9. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Olivia
Ironwood’s library looks much like the rest of the school on the outside. Creeping ivy reaching across bricks, bay windows and colonial light fixtures hanging beside the double doors. With the rain and the gloom, it looks like something from a horror movie. My boots splash up each of the two steps leading to the wrap-around porch and I shake my umbrella over the edge before dropping it in the holder, along with so many others, by the door. With the rain forecast for the next two days, I pray it’s still there when I leave as I swipe my ID card at the access point and hear that familiar beep.
Mr Nelson, who sits on his stool behind a large oak desk near the door, mans the library. He looks up from behind his glasses that perch precariously on the tip of his long thin nose. A small smile tugs at his lips as I make my way toward the back of the building, offering a small wave as I pass. The centre of the room comprises rows of study desks, which are occupied by a few students with their noses practically pressed to the screens of laptops and books. The outside of the library might look the same as every other building, but the inside is a few centuries behind and looks like it could be at home somewhere in Europe. It’s my favourite building in the entire school because it feels so otherworldly. Everything is all old leather and dark wood. The second level is more of a balcony, circling the room with no centre, bookshelves lining the walls above.
A few younger students are leaning over the railings chatting amongst themselves as I pass beneath the opening and I look past them to the ceiling. The second level windows illuminate the large map of the world that stretches across the ceiling. Many times when I was younger, I leaned back in my chair, exploring every inch of the unknown spread out before me, imagining all the places I would visit one day. Now it just fills my mouth with the tang of disappointment, those dreams lost along with my innocence when I realized who I am and how dangerous the world just beyond these walls is.
I pass between large wood bookshelves standing in a row, weighed down by heavy volumes, and emerge onto a scene of old world comfort. They have lit the fireplace to chase away the bite of fall and a cluster of students sit around it for extra warmth. The plush seats of the bay windows are all occupied. I might have waited impatiently for one of those seats before, desiring to stare out at the rose gardens just beyond the windows, but weariness of the last few days events has stolen my interest in looking at the green school grounds with its thick trees and bushes heavy with shadows.
I choose instead a large old leather armchair off to the side, with its back to those bay windows. The chair envelopes me, it’s leather soft and forgiving with use as I curl up in it, and reach for a book of plays by Shakespeare. Mistress Abbott has a right to her concern. I have never given much thought to my life beyond these walls. My good grades came out of a desire to remain distracted and exhaust myself when physical exertion wasn’t an option. University would be the next organic step, would be if I wasn’t—well, me. Unwilling to settle into self pity, I lose myself in The Merchant Of Venice .
The warmth of the fireplace presses into my skin, and I yawn, acknowledging my exhaustion. Now and then movement catches my attention and I flick my gaze up to see students slowly filter out of the area.
With the light dimming, I switch on the lamp on the table beside me and peek over the high back of the chair to one of the large windows. Night is closing in fast, the darkness heavier with the promise of a storm just beyond the glass. Turning back, I curl deeper into the chair, relaxed by the constant patter of rain against the window.
Boom.
So immersed in my book, I jump as light flickers off the wall above the fireplace. Wearily I look around, only to have my answer as a distant rumble rattles the old windows and the darkness beyond is lit up by another flicker of light. Shivering, I turn back to the dying fire. A storm. Lightning and thunder have always made me feel small, just a tiny speck on the face of the earth surrounded by the higher power of Mother Nature. A quick check of my watch tells me I have missed dinner. I’ll have to pick something up from the dining hall fridge on my way back to the dorm.
Boom.
With a gasp, I raise my head. The lights flicker again and in the distance, I hear someone yelp. Mr Nelson. He will come round soon to make sure everyone is readying to leave before he closes up. I reach for my bag on the coffee table and close my book. Another flicker of light draws my eyes up and my mouth runs dry.
A tall form of shadowy darkness cuts through the bright flickering. My hand slaps across my mouth to muffle a scream, stinging my cheeks as I let the momentum carry me into the soft back of the chair. Terror fills my gut as the flickering stops and the figure disappears. Panting, I press myself back, trying to make myself as small as possible, barely breathing.
What the fuck.
The sound of nails across glass makes my jaw clench and the hairs on my arms rise. The very sound of it has me wincing as tears spring to my eyes and my blood runs cold.
“No, no, no,” I whisper.
Boom.
I am not going mad. I cannot be going mad. Another flicker of light illuminates the gloom inside of the library. Once more, the shadow takes shape, outlining a very large human. It has to be a human, but as the shadow’s arm lifts, that sound of nails against glass rips through my resolve.
“No!” Terror squeezes the word from my mouth.
This time my hands slap over my eyes to block out the sight, to erase it from the depth of my mind.
“Miss Stepanova?” I cry out at the sound of my name.
Reluctantly, I remove my hands from my eyes to see Mr Nelson emerging from book stacks, his own eyes wide and concerned.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is high with worry.
“I… I—” Light flickers in the world beyond and this time, the wall is bare of any menacing shadowy outline.
Mr Nelson stares at me with an alarmed look. Courage finds me in his presence, and I scramble to my feet to look over the chair at the window.
Nothing but darkness greets my eyes and I clutch a hand to my chest before turning back to Mr Nelson, who is clearly still waiting for an answer. I’m visibly shaking as I reach for my book, cursing the way the spine of my book quivers in my grasp. There is a coldness I feel deep in my core. Shock.
“Miss Stepanova?”
“I’m okay,” I offer through chattering teeth as I brush past him, rushing back through the library.
I need fresh air. Tomorrow I will no doubt hear about this. Mr. Nelson will inform Mistress Abbott, who will insist that I visit the school’s onsite psychologist, Dr. Singh, with whom I am well acquainted. Adrenaline and shock mingle through my blood, making my teeth clatter and my movements feel weightless as I exit the library. I am not going crazy. The desire to scream those words is so intense, but as I grab my umbrella and step out onto the steps of the library, I feel less certain of myself. What I saw last night is not possible. The only monsters in real life are humans. That thing I saw must have been a figment of stress, compounded by my brother’s visit. Tears prick my eyes as acceptance sweeps in. I may need the doctor’s help.
The rain has stopped, but the distant rumbling of thunder still cracks through the night with a flicker of lightning as it moves away from us. I clutch my umbrella like a weapon, but it does nothing to soothe my rising panic. I keep my eyes on my feet as I descend the steps, refusing to look around at the dark shadows off the path. The thought of seeing any more apparitions on this night fills me with anxiety. I clench my jaw to stop the chattering as the cold seeps through my sweater.
Breathe.
I follow the illuminated path toward my dorm, my terror dulling any need for food. I just want to crawl into bed and hide, yet the sound of an engine draws my gaze up and relief floods through me. A security buggy crosses the path ahead, the floodlights turning to reach across the pavement toward me. The ease that their presence brings has me sighing with relief as it stops before me.
“Great night for a stroll,” one guard says warmly.
“I lost track of time,” I offer with a weak smile and nod past them to the dorm building in the distance with its warm glowing lights.
“We better not keep you, then. Goodnight,” he says as the roar of the engine drowns his words out and they move past.
“Night.” In their absence I feel unease prickle my skin.
With renewed purpose, my feet move with more urgency along the low lit path. The guiding lights flicker, and I pause mid stride just as the sky itself flickers with the moving storm. A chill skitters down my spine.
A sound rises behind me, a low rumble that sets my teeth on edge as I strain my hearing. Thunder? No. It happens again, and my stomach drops. It sounds close, too close and more animal than thunder, more guttural. The lights illuminating my path die completely, as that sound reaches me again, curling over my shoulder as it raises the hairs on the back of my neck. I don’t know what makes me turn, maybe anger at myself for allowing my brother’s visit to affect me so. I lean into my new found bravery as I hold the umbrella up before me like a weapon and turn to face the sound. But it is not a weapon. And I am not losing my mind despite the powerful urge to deny what I see.
“You aren’t real,” I say weakly, still clinging to my denial.
Its mouth twists into a wicked smile, the low light catching off of two very sharp-looking canine teeth. It’s not real, but yet its breath steams out from its nostrils. I laugh, a sound so pathetic it’s virtually a sob and its smile broadens.
“You aren’t real,” I say louder, defiance warring with my fear.
It tilts its head back to look at me from beneath its lowered lids. The light from the dorm behind me catches on—my mouth runs dry. Horns. The sky lighting up overhead rips me back to my senses. My makeshift weapon thuds to the pavement as I spin on my heels and run. The rumble of what sounds like laughter follows me and I let out a cry as my feet fly across the pavement. I have been preparing for this moment my whole life. Trail running wasn’t just to burn off steam: it was practice for the day I would be hunted down. My thighs burn as the chilly night air fills my lungs and panic rises. The dorm is further away than I thought.
I open my mouth to scream for help, but the sound is cut off as that fucking thing crashes into me from behind. The force of which knocks the breath from me as it lifts me off my feet, sending my book bag flying off into the night. The warmth at my back is very real. I kick out as a hand smothers my next attempt at a scream, and my legs fly as the force of our collision spins us off the pavement and down between trees. My fingernails rake uselessly at the sweater covered arms and I let out a muffled cry of frustration.
Realization slams into me with a greater force than this thing ; we are still moving despite my struggle, and fast. I feel the hot breath of the monster, its exhalations stirring the hair at the base of my skull as it rushes us through the trees. Tears leak from my eyes as I try in vain to kick backward, but the thing only grunts as my boots collide uselessly against its fast moving limbs. Despair replaces all other thoughts when I realize death is imminent. My brother has raised the devil himself to exact his punishment and I will die at its hands. How foolish I was to think I ever stood a chance at survival. I know it so deeply in my bones that I almost give up my struggle—almost.