Spirit of Mania

Chapter 1: Young, Wild, and Free What the …? Sam jumped up in alarm. His heart pounded as, once again, he felt a shudder on his right outer thigh. Logic reasoned it was his phone vibrating in his jeans pocket, but it felt … different. After the terrible night he had endured, with barely any sleep, he figured he might just be a little on edge. He rubbed his eyes and looked for somewhere to sit. It happened again. Bewildered, he glanced down at where he felt the sensation. His blue jeans appeared to be vibrating even though he was standing dead still. He plunged his hand into his jeans pocket—no phone. Just an empty pocket. Where is my phone? he wondered. His eyes grew as wide as dinner plates as he watched his pants literally quivering. Panicked, he looked around to get his bearings. The sign overhead read “Terminal 3, JFK Airport.” The vibrations quickened and then began to spread. He yelped as the sensation crawled up his body—from his thigh to his hips, to his stomach, up and around his torso. It crept rapidly—spreading, covering, engulfing—until it finally came to rest on his chest. His body was now dripping with perspiration, and confusion quickly gave way to terror. Is my mind playing tricks on me? Nothing was visible on his clothes, yet they trembled. The vibrations were as real as the terminal around him, but it was more than just vibrations; it was deep darkness. He realized why he was so unnerved—he couldn’t shake the sense of some evil energy inhabiting his shirt. Occupied with this thought, he felt an ethereal darkness slowly enshroud his entire body. Horrified, he tore off his shirt and flung it to the floor. Abandoning his luggage, he dashed toward the airport terminal doors. He sprinted until he burst through the glass doors and into the parking lot, where a redheaded woman staggered sideways, hastily trying to get out of his path. She stared at him in surprise and confusion. Clearly, this was a no-shirt, no-service kind of establishment. Panting, he paused for a moment in the frigid New York air, checking to see if the sinister energy had remained behind with his shirt. He heaved a sigh of relief when he felt no vibrations, but his heart was still racing. Unsure of exactly what was happening and scared out of his mind, he waited in the freezing cold while he tried to catch his breath. Then it was back. Both legs began vibrating with a dark, dreadful energy. Stop, drop, and roll is only for fires, he thought frantically. He had learned the slogan and technique as a child in school, and it was the first thing that came to mind. Rolling won’t help because it’s on the clothes! his mind screamed. Whatever was on his remaining clothes was so utterly terrifying that, in a moment of bold desperation, he did the only remaining rational thing he could do—he ran for his life. Buck naked. He ripped off his shoes, then his jeans, and then his boxers, and he ran through the parking lot, past an elderly lady who hurried between two parked cars and began dialing what he suspected was 9-1-1. He laughed at her irrational fear of him, and in a moment of pure euphoria, he suddenly didn’t care. He was young, he was wild, and he was free of that spine-chilling energy that saturated his clothes. His long, black dreadlocks whipped in the wind as he sprinted, the crisp air filling him with positive vibes. Suddenly, he envisioned before him a giant cross that beamed with brilliant, guiding rays, so bright that they appeared tangible in the air. As he ran toward the glorious light, he found it was always before him but somehow just out of his reach. Though he could never fully grasp its brilliance, something told him that, as long as he kept moving toward the cross, he would be alive and free. He knew intuitively that if he stopped running, his downfall would surely follow, so with his eye on the prize, he sprinted even faster, never once looking back. He ran and ran and ran, knowing without a shadow of doubt that he could do literally anything. Why not run all the way to Santa Cruz? he thought. He knew the California city’s name meant “holy cross” in Spanish, so maybe this was a sign. Besides, college kids run around naked all the time over there. I would fit right in. The feeling of invincibility turbocharged him. He ran out of the airport parking lot and into the streets, where he dodged honking cars and shouting pedestrians. He ran past restaurants full of wide-eyed patrons and stores with baffled shoppers. He ran and ran and ran until a car with flashing red and blue lights swerved in front of him, making him skid to a stop. “Freeze!” the officer barked. “Guess I won’t make it all the way to Santa Cruz after all,” he chuckled to himself. He didn’t know whether to put his hands up or use them to cover his manhood. For a split second he considered resuming his New York–to-California marathon, but it was too late. He had already been tackled and handcuffed.