Confessions of a Troll

By Artemis Greenleaf

“It was just a simple computer prank. How could I have known that it would almost get us all killed?”
When sixteen year old Cai Peterson poses as an online troll to relieve the boredom after being grounded for drinking at a party, he tangles with a cyberstalker who’s not only willing to make his virtual life miserable, but his real life as well. As Cai searches for the stalker, it seems like nearly everyone in his sleepy Texas town has something to hide. Surrounded by suspects, Cai has to navigate a shifting landscape of treachery and truth to uncover a hidden enemy before he and his family pay the ultimate price.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Mare Books
• Release date: May 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9780982765173

Artemis Greenleaf

Artemis Greenleaf has devoured fairy tales, folk tales and ghost stories since before she could read. After watching many ghost hunting television shows, she wondered what the ghosts’ point of view toward ghost hunters might be. Artemis did, in fact, marry an alien and she lives in the suburban wilds of Houston, Texas with her husband, two children and assorted pets. She writes both fiction and non-fiction and her work has appeared in magazines, including Nature Friend and Stories for Children. For more information, please visit artemisgreenleaf.com.

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Confessions of a Troll

By

Artemis Greenleaf

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Black Mare Books on Smashwords

ISBN: 978-0-9827651-7-3

Confessions of a Troll

Copyright © 2011 by Artemis Greenleaf

Cover Art by Artemis Greenleaf

Discover other books by Artemis Greenleaf at www.smashwords.com

http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/AGreenleaf

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Acknowledgements

Confessions of a Troll would not be possible without the help and support of my wonderful spouse. As always, my excellent critique group has been there to ask questions that needed asking, inspire and encourage me. Also, I’d like to send a big shout out to my wonderful beta readers, Bonnie, Monica, Ruth, Naomi, Anne, Andrew and Rebecca. Your input was invaluable. Also, many thanks to Rick, for your answers to police questions.

Cyber Angels is part of the Alliance of Guardian Angels, a citizen’s safety patrol founded by Curtis Sliwa in 1979 in New York City. To support the Angels or find out more about them, please visit their website at guardianangels.org.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1 ~ Feast

Chapter 2 ~ Grand Am Slam

Chapter 3 ~ Fifth of July

Chapter 4 ~ Chez Lance

Chapter 5 ~ Edward Kelley

Chapter 6 ~ Change of Tactics

Chapter 7 ~ Games

Chapter 8 ~ Wildfire

Chapter 9 ~ Double or Nothing

Chapter 10 ~ Escalation

Chapter 11 ~ Movie with Benefits

Chapter 12 ~ Gathering Storm

Chapter 13 ~ 24/7/365

Chapter 14 ~ Slammer Worm

Chapter 15 ~ Martha

Chapter 16 ~ Stationery

Chapter 17 ~ You’ve Got Mail

Chapter 18 ~ Dogged

Chapter 19 ~ Advice

Chapter 20 ~ Parole

Chapter 21 ~ Pause

Chapter 22 ~ Report

Chapter 23 ~ Anger

Chapter 24 ~ Snoop

Chapter 25 ~ Guest

Chapter 26 ~ 17 x 9

Chapter 27 ~ Vice

Chapter 28 ~ Truman

Chapter 29 ~ Moving

Chapter 30 ~ Bird

Chapter 31 ~ Note

Chapter 32 ~ Carnival

Chapter 33 ~ Reading

Chapter 34 ~ EMS

Chapter 35 ~ Rage

Chapter 36 ~ Where There’s Smoke

Chapter 37 ~ Ashes

Chapter 38 ~ Confession

Chapter 39 ~ No Joke

Chapter 1 ~ Feast

Wherein our hero plans to attend a rite of spring and a feast.

It was just a simple computer prank. How could I have known that it would almost get us all killed?

And by us all, I mean me, my six brothers and sisters, our parents and Mo, the cat.

I stood in front of the dresser mirror, trying to adjust the world’s ugliest clip-on tie. The clip was bent, but if I got the tie-tack just right, I could cover the grease stain on this used-to-be white shirt. I hated hand-me-downs.

Sometimes I wished I was an only child.

Big grey and white Mo sat on the dresser, staring off into space. He hissed, launched himself halfway across the room and scrambled down the stairs at top speed. Crazy cat.

Cai. A male voice called me, somewhere in the house.

What? I shouted.

Who are you yelling at, Cai? Miranda, my little sister, poked her head into the room.

Whoever’s calling me? Duh.

I didn’t hear anything. You’re not hearing voices again, are you?

Get lost, Miranda.

She shrugged and I heard her clomping down the stairs.

I never should have said anything to her. What did I expect from a fourteen-year old, anyway?

Only crazy people hear voices, right? And I’m not crazy. It started about a year ago. I kept hearing someone call my name, or whispering just behind me. Probably just Marcus and his bad idea of a joke. He’s full of them. Knowing him, he’d hidden some gadget that makes noises somewhere in the room. Jerk.

I checked my look in the mirror. Pretty hopeless.

My oldest brother, Matthew, just turned twenty-four. He was graduating from Emmerline Tech tonight. Then we were all going out for what my mom referred to as a celebratory dinner. In fact, Matt was the first one to wear this suit. I looked like a blue sharpei dog, it being a husky size and me being a slim size.

But the suit wasn’t the only thing that hung on me like a garbage bag. My parents had this obsessive-compulsive disorder that caused them to name all of their children so that their initials spelled MOP. By the time my parents had me, there apparently weren’t any normal names left.

Who would stick a kid with a name like Mordecai, anyway? Other than my parents, I mean.

I don’t even like to think about my middle name.

But I had the last laugh. About the only person who called me Mordecai was my mother. Nearly everyone else left off the Morde and called me Cai.

My father didn’t call me anything. He had a stroke last year, and he doesn’t speak anymore. Actually, he didn’t do much of anything anymore, mostly sat around and watched the Discovery Channel.

I heard Dad laughing hysterically downstairs. He did that sometimes. Just burst into laughter for no apparent reason. Mom said it had something to do with his stroke.

Marcus! Mordecai! I need help with your father, Mom called from the living room.

The tie wasn’t going to get any straighter, so I gave up.

Where are my stupid shoes? They were just here.

It took almost five minutes for me to find them in the bathtub. No idea how Marcus managed that, but how else would they have gotten there? Idiot.

When I got downstairs, Dad was flopped in his recliner and Mom was trying to coax him into the wheelchair. The right side of his body was mostly paralyzed. He could shuffle along a little, but his right hand was knotted into a fist. The muscles had contracted and wouldn’t relax, so his arm stayed pulled across his chest.

Morgan, please get into the chair. It’s Matthew’s graduation. We don’t want to be late.

Dad shook his head.

C’mon, Dad, I said. You have to come.

Marcus appeared in the kitchen doorway, chewing the last bites of a peanut butter sandwich. Wish I’d thought of that.

We each took a side and lifted Dad into the wheelchair. He sighed.

I pushed Dad’s chair up the ramp into the van, with him muttering stuh-stuh-stuh all the way.

Sorry, Dad. It’s only an hour. Then you get dinner, I said as I strapped his chair down. Of course, he didn’t say anything. I sighed. I couldn’t help it. My dad used to crack jokes constantly. Most of them were terrible. But even the worst ones were better than this. Why did this have to happen to me? Him. I meant him. Why did the stroke happen to him?

We were meeting Matt after the ceremony, so Mom and the most of the rest of my sibs, Miranda, Marcus, Morris, Monica, and Mike, hurried out the door toward us. I got to ride shotgun, which meant I had to close the door after everyone else had piled in because the inside handle was broken. I caught the edge of my jacket in the door when I slammed it shut and almost fell over when I tried to step away.

Mordecai! Stop fooling around. We’re already running late, Mom grouched at me.

I could tell without even looking that Mom had her lips squeezed together and a big wrinkle creased her forehead. She did that a lot lately. She never used to. There was nothing to say, so I opened the door and freed the coat, then climbed into the passenger seat. Mom peeled out of the driveway before I even got my seatbelt on.

I stared out the window. Tomorrow was payday. I would have the last $50 for the new computer fund. It had taken over six months to save up the money, and it felt like Christmas Eve. Mom better take us to get it tomorrow – it just wouldn’t be fair not to. Our computer was seriously old and slow. It took minutes to load a webpage and if anyone emailed photographs, that was it for the rest of the day. I knew we weren’t going to be able to get broadband, but anything had to be better than that dinosaur.

We stopped at the traffic light where our street, Spring Willow Drive, met the main road. Mom drummed her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. C’mon, c’mon, she muttered.

As soon as the light changed, she hit the gas. I was still looking out the window, thinking about the new computer when Monica screamed, Mom!

Chapter 2 ~ Grand Am Slam

Wherein a fast car with a slow driver introduces mayhem and dashes hopes.

Time suddenly became slow and sticky. My head seemed to be stuck in thick goo instead of air as I turned to look. By the time I faced the other window I could see the car, a black Grand Am with orange flames painted down the side. The driver had run the red light and was now rushing toward us in slow motion. I saw the man squinch his eyes together and brace against the back of the seat as he slammed on the brakes.

The nose of the car pulled down. The tires smoked. I should have heard screeching, smelled hot rubber. Mom must have floored it. She almost got away, but the black Grand Am plowed into the left quarter panel, just behind the wheel. The van spun back against the Grand Am, crushing in the driver‘s side, then rolled to a stop a few feet past the other car. Time lurched back to normal speed.

I didn’t remember hitting the window, but I must have. The side of my head throbbed, and I rubbed it with my hand. There was a hard knot there. When I brought my hand down, my fingers were sticky with blood, and I shuddered, as a memory of another time with blood on my hands flashed through my brain.

The driver’s side window was a concave spider web of fractured glass. Mom’s forehead rested on the steering wheel. A cold fist squeezed my heart. I touched her shoulder. Mom! Are you okay?

She looked up at me, blood trickling down the left side of her face. Someone jerked open my door. I could see two other people at the Grand Am. A man in a green business shirt and black slacks looked in at me.

Son, you okay? Is anyone else hurt? he asked.

I pointed to my mother. The man yanked out his cell and called 911.

Mom! Mom, are you okay? Monica cried from the back seat. She sounded like a little bleating lamb, the way her voice shook. It almost made me want to laugh, even though I knew it wasn’t funny.

The man in the green shirt helped Monica, Miranda, Marcus, Morris, Mike and Dad out of the van. You two stay there ‘til the ambulance comes. Don’t move, okay? he said to Mom and me.

A cop happened to be driving by and stopped to investigate. I knew him. Officer Malloy. He directed traffic until another policeman showed up a couple of minutes later, then he started asking questions and taking notes.

Until then, we’d be stylin’ in a ten year old candy apple red van conversion with captain’s chairs and mangy shag carpeting. The "If you see this van rockin’, don’t come knockin’!" bumper sticker just added to the class. Man, I hoped I didn’t’ see anybody I know tonight.

Mom signed some papers and the insurance and car rental guys lifted Dad into the passenger seat. Marcus folded up the wheelchair and put it in the back.

We got to the restaurant about five minutes before the dinner was supposed to start. It took almost that long to wrestle Dad out of the van and into his chair.

Kimbini’s was the fanciest restaurant that Mom and Matthew could afford. Which meant it was one step up from the twenty-four-hour diner on the freeway. That didn’t stop the owners from having delusions of grandeur. When we came through the door in all our blood-stained finery, the two hostesses looked at us like the place was being invaded by rampaging vampires.

We have a reservation. Peterson, party of ten, my mother said calmly to the taller one, ignoring her horrified look.

Ummm, she stammered. I’ll be right back.

She bolted, all long legs and short skirt, for the Employees Only door. A few minutes later, she came back with a manager.

Mel! What happened? Are you okay? he asked, looking at each of us. Sometimes, it was good to have a mom who knew everybody in town.

Mom told him about the accident as he pushed Dad’s wheelchair to what was advertised as a banquet room in the back.

It wasn’t long before Matt and his girlfriend, Sierra showed up. The manager must have told them what had happened, because they hurried in, straight to Mom. Matt squeezed her shoulder as they talked.

To make it easy for the restaurant, everyone had the same food, institution style. Matthew and Sierra had barely sat down when a flurry of wait staff arrived to pour iced tea and pass out sad dinner salads made of wilted lettuce and wedges of pink tomato.

Everyone around me was chattering about something. Maybe the wreck, maybe Matt’s graduation. I didn’t know. I wasn’t listening.

I was thinking about her.

Candace Harper. Candace, who lived two doors down from us. Candace ,who has been my friend since we were three. Candace, with the mysterious blue-green eyes and light brown hair. Candace, with the pouty pink lips and gorgeous legs. Candace, with the father who was a police officer. With a gun collection.

I suddenly noticed that it had gotten quiet around me. Miranda burst into laughter. When I looked her way, she batted her eyelashes at me and said, Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?

I kicked her under the table. It only made her laugh harder. Not my fault! You shouldn’t mumble when you’re daydreaming.

The supper droids whisked away the mostly uneaten salads and brought out the main course. I pushed the gummy, overcooked pasta around on my plate. I just couldn’t bring myself to eat it. I went back to thinking about Candace. It kept me from thinking about the new computer that I wouldn’t be getting.

The tap-tap-tap of silverware on a water glass wormed its way into my brain. Matthew and Sierra were standing up, looking giddy.

Matthew said, Everybody, I have an announcement. He paused to make sure everyone was looking. I have asked Sierra to be my wife. And she has accepted.

They made goo-goo eyes at each other. I rolled my eyes and snorted, even as I tried to imagine Candace making goo-goo eyes at me. Other members of the family applauded and Morris hooted, like he was at a basketball game or something. I golf clapped and looked at Mom. Two tears raced each other down her cheeks. Was she crying for poor Sierra getting stuck with Matt, or because she was happy he is finally moving out of the house? Why do women cry when they’re happy, anyway?

Dad hadn’t calmed down. He was still twitching and his anxious eyes darted around the room.

I think we should get Morgan home, Mom said.

In three bites, I gobbled down the half-frozen slice of cheesecake that appeared in place of my pasta. After all, nobody doesn’t like Sara Lee. I stood up and had to sit right back down again. Suddenly, the room spun and I had to hold on to the table. My chair seemed to be at a funny angle and I didn’t want to fall off.

Cai, are you all right? Monica asked.

Yeah. Just a little dizzy. No big deal.

Put your head between your knees, then, doofus, Miranda butted in.

I felt like an idiot doing that, but when I did, the chair straightened out and the room stopped twirling. I took a deep breath and sat up. The room stayed in place. Mom looked at me, then she turned and said something to Morris.