The Conclusion (5 page)

My hands were still shaking. I had to hold the paper tightly with both hands to keep it steady.

I squinted at the tiny handwriting. So small and light. The handwriting looked familiar.

It's from someone I know, I thought. Someone who has written to me before.

But who? How did he or she know I was here?

And how did they get in here without my seeing them?

I squinted harder and read the words:

I'm coming for you, Hope. You can't run away from me.

I
dropped my two heavy cartons on the floor and studied the doors on both sides of the long dormitory hall. I was standing in front of 2-C. So, I figured, 2-J must be at the end of the hall.

With a groan, I hoisted up the cartons and made my way unsteadily down the hall. Reggae music jangled from one room. I heard guys laughing and shouting in the next.

Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead. These cartons weighed a ton! And I still had three more cartons and two suitcases to carry over to Fear Hall.

At times like these, I wish I was really strong. I wish I worked out and had biceps out to here. But, hey—I'm a history major. I'm not a jock. And my whole family is small and wiry. So why should I be any different?

At least people don't call me Mouse anymore. I left that nickname behind in high school.

I shifted the weight and staggered down the hall. Two guys in jogging sweats squeezed past me. They didn't offer to help.

It reminded me of Al, my apartment roommate. Big Al. He didn't offer to help, either. Of course, since most of our apartment building had just burned down, Al had to move too.

He found another apartment, even closer to campus. But I had to move into the dorm.

“Are you really moving into Fear Hall?” he asked, grinning his dumb grin at me. “Isn't that dorm for girls?” His grin grew wider. “Hey—are you going to be the only guy there? You'll invite me over—right?”

“The college opened up the second floor for guys,” I told him. “I won't be the only one. A bunch of guys from Carver Hall were moved in last week.”

“Carver is a bigger dump than Fear Hall,” Big Al said with a sneer. He scratched his head. “Isn't Fear Hall supposed to have ghosts and stuff? Aren't you scared?”

“Yeah. For sure.” I rolled my eyes. “I'm shaking all over,” I said sarcastically.

“And didn't the police say whoever murdered those two guys may have lived in Fear Hall?” Al demanded.

“Yeah. I read about that,” I said.

“You're going to move in with murderers?” Al cried.

“It couldn't be any scarier than our apartment
building,” I told him. “Every time I climbed the stairs, I could hear rats scurrying around in the halls.”

Big Al laughed. “At least the rats kept away the cockroaches.”

I waited for him to offer to help me carry my stuff to Fear Hall. But he didn't offer. So I said, “Catch you later,” and started lugging my cartons downstairs. He sat and watched me, a dumb smile on his face.

Nice guy.

Moving in the middle of the semester is not too great. I have a European History exam on Monday. I should be studying for it instead of lugging my stuff across campus.

Anyway, the door to 2-J was open. I set down my cartons and poked my head in. Two guys were seated at desks across the room. They looked up from their computers.

“You the new guy?” one of them asked. He was a big, round guy. Big, thick neck. Huge shoulders. Looked like a middle linebacker.

I nodded and mopped sweat off my forehead with my shirtsleeve. “Yeah. I'm Chris,” I told them. “Chris Sandburg.”

“They told us you were coming,” the other guy said. He walked over and shook hands. “I'm Will, and he's Matt.” Will was tall and lanky, with dark skin. He had a friendly smile.

“Your old apartment burned down?” Matt asked, studying me.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Only half the building. But we
all had to move out.” I started to drag my cartons through the doorway. Will picked up the top one and carried it in.

I followed him through the front room into the bedroom. There were small dressers in the room and two bunk beds against the walls.

“Matt and I took bottom bunks,” Will said. “You can choose either top one.”

“How is it here?” I asked. “I mean in Fear Hall.”

“It's great!” Matt replied from the other room. “The place is crawling with girls!” He appeared in the doorway, chewing on a pencil. “You going with anyone?”

“No,” I replied awkwardly. “Not yet.”

I'd been really shy in high school. I just found it hard to talk to girls. I didn't have a girlfriend. I had a couple of good buddies. Guys. But I don't think I went out with girls more than three or four times in all four years of high school.

When I came to Ivy State, I promised myself things would be different. I'm older now, and more mature, I decided. I don't have to be shy anymore.

But this was my second year at Ivy State. And so far, I hadn't met any girl that I was really interested in or who seemed interested in me.

Maybe living in a dorm jam-packed with girls will change things, I told myself. Maybe Will and Matt will help me meet some girls I'll like.

It took a couple of hours to bring up my stuff and unpack it all. Will had to go to a meeting. But Matt helped me carry everything up to the room.

By the time I finished unpacking a few hours later, I was pretty wrecked, and drenched with sweat. I still had a carton of books to arrange on a shelf. I thought maybe it could wait until the next day.

Will reappeared and dropped down on his bunk. Matt leaned in the bedroom doorway. “You know about Fear Hall's reputation?” Will asked.

I nodded. “I've seen the sweatshirts,” I replied. “You know.
I SURVIVED FEAR HALL.”

Matt smiled, a strange smile, not exactly pleasant. “It's all true,” he said softly.

I squinted at him. “Excuse me?”

“The stories about strange howls at night and missing students,” he said. “They're true. They're not made up.”

“Give me a break,” I sighed.

Will's expression turned serious. “It's no joke, man. There's a guy down the hall we know from Carver. His name is Freddie. He just moved in last week, like we did. He went to take a bath two days ago—and the tub was filled with blood. Boiling hot blood.”

I laughed. “You're joking—right?”

“No joke,” Will replied, his brown eyes locked on mine.

“And what about the girl upstairs? The one on the eighth floor?” Matt chimed in.

“What about her?” I asked.

“She keeps seeing a face in her mirror,” Matt replied.

“Her own face?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. She keeps seeing a girl's face. An old-fashioned-looking girl, real faded and pale, with her hair in those tight, curly ringlets. You know. Like they wore in old photographs.”

“You're kidding me,” I murmured.

He raised his right hand as if swearing an oath. “No. Total truth. She's seen the face in her mirror two or three times. And each time, the girl's lips move, as if she's trying to talk to her. As if she's trying to tell her something.”

I didn't say anything. I turned from Matt to Will, then back to Matt. I was trying to decide if they were serious.

Finally, I shrugged and muttered, “Weird.” What else could I say?

“Yeah. Weird,” Will repeated.

“I'm going to take a long, hot shower,” I announced. “I'm so sweaty and sore from unpacking.”

They made their way back to the front room. A few seconds later, I could hear Will tapping away at his computer. Matt started talking on the phone.

Thinking about their strange stories, I got undressed and walked into the bathroom.

Steaming hot blood in the bathtub? A strange girl's face in the mirror?

I stepped into the shower. Checked to make sure there was soap and shampoo. Closed the glass shower door and turned on the hot water.

The shower head hissed and coughed.

I turned the hot water knob.

Another hiss. And then the water sprayed out.

Hot and—red!

Red water!

Bright red.

No. Not water. Not water . . .

Hot red blood sprayed over my face, my chest.

I opened my mouth in horror. And started to scream.

I
shut my eyes and slapped at my chest, trying to brush away the steaming red liquid.

I staggered against the shower door. Pushed it open with my shoulder.

And heard laughter, high-pitched laughter from the other room.

The bathroom door swung open. Matt and Will burst in, grinning. “Did we hear a scream?” Matt shouted over the rush of the shower.

“The blood—” I started.

But I knew. I knew from their grins that I'd been had.

“Smell it,” Will instructed.

I inhaled deeply. And smelled cherry.

They both laughed again and slapped each other a high-five.

“We put red Jell-O in your shower head,” Matt explained.

“The old red Jell-O trick!” Will said, laughing. “Hey, man—you're a good screamer!”

That started them both laughing again.

“Welcome to Fear Hall!” Matt declared.

I gazed down. My chest was streaked with red. The water from the shower head was clear now. “Ha-ha. Funny,” I muttered.

And I slammed the shower door shut.

• • •

Of course I felt like a total geek. Why did I scream like that? Why can't I ever be
cool
about anything?

I was still thinking about it, still embarrassed, as I made my way downstairs to the big meeting room after dinner. I didn't feel much like partying. But the dorm had organized a mixer—desserts and dancing—a chance for the new guys in the dorm to meet the girls who lived upstairs.

I felt my usual nervousness as I stepped into the room. My throat choked up a little, and my hands were suddenly ice cold.

Be cool, Chris, I ordered myself. For once in your life, be cool.

When I started college, I promised myself I'd get over my shyness. Now is the time to keep that promise. Maybe I'll meet some nice girls, I thought.

I glanced around the room. The chairs used for dorm meetings had all been pushed against the walls. A long table with a bright yellow tablecloth
stood in one corner, loaded down with cookies and doughnuts and soft drinks.

About thirty or forty dorm residents—mostly girls—clustered in the middle of the room, chatting in twos and threes. Loud dance music thudded from a huge boom box. But no one was dancing.

With my hands shoved in the pockets of my khakis, I shambled over to the yellow table to get a Coke. As I walked, I counted the guys in the room. Only eight.

Pretty good odds, I thought. Eight guys and about thirty girls.

I wished Matt and Will had come down with me. It would have helped break the ice to have a couple of guys I already knew. But Matt went to see his girlfriend across campus. And Will said he had to study for an exam.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I bumped into the girl ahead of me in line at the drinks table. “Oh. Sorry,” I mumbled.

She turned around, startled.

She was really a babe. She had short, dark hair with smooth bangs across her forehead. She wore one long, dangling, glittery earring. Great smile.

“Hi. Did you just move in?” she asked. Her round, dark eyes studied me.

I could feel myself blushing. “Yeah. This afternoon, actually,” I managed to reply. “My apartment burned down, so . . .”

“You were homeless?” the girl next to her chimed in.

I nodded. “Yeah. I guess.”

“I'm Melanie,” the first girl offered. “And this is my roommate Margie.”

Margie was short like me. She was kind of cute. She had sort of frizzed-out hair, a squeaky voice, and a little, turned-up nose.

“I'm . . . Chris,” I told them. Why is it always so hard to announce your own name to someone? Why does it always sound so awkward?

Margie handed me a Coke. “Have you ever lived in a dorm before, Chris?”

I shook my head. “No. Only in an apartment.”

Melanie sighed. “Dorms are supposed to be safer. But . . .” Her voice trailed off. She glanced away.

The music pounded louder. “No one is dancing,” I said, motioning to the crowd of kids squeezed together in the center of the room.

“No one is really in a party mood,” Melanie replied. She spoke softly. I could barely hear her over the music.

“It's been so frightening here,” Margie added.

“Our roommate was murdered,” Melanie said. Her chin quivered.

I gasped. “Oh no—!” I cried. “Was she the one . . .?”

“In the whirlpool. At the swimming center,” Melanie said.

“That was so horrible,” I replied. My mouth suddenly felt very dry. I took a long sip from the paper cup of Coke. “I saw the body on TV. She was burned so badly—”

Margie let out a sob.

“I'm sorry!” I cried. “I didn't mean . . .”

Melanie slid a comforting arm around Margie's waist. “It's okay,” she said to me. “Margie and I probably shouldn't have come tonight. We're both still pretty messed up. Mary was . . . such a good friend. We really can't believe it happened.”

I nodded. I didn't know what to say.

“We thought if we came to the mixer, we could forget about Mary for a few minutes,” Margie said sadly. “But I guess we can't.”

“Everyone on campus is so frightened,” Melanie added. “Three murders in the past month. Plus the swimming coach is in the hospital. And the police just seem helpless. They can't find the girl . . . the girl who . . .”