(To move forward, one must know where they came from.)

Dow Hill, Kurseong

“I’m telling you that I haven’t been drinking,” Mr. Zalen insists as he hurries to his car. He searches for his keys while keeping his phone pressed to his ear, the pressure causing a mild amount of pain. “There have to be pictures out there. People were using their phones throughout the entire thing. I swear the ice started to break and the players started falling in. Those who tried to get out were crushed. Yes, I understand that you think it’s impossible, but I know what I saw with my own eyes. I haven’t touched those types of drugs in years, Larry. Well, what about the decapitation? No, I can’t explain it outside of an elaborate prank, but even then it wouldn’t make any sense. Can you just send someone here tonight? I know I’m only a scout, but maybe that newspaper you bought will be interested. Don’t patronize me, Larry, because I know something is going on here. Just send-”

Mr. Zalen’s final words are cut off when his neck is snapped from behind and his phone is kicked into the sewers. Coach Warner grunts as he lifts the corpse onto his shoulders and begins walking toward his car. Spotting a few lingering students, he shifts the body, so that it looks like he is helping a drunk friend home. He wanders about until the people leave and then quickly gets to his vehicle, a sense of being exposed making him twitchy. Once the trunk is open, he drops his victim inside and stares at it while thinking of a plan. Hearing sirens in the distance, he sighs and begrudgingly gets behind the wheel. The last thing he wants is to deal with the police and call in another favor, his list of contacts dwindling fast. He can see the cars in the distance as he pulls out of the parking lot, his lights off to avoid anyone seeing him in the darkness. It is not until he turns onto a road that will lead him to the lake that he relaxes enough to drive with more concern for his own safety.

“When did you get into the backseat?” Coach Warner asks, noticing a shadowy figure in his rearview mirror. Reaching into his glove compartment, he pulls out a candy bar and tosses it to his unexpected passenger. “Figure you’d be hungry after everything that’s happened. You know, I would have liked a warning that things would happen so soon after the break. Not that it matters now since I lost most of the team. Did we have to remove so many bystanders from the game?”

“It was unavoidable,” a female voice says, the words warped by the person having a mouth full of candy. A dainty burp shakes the windows and a foul stench of rotting flesh momentarily fills the car. “The parts keep running into those who want to take them away. Our influence doesn’t go further than the campus. Well, except for you and your contacts within the town, but those won’t help if the parts leave the area. It took so long to get them into position. Forgive me for being so impatient.”

“I can’t really blame you considering your condition,” the man admits as he stops at a red light. The crimson bulb bursts and releases a laser that cuts deep trenches in the cross street, which clears their path. “That was unnecessary and brings attention to us. I know you don’t worry about going to jail, but I’ve hidden enough bodies over the years to get more life sentences than I can count. Imagine if any of the ones I buried were dug up or one washes up on shore for once.”

A cold hand stretches out of the shadows, its wrinkled flesh sticking to the man’s sweat-covered skin. “You need to have more faith like the others. They know that I would never let that happen. My pets and friends will make sure that there is nothing more than . . . Well, absolutely nothing to find. Dead flesh is the best kind since the living stuff tends to kick and bite. Waiters get so offended when you order them and immediately chomp off a finger. Do you happen to have any more candy?”

“Yes, but try not to make a mess back there,” Coach Warner replies, handing three chocolate bars to the grinning shadow. He watches as a smooth-skinned hand snatches the food, the nails perfectly manicured. “I trust you and everyone else, but I feel like I’m the only one putting his neck in a noose. Thank you for assuring me that things are taken care of. Still, I’m going to be nervous as we get closer to the big event. Nobody warned me that it was getting so close, so I feel like I’ve been left out.”

“Oh, you have been because you’re the muscle.”

“That’s all I am to you?”

“I’m only teasing.”

“Sorry, but I didn’t find it funny.”

“Of course not since you forgot to laugh.”

The car swerves as the shadowy figure cackles, a cascading light flowing from its invisible mouth. With a chorus of caws, four ravens land on the moving vehicle and walk around the hood as if they are on stable ground. One wanders close to the windshield and experimentally pecks at the glass, which has a few small bugs stuck to it. The birds leave when the car comes to a stop in an empty parking lot, which is next to the lake. They remain in the trees where more ravens are resting and watching over the campus with glowing eyes. Coach Warner feels a chill run through his spine when all of their heads turn toward him, his paralyzed hand tightly gripping the door handle.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” the shadow promises with a yawn. The instant its mouth snaps shut, the doors fall off their hinges and Mr. Zalen’s body is ejected from the trunk. “See, I’m helping out. You need to be nicer to me since I could always put you back where I found you. Buried and burning and pierced and dying. Not a fun way to live, little pet. If it makes you feel better, I can tell you that I trust you to handle the dirty work. The others are too . . . fluffy for this kind of stuff. They are my sheep and you are my alligator. Everybody loves alligators, so now you’re happy again.”

“I guess I’ll take care of that body,” Coach Warner says, unsure of how to take the comparison. He stops when he is halfway out of the car and stares at where the ravens are devouring the corpse. “Thank you for helping. I’ll wait for them to finish and put the scraps in an incinerator that I have access to. Need to feel useful since I’ll be spending the rest of the semester answering questions. Again, I really wish we didn’t have to lose so many players. I understand the sorority and random people in the library, but this is more important. We had a chance at the championships this year.”

“Please get back in the car,” the passenger whispers in a friendly voice. The nervous teacher gets back inside and jumps when the doors reattach with a serpentine hiss. “None of that concerns me because it isn’t important. When we are done, you will have more than some silly trophy or belt. It might not be as amazing as a pretty banner, but it’s a close second. Still, you are part of something bigger than whatever else you hold dear. I don’t appreciate you complaining and making me feel guilty. It isn’t a fun emotion. Makes my tummy all twisted. Look, you can already see a knot by my bellybutton.”

Coach Warner grabs a water bottle and takes a drink, the liquid tasting bitter in his parched mouth. “I’m sorry for complaining. Again, nobody has told me what will happen after the big event. I was under the impression that my life will continue here. For that to be enjoyable, I would like to be in charge of a championship team and not badgered about the disappearance of my players. All I want is some sign that I’ll be rewarded for my actions, which I do not regret in the slightest. It’s only that this is beginning to wear me down.”

“Me too.”

“Then, we are on the same page.”

“Oh, I’m not reading anything at the moment.”

With a roar from the engine, the car lurches forward and barrels toward the lake. It bounces over the curb, which scrapes the undercarriage and knocks the muffler loose. Leaving a deep furrow in the dirt, the careening vehicle weaves around the trees that seem to bend and shift out of the way. As it comes to the edge of the steep drop that leads to the shore, the car hits its breaks and rolls. Lights flicker while the radio runs through stations until stopping on a commercial for a local carwash. Hitting the ground on its passenger side, the vehicle ejects Coach Warner along with his door. He bounces and skids across the pack ice, every landing met with the blast of an off-key tuba. Stopping at the edge of the frozen part of the lake, the terrified man remains curled in the fetal position.

“I believe I’ve made my point,” the shadow whispers as it gently grabs Coach Warner by the ankle. Dragging him back to shore, the figure is followed by a beam of moonlight that dances to an unheard tune. “Maybe later. Right now, we have a lot of work to do. There are still some nosy parts that need to find their way. What? Oh, I guess we can take a break and get something to eat. I promise no mushrooms this time, but only if I get to drive. What does having a license have to do with anything?”

(Can’t figure out a ghost from a phantom without yesterday’s post.)

Kenyon College

Coming fast around the other team’s net, Chris hits the puck and curses when it gets blocked by the goalie. One quarter into the game and he has only scored once, which has been his worst performance all year. Unsure what is going on, he moves back to let his teammates handle the puck and scans the stands for the scout. He spots the lanky Mr. Zalen standing on the other side of the glass from Coach Warner, both men watching him intently. Glancing at the scoreboard, Chris is thankful that they are winning even though he has had very little to do with that. He knows one point is all it takes for a win, but he has missed passes and lost the puck far too many times for him to be proud. Forcing his ego away, he mutters about being part of a team and them needing him. Giving a final look to the scout, he goes around his own net and crosses over to steal the puck.

Passing to the captain, Chris rushes to get ahead of the defender who has been the bane of his existence all night. The taller player has practically manhandled him and the refs have done nothing more than a warning. While the crowd boos the decisions and shouts at the officials, the players know that everything is barely legal. Seeing the puck heading toward him, Chris moves faster and stretches his stick to catch it. Unable to shake his aggressive opponent, he is knocked into the boards and falls to the ice. Back on his feet and gasping for air, his head swims from the impact and he struggles to join the action. A whistle stops the game, the refs awarding a penalty shot to the opposing team.

“Don’t worry too much about it,” the captain says as he skates over to Chris. He watches one of the officials skate by, the man glaring at the pair. “Something funny is going on here, but we’ll figure out how to stop it. Coach Warner won’t let us down and none of us are willing to give up. Heard about you and the scout, so I hope that isn’t messing you up. We need everyone at their best now.”

“I’m trying, but that big guy keeps wailing on me,” Chris replies, his ribs aching from the last blow. Seeing that they are about to set up for the penalty shot, he follows the captain to the middle of the rink. “They aren’t calling anything on him, which means he’s going to continue beating me up. You and the others can focus on scoring. Let me keep the monster occupied because it looks like he’s their best defender. If he’s too busy shoving me around then he won’t be able to stop the rest of you.”

“Sacrificial lamb position, huh?”

“Not ideal, but at least it negates one of their weapons.”

“Try not to lose any teeth.”

“More concerned about my ribs.”

With matching grins, the two players move away from each other and wait for the shot to be taken. To their relief, the goalie blocks the puck and sends it skittering toward the captain. Chris waves that he is open, which causes the large defender to get closer. Moving to escape and putting on an act to make it look like he really wants the puck, he draws his opponent away from his teammates. Risking a glance at the captain, he gestures for a spot that he could feasibly reach, but has no intention of really heading for. Sensing that something is wrong, the larger player slows down and looks to his coach, who waves for him to stay on his opponent. Skating toward his own goal, Chris smiles when the defender tries to bait him back into the action. He skids to a stop and waits to see what his tense opponent will do, his own body relaxed and loose to allow for quicker reactions.

Dodging to the side, he lets the snarling player fly past him and hurries back to where the puck is sliding into the open. Hearing the cursing defender coming up behind him, Chris tries to pass to one of his teammates. Before he can hit the puck, his opponent’s stick catches his ankle and he crashes to the ground. He is thankful that he does not feel or hear the crunch of bone, but his head is aching from the jarring impact. Whistles go off around him, the referees unable to ignore such an obvious foul. As the smiling defender is put in the penalty box, Chris is helped to his feet and guided to where he can take his shot. Feeling blood in his mouth, he does his best to swallow the metallic taste instead of spitting onto the ice.

Tuning out the cheers and stomping feet, Chris focuses only on the goalie and trying to find a weak point. The bulky player makes it difficult to choose a target, especially since he has seen the man easily catch and block the puck. With no other ideas, he decides to fire his shot down the middle with all of his strength and hope for the best. Pretending to take careful aim at an exposed corner, he shifts his stick before swinging and gritting his teeth to hold back a shout. The sound of Chris hitting the puck echoes throughout the arena as the disc rockets across the ice. As it nears the goalie, it bounces and arches up to strike the player in the mask. People scream as his head is knocked off his shoulders and smashes against the glass divider. The body remains standing as whistles ring out and many in the crowd scramble to get pictures of the grotesque scene.

Enraged beyond reason, the visiting coach throws down his clipboard and jumps onto the ice. He immediately goes through the surface and plunges into the freezing water, his flailing form barely visible as it floats away from the hole. Cracks form around the rink and players from both sides begin to lose their footing. The home team’s goalie does his best to remain motionless, but the circular piece he is on suddenly flips. People with a higher vantage point take pictures of the panicking man stuck in the net, his padding preventing him from getting free. Others begin to fall in with only two managing to cling to the edges, their legs already turning black from frostbite. The referees continue blowing their whistles even after fall into the water at the same time, the spots around them turning red as if they have been liquified. Players that are off the ice do their best to stretch their sticks to those who are close to the edges, only a handful making it to safety.

Appearing to be unaffected by the chaos, Chris is still staring at the body when a familiar shout snaps him back to reality. He looks around to see the captain holding onto a spinning chunk of ice that is threatening to flip. Skating toward his friend, he jumps over the cracks that are spitting plumes of frost. Coming to the edge of the water, Chris reaches out a hand that is covered in slick ice that makes it nearly impossible to grab. Removing his gloves, he tries again and touches the captain’s fingers before the rink shifts again. The bobbing and pivoting chunk comes down and snaps in half, the terrified player getting torn in two by the razor-sharp edges of the hole.

Blood on his face and hands, Chris backs away and looks around to see if anybody else is on the ice. He watches one player bursts from the water, but they are immediately crushed by two fast moving pieces. Unsure of what to do, he notices that the defender has been trapped in the penalty box. The player bangs on the walls, none of which are the door that would normally let him out. Chris begins looking for a way to reach him, his simple plan being to use his stick to break the glass. Before he can move, he hears a sound that reminds him of a blender with the top off. A nauseating idea comes to his mind an instant before it becomes a reality and the shrieking defender is pureed from below. The gore explodes out the open top of the box, but everyone in the crowd is too focused on escaping the cracks that are spreading to the stands.

“Coach Warner!” Chris shouts, his voice cracking. Looking around for his mentor, he realizes that there is no way off the fractured ice. “I can use some help here. Not really sure what’s going on too. Kind of hoping I’m dreaming since none of this makes any sense. Hello? Anybody out there?”

A low rumble shakes the arena and Chris watches the last of the crowd rush out of the doors, which slam shut. Blood can be seen flowing beneath the ice and all of the holes emit bubbles that explode into puffs of snow. Another quake sends the damaged parts of the glass dividers toppling into the rink, their shards bouncing into the water. Unable to escape, Chris takes a seat in the middle of the rink and removes his helmet. He takes out his handwritten message and stares at it while his body becomes cold. Even when he hears the crackling return and become louder by the second, he remains sitting. He is prepared for the worst when the rink explodes into a roaring geyser that freezes to the ceiling, the faint silhouettes of bodies emblazoned on the crimson-hued ice.

(Looking for the exit? Trust me. This link is the right one.)

Gettysburg College

Sitting alone in the locker room, Chris turns the talent scout’s card over in his hand. He is still digesting the promise of a professional deal, but the idea of leaving school for a semester does not sit well with him. Even though he would finish out the year, he is unsure if such a deal is common or smart. The athlete pulls out a piece of paper that has been taped inside his helmet and runs his thumb around the stiff edges. He reads his plan to get a degree in case going pro never happened or he suffered an injury, the words bringing him comfort. Yet, Chris can feel a part of himself already screaming to take the deal. Picking up his stick, he examines every mark that he has earned on the ice. The fact that he is paying more attention to his gear than his studies comes to his mind, but he has never had trouble cramming at the last minute or passing a test with no preparation. It makes him wonder if losing a semester is that big a deal since he will be allowed to continue his studies.

“Even if it’s online classes, I can still get the degree,” Chris whispers to himself. Going into his locker, he pulls out his pads and starts putting them on. “On the other hand, I might not be able to do the field work to get my degree. Teaching was always going to be a backup since I was good at it. Although, I could become a coach. Not really sure what I would have to learn for that to happen.”

“For one thing, experience and the ability to study,” Coach Warner says as he steps out from behind the lockers. Removing his cap and clipping it to his belt, he struggles to hide the scowl on his face. “You don’t like studying, Mr. Garcon, which is a problem. Do you know how many books and manuals I read every week? The game is always changing, so I have to stay current with my knowledge. Dumb luck and common sense will only get you so far before someone with facts and true insight get in your way.”

“Sorry about that, sir,” the student automatically blurts out. Picking up his skates, he checks the blades to make sure they are sharp. “I was only considering my options. Mr. Zalen made a decent offer, but told me that I’d have to make some sacrifices. That’s if I want to head for the pros early, which he thinks I could do.”

“Do you believe him?”

“It’s possible, but I’m not sure it’s what I want.”

“Fighting between desire and logic, are you?”

“Not sure I understand.”

Coach Warner cracks a tiny smile before sitting on the bench across from his student. “I mean that you’re at a crossroads. You desire the shot at fame like all humans do. To be a professional athlete is your dream and it looks like you can achieve it. On the other hand, you’re not a stupid boy. You know how an injury can end it all and that’s if you reach the next level in the first place. These scouts always butter up those with even a bit of talent because they get a finder’s fee. We both know this fact. So, the logic side of your brain is telling you that you should stay the course.”

Nodding his head, Chris grabs his helmet and stick before getting up to leave the locker room. He is surprised that Coach Warner remains sitting, so he quietly returns to his bench and meets the man’s steely gaze. A distant voice can be heard as announcements are made to the gathering crowd, most of them coming to the game out of school pride instead of interest in the sport. Thinking about all of the people who cheer for every little thing causes Chris’s face to flush with mild anger. Having loved hockey since his childhood, he cannot wrap his head around people coming to an event and not bothering to learn about it beforehand. He is most annoyed by the name calling and angry shouts from spectators that think they are helping by harassing the other team. It is the type of energy that he hates absorbing from the crowd, but he cannot stop to yell back and get them to be more positive.

“And you won’t escape that by going pro,” Coach Warner says as if reading the young man’s mind. Leaning forward, he pulls out an old photo of himself dressed in a familiar hockey uniform. “I learned the truth the hard way. A lot of negativity out there when all you want is to have fun. Entertain others and make them happy with your actions. Nothing wrong with that, but those in the stands don’t always see it that way. To some, you’re a puppet that they can control through their words. Makes me sick and it looks like it’s doing the same to you. Just another good reason for you to consider Mr. Zalen’s offer very carefully. It won’t be easy to come back from your decision.”

“Well, I might get lucky and have a bad game,” Chris argues with a smirk that is met with a frown. Averting his eyes, he focuses on a chalkboard that has the team’s current record written in big numbers. “I was joking, sir. I know you want us to try our best and that’s why we’re second in the division. Winning today means we take first place, so I won’t do anything to jeopardize that. Sorry if I’m already becoming a problem since my head isn’t right. That scout got to me and I’ll put him out of my mind. He’s something I can tackle later. Do you mind if I ask why you quit playing? I haven’t seen any sign of injury, so did you simply get bored with that side of the sport?”

“I will ignore how insulting that sounds,” the teacher says, an unmistakable edge to his voice. He stands and goes about cleaning up the locker room, his mind focused more on picking the perfect explanation. “My decision came after a near-death experience eighteen years ago. I was in an accident that killed a lot of people. None of my teammates since they were practicing and was . . . acting like an idiot. I took the sport seriously, but I loved the adoration more than I should have. Well, I survived the accident and got out of the hospital to find that nobody really missed me. The world went on and forgot all the things I’d done. Wandered around for a bit and decided to teach. This is why I push for all of you to focus on your studies as much as the sport because it holds no loyalty to you. Doesn’t matter how good you are or how seriously you take it, the game, and life in general, can turn on you instantly.”

Shocked by the answer, Chris takes a final look at the scout’s card and tosses it into his locker. “Never thought about that. No offense, sir, but I think I’ll still talk to Mr. Zalen about my options. I respect your opinion and experience, which I will think about and even bring up during the conversation. To be honest, the chances aren’t high that I’ll go along. This will be more to see if I can get exactly what I want. I need to keep some kind of backup plan in case the game tosses me aside. Maybe they’ll have something that can help with paying for everything that my scholarship doesn’t cover.”

“Can’t fault you for trying to grab as much as you can,” Coach Warner admits, his right eye twitching slightly. Hearing a telltale cheer from the crowd, he checks his watch and realizes that it is almost time for the team to hit the ice. “Take your things and finish getting ready. I’ll be with you in a minute. Just need to get my own head in the game. The team won’t win if I’m thinking of something else. As far as this scout and going pro issue, you do what you think is right and I’ll respect your decision. Only thing I ask is that you keep me in the loop and come to me if you need help.”

“I promise, sir.”

“Great. Go tell the others that I’ll be joining you soon.”

With a smile of relief, Chris grabs his gear and rushes out the door to deliver his mentor’s message. Waiting for the sound of footsteps to vanish, Coach Warner heads for the locker and takes the scout’s card. He sniffs at it with disdain and holds it in his fingers, the sight of the thin object making his blood boil. Reading the scout’s home address makes him even madder, the city being on the other side of the country. For a second, he considers putting it in another player’s locker, but knows that will only cause confusion. Taking a deep breath to relax, he crushes the card in his hand and listens to a voice in the back of his head. He snorts to get it to be silent, a final noise making him think the internal specter gave him a raspberry.

“I was really hoping he would see us to a championship,” Coach Warner mutters before pulling out a lighter. He sets the card on fire and flicks it into a nearby sink, which turns on to douse the flames. “Looks like things are moving quicker than I was promised. Always knew her impatience would cause some trouble. Going to have to talk to the others about that. Nothing I hate more than being left out of the loop.”

(Make-up tests can be taken for Mrs. Addison’s class by clicking here.)

Cornell University

“Maybe we should have waited for tomorrow,” Apollo says, his eyes repeatedly darting toward the door. He checks his watch for the fifth time in the last ten minutes, which earns him a gentle shove to the arm. “I mean, Chris has his game with that scout and Aurora doesn’t want to be a part of this. Nobody even knows if Jennifer is missing or dead. She could have already moved out before the sorority house burned down. All I’m saying is that the four of us should consider going somewhere else.”

“There sure are a lot of books on psychics, ghosts, magic, and astral projection in this library,” Thomas mutters while he chews on a straw. Giving his eyes a break from the tiny print of a large book, he leans back and pulls out a scrap of paper to look over. “This research has given me some good ideas for mixed drink names. So, this isn’t going to be a total loss. Not much else to go on, but it’s weird that Jennifer went missing and then showed up a few hours later in your dream. You even told me that she was billowing smoke. Maybe she’s alive and calling out to you.”

“It wouldn’t be that strange if you think about it,” Harvey politely interjects before Apollo can argue. Frowning at his one notes, he repeatedly taps on one section that he cannot get out of his head. “There is the one option that you subconsciously added her to your dream after hearing about the fire. Most would go with that, but it’s possibly you reached out to her. To think that everything can be explained so easily is foolish. We are always discovering new phenomena and there have been rumors of those with superhuman powers.”

Bryce clears her throat and nods at Harvey’s hand, which he is keeping behind his back to hide his crossed fingers. “Nice try, but it’s most likely the first option. This recurring nightmare wouldn’t change so easily. It has to be caused by stress, which Apollo is under due to tests and now losing a friend. We all know he had a crush on Jennifer too, so that makes it a lot more painful. Now, if Aurora has the dream with the addition then I’ll go along with this supernatural or whatever you think this is.”

“Dreams are very prevalent in philosophy and mythology,” Harvey points out as he pushes a thin book to Thomas. He shrugs when his offer is rejected, the other student obviously feeling outnumbered and isolated. “Perhaps we are all right and wrong. There is no way to tell what Apollo’s dream means since it only happened once. You said that Aurora has these too, which means we need to wait and see if she shares the change. It would give more weight to Thomas’s beliefs if both of those requirements are met. Needless to say, this also gives us time to learn what happened to Jennifer. Considering what happened with her roommate, it isn’t too difficult to imagine her being away from the house at the time of the fire. She could very well be unaware of the situation, so she isn’t rushing back.”

The doorknob shakes and rattles before Marcy comes into the study lounge, the librarian hisses like a cat at the sight of the students. Looking from one stunned face to the other, she points at her shield-shaped watch to silently tell them that the building is closing soon. Seeing all of the books that she will have to put away, she taps her foot and waits for the students to straighten everything up. Moving a cart to prop the door open, Marcy casually takes the giant stack and walks out of the room. Expecting her to trip or bump into something, Thomas and Apollo look around the corner to watch her disappear into the mythology section. Pushing the cart away, they go back to their seats and quickly realize that even their notes have been taken by the silent woman.

“We should probably call it a day,” Apollo suggests, putting on his jacket. Not seeing anyone else moving to leave, he sighs and puts his head on the table. “We’re out of our depth here. Harvey is the closest one to an expert here, but that’s really stretching it. How about we wait for the weekend and go to a psychic? Pretty sure we can find one and Chris will get a kick out of driving us there. It’d make more sense than reading books on something that most of us don’t even believe in.”

“You don’t have to believe for it to be real,” Thomas stubbornly argues, his fists clenched in frustration. Taking out his phone, he hides it under the table in case Marcy returns, her hatred of smartphones nearing legendary proportions. “I’ll let the whole psychic connection thing go for now. Maybe we can find a psychology student who wants to practice on Apollo. There has to be something in his head that’s causing this. What grade did you have this Mrs. Addison for? I’m sure she’s a major part of the mystery.”

“I never had a Mrs. Addison.”

“Ever know a person with that name?”

“No and she doesn’t look like anyone I ever met.”

“Well, brown hair is fairly common.”

“You know, there are times when it looks like she has a gold eye.”

“And you only mention that now because?”

“Thought it was my imagination.”

The friends laugh at the statement, Apollo joining in after a minute of wondering why his honest answer got such a response. Without warning, Thomas stops and nearly drops his phone as he jumps to his feet. Tapping at the screen, he curses at how he loses his signal and the screen goes black. Searching his bag for the charger, the excited student realizes that he left it in his room and scrambles to get his jacket on. Nearly hitting himself in the face with the door, Thomas skids to a stop and waves to the others instead of saying goodbye. They can hear a loud whistle from the front desk, the sound probably another way for Marcy to get attention without speaking a word.

With a tired sigh, Apollo grabs his satchel and prepares to trudge after his roommate. “Sorry about that and wasting your night, guys. I’m sure you had better things to do. If you get to Chris’s game then tell him good luck from me and Aurora. Have a feeling that Thomas isn’t going to let me have a peaceful night.”

“At least he keeps your life interesting,” Bryce says with a half-hearted smile. She watches for a minute to make sure Apollo is out of earshot before grabbing Harvey by the wrist. “What was that about? I mean, Thomas has always been easily excited, especially when he has a mystery on his hands. All I can guess is that he recognized the name.”

“I think it was the mention of golden eyes,” Harvey points out, his curiosity only slightly peaked. Getting up to leave, he hears a loud bang from the back of the library and the table jumps slightly. “Must be closing up, so we should head out. I’ll walk you home and we can keep talking. Not that there’s much to discuss. Apollo and Aurora have been struggling with this dream for a long time. She has decided to ignore it while he suffers, but that’s all we have to go on. Let Thomas do the research and leap down whatever rabbit hole has caught his attention. It’s what he’s good at.”

Bryce puts on her coat and takes her time buttoning it, the idea of going back to her quiet room very unappealing. “Apollo had a good idea. Let’s root for Chris and see if he gets picked by the scout. Is that how it works? I might spend a lot of time in the gym and talking with the athletes, but I don’t know much about the professional side. Probably should learn more if I want to become a sports trainer. Do you hear something strange?”

A sense of dread in his gut, Harvey peeks out the door and swears that the building looks larger than before. The repetitive bangs get louder as the students leave the study lounge, the door slamming shut and locking behind them. It takes them a second to realize that the stacks are falling towards them, the metal shelves glinting in the fluorescent lights. They hear other late-working students scream as they are caught in the collapse, disturbing crunches cutting off their voices. Harvey stays a step behind Bryce, the tall man hoping to use his own body to shield her if they are not fast enough. Eyeing the stacks, he is unsure if he can hold one up, but he is willing to try to protect his friend.

Coming to the corner of the study lounge section, the pair are caught by surprise when a shelving unit rolls into their path. Bryce jumps back to avoid getting crushed while Harvey whirls around to check the domino effect that is catching up to them. A young woman steps out from behind a column in time to get run over by the furniture. Her body remains stuck to the metal side as it crashes into the wall and starts rolling back, the corpse slowing it down. Not wanting to become trapped, the two students goes back to running even though they swear the exit was not this far away from the room.

Harvey gasps for air and holds his side, a cramp making it difficult to keep up with his friend. Waving for Bryce to continue running, he pushes himself to move while falling further behind. Shouts from above give them enough of a warning to avoid the students who are knocked off the second floor. A rain of bodies, glass, and furniture surrounds the pair, several shards sticking into their skin. As they reach the lobby, the carpeted section of the floor pivots and sends all of the shelves tumble towards the students. Doubting that he can make it, Harvey shoves Bryce from behind to help her reach the tiles that remain stable. He is unable to stay on his feet and falls, his body bouncing into a nearby stairwell. The young man vanishes among the crashing furniture and scraps of those who have already died in the chaos.

Bryce stares at the destruction that has sent pages flying into the air, but she keeps enough of her senses to get back to her feet. The library continues to shake, which Marcy ignores as she calmly checks a cart full of returns. With a sigh of annoyance, the librarian steadies a pile of books that threaten to topple over, but she does not show any interest in what is going on around her. More of the shelves topple over in the distance and lights fall from the ceiling, the milder carnage barely registering in the confused woman’s mind. It is only when a piece of paper flies by her face and cuts her cheek that Bryce is stirred into action. She backs away from the swarm of pages that dart towards her, each one leaving a narrow slice in her skin or clothes.

Opening her mouth to yell for help, the corners of her lips are slashed by a paper that thuds into the nearby wall. Blood dripping down her face, Bryce staggers toward the revolving door and falls inside. The exit refuses to move in the direction she pushes, instead going in reverse at a speed that slams her against the glass. She tumbles and curses as she is banged around, her head repeatedly hitting the floor and ceiling. Whirling around at a dizzying speed, the door abruptly stops and hurls Bryce back into the library. The barely conscious student sails over the page-covered tiles and slams into the only standing shelving unit. As she slumps to the ground, the heavy furniture tips over and crashes on top of her. The impact is enough to break the floor, most of which collapses into the basement.

Looking up from her returns, Marcy finally acknowledges the destruction and lets out a long sigh. Reaching under her desk, the librarian pulls out a dusty sign that is missing one of its suction cups. Remaining in her wheeled chair, she makes her way around the large hole in the floor and heads for the entrance. Wedging her shoe in the revolving door to stop it from moving, she locks the others and puts up the sign. Glancing over her shoulder, Marcy decides that being closed for a private event is close enough and snaps her fingers. As she rolls away, the glass darkens to prevent anyone from seeing inside, leaving only the sign visible from outside.

(The voices are calling to those who forgot to visit yesterday.)

Madras Christian College

“Pencils on the floor!” Mrs. Addison shouts, jolting Apollo from his test. Passing by his desk, she takes his test and rolls it up like a map. “Good to see you do the work instead of doodling like usual, Mr. Chambers. By the way, class, whoever gets the lowest grade will have to help Marcy in the library. She has bookworms and I promised to send her an expendable helper. Now, please take your regular seats.”

All of the students stand and move one chair to the left, none of them reacting when those already at the end fall through the wall. Sickening thuds can be heard in the ceiling, which seeps blood above Mrs. Addison’s desk. The ostrich standing by the board grabs a bucket to put under the drops before using its wings to wipe off the puddles. The creature’s feathers adopt a red tint as they absorb the liquid, which transforms it into a giant parrot. Staring at the students, the bird hovers in the air and waits for its master to give it a signal. The instant the teacher whistles, it soars at the students and grabs a young man in the back. He kicks and screams while getting dragged across the sandpaper-like carpeting. With a screeching song, the parrot veers out the door, which snaps shut and locks itself.

“I hope he isn’t afraid of bugs,” Mrs. Addison whispers, taking a seat on the front row of desks. Her legs stretch to abnormal lengths, so that she can put her feet on two students who massage her calves. “That will earn you extra credit. Now, I have some glorious news for everyone. It’s been a long time since I got to announce a new arrival. In fact, I don’t remember ever having to do it. She might be a little shy since the poor thing went through fire and brimstone to get here. Don’t hold your nose, Mr. Murphy, because I assure you that she had a bath first. Please come out and take the seat next to, Mr. Chambers. Oh, her name is Jennifer O’Connor. Probably should have said that first.”

Apollo abruptly realizes that he is back in his dream when he sees Jennifer walk out of a side door. Having never had a friend or family member appear in his recurring nightmare, the young man tries to wake himself up. All he receives is a dull ache in his groin, as if someone is grinding their heel into his crotch. Watching the unblinking redhead, Apollo notices a faint trail of smoke wafting off her skin. She is wearing a crimson dress that is singed around the edges and has to large burn marks around her lower back. Jennifer finally smiles when she sits next to him and clasps her hands in her lap. Tears flow down her cheeks until Mrs. Addison pops a bubble and a wave of heat dissolves the small droplets.

“Are you okay?” Apollo whispers while taking out his notebook. He yelps when their teacher leaps onto his desk and lifts him by catching his chin with her ruler. “I’m sorry for talking about of turn. She was crying and seemed upset. I didn’t want her to be scared and distract the class since you hate when that happens. Please put me down and I promise not to talk anymore.”

“Oh, I thought you were hitting on her,” Mrs. Addison replies, dropping Apollo back into his seat. She slaps a sucking candy on his desk and patiently waits for him to accept the tiny treat. “It’s spicy. Now, I will repeat one of my rules. There will be no sex in my classroom! I run a moral and clean ship here. Don’t make me teach with the black lights on because I’ll do it and ruin our fun. I swear, kids these days are like rabbits. Fluffy, adorable bunnies that you just have to hug until they crunch. Now, please open to page one thousand five hundred and eight.”

“There’s only three hundred pages in the book,” a nervous student in the front says.

With an angry growl, Mrs. Addison brings her ruler down with enough force to send most of his body through the floor. Only his hands remain and the quietly turn to the back of the book, which has the correct number scrawled in the corner. Not wanting the same treatment, the other students hurry to do what they are told. Two of them are too slow for their teacher, who snaps her fingers as she passes by their seats. One of the books grows teeth and leaps to gnaw on the flailing woman’s neck, which stretches to accommodate the attack. The young man watches his classmate continue to get mauled while his body balloons and floats toward the ceiling. Gently hitting one of the sprinklers, he explodes and sends a rain of gore splattering onto the front of the room. With a tired sigh, a six-armed janitor comes out from under the teacher’s desk and goes about cleaning the mess.

Jennifer mumbles incoherently and coughs up ashes, her hands blindly fumbling with her book. Deciding that he has nothing to lose, Apollo helps her get to the right page and puts a pen next to her quivering hand. He is about to call the teacher over for help when he remembers it is a dream, so he tries to calm his friend down by thinking very hard. A ripple runs through the room and Jennifer sits upright, the smoke flowing from her body coming out in thick plumes that cover the floor. Unsure of what he did, Apollo tries to undo the damage by wishing it away, but one of his classmates bursts into flames. Panic sets in and his mind wanders, every thought creating a vivid change in the scenery. Windows pop out of the walls to show grotesque landscapes while fake stars drop from the ceiling, their tips dripping glistening acid. Turning to Jennifer, he is about to apologize when her chair turns into a metallic Venus flytrap and slams shut around her. Tufts of his friend’s hair stick out from between the crystalline teeth and one of her feet remains on the floor. To Apollo’s surprise, the severed part shows no blood or bone, but has charred wood on the inside.

“Someone is getting ripe,” Mrs. Addison squeals with glee. Golden spires erupt from the floor and she dances among them as her clothes melt away. “Sadly, little apple, it isn’t time for the big event. I’m going to have to put you back in the crisper. Don’t cry because we’ll meet again very soon.”

Sensing that he is about to be attacked, Apollo tries to get out of his chair, but finds that his skin has fused with the arms. Thrashing about, he is unable to free himself before a blast of cold erupts from beneath him. He tries to scream as his body is turned into ice, but his throat closes before he can get the sound out. Frozen with a face of fear and agony, Apollo can only watch as Mrs. Addison takes a seat on his desk. Her brown hair grows around her naked body before separating and becoming a chocolate-colored dress. One of her eyes turns gold as she inspects her captured prey, a playful song slipping from her ruby-lipped mouth. Satisfied that he is contained, she pokes her student in the forehead and watches him topple backwards. Apollo shatters against the smoke-covered floor and his pieces fly in every direction, his eyes seeing only an approaching wall before he jolts awake.