Invisible Terror Collection by Bill Myers Page A

the headboard started banging against the wall. But there was another sound too. A buzzing — faint at first, then it grew louder and louder with the shaking. Becka pulled the blankets up around her. Part of her wanted to leap out of the bed and run for her life. And part of her was too frightened to move. For the moment, the “too frightened” part was winning.
    She shivered. But it wasn’t from the cold or even from the fear. It was something else. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something even icier, even more frightening, in the room. Something she’d felt before …
    Her heart pounded. It was the same cold dampness that had brushed against her in the hallway of the mansion. And now it was touching her face. 
    The shaking of the bed turned to violent lungings. The buzzing sounded like a thousand flies circling her head, like a chain saw roaring. She opened her mouth to yell to her brother in the next room, but no sound came. The cold dampness had wrapped itself around her throat and was quickly tightening its grip. She tried breathing, but her air was being shut off. It was strangling her, suffocating her.
    It was trying to kill her.
    She reached to her neck, clawing at it, trying to peel whatever it was away. But there was nothing to grab. Just icy dampness.
    Her lungs pleaded for air. She twisted and struggled, trying to draw in the slightest breath. No air would come.
    The bed was bouncing out of control, its headboard crashing into the wall with every leap. Becka’s lungs burned, screaming for air. The outside edges of her vision started to grow white. She was going to pass out; she knew the signs. She had to do something, and it had to be fast. Mustering all of her strength into one final act of defiance, she lunged forward and —
    Becka bolted awake in bed.
    It had been a dream! She sat on her bed, gasping for breath, filling her lungs with precious oxygen and her mind with blessed reality. Strange. Everything had seemed so true, so real. It was definitely not your average nightmare. But she was awake now.
    She was safe.
    Yet, even as she sat there, catching her breath, forcing herself to relax, she noticed something that sent another chill through her body. Small white puffs of breath were coming from her mouth. The same chill she had felt in her dream was there, in her room. The same cold dampness. And this time it was for real. She looked at her window and sucked in her breath. A thick layer of frost had formed … on the inside.
    “Scott!” she called. “Scotty!” There was no response.
    She threw off the covers. She was getting out of there. She was not falling victim to this thing a second time.
           Her feet barely touched the f loor before she stopped.
    The skin on her arm prickled as something icy touched it. The sensation traveled up her arm and across her body, making her give an involuntary shudder. Then it was gone. Almost. Whatever it was, it was still in the room.
    She’d had enough. This was her bedroom — she wasn’t about to be driven out of her own room. She cleared her throat and demanded, “What … who are you?” There was no answer, but she would not be put off that easily. “I said, who are you?” Still no answer.
    Then, remembering all that she and Scotty had learned about spiritual warfare, Becka tried again. “In the name of Jesus Christ, I order you to reveal yourself.”
    Becka watched and waited in speechless anticipation. Soon the air began to ripple. In the middle of the room an image wavered and slowly formed. At first it appeared to be a darker version of the darkness that already filled the room. A shadow within a shadow. But gradually it took shape. Features slowly formed. Becka gasped. Although it was still transparent, there was no mistaking who it was. Little Juanita.
    Becka tried to swallow, but her mouth was as dry as cotton.
    “What … what do you want?” she demanded.
    The girl turned to her, cocking her head as if she