Change Of Season

by Dillon, A. C.

  “How’s Emma?”

  Autumn startled slightly, her hand yanking forcefully on the side entry door to Media Studies. “Fine, I guess? She’s pretty nice. Good taste in music.”

  Miraj growled under her breath. “Yeah, but are you talking to her about-”

  “Not yet,” she blurted out, eyes scanning wildly for signs of life within the building. “I can’t go there. Why do I even have to?”

  “It’s the only way. Out is through, through being through the walls. You’re not an idiot, Red.”

  Tiny porcelain hands toyed with Autumn’s hair as her friend stared into her eyes. Those eyes… they always saw through her lies and fake smiles. It was infuriating, but soothing. Heather could never see, never understand. A hurricane had blown her world apart, and Heather was busy applying lip gloss. But Miraj dug through the rubble, pulled her from the debris. Wasn’t that enough?

  “It’s over, though.” Her voice was scarcely a whisper.

  “Is it?” Miraj countered. “Because if it’s over, why are you here, hiding from your life?”

  “Shut up,” Autumn warned.

  “Why? Because you know I’m right?” She chuckled sarcastically, shaking her head as she drew her hoodie over it. “Face it, Autumn, your house of cards is crumbling. You can either reach for the life preservers, or drown.”

  Without another word, her friend spun on her heels and stormed out of the building, leaving Autumn as she always was: alone.

  Better off this way. No one gets hurt.

  Slipping into a stairwell, she made her way to the second floor, where her usual leather chair by the window lay vacant. The cool leather soothed her, and for a moment, she debated napping instead of writing. But it hit her then: a plot bunny. Pen and book pulled from her bag, she curled her legs beside her, and began to scribble.

  Even nature is violent in this small, run-down town. The birds do not sing – they scream, as I scream, bolting upright from the dream.

  It’s always the same, my dream: I am walking alone on a cobblestone road, and my shoes are caked with mud that flakes off. I reach a riverbed and splash the coolness on my face, but my fever remains. I rinse my shoes, but they bleed more mud. Always dirty. Dirty like me.

  Her pen between her lips, Autumn paused as voices carried to the second floor. Two male voices, their conversation indiscernible. It reminded her of a Peanuts cartoon parent. Hesitantly, she continued to compose.

  Jimmy, the elephant trainer, says I am forever Lady Macbeth: crying out at spots on my soul, as if soap can ever erase my sins, my blame.

  Sometimes, I wish I could run away from my soul.

  The voices grew louder, more firm: an argument of some kind. Conflict. Autumn swallowed hard at the lump swelling in her throat, her knees drawing closer. Maybe someone else was in trouble for being here without a reason? But she was so close to finished, and the Muse insisted…

  My macabre reverie is broken by the happy crowds drifting by. As Jimmy arrives, he takes my hand, pressing a tissue into it, a whispering touch to my forsaken flesh.

  “You really should be going“, he says.

  I just wish I knew where to.

  “… you mean that you don’t know?” an angry voice raged beneath her. “Isn’t it your job to know?”

  A mumbled reply. Anxious. Trouble, Autumn thought, gingerly shutting her notebook. Time to leave.

  Footsteps briskly made their way up the main staircase in the centre foyer, and her body sprung, cat-like as she snatched her belongings up and headed around the corner. A fevered muttering continued to pursue her as she slid along the walls, debating whether to take the far stairwell to ground level or hide until they passed. Logan will have a field day if I’m not supposed to be here! she thought frantically. Heart racing, she began fumbling with door knobs, seeking a respite until the stormy man passed. Lock after lock foiled her as she slid down the hallway, pawing wildly until at last, a thick metal door swung inward, granting her access to a darkened refuge. Breath caught in her lungs, she dove inside, crouching on the floor by what felt like a sofa, bag clutched in her arms.

  Thump. Thump. Thump. They grew louder, faster, and so did the pulse echoing in her ears. No escape. No escape. He’s coming. Whimpering, she drew closer to the mystery furniture, willing herself not to cry.

  The steps paused before her door, and then, to her horror, it swung wide, nearly striking her as someone coughed and a jacket rustled. The room suddenly flooded with light, blinding her, and she shut her eyes to guard against it.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Eyes slowly peered up at a surly teen, his leather jacket and messy black hair sending a shiver of fear down Autumn’s spine. In his hand was a large coffee from the dining hall, and it finally clicked: student. He stepped closer and immediately, she rose to her feet, edging towards the open door.

  “I’m-I’m sorry. I just needed somewhere quiet and voices and-”

  Monitors, boards of knobs and switches, and a projector lay beyond her discoverer. This was a film editing suite. She’d heard of them through Veronica’s friends. He was in Film.

  “No, hey, it’s cool,” he protested, albeit angrily. “I just – I booked the room and the asshole guard downstairs-”

  “No, no, I’m sorry,” Autumn interrupted, avoiding the piercing blue eyes focused upon her. “I’ll go. Sorry, really.”

  And she ran. Ran as he called out to her. Ran as she felt her knees weaken, her stomach turning. Stupid! She’d allowed herself to be cornered by him. Cornered, again. Her sneakers skidded as she headed for the opposite end of the building, where the stairwell would carry her safely to her secret exit. But when she rounded the corner, she found herself paralyzed in fear.

  Her hair was wavier than her own, but only just: the work of curlers, not nature. Her tank top and long skirt hugged her frame as she turned back then smiled softly, adjusting a glittering hair barrette. And as Autumn’s shaky palm pressed to her lips in shock, she nodded, then walked through the stairwell door.

  Through the door.

  “Nikki?” A whisper between her fingers.

  No reply.

  “Nikki, wait!”

  Autumn threw open the stairwell door, giving chase – to what? To whom? The stairwell was empty, silent save for her own shallow breaths. There were seventeen stairs from this level to the tunnels, twelve to the ground floor. No one could take them that fast and leave not an echo.

  Just as she now left echoes, bolting down the stairs, desperate to escape.

  It was following her. It wasn’t trapped in her room. Had she released it, living there, a near clone? Had her own melancholy attracted her ethereal attention? Throwing herself into the tunnels, she stifled a sob, glancing wildly in either direction, looking for… what? A ghost? The crying was that and nothing more. Yet, if Nikki wanted to stalk her, she was easy prey.

  “Leave me alone,” Autumn pleaded, stumbling down the damp tunnel, vision hazy. “Please…”

  A heavy sigh floated through the tunnel, as if a drafty door shut. Finding the grungy steps leading to the surface mercifully unoccupied by the dead, she strode quickly upwards, her ankle catching and twisting slightly as her sneaker slid out from beneath her on the upper landing. Cursing, she bent to massage the joint – then paused, as she noticed an unfamiliar splash of colour on the ground.

  A postcard – or what remained of one. Much of it was gone, the charred edges speaking of its fate. Sickened and struck with a sudden sense that this, too, was hers, she reached out, gingerly lifting it and turning it over. A typical tourist postcard of Toronto, complete with CN Tower, she concluded, flipping back to the text.

  The looping scrawl was tedious to decipher in the dim lighting. It would have to wait until she emerged.

  Cautiously, she pushed open the broken access doors, mindful of being seen and the consequences. Finding the nearby ground deserted, she darted quickly into the fresh air, shutting the door firmly behind her. She headed across the quad lan
guidly, as if this was just another day, just a quick stroll on a Sunday afternoon. Ha! Her eyes drifted back to her find, studying the message anew. Sentences were fragmented, but there was plenty to fuel her fevered imagination.

  Lori,

  I know this will sound-

  wrong here. I feel like-

  stalked? But how can-

  dead?

  I need to go home. Plea-

  Convince them that I –

  Love, Nikki

  First the barrette, and now this… what? Unsent message? If it were sent, it wouldn’t be here… would it? And if this were genuine, then what was Nikki afraid of?

  Autumn’s stomach turned. She slid the card into her bag, nestled with the photocopies from the yearbook and paper. God, that seems like it was days ago… Weary and confused, she knew only two things: first, she needed Ativan, now; and second, she needed a friend.

  ***

  Veronica knocked on her door at nine, and judging from her dishevelled clothing, she’d come straight from the commuter bus to room 308. In a flurry of jittery limbs, she pushed inside, tossing herself on the spare bed and waving for the door to be shut. Autumn locked the door, ensuring no surprise entries from wandering classmates, and settled anxiously onto her own bed.

  “Okay, I got your email on the bus. You sounded freaked, and considering you’ve got more baggage under your eyes than a jumbo jet, I’d say it’s serious. What’s wrong?”

  Autumn hesitated, fiddling with her pillow. “You’re going to think I’m crazy. Like, lock her up and throw away the key nuts.”

  Veronica frowned. “No way. I’m your friend.”

  Autumn sighed. “It’s seriously messed up, what I wanted to… You have to keep this between us.”

  Veronica leaned forward, her hand outstretched. “Autumn, of course. What happens in 308, stays in 308.”

  Except dead girls – they apparently like to walk around campus, stalking their new roomies. But how much to tell? The crying was one thing; Veronica had heard that herself. But the postcard? The figure in the Media Studies building? That was just… a lot to believe, for anyone. Even she scarcely believed it.

  “You remember the night you stayed over?”

  “The birthday bash? Of course!” Veronica tilted her head. “Why?”

  “Well, remember the crying we heard? That I hear all the time?”

  “Yeah. Your neighbour needs some serious cheering. But what’s this got to do with anything?”

  Autumn swallowed hard. “I heard it last night. And I was going to knock on the wall, but then I remembered that they… V, they weren’t here last night. Neither of them. I saw them leave.”

  Veronica’s brow furrowed, then realization dawned upon her. “You don’t think it’s-”

  “I said her name and… Things got messed up.”

  Veronica shook her head in disbelief. “Are you sure no one was pranking you? I mean, everyone knows what happened in this room, pretty much. People suck, Autumn.”

  “Unless you know someone who can cause a massive power surge in my room on cue, then no, it wasn’t a prank,” Autumn snapped. “See? I knew you’d think I was crazy.”

  Veronica rose quickly, pacing between the beds. “No, I don’t. But… Autumn, you are seriously sure that it’s legit?”

  “I feel it, Veronica. I just… know.” And I’ve also seen her around campus, which is just oh-so-hilarious and therapeutic!

  Sinking onto the bed beside Autumn, Veronica nodded. “Then I believe you. And it’s not like it’s unheard of for a tragic death to create a spirit, right? Isn’t that the basis of Paranormal State? God, that show creeps me out, even if half of it seems staged. And this happens every night?”

  Autumn nodded. “Unless I’m sleeping beforehand, it usually starts at eleven every night. It’s kind of annoying. At least when I said her name, she stopped.”

  “Courteous. Nikki the Friendly Ghost,” Veronica quipped.

  “Don’t mock her; I have to live with her,” Autumn cautioned.

  “Sorry, it’s reflex. I inhale oxygen, exhale sarcasm and song. Nikki knew – er, knows that.”

  Exhausted, Autumn stretched out on the bed, kicking her legs over the edge. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “I think Keenan’s got a Ouija board. We should do a séance.”

  Autumn gasped, shaking her head furiously. “No goddamn way.”

  “But we can use it to figure out why she’s still here. Maybe she has a message or something.”

  “Veronica, did you not see Paranormal Activity 2? They used a Ouija board and it caught fire. Not a great idea for me to burn down the dorms in my first year. And don’t even get me started on séances and The Haunting In Connecticut. No pissing off the spirits.”

  Veronica conceded, stretching out beside Autumn. “Okay, true. But you’ve just given me a great alternate idea.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Those movies, they film everything, right? To see what’s going on?” As Autumn nodded, Veronica continued excitedly, “Well, what if other stuff happens while you sleep? You have a laptop, right? Maybe you should run your webcam all night, see what happens.”

  Autumn mulled this idea quickly. It would never cover the entire room, so things might be missed. But sound would travel and be picked up by the mic, maybe. And yet, she wondered if she really wanted to know if there was more to this… thing. Pandora, meet Box. Haven’t you learned enough?

  No. No, she hadn’t. And she needed to know.

  “Alright. It can’t hurt, I guess.”

  Veronica clapped her hands excitedly. “Yay! We’ll set everything up, and we can check out the footage tomorrow after class, go from there.”

  Autumn rose slowly, flipping open her laptop and activating the webcam software. Maybe there will be answers, she thought absently. Or more questions. But even if she could just capture the crying noise, it would prove she wasn’t imagining things, and that would be something.

  “You want me to sleep here tonight? I could always ask.”

  Autumn smiled, turning to face her friend. “Nah. I’ll be okay. I’m exhausted, so it shouldn’t be hard to sleep.”

  “Okay, then. I’d love to stay but I have to unpack and crash. We have a meeting with Hurst in the morning.” Veronica rolled her eyes as she rose to depart. “That woman loves early meetings.”

  “Oh! Did you get Ilse?” Autumn cursed herself inwardly for not asking sooner.

  Veronica shrugged sadly. “Dunno. She didn’t post the results yet. Emailed us about the meeting instead. Guess I’ll know then.”

  “You got it. No way you didn’t.”

  Veronica sighed. “That’s what I thought about Nadia in bare and we know how that turned out. I’ll see you in Math?”

  “Definitely. Thanks, V, for everything.”

  Veronica grinned. “Hey, what’s a fake girlfriend for? Night!”

  “Night.”

  Locking the door behind Veronica, Autumn surveyed her bedroom, debating angles and lighting. The windowsill was probably out. It wouldn’t be possible to angle the camera. The desks at the foot of each bed were low, but still a more viable vantage point for capturing… something. Several test adjustments later, she finally had her webcam aimed to capture the room entrance, bathroom door, and the area near Autumn’s bed. The spare bed was somewhat out of frame, but it would have to do.

  It was nine-thirty now: lights out hit in half an hour. And soon after, Nikki weeps, she recalled.

  “I’m not waiting up. Screw it.”

  Popping the Ativan into her mouth, she slowly changed into her pajamas, set her alarm, and dropped her earbuds into her ears. Sleep would come. It had to. And then…

  Guiltily, she fingered the large brown envelope tucked in the drawer beneath her bed. Veronica doesn’t need to know about this, she affirmed. I don’t even know what all of this is. Forcing her mind away from the whole haunted dorm mess, she found herself recalling the student who’d found her in his film editing suite
. So much anger, and yet, it wasn’t anger at her, really. Layers of hurt. There was a familiarity to him, as if they’d met before. But where?

  And why did she care?

  No dating, she reminded herself. It’s not worth it. Wallflower. Veronica is more than enough interaction.

  For all of her protests, it was futile: Autumn drifted off, haunted not by a redhead, but a dark-haired boy with piercing blue eyes and a bewildered expression, as he called out to her from a darkened corridor…

  “Miraj, wait up!”

  Autumn ran across the grassy expanse between the parking lot and the boardwalk, dodging icy patches where snow had melted, frozen and melted anew. March Break had finally arrived, and not a moment too soon. If one more teacher gave her the Disappointed Glare that Jarvis apparently trained staff to display, she’d hang herself.

  Why did they care so much about her grades, anyway?

  Miraj skipped along the boardwalk, twirling in wide circles, her long black waves dancing in the bitter wind. Her red coat was a sharp contrast to the winter wonderland surrounding them, icy grey-blue water sloshing against frosty sand. With a laugh, she halted, waving her arms.

  “Freedom! Sweet freedom!”

  Miraj had been grounded for the last week, forbidden to come to the phone or to hang out. It had been a lonely week: Heather no longer spoke to her daily, and Miraj attended Catholic school. But now they were reunited, and ready to party.

  “I wish I never had to go back to school,” Autumn said, joining her friend.

  “So don’t!”

  “Don’t think my parents will allow that,” Autumn replied, rolling her eyes.

  Miraj withdrew a flask from her coat pocket, her gloved hands struggling with the cap. Knocking back a shot, she passed it to Autumn, who swallowed down the bitter herbal liqueur reluctantly.

  “This is my last year. You’ll see,” Miraj said angrily. “I’m so tired of my parents being on my ass. Maybe my ambitions do include McDonald’s as a career choice. It’s not their life, it’s mine.”