Spring-Heeled Jack by Wyll Andersen Page B

and ruined bicentennial
bicycle. The man’s eyes were completely white; no iris, no pupil.
It wasn’t possible for him to see anything, but he seemed to be
staring right at Atticus. But, worst of all, the man had a wide
blinding white Cheshire cat smile.
    The man didn’t say anything. He didn’t
do anything. He just sat on his bicycle, perfectly balanced, and
stared at Atticus.
    Atticus thought to himself over and
over again that it was just a dream and that everything would be
all right, but it didn’t feel that way. The Gray Man felt deadly
and unpredictable.
    “ W-Who are you,” Atticus
asked.
    The Gray Man gave an awful chuckle
under his breath. Without saying a word, the man began peddling his
bicycle, his body barely moving as he circled Atticus.
    Atticus felt his stomach in his throat
and it was getting harder to breathe. Atticus wanted to run, but
his legs wouldn’t listen. It was as if the Gray Man had him under a
spell.
    The man made several circles around
Atticus before stopping directly in front of him and whispered,
“NamEs AreN’T ImpOrTaNT.”
    His voice was hollow and breathy;
nothing like Atticus had ever heard. It almost sounded like someone
scraping a knife against stone.
    “ I doN’T mUCh care FoR
naMEs.” The Gray Man spoke through his blinding white teeth, his
lips barely moving. His movements were jagged and lacked flow,
almost like he was a puppet.
    Atticus tried to take a step back, but
his legs felt like jelly. His legs gave way and he toppled to the
ground; the Gray Man staring down at him. Atticus tried to crawl
away, but he felt dizzy. His body didn’t want to listen and no
matter how much he struggled he couldn’t get away.
    The Gray Man began peddling around
Atticus once again. “WhY dO yoU Run fROm Me, AtTicUs
WHaeLOrD?”
    Just then, Atticus’ Queen of Spades appeared
on his right hand, glowing a violent blue and gold like he’d never
seen before. The Gray Man’s smile widened even further, which
seemed unbelievable. He let out a terrible high pitched cackle that
shredded the silence like hundreds of needles raking across a chalk
board, deafening Atticus.
    Instantly, Atticus clenched his ears.
It seemed that no matter how tightly he held them, the laughter
only got louder. He looked up at the Gray Man and saw a glow of
dark purple and black emitting from the man’s hand. He’d stopped
laughing, but the sound remained. He reached out towards Atticus,
gripping his hand around his neck.
    Atticus slammed his eyes shut. He
wanted nothing more than to wake up and escape the Gray Man, but he
seemed powerless.
    But, after a second, everything went
quiet. He didn’t dare open his eyes, fearing that he would see the
Gray Man right on his nose, but he had too. He had to remember that
in the end it was all just a dream.
    As Atticus slowly opened his eyes, he
was relieved to see that he was no longer in the abyss, but instead
floating in the air above one of the history lecture halls. He
stared across the room and saw Professor Varnum standing face to
face with the Ghost.
    “ P-Please, you have to trust
me,” Varnum begged. “Nothing will go wrong, I’m sure of
it!”
    The Ghost reached out and throttled
Varnum’s neck. The professor’s dark glasses fell as he struggled to
get free, and, for the first time, Atticus saw the professor’s
eyes. They were puffy, red, and full of terror.
    “ You defy The Master’s
orders,” the Ghost said. His voice sent a shiver through Atticus’
body. It was harsh and strong, but very cold. Oddly enough, it
sounded vaguely familiar.
    “ No!” Varnum screamed. “I’m
not doing anything! You see-”
    “ More and more lies!” The
Ghost pinned Varnum to the wall with his left hand and tightened
his grip around the professor’s neck. “A single flea can drive a
dog to madness! Are you going to be that flea, Varnum?” The
professor struggled against the Ghost’s grip, but it was no use. He
tried sputtering arguments, but only a garbled mess