e-Stalker

By Paul Swearingen

Alex is striving to become a better writer so she can be assured of having her submission to her high school literary magazine published, so she turns to the Internet to find help. However, someone else nearby finds HER, and she realizes that she's being stalked.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Swearingen
• Release date: Oct 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310654374

Paul Swearingen

Paul Swearingen is a retired English/journalism/Spanish teacher who managed to survive 34+ years in public, private, and government schools. He also was a radio newsman and disk jockey, a newspaper editor and photographer, a personnel manager for a large retail store (now defunct), and a long-time publisher of the National Radio Club's magazine, "DX News". He lives in Topeka, Kansas, where his main current duty is to keep his garden under close control.

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e-Stalker

By Paul Swearingen

Discover other titles by Paul Swearingen on the Web

The High School series … six stories about love, life, intrigue, and maybe even you.

You Can Believe It

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Enza 1918

Copyright 2015 by Paul Swearingen

Smashwords Edition

e-Stalker is a work of fiction, and all characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblances to real events, locations, or people, living or dead, are coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. (Note: e-Stalker was previously published, in a slightly different form, as High School Literary Club – the Climax.)

Cover art: Melissa J. Lytton at www.happygothproductions.com; [e-mail].

e-Stalker

By Paul Swearingen

Alex stared at the names and titles on the contents page of the magazine-sized soft-back in her lap, willing her own name to appear. Why was her poem not listed there? She’d written, revised, and carefully printed it out long before the deadline for submission to the Niotaka High School literary magazine, Bits From our Hearts. Had there been some mistake?

She lifted her gaze to the bank of lockers across the hallway as if they held the answer prisoner behind their slotted doors. Several sets of legs, some bare, some enclosed in saggy, baggy pants, one or two sets swishing by like scissors below neat and trim skirts, zipped across her line of view from her seat on the floor in front of her own locker. One set of slightly chubby bare legs ending atop orange flip-flops stopped, turned, and then knelt in front of her.

Hey, Alex. Whatcha reading? The face of her friend Brianna, circled by her brown curls, came into focus.

Not much. Literally. Alex held up the magazine and held it so that the cover faced Brianna.

Oh. Yeah. It’s kinda thin, isn’t it? Don’t tell that you have a piece in there. Let me guess … a short story?

Alex slapped the magazine facedown on the floor beside here. Hardly. How about nothing … as in zip, zilch, nada, not a single word.

Brianna leaned back on her heels. Why, what happened? Didn’t you tell me that you’d submitted something?

I did. A poem. Apparently they ran out of money and room before they could get it in.

Brianna shook her head. I’m sorry. You know if you join the newspaper staff next year, you’d have a chance of getting something in every issue, all sixteen of them. And not just because I happen to be the chosen assistant editor next year, either. If you can write news stories and features as well as you write poetry, you’ll be busy all the time. And since I’m moving into upper management, ta-da-a, I’m sure we’ll be looking for another photographer. Or two.

Alex banged her head several times on the locker door behind her. Why does everyone think I can be a famous journalist just because I write? I want to write poetry and stories and get published. And not fan fiction, either. REAL stories in a REAL magazine, not some high school rag that last year printed anything that was submitted to it. Photographer? Don’t think so. Thanks anyway. She lifted the magazine and again slapped it onto the floor beside her.

All right, all right; I get it. Tell you what. Ms. Benton, my junior English teacher, is the sponsor of the mag. Let’s go talk to her. Maybe she has some idea of what’s going on here. Brianna held out her hand, and Alex took it, grunting slightly as she rose from her cross-legged position, the skin on the back of her legs feeling slightly peeled as she separated from the floor. She brushed off her seat in spite of having checked the floor for leftover crumbs and trash before she sat down, bumped her hip against her locker door to close it, spun the dial to lock it, and then hefted her backpack over her shoulder.

She’ll be in her room. She always eats her lunch there. Usually ramen noodles. Or maybe if she’s feeling really daring, a microwave entrée. Brianna shook her head, grinned, and headed in the direction of the stairs.

Alex nodded and made sure that the cover of the magazine was against her side so that no one could see her clutching it. It wasn’t that others might think that she was a nerd, or that she’d be late to her fifth-hour class if she stopped to sign autographs – it was more like not wanting to be stereotyped by flashing the school literary magazine, which was certainly no match to something like the New Yorker or even Seventeen, which she sometimes carried to class and slipped under a textbook and read when she was supposed to be studying.

The sound of her and Brianna’s flip-flops echoed down the almost-empty third-floor hallway as they approached The Bent One’s doorway. Brianna stopped for a moment, peeked in, and then drew Alex through the door.

May we interrupt your lunch?

Ms. Benton looked up from her computer monitor at the two, and an older, thin boy seated in a desk in the front row delicately wiped his lips with a paper towel and stared at them. The smell of microwaved ramen noodles hung in the air in spite of the open windows.

Come on in. The woman swiveled to face them. "I’m all done, and Eb there is just finishing his gourmet meal. Oh, I see you bought a copy of Bits. Have you had a chance to read it yet?"

Ms. Benton, this is Alex. Norwood. She’s … um … maybe interested in joining Literary Club next year. Brianna propelled Alex in Ms. Benton’s direction.

I … well … yes, maybe I’d like to … be a part of … you see, the poem that I sent in for this issue isn’t … um … listed in the table of contents.

Oh. It’s not? Did you get your poem into a submission box before the deadline in February? Was your name on the paper?

Alex nodded. I’m sure it was. And I typed it up and proofread it very carefully, too.

Oh, I’m sure you did. Well, I don’t know what to tell you, although I don’t think everything made it into the magazine this year. We were a little short of money and room, but … Eb? Do you know anything about Miss Norwood’s poem? Eb was the copy editor this year. Do you remember seeing it?

Eb shook his head slowly. Nope. And pretty much if we could read it, we printed it. Although we simply threw away a couple of pretty nasty pieces that might have been taken from a bathroom wall somewhere. And the one story that obviously was plagiarized.

Alex stared at him and then looked away, as the smug look on Eb’s face seemed to reveal that he was accusing her of being responsible for the missing poem, certainly NOT the literary magazine staff.

She turned to Ms. Benton. I can guarantee you that I didn’t write anything nasty. My parents would beat me severely and confine me to a little room if I did anything like that. Same thing if I cheated and copied someone else’s work. My dad is the Methodist minister in town, you know.

Oh. I see. No, I guess all we can do now is apologize for the poem’s omission. I’m sure we picked up all the submission boxes. Didn’t we, Eb?

All numbered and accounted for. Eb nodded sagely. And we double-checked to make sure that nothing was stuck in the bottom of one. Well, actually something was in one of them – we had to scrape bubble gum off two papers. Nasty freshmen.

Alex gave him the meanest look she could muster up. We aren’t ALL like that, you know.

He laughed. Sorry. Didn’t know you were still … one of them. He wadded up the remains of his lunch, stood, and dropped it into a trashcan at the side of Ms. Benton’s desk.

One of them. What’s that supposed to mean? Alex felt Brianna’s hand grasp her upper arm.

Eb’s a little prejudiced against freshmen. His brother is one. Right?

Eb nodded at Brianna. Little creep. Ez. You may know him. He stared down at Alex.

I certainly hope … no. I’m afraid I’ve never had the pleasure.

I can assure you that it wouldn’t be a pleasure. Well, I gotta go, Ms. B. I need to get to chemistry class before the warning bell. Big experiment today, and I need to get things laid out. See ya! Nice meeting you, Alex. And he strode through the door.

Alex stared after Eb for a second and then turned to Ms. Benton, whose eyes had strayed back to her computer screen.

Ms. Benton. I tell you what. Sign me up for literary club next year. Maybe I can do something about those lost submissions, at least responsibly than he obviously is capable of. You do take short, talented sophomores, don’t you?

Ms. Benton fixed her with a long look and then nodded. I’ll make a note of it, but you may want to sign up formally during club day just before finals. Tell you what – we’re going to be short-handed this year, what with most of the members graduating. Maybe you could help us out in the booth that afternoon?

Alex nodded. I’m sure I can, Ms. …

The five-minute bell cut her off, and she turned towards the door. Okay. Thanks … She didn’t know what to add, and she merely waved at the teacher.

Brianna smiled and then pushed Alex towards the door. On your way.

The hallway had turned suddenly noisy as other students hurried along, and Alex leaned towards Brianna and muttered, That went well. I think I have two new enemies now.

Her friend laughed. Eb isn’t exactly Mr. Personality, and neither is the Bent One. So you’re really going to join?

Alex felt her jaw go slightly rigid. You bet. I have something to prove, you know. To both of them.

Chapter Two

The words began to blur on the screen, and Alex leaned in to try to decipher what she’d just written:

The girl pulled on the doorknob, but the door was locked. She kicked at the door, but no go. It opened inward, she remembered. What am I going to do.?

She clicked between the question mark and the period, clicked the delete key, and then clicked command-s to save the document.

The words on the screen blurred again, and she yawned. Okay, enough for tonight. She glanced at the word count – 1,632 – and then clicked command-q, and then shut the iMac down. She didn’t wait for the screen to darken but swiveled her chair towards the bed, flipped the covers back, turned off her bedside light, and pulled the covers over herself.

On second thought, she crawled out of the bed and lifted the window a couple more inches. The day had been warm, even for May, and a little more outside air would be a good thing, she decided, as her parents had not turned on the air conditioning just yet. She slipped back into bed, pushed the coverlet away from her, and snuggled under one light blanket and the sheet. Perfect.

The first chapter of her first novel was now safe in the computer, and if she could write a chapter a day, she’d probably finish some time in June. Then she’d have all summer to revise it, and when she walked into her first literary club meeting next August, she could say, Oh, yes. I finished my first novel earlier this summer. I’m shopping around for a publisher now. What kind of novel? Oh, sort of a mystery. You know – a teenage girl gets kidnapped, undergoes adventures, escapes. That sort of thing. Maybe she’d get lucky and a guy with slightly long hair and an obvious six-pack would sit next to her and try to carry on a literary conversation with her, offer to buy her a soda, casually offer to look over her manuscript …

Or she could show up to help later in the month at club day. That Eb character would be standing around in the literary club booth, totally useless, The Bent One flapping her arms because she didn’t have a computer in front of her, and she’d step right in and say, Yes, my novel is going well. What are you working on, Eb? A short story? A hunting story? Well, let’s hope the guy doesn’t shoot himself so that the deer can’t have his own trophy. Ha, ha.

Yes, she’d be quite the thing at the literary club get-togethers. She’d make sure of that.

* * *

Some time in the middle of the night, she realized that she was sitting in her desk chair, her hands on the keyboard of her computer, the front of her pajama top damp from the night sweat that she’d had in her sleep. She was trying to erase the part of the story where she’d fallen down a well and was drowning and flailing about. She glanced at the bed; the covers were completely flung off the bed.

She took a deep breath and another and stood. The window was open only a couple of inches, as the moonlight from a near-full moon illuminated the curtains, and she could see the shadow from the bottom of the sash across it. She walked across the room, thrust one arm between the two curtains, and lifted the sash all the way to the top of the window frame. She felt a light breeze against her middle and carefully pulled the curtains back together, tossed the covers back onto the bed, and crawled back under. She didn’t remember anything else until morning.

* * *

It’s too much.

Huh? Alex stared across the aisle at the blank notebook paper on the boy’s desk.

Sh-h. The teacher glared at them from the front of the room.