Todd Strasser - Wish You Were Dead

He seemed to know what I was thinking. “Give me ten minutes on your computer, okay? Let me show you what I know. Then you can decide for yourself what to do.”

To let him use my computer would mean letting him into my bedroom, and I didn’t want to do that. “You can use my mom’s.” I pointed at the laptop in her office beside the kitchen.

Ethan sat down. I stood behind him. Now that he’d been inside for a while and had warmed up, the sour scent of his body odor was even stronger.

“Have you heard about any break-ins at veterinary clinics around here?” he asked as he searched for sites.

“The police have been asking veterinarians about halothane. And it was mentioned in the newspaper story I read.”

“That’s what she uses to knock out her victims. Any news about people finding animals with their eyes gouged out?”

The thought was revolting. But not as horrible as the realization that followed. “Oh my God!”

Ethan looked quizzically over his shoulder at me. I had to sit down. My stomach turned inside out and I crossed my arms and doubled over. Lucy! Oh, no! Oh, God! How awful! How unbearably horrible!

“You okay?” Ethan asked.

“There’s this person who sends me anonymous messages,” I said. “I don’t know if it’s a guy or a girl. The last message I got asked if I could believe what they did to my friend’s eyes. The one they found near school. I didn’t know what that meant.”

Ethan nodded grimly. “I’m sorry.”

My eyes teared up and I squeezed them shut. Will it ever stop? I wondered. Or will each day bring some new, more horrible news?

“I don’t know if you want to read this.” He pointed at the computer screen. I stood up and looked. It was an article from the Shawnee Mission Gazette-Recorder about a break-in at a veterinary clinic. Then he showed me another story that appeared a few weeks later about some feral cats found by the side of the road with their eyes gouged out and traces of halothane in their systems.

“Wait,” I said. “The newspaper article I read about Megan’s friend Molly said something about a mutilation, too.”

Ethan nodded knowingly. “If you go back and search for instances of break-ins in veterinary clinics, and you match them to stories about finding animals with their eyes gouged out, you’ll find matches in Florida, the state of Washington, southern California, and Kansas, where I’m from.”

“What about Megan?” I asked.

Ethan shrugged and said sadly, “Who knows? They’ve never found her.”

“Oh, God, this is awful,” I said.

Ethan started a new search, talking to me as he typed. “Have you ever heard of Nemesis?”

“It’s a word.”

“It’s also the Greek goddess of revenge,” Ethan said. “She’s got some kind of connection to it. After Molly disappeared, Megan told me she’d gotten a couple of really strange e-mails from someone calling themselves Nemesis.”

Results began to appear in the screen—comments on blogs, but nothing that appeared recognizable.

“Try Lucy Cunningham and Nemesis,” I said.

Ethan typed. Results began to pop up. The word nemesis highlighted with someone whose first name was Lucy and someone else whose last name was Cunningham. Things in strange languages. PDF documents. Fragments that made no sense.

Then I saw something scroll past on the screen. “Stop! Go back.”

Ethan went back.

Str-S-d #7

about how Lucy Cunningham has disappeared. Some people think Lucy … wish I could make some of the kids around heeere disappeeear.

IaMnEmEsIs said …

People get what they deserve.

Tony2theman said …

Why be sorry?

“What is that?” I asked.

“Looks like a blog.” Ethan clicked on the link and a new page appeared:

Str-S-d #1

Today at school Lucy Cunningham looked at me like I was something the cat coughed up. I don’t have to explain who Lucy is. You already know, because there’s only one kind of girl who would look at anyone that way.

Str-S-d #3

This girl once asked me why I didn’t at least wear nicer clothes. That’s what she said, “at least.” As if it bothered her that I didn’t even try. Not that my mom has the money. But that’s not the real answer. The real answer is …

Str-S-d #5

It’s taken me a long time to get to this point. I said I was being honest in this blog, but I wasn’t completely because I didn’t say what I was really thinking. I mean, wishing people would die. That’s how I really feel most of the time. I just wish they would die. I didn’t write it before because I tell myself I shouldn’t feel that way. But the more I try to rid myself of these thoughts, the stronger they grow. So forget trying to be nice. Forget trying to pretend. Those people have made my life miserable. I want them to die.

I’ll begin with Lucy. She is definitely first on the list. You can’t believe how it feels to be in the cafeteria and turn around and there she is staring at me like I’m some disgusting bug or vermin. Does she really think I WANT to be this way? I hate you, Lucy. I really hate you. You are my #1 pick. I wish you were dead.

4 Comments

Realgurl4013 said …

I know just how you feel. Popular kids suuuck.

Ru22cool? said …

Did it ever occur to you to try and improve your looks instead of just being a crybaby complainer?

Str-S-d said …

Go read Str-S-d #4, Ru22.

IaMnEmEsIs said …

Perhaps your wish will come true.

Ethan turned and looked at me. “Any idea who could have written this?”

“Yes,” I said, and kept reading until I got to:

Str-S-d #11

This is the last blog I’m writing. I’m really scared. I wished three people would die, and now they’re all gone. I don’t believe anymore that it’s a coincidence. Someone’s been reading this blog. Someone crazy enough to do what I wished for. If you’re reading this right now, you know who you are. You’re the one person in the world who is always nice to me. But today in school you said something. I’m not sure you even realized what you were saying, but it totally creeped me out. Now I don’t know what to do. I could go to the police, but they’ll want to know how I know and then they’ll find out about this blog and blame me. The parents will blame me. Everyone will blame me. Everyone already hates me. But this is the worst thing that ever happened. Maybe I should kill myself. I could kill myself, but then someone would figure it out. I don’t want to be blamed for this. Even if I’m dead.

I actually put my hand on his shoulder and stared at the screen, utterly, totally incredulous. This time Ethan didn’t turn around. He just said, “She knows who it is.”

I’d told him I had to get dressed and I didn’t want him in the house when I did. He said he understood and would wait for me outside. We went to the door.

“You realize I could still call the police?” I said.

His shoulders sagged, and he hung his head and stared at the ground. “Look, I’ve told you the truth. You read the newspaper stories and saw what was on the Internet. If I were Nemesis, why would I have told you about all that?”