Happy Halloween! I know it's been a while since I posted (shit, like a year, huh? Oops) but I decided to write this quickie for Halloween because who doesn't like a good, free ghost story? Huge thank you to
E
, who edited this in record time because I decided to wait last minute to actually write it. I hope you all enjoy! Thanks for reading.
J
*
The last place I wanted to spend my Halloween was at the university library, but that's where I was headed at 6pm on Friday evening while everyone else on campus was deciding which party to attend and which costume to wear. Dusk crept on the edges of the town, painting the sky an eerie crimson, twisting through the indigo clouds overhead. Children ran past me, chortling madly in their varied costumes, from little demons to cartoon characters and a handful of witches. A Batman bumped into me, his little bag full of candy smacking my leg. His excitement and happiness permeated the air around me. "Sorry!" the kid yelled before taking off after his friends.
I tugged my backpack farther up my shoulder and sighed heavily, longing for the ecstatic and uninhibited excitement around holidays that children experienced without effort.
My parents had always thought I was a bit strange, what with my fascination with the otherworldly, as I claimed ghosts visited me as a child—my parents deeming them nothing more than imaginary friends—and the way I could describe, in detail, the feelings swirling around someone. My grandmother had called me an empath, and when she died, I was devastated but not only did I have to contend with my own emotions at the tender age of eleven, I had to endure the sorrow and loss through the tumultuous sadness of my parents when I told them grandma visited me. They had told me, adamantly, that ghosts didn't exist, beating it into me with harsh words and cutting criticism. Grandma never visited me again, nor did any other spirits.
The porches of the tiny townhouses lining my street all contained carved Jack-O-Lanterns, their eyes twinkling as I walked by, as if winking at me, mocking me of what fun the night would bring while I sat behind a book, or four, and countless flashcards. What sick sadist scheduled a make-up exam the day after Halloween, on a Saturday no less? Undoubtedly Dr. Brewer knew how many parties were being thrown around the campus on that night but apparently gave little thought to it.
Oh, well. It's not like I can afford to fail this class.
And I couldn't, not after dropping the ball summer semester. I was lucky he was even giving me a chance to redeem my epic failure before I lost my financial aid.
Dressing up had crossed my mind before leaving the house because of the holiday, but I had to gently remind myself this was simply a routine tutor session, and nothing more, no matter how badly I longed for more. This didn't stop me from wearing my favorite black knee-high pleated skirt and a witch hat atop my head. The corset top I wore under my long jacket displayed a healthy dose of cleavage which would make anyone's head turn, not that I truly thought it would sway my tutor one way or another, but the ensemble lifted my Halloween spirit and I looked fucking hot.
The fifteen-minute walk only left me with overwhelming envy that I wasn't heading to a Halloween party or at least handing out candy to the kids in my neighborhood. I halted in front of the university library, taking in the massive three-story structure I had spent most Friday, and some Monday, evenings at for the last month and a half. The studying had proved rough, especially with a tutor who didn't take
I don't know
for an answer. A breeze passed over me, tugging on the loose strands of hair escaping the lazy bun tucked beneath my witch hat, as if phantom fingers wanted run through my thick black hair. My skirt fluttered in the wind and I reached down to keep it from exposing any more of my legs.
I gazed up at the building again. Deep, red bricks encased the front of the structure, with intricate metal ironwork adorning the sides of the staircase and bright white in the windowsills. The countless windows seemingly peered at me, gaze pointed and unwavering in the early evening light. Behind me, raucous laughter erupted, and I whipped around.
A group of college students ran across the street, hollering to one another. I tried to shake off the edginess plaguing me, unsure where it originated, and I turned back to stare at the windows that felt more like malicious eyes. I assumed the uneasy and foreboding sensation had nothing to do with Halloween and all to do with the exam in the morning, one that would seal my fate one way or another.
When I'd begun my education at the university, I'd heard the rumors; murmured voices echoing down the aisles, ghostly apparitions trailing their pale hands down the spines of books, soft touches when one's back was turned, but I hadn't experienced it myself since I was a child. Oh, how I would've killed to hear the cackle of a disembodied voice or the touch of a wayward soul again. The world of the unknown intrigued me far more than organic chemistry but that wasn't going to secure my financial aid. Unfortunately, there was no degree I could obtain for that sort of thing.
Another gust of wind threatened to take my hat right off my head, so I hurried, taking two stairs at a time, and pushed through the glass doors. My choice in outfits didn't shield me from the crisp autumn chill in the air but at least I looked good. As soon as I stepped through the threshold, the noises from outside quickly became replaced by silence and contemplation. The scents of ink and old paper wafted over me and I breathed deeply. Long tables spanned the space in front of me in two neat rows of twelve, divided down the middle by a narrow aisle.
I headed down the walkway, passing a sprinkling of students with their attention so immersed into their studies, none of them gave me much notice even in my evocative outfit. Music drifted as I passed a student with their headphones set at a deafening volume.
The path I took was the one I'd taken every week for the last month and a half; through the shelves bursting with romance novels, piles of books on scientific research and quantum theory, behind the classical literature, and in the farthest corner on the first floor of the library—left, a right, another right, then a slight left—where a lone table was pushed against the wall between two bookshelves: modern poetry and a random shelf containing an odd assortment of world atlases.
I was never really sure who put the table there but perhaps it was my tutor and university librarian, Libby Lang. The mahogany table bore striations of age running the length, a stark contrast to the particle board desks in the lobby of the library, and I loved it.
Libby sat angled with her back toward the wall, her brunette ringlets framing her face as her focus was held solely by the book in her hands. With her elbow perched atop the table, her eyes moved from left to right, presumably absorbing the words of the book.
"Just a minute," she whispered almost too low for me to hear as I approached. Libby's omnipresent red cardigan hung neatly over the back of her chair and her blouse exposed a beautiful patch of pale breast I couldn't stop myself from eyeing briefly. With Libby's brows knitted, lips parted slightly, I allowed myself a dangerous minute to imagine what it would be like to kiss her.
Not that it's ever going to happen.
She was young for a librarian, or at least younger than how old I always perceived a librarian would be—she couldn't have been older than thirty—but her knowledge surpassed anyone I knew, even my professors. Librarians did need a master's degree, after all, so it didn't come as too much of a surprise to me after I gave it some thought. I'd always assumed Libby must've graduated early but never got the courage to ask her about more than her work in the library.
It was truly by chance that I was gifted with Libby's expertise in organic chemistry.
Summer semester nearly killed me with angst. After trying and failing (quite literally) my organic chemistry class, I begged Dr. Brewer for a retake of the final exam. I couldn't afford to take the class again, couldn't afford to keep the failing grade on my transcripts if I wanted to continue receiving financial aid, and with no other choice, I had to pass the class. After an embarrassing amount of pleading, Dr. Brewer had cracked, allowing me to retake the test later in fall semester, at a date yet to be determined, and he warned me that if I failed a second time, I was shit out of luck. If I didn't pass the class one way or another, I'd be left with nothing to finish my schooling.
