Crypts and Wizards." Shredder?

I'm here.

Ttocs?