by IsYourH3artTaken

Hear No Evil

04

So Real, These Voices In My Head

I spend the first two hours of the morning sitting on a cold examination bed of the doctor's office, wearing one of those uncomfortable gowns that lace up the sides. They performed a physical check-up, cat scan, and even used the little flash light trick where they shine the bulb in your face and slide their forefinger from left to right. As if that does any good. Since the second chaotic screaming episode last night, I faked nausea and severe abdominal pains in front of my parents to let me skip early morning classes for a medical visit. They weren't too happy that I'd be absent for the first half of school, but it's not like I'm playing hooky just to go shopping or something. And at least the doctor's note will be real.

There just has to be some logical reason on what's going on with these night terrors. But explaining my slightly psychotic breakdowns to the nurses wasn't exactly a plausible option without them looking at me like my head just turned all the way around like the girl from The Exorcist. Watering it down to 'headache inducing nightmares' was as close as I could describe it. They didn't seem too confused on why I would book an appointment for that reason. Maybe I'm not the only one who's experienced this in Ipswich. I just can't let this go on any further. It feels like I'm losing my mind. The stress of Senior year is said to cause some mild cases of mental breakdowns, but this is just too extreme. I don't want to walk off the graduation podium with a lobotomy bill on my hands.

After about fifteen extra minutes of waiting and flipping through a health magazine, the doctor finally waltz back in. He's tall, middle aged, with salt and pepper facial hair. Not bad looking for an older dude. He must have made a lot of panties drop in his high school days.

"Alright, Miss St. James," he adjusts the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. I hold my breathe, anticipating terrible news. Something that will make me regret spending the last two weekends camping out in the living room watching Smallville when I should have been studying or at least managing a consistent social life. "We've gotten your test results back and there appears to be nothing wrong with you."

Silence engulfs the room for a moment. I blink quickly. "Wait, what?"

The Doc skims over a chart. "Yes, all your vital signs are reading as normal. I can't say there's an issue with you physically. Have you been diagnosed with a mental disorder in the past? Such as schizophrenia, acute bipolar- "

I shake my head. "No. Nothing like that."

He crosses something off his clipboard. "Are you sexually active?"

In my dreams. Well, actually there was that one time in the back of Dylan Reeves pickup truck during Sophomore year for his annual Halloween party, but that barely counts. He only used his hands. "Nope. Why is that important?"

The Doc taps his pen against the paper. "It could have... emotional and mental impact, depending on the nature of the relationship," he said, sounding like a politician that forgot his cue cards. He's clearly running out of ideas and making it up as he goes. Some A+ clinic this is supposed to be. He might as well ask what brand of orange juice I drink for breakfast. Maybe pulp is the root of my problems.

"Then I'm sorry, Miss. St. James, but I'm afraid I can't help you."

"But I don't understand," I say helplessly, staring at my palms. "Why is this happening to me?"

"If I may say, it appears that the source of your nightmares are coming from up here." The Doc taps his temple.

"Then why do they hurt?"

"Perhaps the pain you feel is actually a cry for help from your subconscious." He pauses. "Are you sure you don't want to bring your mother in here?"

"No!" I say a little too quickly and slid off the medical bed. "No, it's fine. I can't stay much longer anyways. I'm late for school. Thanks for the help."

"Come back if you have any questions."

He leaves promptly so I can change back into my school uniform. It's a bit wrinkled around the collar and hem from being stuffed in my backpack, but it's better than forgetting to bring them all together. It's almost ten in the morning now. I hope I didn't miss any important tests or information on finals. When I'm dressed again, I walk out past the reception table and into the waiting room where a bunch of older women sit with their toddlers. Mom waits in a secluded corner, scribbling something down in her monthly planner. She insisted that she come along, despite my claims that I was perfectly a capable of driving myself in my own car. I guess she's suspicious since the whole broken mirror incident. At least now, I really have nothing to hide. The Doctor knows absolutely zilch. She lifts her head when I come up, smiles and asks me how it went. The glint in her eyes is like sharp pointed steel, as if she's reading my body language like a lie detector. I stall for a second, before messily brushing the cramps off as period irregularity. She appears suspicious that the Doctor didn't give me some type of prescription pills to put them back on track again or lesson the discomfort, but I tell her that I didn't want them. I always have trouble swallowing whole pills anyways. My gag reflex is too big.

But she doesn't probe for anymore answers and we head out to the car. Her Audi was left in the garage at home since there was really no point in taking two cars for the same place. I drive her to work, while she writes something down in one of her handheld notebooks. She keeps so many of them in her bag, I have no idea what they're used for. The car is more or less quiet as we stop at an intersection. Normally the radio is playing on medium, but Mom never likes driving with it on. Something about it being a road distraction and a "driving hazard." She never says anything about pulling forty in a thirty miles per hour zone. I guess it's one of those Mom things when they think 'it's okay for me to do it, but not you.' When we cruise up in front of her work building, she pecks my cheek and reminds me to take the chicken out of the freezer when I come home from school. She comes home pretty late on Mondays, but she's perfected the art in whipping up a last minute dinner. Last time I forgot and nearly had my head on a platter.

I don't know what it is with parents, but they always love to rule by fear.

Spenser looks eerily haunted and cursed when I pull up to the entrance gates. The front lawn is rained with freshly fallen leaves, a mix of pale yellow and cherry red and mist forms a thick bank over the top of the building. It's pretty, in a creepy Stephen King way. And people wonder why I choose not to live in the dorms. Sighing, I retrieve my backpack from the passenger seat, lock my car, then skip up to the front steps. Most students are already in class, but a few loiter in the main hall. Boards stapled with flyers and announcements about the upcoming Fall festival adorn an entire wall near Provost Higgin's office. It's a yearly tradition that's anticipated and planned for since the beginning of summer. It's a bring-a-date sort of dance, but since I broke things off with Cole, I guess I'll be flying solo. No big deal. Who says you need a guy to have fun? I hurry down the hall toward Economics, following the echo of the teacher's mundane lecture.

"Ah, Ms. St. James," the teacher says when I amble inside, doctor's note in hand. "I've been expecting you." I guess the office told him that I'd be tardy. He wags his fingers forward for the slip and I hand it to him, watching him briefly skim it over. Then he nods. "Take your seat."

I close the front flap to my bag and scamper up the aisle to my assigned seat where Kate also sits. "Hey," she whispers when I plop down and get comfortable. "Where were you?"

"I was at the doctor."

Her brows crinkle in concern. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, it was just a check up. I'm fine."

It feels so wrong keeping this from her. Knowing Kate, she'd probably freak out if she ever finds that her boyfriend and all of his friends posses magic. And the fact that I see things in my head. I don't want her to look at me differently, like a crazy person. She's usually very understanding, but has kind of a naive outlook on the world. Kind of like how I used to be before I got into than damn Hummer. I guess that's why we're so close. Our minds are similar in that way. Our friendship is one more thing I don't want to get ruined by whatever is going on with me. She lets me borrow her notes to catch up on what I missed out on as the teacher continues his lesson. We share a lot of classes together, except two or three, so we're practically each other's permanent study buddy.

I slide them over to her once I'm done, then turn back to the teacher's chalkboard. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a familiar chiseled jaw line that bears a striking resemblance to Pogue. Sweet Jesus. I forgot that he's also in this class. What do I do? Okay, be cool. Just look straight ahead. Appear catatonic. I anxiously drum my short fingernails on top of the table, glancing up at the clock for the second I'd be free to escape before Pogue can come over and gush with his girlfriend. His presence is so strong even when we're not directly facing each other. Maybe I should have faked a brain hemorrhage instead and stayed at the clinic. The teacher babbles on about his presentation, chalk stick screeching against the board like dry paint. This is always the class I have no trouble slipping in a few minutes worth of sleep. With our seats aimed toward the higher rows, no one really notices a head or two going missing.

When the bell rings, I practically thrust all my books in my backpack, zip it up, then stand up to follow the rising crowd out the door after promising to meet up with Kate in English, our other shared class. We have separate time schedules for the next hour. She'll be in Trigonometry while I have Chemistry and Calculus. Then right after English is volleyball practice. The only chance for a break I'll have is lunch time. At least they're serving those little Jello cups today. The next couple of classes pass slowly. The social circle within Spencer isn't what you'd expect from a private school. You get the spoiled, entitled little twits like Kira who think they deserve everything because the size of their trust fund. Although, in some people's mind, every kid with a family that has more money than the middle class is a stuck-up disease. And for cases like Kira, I guess that's right. But aside from girls like her, the popular scene in school isn't like what's showed in Tv. They don't black sheep anyone that's not on their "level." However, they are highly protective of their territory. Like the girl's tennis team, or the swimmers.

I honestly don't care much either way. If you pull your weight in a group project, you're not a total asshole to me.

After Chemistry and Calculus ends, the halls flood with Senior students on their way to English. It's probably one of the toughest classes to get an A in. I guess it doesn't help that the teacher is a stickler and acts like he's James Joyce reincarnated to carry on his legacy of Modernism. His tests are the kind that will make you blank out even on the simplest things. That's why I've never been too much of a fan of this class. At least in Algebra, they don't mark your work as incomplete for the tiniest mistake. That's the only class I've managed to get an A in. The rest are a solid B+. I can't complain too much on that. I'm just lucky enough to make into a school like this. The corridor is cramped as I float my way toward the classroom's open door, seeing students heading for their claimed seats. Kate and Sarah are sitting together and wave at me when I walk up to my assigned table two rows below them. I smile and wave back, heart skipping when I realize that the boys are also here. Reid and Tyler are sitting on the higher aisles; Caleb and Pogue just a space below Kate and Sarah, and judging from the way Reid is burning holes though Caleb's back with his glare, those two are having marriage issues.

As I set my backpack between my feet, Pogue glances over and smirks at me a little, lips just barely twitching up. God, why is it so appealing when boys do that? It's not even a smile, yet it still manages to get my heart racing. Perfect for the beginning of class. I need a cold glass of water.

"Good morning," the teacher greets us, setting down his briefcase. "Mr. Danvers, Provost Higgins requests the pleasure of your company after class," he tells Caleb directly. Higgins is pretty much the Godfather around here. He hardly ever calls anyone to his office, unless it's extremely important. I wonder what it's about. "Now, we're going to study four American contemporary writers of fiction." The Teacher begins to write names on the board.

"Yeah, Dreamcatcher was the shit!" Reid says at the last author added and the whole class bursts into laughter. I roll my eyes. He's such a loudmouth.

"Thank you, Mr. Garwin, but no. My choice is The Shining."

Reid shoots him a mocking expression.

I shake my head a little and smile, clicking the top of my mechanical pencil as the teacher continues on. By the end of the class, we're assigned to read a chapter in one of each author's acclaimed novels for tonight's homework. Simple enough. That saves a lot of time to finish other work that's still not due for a few days. After the bell rings, Kate and I make our way to the girl's locker room to change for volleyball practice. It's a relatively popular sport here at Spenser and tournaments are held about once a year, but not nearly as much as the boys' swim team. That's considered the Olympics around here and is taken just as seriously. Swim Meets are always the source of hype. I never went to a race myself, but Kate has been to plenty of Pogue's, or so she says. Seeing a bunch of barely dressed boys must to a good excuse to attend every one. I've only caught glimpses of the boys' locker room from the door swinging open and shut and the trunks they wear are anything but tasteful. God bless whoever designed them. They have my full appreciation.

My hand-eye coordination is fairly average, so for safe measures, I take up the middle row during volleyball so I don't accidentally thump someone in the head with the ball or vice versa. Kate is just in front of me, pony tail swishing with each hit of the ball. Practice is only an hour, just in time for lunch. We break for the locker room when the bell rings out in the hall, feet sore from continuous jumping and moving, towels moist around our necks. The showers only take a few minutes to steam, so cleaning up is quick and easy with our own little lockers. The hole where Aaron cut into to tape his infamous video is cemented up and for extra measure, a thick slab of duct tape is pressed over it. The girls that were caught on camera never smile the same way anymore. Good thing Kate and I were sick with a cold that day. Now no boy is even allowed two feet near the girls' locker room door.

After we're dressed and refreshed, Kate and I skip down the halls and look for Sarah for lunch. The boys are supposedly going to save us a spot in their specially reserved table. Apparently not too many outsiders are invited. And given what I know about them, I can see why. Maybe their secret is harder to keep under wraps than it looks. We find Sarah in the library, her blonde head sitting alone at a table with a stack of books around her.

Kate pops up on her left side, making her jump a little. "What is that?" Kate asks.

"Um...," Sarah hesitates. "Caleb's family history."

"Didn't he tell you about it?" I say, leaning over her right and hope that I don't sound too obvious. Like one of those people who want others to know they know something they don't.

Sarah shakes her head. "No, he didn't. Not a lot of it." She pauses. "Did you guys know that the witchcraft thing actually started here in Ipswich?"

Kate thinks. "Every time I ask Pogue about it, he just tells me it's all nonsense." She leans closer as Sarah turns a new page. The text is thick with different illustrations on every page, some of old symbols or creatures associated with the witchcraft. Some are also drawings of what Ipswich used to look like back when the trials started. Old colonies and courthouses. A lot of the pages include the boys' surnames.

"Hey, Cora, look," Sarah points to a last name printed on the page. "Isn't that your family? St. James."

We all look closer. Her pointer finger hovers just above Nathaniel St. James on the page. There is no picture of him, but from what is written in the chapter, he was a close acquaintance of the five families. Prosecutors were supposed to bring him in for questioning the day of the trials, but his home was found empty and none of the family members were ever tracked down. They seemingly disappeared from town. No... those can't be my ancestors. Mom said that we originally settled in from up North. Where exactly? I'm... not sure. But that can't be my family. I would have known if my ancestors were tied to the Salem Witches. Right?

"You never told me your family was a part of the Witch Trials!" Kate exclaims, looking intrigued.

"I'm not," I answer doubtlessly. "I mean, my parents would have told me. It's probably just another family. I don't even recognize those names."

Kate raises her eyebrows. "How many other people do you know in town with your last name?"

I don't respond and just rub my temple, a confused shamble. My gaze skims over the next few pages, but nothing more is revealed about Nathaniel, or at least, not in this chapter. After a while, Sarah closes the book and slings her book bag over her shoulder, standing up. She puts the book back in its proper place on one of the tall shelves. I don't know why I haven't seen that book that before. I've seen almost every commonly read title, but that one feels completely foreign to me. And tempting to explore further.

"Come on guys, let's go meet the boys," Kate declares once Sarah rejoins us.

"Great!" Sarah smiles and we head for the cafeteria. I walk a pace or two behind them out the door, casting a long glance behind me at the Pagan book that waits on it's shelf, a weird feeling pinching my stomach. No... it's probably nothing.

Those names have nothing to do with my family.

The boys wait for us at their table, sitting around in a semi circle when we come up with our stock of surprisingly not so bad school lunches. I settle for a packet of seedless grapes, a mini carton of milk, bottled water, and french fries. Kate pecks Pogue on the cheek and slides in next to him. The left side is occupied by Caleb and Sarah; Tyler sits besides Pogue's right with Reid taking up the head of the table, standing with one foot propped up against the metal rod underneath. His tie is loose, both arms thrown casually over his bent knee. He looks more interested in the group of girls sitting behind us more than anything else. The only space open is the seat beside Caleb and Sarah, directly facing Kate and her boyfriend.

Alright, time to grow some balls, I tell myself. Or maybe not. They're weak and sensitive. Not exactly a model metaphor. I take the free spot, tucking my bag between my ankles. Pogue smirks at me from across the table, friendly and casual. Although his eyes look darker today. More smoldering. It must be the cloudy weather.

"Did you guys hear about Mr. Nelson?" Kate chimes, picking up her spoon.

"The French teacher?" Sarah inquires.

Kate nods. "Yeah, I heard in Trig that he violated his parole."

"What for?"

"I guess he harassed a student a couple of years ago. A freshman from the boys' soccer team."

I almost choke on my milk. So that's why the teacher's lounge has been said to be the biggest gossip spot since study hall. Despicable. Some adults have no merit these days.

"I told you he was a fuckin' chicken hawk," Reid comments.

"You learn that from experience?" Pogue ripostes, grinning when the blonde boy flips him off. I chuckle and munch from my selective tray, stuffing a couple grapes in my mouth. Despite all the startling encounters and paranoia since meeting them, the guys are nice to be around. They know when to make me laugh and oddly enough, when to take things seriously. They carry themselves with an air of protection. I can't help but feel a little guarded around them. Although, their reputation precedes them. I know whatever is happening to me won't just quit. If anything, it's going to get worse. A lot worse.

"Mind if I join in?" A voice pipes in from behind us. It's Chase.

"No, man," Caleb says, nodding at the only available space beside me. "Go ahead."

Chase smiles and drops onto the bench, our shoulders bumping together. The others treat him nicely, or normally I guess I should say. Caleb is a more at ease with his lady around, but the same can't be said for Pogue. He glares subtly at the Collins kid the second he stepped within our tables perimeter. He's not oblivious. He sees the looks Chase gives Kate and how well they get along. I guess I wouldn't be so receptive of him either if I were him.

"So," Chase begins brightly. "Is everyone going to that Fall Fest dance?"

"Yeah," Caleb replies, glancing down at Sarah as she eats. His full lips twitch into a tiny smile. "I think we are." So romantic.

"Pogue and I go every year," Kate explains, touching her boyfriend's big hand and looks lovingly up at him. He smiles, but it looks distracted, like he's half focused on something else.

"I haven't asked anyone yet," Tyler says, looking a little bummed.

Reid snorts. "You sound like such a girl."

"Dude, shut up."

"You can always take Reid," I suggest. "He's high maintenance enough."

Tyler stifles a laugh while his blonde friend rolls his eyes. I chuck a grape at him, aiming for his chest, but he easily catches it in his hand and pops it in his mouth. Then he winks. He's such a sleaze.

"Looks like I'll be a free man," Chase laments, then smoothly hooks his arm around my shoulders, shaking them gently with his forearm. My side presses against his, fit and toned. He smells pretty good, too. Like Nautica Blue. Most swimmers reek of chlorine. "Unless you wouldn't mind being my date?" He pitches, hopeful.

I pause, unable to tell if he's joking or not. "I'll think about it."

"Hey, come on, I'm not that bad of a dancer," Chase defends himself.

"It's not the dance moves I'm worried about." I playfully nudge my shoulder into his chest so his arm falls from me. Don't want him picking up hints that aren't there. But he doesn't take it personally and just chuckles. The french fries on the tray are still hot with an individual packet of ketchup included, so he steals one, making me thump him on the arm.

This table is a lot different from the one I usually sit at. It's lively, filled with funny stories and slightly immature jokes. The other is pure gossip and complaints about the school hasn't had a uniform change in over fifteen years. It almost makes me forget that they wield magic. Almost. After a while of talking, I glance up across from me and find Pogue nearly burning holes through Chase by the harshness of his glare. It's all in the eyes; they're narrowed alarmingly and there's a tightness in his jaw that wasn't there before. His left fist is clenched to the point where tendons are noticeably standing out, held at an angle at the underside of his jaw, like he's waiting for a perfect opportunity to drive it through a wall. Or through Chase.

I glance up at the Collins kid and find him munching merrily on the remaining grapes I gave him. He doesn't seem to notice Pogue's two-fisted glowers. Or maybe he does and just doesn't care.

Boys are strange creatures.

0000

The town of Ipswich is more interesting during the after hours. Towns people come out to have a good time and enjoy the fall breeze, restaurants and shops deck their surroundings in Halloween themed decorations and all the local coffee shops start selling their pumpkin spice lattes. Kate and I comb the single mall in town and all the little boutiques where we find a lot of our dresses at. She drove us around in her Honda in our last shopping trip, so it's my turn to play chauffeur. We invited Sarah along with us, but she had a hot date with her spell weaving man candy. More power to her, I guess. My sum of babysitting money that I saved up over the years is pretty solid and the business is still put into practice whenever I have a boring free weekend, so it was safe to come back with a shopping bag or two without getting an ear full from Mom or Dad about proper money management. They should speak for themselves. They don't hear a word from me when they spend over a hundred grand on a coffee maker every year. I'm sure putting a brace on people's grills and managing a shoe store is tough work, but how much espresso can two adults need before six in the morning?

Some people might get bored with routine, but for me, it's kind of comforting. Especially if it's with somebody close to me. Kate and I don't go shopping everyday, but it's something we've bonded over since we were kids. Except now it's for clothes instead of dolls. Whether it's in her car or mine, she always has to bring her Pussycat Dolls CD and blare it to absolute ear splitting volume with both windows rolled down. People walking down the street stare at us when we drive by as if we just busted out of an asylum. Still, it's fun to hear her sing along to every word and throw her hands up over the open sun roof. When we stop at a red light, Kate leans her head back against the cushion and looks at me with a small smile.

"I'm thinking about getting a tattoo," she says.

I laugh. "Seriously? Where at? Pogue's name down below?" I sweep my eyes beneath her belt and try not to cringe. There's no amount of money anybody can pay me to get a tattoo in a sensitive place. Or something pierced that's not on my ears.

Kate giggles and playfully slaps my arm. "Oh, shut up!" The light flashes green and I step on the gas. "Actually, I was thinking somewhere on my back."

"What of?"

"I don't know yet. Do you think we can stop by the tattoo shop?"

"Sure."

The tattoo parlor just happens to be a few blocks down from Nicky's, so the drive there isn't very far. Though for some reason the place is a common hangout for the younger crowd. Even if they don't get anything pierced or inked, there's a group of high schoolers standing around with a brown paper bag disguised beer can in their hand. Must be the ruggedly attractive men behind the piercing chairs. Either that or one of the tattoo artists are selling them weed. I find an empty space in the parking lot and cut the engine. Kate is practically bouncing with delight, hopping out of the car with a big smile. We had just spent a good sum of our cash this evening on boutiques. I have no idea how she'll be able to afford a tattoo. Unless her dad lent her his credit card. It smells like burning cedar wood and jasmine inside. Kate greets a bearded guy at the counter and engages him in small talk as I wander toward the glass cases of ear jewelry.

The place is more wide than it is long with very low lighting, almost like a lounge. An angry dude practically screams his feelings above through the speakers, so loud you can see and feel the vibration. It's like something you'd expect to hear at a human sacrifice ceremony or something. I skim the displays of belly button rings, oblivious to the people waltzing in and out.

"Cora?" A bass voice says from the burgundy curtain.

I turn my head see to Pogue standing by one of the back tattoo rooms. His leather jacket is on and he wears a simple, but clingy black v-neck shirt underneath it. It outlines the top of his pectoral muscles. Oh geez. "Oh, hey, Pogue. I didn't know you'd be here."

"Yeah, I came to see a friend of mine," he says, walking closer. His eyes flit over the wall of tattoo stencils and he quirks an eyebrow. "Never figured you for ink."

"I'm not," I respond. "Tattoos aren't really my thing."

"Why not? Afraid of the needle?" He asks, staring at me expectantly when I don't say anything. Amusement flickers in his dark eyes when he realizes what my silence means. He laughs, deep and booming, coming from the very depth of his chest and it's so strong that it shakes his broad shoulders a bit. "Oh, you are..."

"Hey, don't laugh at me," I say, wanting to sound irritated, but his chuckles are the kind that make your inner thighs burst into flames.

"I didn't expect that from a girl who likes bikes."

I giggle, glancing down at my shoes then back up at him. "Well... you don't know everything about me, Mr. Parry."

"No," he agrees lowly. "Guess I don't." His eyes suddenly go cloudy as our gazes lock. The pale haze of his green retinas appear almost black under the light. I don't know why this happens every time we look at each other like this, like time and gravity has put us in a choke hold. It raises goosebumps on my skin and the taut muscles in Pogue's chest puff out. He clears his throat, seemingly catching himself in another one of our wacky trance-like moments. "Cora-"

"Hey, baby!" Kate's voice breaks from the front counter. She rushes toward her boyfriend and wraps both arms around his neck. I look away when she kisses him, a knot thick as a brick morphing in my gut. Their lips pop when they pull away. "Cora and I were gonna head over to White Farms for some frozen yogurt after this," Kate tells him. "Do you want to come?"

"Nah, I can't. Got a family thing back home."

"Oh, okay. Maybe next time?"

"Yeah," he pecks her lips, hands firm on her hips. "Next time."

She smiles and kisses him hard on the mouth, making me wish that someone would dump a bucket of water on me so I can melt into thin air. It's okay, it's fine. Just play it cool. Vanilla Ice cool. I smile apprehensively when Kate turns and walks back to me, eyes bright and sparkling. Pogue stands by the curtain, both hands tucked in his jean pockets and smirks once Kate and I are side by side again. She blows him a kiss while I just awkwardly wave my goodbye, hoping I don't seem too anxious. I really need that frozen yogurt now. No amount of confectioners sugar can make up for the severity of this crush, but it's worth a try.

Boy, am I in over my head.

0000

The worst thing about not living in the school dorms is waking up an hour earlier to get ready and avoid hitting morning traffic.

At five-thirty in the morning, it's still dark outside and freezing ass cold when my alarm clock goes off. A lot of the students living in the dormitory don't wake until six-thirty or seven. Living in the same building, it doesn't take long to shower, change and grab something from the cafeteria for breakfast until the first class of the day starts. With my showers lasting about fifteen minutes, toppled with pulling on the mildly uncomfortable layered Spenser uniform and squeezing in something to eat, I definitely need more than an hour. Maybe more if I wake up particularly groggy. I've thought about moving to the dorms once or twice for a less hectic way to begin the school days, but falling asleep and waking up to Spenser five times in a row is what I imagine laying in a coffin and watching the lid nail shut above you feels like.

It's Tuesday and the east wing at Spenser is eerily quiet. The floor is commonly used for extra space storage. It's a small hall with a few rooms that lead up to a staircase to the level where all the main classes are held. A lot of pranks are pulled here during Halloween, with students unwillingly being drawn here by their friends with someone lurking around a corner to jump out at them. All of the rooms are stocked with additional experimenting tables for Biology and Chemistry, decorations for any monthly festival or event, and other trinkets that the school board took down over the years. Most students pass through here on a daily basis, such as myself. It's not too creepy when the hall lights are lit, but they go completely dark after five in the evening. I walk down the corridor in preparation for my next class, but there's still some time to kill, so I decide to make a pit stop at the only bathroom in the wing.

I set my bag and book down on the counter, relieved that I have some time to collect myself before the next period starts. The girl's bathroom cleanliness level is something to be grateful for at Spenser. It doesn't smell like the average restroom and doesn't look like you can attract a disease by touching the faucets or anything. The only real drawback is that the shower doors are frosted, making it hard to see anyone that walks in. It could be Aaron with a camcorder for all we know. I take my hair down from its ponytail, shake out the waves and smooth them out with the tiny brush I keep in my bag. Tangle free hair is a priority to me. Along with deodorant that actually does it's job and mints.

When I'm done, I put it away and zip up the tiny compartment, pausing when a gush of air blows behind me, as if someone just ran in front of blasting fan or the door flying open. I turn on my heel halfway, guardedly, expecting someone to have walked in. But there's no one here. The lights hum above in their fancy fixtures, dimming the tiniest bit. Maybe that's what I heard. God, I really need to lay off carbonated beverages. Shaking the sudden creepy feeling, I face my bag again and prepare to close it up, wanting to be early for class so I don't get stuck with the nose bleed seats. I haul the strap over my shoulder and glance up at my reflection for the last time.

Then freeze.

My hand falls to my side, backpack plummeting to the ground as the foggy glass stares back blankly. Mist is covering every inch of the surface, like fresh steam from a shower or by someone breathing heavy. Words are smudged out in the condensation. Large, but simple.

I KNOW

The dead boy from the Dells erupts from behind the glass, various sized shards flying everywhere as his ghostly arms, grey and rotting, stretch toward me, like he's trying to snatch me up and drag me down to whatever underworld he came from. A scream, garbled and shrill, bubbles up my throat and explodes out my lips. It feels like I'm being yanked backwards by an unseen, invisible force, yet the spirit is still right in my face, sucking the life out of me. The lights flicker on and off, buzzing loudly before the bulbs overcharge with heat and break into pieces all over the floor. The back of my head smacks against something cold and rock solid, making me slide in a messy heap to the ground. My eyelids droop from the rough impact and I fight to keep them open, but consciousness is lost.

Everything goes black. It feels like infinity passes.

Then a hand touches my forearm, waking me and causing me to jump at the sudden contact.

"Whoa, hey, it's me," Pogue comforts, muscular physique coming in as a stocky fuzz. His fingers squeeze my skin in reassurance, warm and callused. "It's me."

I blink once and find his features studying mine through the blurry daze, leaf green eyes lit with alarm. "Pogue?" His name falls out like mush. "How... how did you-" I try to ask how he found me so quickly, but the ability to construct a proper sentence fails as my weak and thrashed body sags against the stall door.

"I was in the hall," he clarifies, skimming the debris of broken glass all over floor, then following the blood trail that leads to my gashed hand. "What the hell happened?" He asks. His brows furrow in concern at the sight of the cut and he holds my palm face up carefully, cautious not to touch the wound. "Shit."

"It was there.. in the mirror..." I try to explain lamely, breathing coming in short, ragged intakes.

"What was?" Pogue asks, thumb over my pounding pulse point.

I don't answer and just stare straight ahead, shaken and at a loss for words. My fingernails scrape against the tile as I ball my uninjured hand. It won't stop trembling. It feels like the dead boy is still here, wailing at me, begging for me to help him and free him from whatever enslaved him in that decaying corpse form. But I don't know how. I don't know if I can help him. Maybe all I'm meant to do is just see. Pogue holds my chin between his fingers and turns my face up to look at him. I can feel the warmth of his breath puff over my cheeks. It melts away some of the ice that has taken a hold on my senses, the disturbance of what happened really sinking into my brain. Rapid footsteps come storming down the hall, in a small group of three and they stop short of the threshold to the bathroom.

It's the Sons. They must have been on a different floor and heard it too. How else could have Pogue gotten here first?

"Whoa..." Tyler mutters, sky blue eyes glued to the clutter of glass and blood on the floor.

"Jesus," even Reid adds in quietly.

Caleb sighs and runs his hand over his face. All three of them looked like they sprinted their way over here. He steps into the room, school shoes crunching on bits of glass. "What happened?"

Pogue unfastens his striped burgundy tie, whips it out from under his collar, then wraps it around the cut in my hand, putting pressure with his palm to stop the blood flow. "She's hurt," he tells his boys as Reid and Tyler walk in, flanking both sides of Caleb like an arrow head.

"You feel that, Caleb?" Tyler says incredulously, studying the blank space where the mirror once lied.

Their leader nods stiffly. "Yeah. Yeah, I feel it." He rubs the side of his neck slowly and walks forward so he's blocking my view, then kneels down to my level. His tall shadow blankets a quarter of the room. "Cora," he begins. "Do you remember what you saw?"

I take a deep breath and adjust my position on the ground, sitting up so my shoulders are more aligned and put together. Gravity doesn't completely feel in balance, but at least some clarity has returned. "It.. it wasn't a vision. It felt like something was in the room with me. There was fog all over the glass and someone wrote out 'I know' in it. Then the dead kid from the Dells just appeared." I pause to inspect the makeshift bandage Pogue weaved around my hand. The multi colored material is stained with a bright spot of blood, growing bigger and bigger by the second. "I don't know how it happened, but it broke the mirror and knocked me back. Just like that night in my room-"

"A darkling."

"What?"

"They're called darklings," Caleb further explains. "It's an apparition only the Power can summon. When you see one, it's like an omen; a warning."

It feels like ants are crawling up and down the linings in my throat. I shudder and swallow it dryly. "So that night in my room... it meant the same thing?"

Caleb nods solemnly.

"Who would send that to her?" Pogue questions the eldest Son.

"I don't know."

The boys fall quiet, feeding off whatever strange vibe the spirit gave off. The pulsing in my hand begins to relax, but most of the dark blue and gold tones in Pogue's tie is saturated with crimson. I brace one hand on the floor and try to stand up slowly, knees wobbling. Pogue keeps his hand on my waist, steadying me in case equilibrium fails and end up face planting. The comfort of his touch makes it a little easier. I press my palms against my forehead and breathe in evenly, afraid to move a foot and frankly, even more scared to continue throughout the school day in case this spooky specter follows. It already made itself known in my bedroom. What else can it do?

"Are you alright?" Caleb asks seriously.

"Yeah," I sniff and clear my throat. "Yeah. I'm okay."

Pogue rakes a hand through his hair, gazing at the chaotic jumble on the floor with hard eyes. "This getting out of hand, man. Are we just gonna wait around until whatever this thing is kills her?"

"Why are we even wasting our time?" Reid pipes in from the entry frame, leaning against the door jam. "For all we know, this chick could be crazy and try to kill all of us."

I roll my eyes at him. "I think if my main goal was murder, you'd be dead already, Reid." That seems to simmer the blonde hooligan down. He picks at his chipped nail polish, reconsidering.

Pogue nods to the broken glass and blood. "How are we supposed to explain this?"

Reid shrugs away from the wall. "I got it." His sight locks in on the glass fragments and his naturally blue eyes briefly gloss over in a shiny undertoned black. Sharp slivers begin to rise slowly and self integrate back in it's previous place inside the mirror frame. Each chips clicks into place and the cracks smooth in a blink of an eye, good as new and like the accident never happened. Even the blood droplets dissipates into thin air. Geez, what can't these guys fix?

"Reid..." Caleb murmurs under his breathe, hinting at his obvious displeasure at the blonde's power usage.

"What?" Reid retorts, holding out an arm. "You wanna take the fall for this? Be my guest."

Caleb sighs and shakes his head, but doesn't accept the offer. Suffering through a two hour detention after school ends isn't worth the nobility of fessing up that a mirror had been wrecked. Especially right after an incident like this. Our brains will be better put to use figuring out what the hell is happening.

"Did anybody else hear this?" I ask the boys.

Caleb shakes his head. "No. I don't think so."

I'm not surprised at that. This particular floor is fairly dormant at this hour. Except for the occasional student or two migrating from level to level, like Pogue. Having half the school faculty witness the initial scene would not have ended well.

I check the time on my phone and realize just how much time has passed. I'm gonna be late for Sociology. "I have to get to class soon."

"We'll walk you out," Caleb offers.

"You don't have to. I'm okay now. Really." I get that they want to find out what's going on as much as me, but I'll never learn to deal with this on my own if they keep helping me up after every ghostly surprise. One of these days neither of them will be close enough.

Pogue frowns. "You shouldn't be alone after what happened."

"I'll be okay. I don't think that thing is gonna come back today anyways." I shuffle over to the sinks where my backpack waits and sling it over my shoulder. It's easier to walk now. "Besides, I think I know a place where we can get some answers." The boys exchange confused glances. "Just give me a couple hours, okay?" I add.

Caleb and Pogue share a long look. Pogue doesn't look happy at the idea of me being by myself for the next couple hours, but doesn't openly vocalize it. His jaw muscles flex like he's trying to contain himself, but they relax when Caleb nods reassuringly at him. They must be close if just one motion can get the other to calm down. "Call if you need us," Caleb tells me.

I smile tentatively. "I will."

They walk out first, appearing like a band of reformed hoodlums and I don't move until their pounding footsteps fade up the staircase. After all these years of hearing horrifying accounts of students accidentally locking themselves in the storage closet and coming out with their heads practically screwed on backwards, I never thought I'd experience something similar for myself. This one kid named Barry Meyers proclaimed that there's an old man in a brown suit that he saw walking between rooms down here during Freshman year when he helped with Spenser's traditional Christmas function decorations. Everyone says he watches too much Ghost Hunters and Bill Nye the Science Guy. If you ask me, the guy's been dropped one too many times on his head as an infant.

My chest sinks with nervousness. I feel better now that I have the boys' aid if that dead ghoul kid does end up coming back for my soul, but still, the idea of this happening over and over again terrifies me. I feel like a walking target to something that I can't predict coming until it's too late. It's the worst kind of nightmare come to life. And it all started at the most important time in my life; the final year of high school before I leave for college. What if I never find out what's wrong before then... There has to be a way. Something that could give me some piece of mind that I won't die as the town's black sheep with a hundred cats living in my backyard. But how would I start? And more importantly, where? This isn't a situation I can easily cheat on with by using Google. I mean, sure there's Wikipedia, CliffsNotes, Dr. Phil...

Wait.

The library.

The book in the library, the one that Sarah was reading prior to lunch. It has all sorts of information about the Salem Witch Trials and the people involved, both before and after the executions. My last name is even in there, although it may or may not be related to me. I hope it's not. What would that imply? Sighing, I fix the strap over my shoulder and get a move on to the upper floors, periodically checking over my shoulder as I walk down the creepy hall to the staircase. Some of the floor boards creak louder with the mass of shoe sizes. One thing about Spenser is that any skepticism you may have will sure take a one eighty here. I better start wearing a bead of garlic around my neck, just in case.

The last period of the day ends with a fizzle. Usually after every last class, Kate and I meet in the entrance hall and decide what we're gonna do for the rest of the afternoon. Sometimes we hang out in her dorm or she comes over to my house. Now that the boyfriend has been so actively in the picture, our time will probably be split up. I don't mind too much, honestly. I figured it'd happen eventually. She'd find a serious relationship, have other best friends like Sarah, and just have her own life. It's just hard thinking about someone who has such a big presence in your life and them not being there as much anymore. But at least college can introduce me to a new pool of friends and crash studying with lots of anxious tears. And the even brighter side is steering clear of Kate's ovary crushing boyfriend. It's like my eggs get instantly fertilized every time I see him.

Yup, college will definitely be a fresh start.

When the final bell rings, my cell phone vibrates with a text from Kate. She's already waiting in the front lobby and wondering where I am. It's a good thing we're not talking face to face or else she'd see right through my bold faced lie. I quickly type up a lousy excuse for running late, pinning the blame on an overdue paper. I feel bad for putting off our hangout, but in the name of investigational purposes, it had to be done. It's for the best. Or at least that's what I tell myself as I sigh and gather my backpack from the desk, game face on.

Time to find that Pagan book.

A/N: This one took a little longer than I hoped, but I hope you liked it. :) You'll find out in the next chapter for sure what Cora is. At some point, I will write a section of a chapter in Pogue's POV, so you can see what's going on in his head and what the other boys think of her.

Just curious, but what's everyone's favorite scene/line from the movie? Mine is probably Chase's "Ms. Muffet" line. Gets me every time. :D Sebastian Stan is actually what made me watch the movie, honestly. I thought it was going to be really campy the first few minutes in and was super close to changing the channel, but then he came on screen so I continued to watch. Best decision I ever made, haha.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, a "chicken hawk" is slang for an older man who preys on young boys.

To the guest reviewer: Thank you for letting me know about that! Small oversight, but it's fixed now.

Thanks for reading! See you next time.