Chapter Three
Just Empty the Trash
If somebody at school was after both Keisha and me, then maybe we could solve this together. “Have you every had any trouble with the manuscripts you’ve stored on the magazine computer?” I asked her. “Or trouble with your backup discs?” I was glad I hadn’t done anything to hers this afternoon.
“What kind of trouble?” she asked, sounding curious. “I only keep stuff for the magazine on the school computer, and on my backups. I don’t have a computer at home - I don’t trust them. I like my typewriter.”
I wasn’t so sure I trusted computers any more, myself. “Nobody’s messed with any of your magazine stuff, then?”
“Of course not. Hey, did some hacker get into your files?” Was it my imagination, or did she actually sound concerned about me? Naw - couldn’t be. She’d made it clear how much she resented me. I’d been crazy to think, even for a moment, that we could team up on finding out who was doing this to me.
“Never mind,” I told her. “Look, I really am sorry about that note. See you tomorrow.”
“Wait,” she screeched as I hung up.
So it was just me, on my own, like a world-famous writer in a solitary garret. Only I was willing to bet that not many world-famous writers had characters they hadn’t invented cavorting in their computers. On my screen, Foster ran onto the shadowy deck of a swaying boat and beckoned Holmes to follow. Well, I could deal with Foster myself. I closed the window, then dragged the file to the trash can and clicked on “Empty Trash.” A dialogue box appeared:
The Trash contains 1 item.
Are you sure you want to remove it permanently?
Absolutely. I clicked on “Okay.” The dialogue box disappeared, but the trash stayed full. Computer glitch, I thought.
I selected “Empty Trash” again and got the same query. This time when I moved the cursor onto “Okay,” I shivered in a sudden icy gust, as if my window had sprung open. The pages of my aliens story swirled off the printer tray onto the floor and the temperature plunged as if the winter evening had turned into an eerie, bone-chilling blizzard.
I glanced outside, wondering if the sleet had turned into a snow storm, but saw only stars patterning a clear winter sky. And my window was clearly shut. What was going on?
I started to empty the trash again, but felt an unexpected wave of sympathy for poor Foster trying to fit into a dead story. The guy was so serious - and boring. I wanted to delete him forever, but couldn’t make myself click on “Okay” again. Instead, I chose “Cancel,” clicking fast before I could change my mind. Then I dragged the file out of the trash, just to be safe. I stared at it. Then I dragged the story to the printer icon, and watched the laser printer spit pages out at me.
I rubbed my arms where goosebumps were already fading. That spooky chill could have been my writer’s imagination getting the better of me. Then I looked down at the pages of my aliens story, scattered across the floor.
Or maybe that otherworldly cold was something very real.
– End Chapter Four –
