I'm not going to class today and I'm calling in sick to work.
I didn't sleep last night, spending the long hours of the night in front of the TV, not really watching anything, always looking out of the corner of my eye at the door, jumping every time a shadow swept across it. The hall lights never go off so I put a towel across the bottom again, but I still found my eyes wondering over to the door.
The bastard is making me paranoid.
And by the bastard I mean whoever R. is. He/she is playing with me for no apparent reason. At first, I though he/she would pan out as a source in this Williams-Cohen mess, but now I'm not sure.
I showed up at Williams-Cohen Hall about 10 after. I had to take the long way around because the football field was closed when the home bleachers stated to sink into the ground. The fog was out (as always) and I felt as if I needed to physically shake it off as I walked inside. The Hall was quiet as usual, and as I made my way to the room I realized that the door was gone.
The doorway to Room 312 was a gaping hole. Empty and covered by a thick white plastic sheet. I walked up and pushed it back and almost broke my neck, stumbling over a sawhorse and knocking it over.
The room was a maze of plastic sheets, one on each wall and a long multilayered one that split the space in to. They were two thick to see through, and I couldn't See the walls. but the floor was stripped bare down to the concrete and cans of white paint lay in seemingly random plies on the floor.
It was dark and I wasn't smart enough to bring a flashlight. The window was still boarded up but the sheets still rustled softly as if there was a breeze.
"Hello?"
Nothing. I continue to push through the sheets absently. There is a sound behind me. I turn around a little to fast.
Still nothing.
"Hey. Are you gonna tell me something or what?" Again there is a rustling sound, I throw open the sheet and try to go under it. On the other side is a second sheet. Was it there before?
"Chris."
In my ear, whispered.
"Holy shit!" I try to spin around and fall into the plastic sheets. It tears and falls on top of me. I'm trapped, flailing, wrapped in plastic. I thrash and spin hitting paint cans and gasping for air as I swim through, trying to find an opening.
I crash into a wall and finally get the goddamn thing off me. I stand up and I am shaking. The Room is silent. Several of the sheets hang askew. A puddle of paint lays in the middle of the floor. The can rolls, grating against the concrete. It stops at the wall next to me.
I am shaking, but I don't see anyone.
"Well fuck you then!" I shout, I doesn't come out like I want it to. My voice has a reedy quality that scares me even more.
I turn to leave and there is something taped to the wall by the doorway.
A tarot card.
I didn't sleep last night, spending the long hours of the night in front of the TV, not really watching anything, always looking out of the corner of my eye at the door, jumping every time a shadow swept across it. The hall lights never go off so I put a towel across the bottom again, but I still found my eyes wondering over to the door.
The bastard is making me paranoid.
And by the bastard I mean whoever R. is. He/she is playing with me for no apparent reason. At first, I though he/she would pan out as a source in this Williams-Cohen mess, but now I'm not sure.
I showed up at Williams-Cohen Hall about 10 after. I had to take the long way around because the football field was closed when the home bleachers stated to sink into the ground. The fog was out (as always) and I felt as if I needed to physically shake it off as I walked inside. The Hall was quiet as usual, and as I made my way to the room I realized that the door was gone.
The doorway to Room 312 was a gaping hole. Empty and covered by a thick white plastic sheet. I walked up and pushed it back and almost broke my neck, stumbling over a sawhorse and knocking it over.
The room was a maze of plastic sheets, one on each wall and a long multilayered one that split the space in to. They were two thick to see through, and I couldn't See the walls. but the floor was stripped bare down to the concrete and cans of white paint lay in seemingly random plies on the floor.
It was dark and I wasn't smart enough to bring a flashlight. The window was still boarded up but the sheets still rustled softly as if there was a breeze.
"Hello?"
Nothing. I continue to push through the sheets absently. There is a sound behind me. I turn around a little to fast.
Still nothing.
"Hey. Are you gonna tell me something or what?" Again there is a rustling sound, I throw open the sheet and try to go under it. On the other side is a second sheet. Was it there before?
"Chris."
In my ear, whispered.
"Holy shit!" I try to spin around and fall into the plastic sheets. It tears and falls on top of me. I'm trapped, flailing, wrapped in plastic. I thrash and spin hitting paint cans and gasping for air as I swim through, trying to find an opening.
I crash into a wall and finally get the goddamn thing off me. I stand up and I am shaking. The Room is silent. Several of the sheets hang askew. A puddle of paint lays in the middle of the floor. The can rolls, grating against the concrete. It stops at the wall next to me.
I am shaking, but I don't see anyone.
"Well fuck you then!" I shout, I doesn't come out like I want it to. My voice has a reedy quality that scares me even more.
I turn to leave and there is something taped to the wall by the doorway.
A tarot card.
THE FOOL
The picture shows a man about to walk off a cliff. I curse again and shove it in my pocket and begin to walk away. I check the halls and they are empty. I am almost at the door when I hear the plastic rustle again. I turn around and see something move behind the veil.
"Gotcha bitch!"
I sprint back down the hall at full speed, crashing through the plastic and charging the figure.
"You think this is funny!"
I am talking to am empty room again.
Fuck.
The floor RA comes out to see what the hell is going on.
"Excuse me, your not supposed to be in there."
"I'm with the Journal, the campus newspaper. Your Sally Mendoza right? The RA for the floor."
"Yeah."
"Have you seen anyone poking around here lately?"
"You."
"Besides me."
"Um not really. Her friend Michelle comes sometimes. She doesn't go in though. She cries so I leave her alone. She's writing a book you know."
"I know. Did Rose ever get written up Sally?"
"That's none of you business."
"I won't print it I'm just curious. Did she?"
"Yeah a couple times for noise. and once for having a boy in the room after hours."
"Who was the boy?"
"...."
"I promise I wont print it."
"Dean Anett."
"Okay thanks." I walk away. Flustered and empty handed. The fog swallows me up as I walk out the door and into the night.
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