Scott Sigler - Contagious

Chelsea stopped spinning and closed her eyes. Yes, Chauncey.

Good. Now reach out. Use your thoughts, reach out and find them.

Chelsea thought. She reached out. What a funny feeling! She felt her consciousness expanding, spreading. She sensed Mommy first. Then Mr. Burkle the Postman, although it was harder to sense him. He wasn’t as strong as Mommy. Chelsea sensed Daddy next—actually, she sensed the dollies inside Daddy. Oh, how fun! They were growing so fast !

Keep trying. More, find more. You must become stronger.

Chelsea took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She pushed. It felt…slippery. Her mind reached out, and made contact! Several contacts.

Ryan Roznowski. He had dollies, although he suspected that his wife was going to call the police soon. Chelsea couldn’t let that happen.

Mr. Beckett had dollies, too. And Old Sam Collins. And a woman named Bernadette Smith.

And…

And…

Beck Beckett, Mr. Beckett’s son. Beck felt different . Not like Daddy or Mr. Beckett. Chelsea knew Beck from school, even though he was a grade ahead. Thoughts of Beck made Chelsea angry, and she didn’t know why.

I have found five, Chauncey. What do I do now?

Tell them to come to where you are.

Tell them to bring guns.

Chelsea nodded. She did what Chauncey asked. But why was Beck coming if he didn’t have dollies? What good was he?

Chauncey? Beck Beckett isn’t like Daddy. Touching him feels like touching Mommy, but I didn’t give Beck smoochies.

That is because he received God’s love directly from me, just like you did. The dollies are very, very important, but people like you and Beck will protect them.

Chelsea suddenly felt mad. Did Chauncey like Beck more than her? Would Beck be Chauncey’s favorite?

Are you talking to him?

Yes, but it is taking him longer to develop.

Chauncey was Chelsea’s special friend, not Beck Butthead Beckett’s. Her anger grew.

What do we do now?

You have to start learning to think for yourself, Chelsea. Let me show you a new pretty picture.

Chelsea waited. Her mind still felt funny, like it was in many places at one time. Slippery? Was that the right word? No, more like… mushy. Like lumpy oatmeal. Ah, the lumps were the people she connected with.

An image exploded in Chelsea’s thoughts. A gorgeous image. Unlike anything she’d ever known. Like four lit-up hula hoops buried halfway in the ground, a big one at the end, three smaller ones behind it. And pointing away from the smallest hula hoop, two big logs. The dollies would make this.

Oh, Chauncey. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. What is it?

When Mommy and Daddy take you to church, do they tell you about heaven?

Oh, yes! The preacher talks about God, and heaven and Jesus and how Jesus loves us no matter what.

This image you see, Chelse a, is a door to heaven.

She felt joy in her chest. Really? This is really a door to heaven?

You will protect the dollies so they can build it. When they open it, Chelsea, angels will come through.

Angels? Really? Will they have wings?

They are not nice angels, Chelsea.

They are angels of vengeance.

What’s venjance mean?

They are coming to punish people who have been bad. Do you like bad people, Chelsea?

She shook her head. She most certainly did not like bad people.

Chelsea, I will not always be here to help you.

Chauncey, you can’t leave! You’re my special friend!

I’m not leaving yet, but may be soon. So you need to think for yourself. If you must help the dollies build this gate to heaven, how can you make that happen faster?

Chelsea thought. This was like school. She had to help the dollies build the gate to heaven. Only a special girl could do such a thing, but Jesus loved her, the Bible said so. She could do it. But how to make it build faster. Well, she needed…

We need more dollies! And more chosen people to protect them!

That’s right, Chelsea. And how could you find more dollies?

The answer came quicker this time.

I need to search farther.

Chelsea pushed her thoughts. The oatmeal spread. She sensed dollies, out in many, many places. They were too far apart to come together, and she needed many to build the gate. She needed… she needed at least thirty-three dollies.

Chauncey hadn’t told her that number, and yet she knew it. How? She searched her thoughts. The number seemed to come from the dollies. Was that what Chauncey meant by thinking for herself?

She could do this on her own. She could make Chauncey proud.

Chelsea pushed further. More hits, more dollies… and something else…

…something dark…

…something… mean .

Her breath came faster. She couldn’t move. It was like a dream, one of the nightmares when the boogeyman came for her and she ran and then she fell and she couldn’t get up and the boogeyman was coming and he had that sharp knife and he was going to stab it in her back but it couldn’t be a dream she was awake this thing this monster this giant monster was going to get her.

“No!” She meant to scream the word, but it came out a hoarse whisper so quiet she could barely hear it herself. “No no nonono!”

Chelsea, stop, do not connect to him.

“The boogeyman,” she hissed. “Chauncey, the boogeyman is real. ”

Chelsea, stop!

The connection broke. Chelsea blinked, then sucked in a big breath. Her whole body shook. Her pants were hot and wet.

She’d peed herself.

Do not connect with that one. He is the destroyer. He wants to stop us, Chelsea. He wants to hurt you. You must remember what that one feels like, recognize it, and never connect with him again.

She nodded. She knew the destroyer was evil. She’d felt it.

Chelsea got off her bed and looked down. Her pants were soaked with pee-pee. She felt her face flush red. She’d wet herself. She was a big girl, and that wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. She’d peed herself because of the boogeyman.

The fear hadn’t left, but Chelsea Jewell started to feel the first embers of other emotions.

The embers of rage.

The embers of hate.

Perry sat verystill. He waited for the feeling to return.

It did not.

A tear in the grayness, brief but painfully intense, like listening to quiet static on headphones only to be shocked by an unexpected blast of screeching feedback so loud it made your ears ring for days.

But it wasn’t noise, and he hadn’t heard with his ears. It was an emotion—fear. Pure terror, rich and undistilled by logic or rationality. He’d felt it in his soul. He still felt an echo of that fear. So pure . He hadn’t experienced anything like that since… since he was a little boy.

A little boy so afraid of the shadows under the bed that he couldn’t move, couldn’t look, sure that whatever was under there would grab him and pull him down forever and ever.

But now he wasn’t afraid of the thing under the bed.

He was the thing under the bed.

Corporal Cope drove Charlie Ogden’s Humvee out the back of the C-17 Globemaster and into the winter night. It didn’t have to go far. Just off the end of the runway, a black Lincoln waited. Four men stood outside it. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking the size of Perry Dawsey.

Ogden tapped Cope on the shoulder and pointed to the Lincoln. Seconds later, Ogden hopped out in front of Dew, Perry and two other men Ogden didn’t know.