The Harrowing

by Alexandra Sokoloff

  Martin sat back against his chair. He spoke evenly, his face like alabaster in the flickering light. “I said, What are you, you fuck?”

  He stood up with eerie calm, crossed to pick up the pointer from the hearth. He put it back on the board and sat, looked up at Robin intensely. “Come on.”

  Cain moved forward. “No. That’s enough. You’re too into it.”

  Martin nearly shouted over him. “Come on.”

  Robin flinched, blinked back tears, but she felt for the back of the chair and sat, reached to the pointer.

  Cain spoke low behind her. “You don’t have to.”

  Martin’s voice cut through his. “What are you?” he demanded of the air. All scientific detachment was gone; he’d spoken as if to a real person. He pushed his fingers into the pointer, stared down at the board as if he were alone in the room.

  Robin touched the pointer with her fingertips. Immediately, the piece began to move. Robin recoiled. There was something different there, not a new energy, but a change in the energy. So much…loathing. Malice. Fury. The malevolence fairly crackled through her fingers.

  But the words the pointer spelled were slow, almost teasing.

  WOULDNT YOU LIKE TO KNOW ?

  Martin jerked forward, his voice raised. “What are you?“ The planchette scraped, swift and violent, across the board.

  ASK YOUR PORK LOVING KIKE GOD

  Robin gasped and pulled her hands away from the planchette. She felt rather than saw Cain move forward behind her; then his hands were gripping her shoulders. Lisa was hugging herself from the edge of the shadows.

  Martin pressed his fingers into the wood, white-faced and shouting. “I’m asking you. Tell me what you are!”

  Everyone was still. The indicator slowly circled under Martin’s hands.

  Robin watched, paralyzed, squeezing her hands together on her thighs, subliminally aware of Cain’s hands on her shoulders. She suddenly thought, with clarity for the first time, Lisa wasn’t moving it. It wasn’t ever any of us. Then, oh God…what is it?

  The letters appeared inexorably under the cut circle of the pointer.

  TELL ?

  OR

  Robin could feel the others craning forward, waiting, mesmerized, as the pointer’s circles diminished to barely a hover. Then a sudden burst of letters.

  SHOW ?

  Robin stared at the board in disbelief, the letters, the word echoing in her mind. No one was speaking the words aloud now; they were all just staring down in numb silence. She had just enough time to wonder, Show us what? How—

  Martin commanded, “Show us.”

  Cain spoke instantly: “No—”

  The planchette scraped violently across the letters.

  YOU WANT TO KNOW ME TAKE ME IN OPEN WIDE

  In the hearth, the fireplace logs cracked open, showering sparks upward. All five of them spun toward the fire, freaked.

  Robin caught movement out of the corner of her eye and glanced up at the mirror above the fireplace.

  In the dark glass she saw a pale shape rushing forward, as if coming from a long distance, a tunnel. There was no time to scream, no time to react. All she had was a glimpse and then—

  The mirror shattered.

  Lisa and Robin screamed. All five of them jumped back as ugly glass spears shot from the mantel, exploding outward, shining briefly in the air, and then crashing on the floor.

  No one moved. All five stood frozen, stunned, suspended in shock.

  Patrick gasped out weakly, “Motherfucking shit.”

  Robin’s heart was pounding in her chest. She could hear Martin breathing shallowly beside her, blinking behind his glasses. The room was utterly silent, the shadows long on the wall. Glass shards like knives littered the carpet, glittering in the firelight.

  Cain was the first to move. He forced himself forward to the fireplace, stepping carefully around the razor-sharp glass. He reached out (Robin almost called out “Don’t!“ but could not make herself speak) and put his hand flat against the pale circle of wall where the mirror had been.

  “It’s hot,” he said. His voice was far away, as if he were in a trance. “Fire must have…heated the mirror and it broke.”

  Lisa toned on him, nearly shrieking. “What planet are you on? It just happened to shatter? At that precise moment? Gosh and gollee yes—happens every day.”

  Martin spoke, his voice dry, also sounding very far away. Or is that me? Robin wondered. Am I the one who’s far away?

  “Hysteria,” he said, almost to himself.

  Lisa went wild. “Don’t you fucking tell me I’m hysterical!”

  Martin pointed at the broken mirror, cold and surreally calm. “That. Hysteria. We made it happen. I was reading accounts of similar occurrences under conditions of extreme psychological stress….”

  His voice was flat, monotonous. But Robin noted with distant but crystalline clarity that there was an undertone there: excitement.

  Patrick laughed uneasily, big and hulking in the half-light. “We all were pretty jacked up.” Beside him, Lisa looked dazed, disconnected, shivering. Patrick reached out, kneaded the back of her neck with a big hand. Robin felt a stab of jealousy, then a fragment of a rational thought. He’s used to hysteria. Because of Waverly.

  Shadows crawled up the walls around them.

  Robin heard herself speaking from a long distance. “I saw something in the mirror. Just before…”

  Everyone looked at her in the dark, silent room.

  “A shape…it was so fast…like something coming this way.”

  The others stood, looking at her almost thoughtfully. They did not speak, perhaps processing. She almost thought they hadn’t heard. The candles flickered, and the logs hissed as they rolled with flames. We’re in shock, aren’t we? Robin thought. That’s why everything feels so frozen and far away.

  Cain finally spoke. “Probably just the mirror bending before it cracked.” He nodded to himself slightly—Robin was sure he wasn’t aware of doing it—convincing himself.

  Patrick put an arm around Robin. His arm was heavy, and warm, and real. She leaned into him hungrily, feeling her whole body against his. To the side of her she saw Cain turn away from them, but the body warmth, the heat of Patrick’s blood, the sound of his heart beating, the life of him, that was all she could care about.

  Martin was speaking, his voice sounding detached from his body. “What were we all thinking about just before it happened?”

  The others looked at him. Robin felt Patrick shift and was childishly irritated at the intrusion. Whatever Martin was getting at, she wanted no part of it. She only wanted to crawl inside Patrick and curl up and never come out.

  Martin looked around at all of them, insistent. “I think we should talk about it, while it’s still fresh in our minds.”

  Robin felt Patrick turn completely from her. He towered over Martin, who seemed half his size. “Are you crazy? After the way it went off on you?”

  Cain turned on Patrick, the anger leaping from one to the other, electrifying the room. “And who was that coming from?”

  Patrick whirled on Cain. “Say what?”

  Cain faced him, hands clenched at his sides. “Whose subconscious was it tapping? Sounded like right-wing frat-boy bullshit to me.”

  Their shadows loomed on the wall as the two advanced on each other, voices rising.

  “You calling me out, freak?”

  “I’m calling what I see, asshole.”

  Robin suddenly found herself back in her own body, as if jerking awake from a too-real dream. She stepped quickly between Patrick and Cain.

  “Stop it. It’s bad enough, isn’t it?”

  Cain and Patrick faced off tensely, glaring at each other over Robin’s head. The air crackled between them.

  But then Cain stepped back.

  Robin breathed an inaudible sigh of relief, and felt a stab of disappointment that it had not been Patrick to step down.

  “Let’s all just…leave it. Get some sl
eep,” Cain muttered, glancing away from Robin.

  Nobody moved.

  The wind gusted outside, pushing at the windows, like an animal wanting in.

  Lisa’s voice was flat, dead certain. “No way am I going anywhere alone.”

  And Robin knew it was not enough this time for the two of them to stay together for moral support. Two girls were no match for whatever she’d seen in the mirror.

  The five of them looked around at one another in the firelight.

  “We could stay down here.”

  Everyone turned to Martin, startled. He glanced at Robin. “Bring some bedding down…” His eyes indicated the floor, where the glass shards still glittered like daggers.

  There was wonder in Patrick’s face as he looked at the smaller boy. “You’re way into it, aren’t you? You’re just itching for something to happen.”

  Martin stared back at Patrick. “Aren’t you?”

  Robin tensed at the challenge. Patrick bristled. The two boys stared at each other, Patrick big and hulking, Martin small but grimly determined.

  Cain shook his head, disgusted, and started for the doorway to the hall.

  Patrick suddenly called out after him. “Good luck with those pipes, dude.”

  Cain stopped in the arch of the door, turned slowly.

  The five looked at one another again, not moving.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  She was dreaming… of chaos and fire…blistering, unbearable light, filling her, scorching her.

  She screamed with her entire being….

  And exploded, shattering into a million pieces.

  Then darkness and the iciest cold. Cast out…cast off…she had never felt so abandoned, so completely alone. Nothingness around her…howling wind…howling rage.

  My body…where is my body?

  Her discarnate being shuddered with a cry of fury….

  Robin’s eyes flew open at the sound of a gasp. She bolted up to a sitting position.

  She was in the lounge. A few dying red coals in the hearth illuminated sleeping shapes crashed out on the floor. Robin remembered dragging the mattresses down from the boys’ floor, sweeping up the pieces of mirror as best they could, pushing the shards with the janitor’s broom into a corner far away from them.

  She shuddered through her entire body. Cold. So cold. Her teeth began to chatter.

  Something moved in the dark.

  Robin twisted around in terror and saw that Patrick and Lisa were wide awake, sitting up beside her. Robin caught her breath, whispered into the shadows. “What is it?”

  Patrick swallowed. “I heard…somethin’.” He looked as disoriented as she felt, uneasy, still surfacing from sleep.

  Lisa’s teeth were chattering, too; her eyes were wide, glistening in the dark. “I felt something. On top of me. I’m scared. I mean…really scared.”

  Robin could barely speak. She forced out, “I know,” and took in a shallow breath.

  Then she stiffened, staring in front of her. Her breath was showing in the air, as if the room were freezing.

  Patrick and Lisa were staring at the air in front of her, and she knew they saw it, too.

  Lisa gasped out, “God…what’s going on?” Her words came in frosty puffs.

  Robin reached out and clasped Lisa’s hand, felt her riveted with pure terror.

  A soft banging started, like the wind slamming shutters. The three of them went rigid, listening through the shadows.

  Suddenly, a shape rose up in the dark in front of them.

  Robin flinched back; Patrick jumped.

  Then Robin recognized the lean, tensile strength of the body, realized it was Cain, sitting up from his mattress, his hair mussed from sleep. She felt the others relax slightly as they identified him, too.

  He lifted his eyes toward the soft banging, whispered into the dark, “It’s a window…I think.” He did not sound entirely convinced.

  Patrick spoke through stiff lips. “Jesus…it’s freezing.” His eyes were glazed; he swallowed through a dry throat. Robin wanted to reach for his hand as she’d reached for Lisa’s, but she felt enveloped in a drowsy, almost drugged paralysis.

  Lisa whispered, and her words made Robin’s blood run cold. “I think…I think there’s something here.” She was staring toward the fireplace, her eyes wide as saucers.

  Robin turned her head reluctantly, not wanting to see, but compelled.

  Above the glowing bed of coals, the smoke in the fireplace was curling strangely, more like the spiral patterns of cigarette smoke than wood smoke. Then as they all watched, mesmerized, something seemed to breathe through the smoke…long, deep breaths.

  All four were frozen in terror in the murky darkness.

  Patrick choked out a strangled sound. “I’m out of here.”

  But he didn’t move. Can’t, Robin thought. None of us can.

  And then she thought, Martin.

  With great effort, she turned her head toward the last mattress—and gasped at the sight of Martin’s sleeping form.

  The pieces of broken mirror stood on edge around Martin’s head, the shards arranged to point at him like a halo of daggers, as if the shattered pieces had assumed malevolent life and crept up on him, poised to kill.

  Robin stared, numb. Martin opened his eyes. He seemed to sense her attention and started automatically to reach for his glasses.

  Robin cried out, “No!”

  The panic in her voice froze him. He stared up through the shadows.

  Cain spoke forcefully, a command. “Don’t turn your head. Just sit straight up.”

  Martin raised his head from the mattress stiffly, carefully, nearsighted eyes blinking.

  Robin grabbed his hand and pulled him forward, away from the glass. Cain found his glasses on the carpet and put them in his hand. Martin fumbled the spectacles on and stared down at the glass spears in dazed incomprehension.

  Cain twisted around to the others, his voice tight. “Joke’s over. This is bullshit.” He glared at Patrick. “Someone’s a sick fuck, and I think it’s you.”

  “That’s it, asshole.” Patrick lunged at Cain, and suddenly they were grappling, throwing punches.

  Lisa and Robin cried out, grabbed at Patrick and Cain, trying to pull them apart.

  The rappings started again, as if titillated by the sudden violence. Clearly not a window this time, but a wave of sharp knocking, coming from the ceiling, from within the very walls.

  Cain and Patrick froze mid-struggle, looking up and around them.

  The pounding grew sharper, louder, a rising tide, building, thundering, shaking the walls. Someone started to scream; Robin thought it might have been her. She could barely hear herself think.

  Cain suddenly lunged for the table, flung himself up on his knees, reaching for the board. Robin had no idea what he was doing, but beside her, Martin cried out, “No!

  Cain twisted to the fire and threw the board on the glowing embers.

  All around them, the rappings pounded in a frenzy. Now Lisa and Robin both were screaming.

  On the coals, the board burst into flame.

  And suddenly, everything stopped.

  Dead silence.

  The five of them sat frozen, staring into the fire as the yellow flames rolled, burning the board to black.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Hours of eternity later, the first streaks of gray dawn showed through the windows.

  Robin, Martin, and Cain huddled in blankets. Unable to sleep, they had forayed, hands linked to belts as if on an Arctic expedition, to the closet the Hall residents called the downstairs kitchen to make coffee, stopping at the bathroom to use it one by one, door cracked open and the others on guard outside.

  Now they sat with hands wrapped around mugs, drinking in silence, while Lisa and Patrick dozed beside them in the murky gray light.

  Somewhere a door slammed and they all jumped. Lisa and Patrick bolted out of sleep, freaked.

  They all huddled, frozen, listening. Robin’s blood turned t
o ice at a rattling, dragging sound in the hall.

  Lisa whispered, terrified, “No…”

  They all whirled at the sense of movement behind.

  A stocking-capped stoner stood in the arched entrance of the lounge. Robin recognized him from the third-floor boys’ wing. Behind him, another stoner in striped jacket and comically identical stocking cap hauled a suitcase, its broken wheels rattling.

  The stoners looked around the lounge, taking in the bedding, the overturned furniture, the five students, huddled in blankets, hollow-eyed and haunted, pale as ghosts.

  One of the stoners laughed uneasily. “Whoa…musta been some party.”

  Patrick managed a bleak smile. “Yeah. Some party.”

  Robin, Cain, Patrick, Lisa, and Martin all started to collect their bedding.

  They did it in silence, avoiding one another’s eyes.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  And the rest of the weekend could not have been more ordinary. Residents began to trickle in early Sunday morning, becoming an unstoppable tide. There were midterms to study for, after all, and perhaps there were others who were glad enough to cut the family visit short.

  By noon that cloudy day, doors were standing open all over the Hall, music blasting again, residents visiting, making sandwiches out of leftover turkey, passing around foil-wrapped care packages of pumpkin loaf and gingerbread cookies while they moaned about pounds gained, nursed hangovers, and visibly started to panic about term papers and exams.

  Back in her room, Robin swallowed two of Waverly’s Valium before returning the bottle to the bottom drawer, then slept a black sleep until six that evening, when she bolted up in terror at the sound of her door slamming open.

  Waverly breezed in, one of her signature thoughtless entrances. She turned all the lights on full and proceeded to fuss about the room, pulling open drawers and unpacking prissily and noisily, with appalling disregard for her roommate.

  Robin lay back on her pillows, barely able to move. She was aware through her depressant haze that Waverly would think Patrick was still out of town, and that Patrick would go to pains to make her think he had been. At least Robin wouldn’t be alone that night. And for the first time in their short acquaintance, Robin was painfully glad of her roommate’s presence. Surely nothing mysterious or out of the ordinary would dare happen around Waverly.