Haunted Heroine

by Sarah Kuhn

  A couple of times, I’d even dozed off. And then I’d wake still cradled in that darkness, feeling strangely safe.

  I tried to summon that feeling now, closing my eyes and gently nudging my mind to re-center itself, to breathe and let go of any anxiety, annoyance, or rage over seeing Richard again and being confronted with the library build site.

  That’s it . . . breathe in through the nose, hold for three. . . let it out slowly through the mouth . . . ahhhh . . . you are a badass superheroine, and you clearly have the upper hand when it comes to dealing with jerks in elbow-patch blazers . . . breathe in again . . . you are—

  A rustle interrupted my thoughts—like tiny feet whispering over carpet.

  My eyes flew open, all my senses snapping to attention. What the fuck was that? Was there someone else in here with me, also taking a moment to breathe before confronting ghosts they’d rather leave in the past? Or had a mouse taken up residence in the theater, which was actually something that had happened during my first semester here—

  Rustle rustle . . . CRASH

  I leapt to my feet, hands slightly raised, ready to make with the fire.

  “Hello?” I called out in the velvety darkness. “Is anyone there?”

  Silence.

  Hmm. I mean, was I about to incinerate a mouse? Maybe those breathing exercises hadn’t worked as well as I’d hoped—

  “Gah . . . nooooooo!” An unmistakably human voice pierced the darkness, and all thoughts of mice flew out of my head. It sounded anguished, struggling . . .

  “Are you okay?” I yelled, dashing down the steps and praying I wouldn’t trip and crack my head against something. “I mean . . . obviously you’re not okay, but . . . where are you? Let me help! Real life superheroine here on the premises!”

  I reached the bottom of the stairs and nearly crashed into the podium, trying to scan the darkness for . . . something. A shape, more noises. Anything that was out of place.

  “Help! Gaaaah . . . it’s . . .”

  I whirled around. The voice sounded like it was right behind me, next to the screen.

  “Where are you?! Dammit. If I can just . . .” I gathered up my frustration and sent it thrumming through my body, channeling it into my fire. A small flame ignited in the palm of my hand.

  “H-here . . . please . . .” Now the voice was strained, muffled. I held the flame out, pointing it in the direction of the noise—but keeping it steady, not throwing it anywhere. Yet.

  The flame finally illuminated the mysterious not-mouse making all the noise: a terrified-looking girl, college-aged, with a long thicket of dark hair. Said hair was currently clutched in the grasp of a glowing, blue-tinged figure with big, black holes for eyes, long straggly hair, and a mouth set in a permanent scream. The figure appeared humanoid, but was eerily silent and fuzzy around the edges, the lines of its actual body unclear. Its glowing aura seemed to pulse, a smudge of light in the darkness.

  “Motherfucker,” I murmured under my breath. “Is that an actual ghost?!”

  The girl tried to pull away and the glowing figure—the ghost?—let out an unearthly sounding moan, a horrible wail that made me wince.

  “Please,” the girl screamed, her wild eyes finding me in the dark. “Help!”

  The glowing figure made their moan louder in response, drowning her out.

  I reacted immediately, flinging my arm forward and sending my fireball careening directly for the hand that clutched the girl’s hair in a death grip.

  It landed with a solid WHOOM, and the ghost let out yet another spine-tingling wail that seemed to reverberate off the walls and make the movie screen vibrate. The ghost dropped the girl’s hair, cradling its hand to its chest, and threw back its head, wailing even louder.

  “Come here—quickly!” I called to the girl, beckoning her with one hand and producing another fireball with the other.

  The girl scuttled across the floor, casting a fearful look at the howling ghost behind her and frantically touching the back of her head, as if trying to reassure herself that her hair was still there.

  I motioned for her to get behind me—then I flung my arm out, sending my fireball spinning toward the ghost with a mighty whoosh. It hit it right between the eyes and the ghost stumbled backward, snarls punctuating its unearthly wails.

  “Leave this place!” I called out, menacing the ghost with another fireball. “Or at least tell me what you want!”

  The ghost stopped wailing and snarling for a moment, its hollow eyes meeting mine, its face twisting into a malevolent sneer.

  Then it charged.

  “Holy fuck!” My instincts took over, funneling all of my emotions into the fire. It flowed from my hands like lava, the flames rising up around me and the girl like a wall, blocking us from the ghost.

  I heard the ghost wail again from the other side of my wall of flames, saw its clawed hands slashing above its head as it tried to figure out how to get to us.

  “Listen!” I yelled over the flames. “I’ve dealt with a shit-ton of fucked-up demons in my time, and spoiler alert, I’ve defeated almost all of them. So either use your words and tell me what you want or . . . or . . .”

  I hesitated, the adrenaline coursing through my body slowing a bit. My fire had hurt the ghost, but it hadn’t destroyed it. I didn’t see any kind of portal floating around to shove it back into, and I didn’t have any of our handy demon-entrapping equipment with me to contain it. Really, the best I could do at the moment was keep it from getting to us.

  “Miss, please.” The girl was tugging at my sleeve now, her eyes wide with fear. “You have to stop them. All of them.”

  “What are you talking about?” I said, trying to keep my gaze locked on the ghost.

  “Stop them,” she hissed. “I can’t die. My sister . . . she needs me . . .”

  Her voice was so urgent, I couldn’t help but meet her eyes. She was clutching my sleeve in a death grip, and her face was so terrified, so haunted, I couldn’t look away.

  “Of course,” I said, trying to sound like I totally knew what I was doing. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of this and then I’ll speak to the college authorities—”

  “No.” She shook her head vehemently. I noticed there were deep, dark circles under her eyes—she looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks. “The college . . . you can’t . . . you can’t trust them—”

  We were cut off by another monster wail from the ghost. I whipped back around and saw it batting at the fire, trying to get through.

  “I told you to stop that!” I bellowed. “Or . . . um . . . or I’ll just keep making things really freaking hot in here until you calm down!” I was hoping the force of my tone conveyed more badass authority than my actual words. Aveda was always telling me that it wasn’t necessarily what you said, it was how you said it. And anyway, I couldn’t tell if the ghost could actually understand me or not.

  “It’s gonna be, um, so hot!” I yelled for good measure. I flicked my gaze to the girl and saw her looking at me somewhat skeptically.

  I couldn’t really blame her.

  “I can surround you with fire, too!” I yelled at the ghost. “Make you sweat so hard you . . . you . . . um . . .”

  Luckily, we were all saved from my atrocious attempts at heroic monologuing by one Aveda Jupiter, who burst through the Burke Theater doors right then, waving around a very large flashlight.

  “Evie!” she screamed, pointing the flashlight in my direction. “You were gone so long, I . . . what are you doing?”

  “I’m protecting us from the ghost!” I yelled back.

  Aveda shook her head. “What ghost?!”

  My head swiveled back in the direction of my wall of flames, and the ghost lurking behind it . . . except there was no ghost lurking behind it.

  It was just me, the cowering girl, and a giant wall of fire. Which was currently i
ncinerating a whole section of carpet and at least part of the movie screen.

  “God! Damn! It!” I yelped, taking a step backward. The girl I’d been protecting chose that moment to pass out.

  “Whoa!” I exclaimed, running to catch her. She gripped my sleeve again, her eyes meeting mine—still lit with that strange intensity.

  “Don’t trust them,” she whispered. She leaned in a little, her eyes narrowing. “Wait . . . you’re . . . of course. Evie Tanaka. Of course . . .”

  Then she fully passed out.

  I looked at the unconscious girl in my arms and the flames, then turned back to Aveda.

  “Go get a fire extinguisher. Looks like I’ve just totally destroyed yet another Morgan College landmark.”

  From the files of the secret ghost-hunting society of Morgan College—so secret, it doesn’t have a name!

  KNOWN SPIRITS OF MORGAN COLLEGE, FILE #16

  MADELEINE MORGAN, THE GHOST OF BURKE THEATER

  The ghosts of Morgan College are plentiful, dating back to the school’s founding in the 1870s—our dear academic home has changed dramatically over the years, but these spirits have always been with us. Some, however, are better known than others. The Courtyard Ghost, for instance, is a classic staple of the Morgan experience, that fearsome pioneer woman who rides through the Morgan Hall courtyard in a horse-drawn wagon—always looking for something, but never finding it. Nearly every student who’s passed through our hallowed halls has seen her at least once.

  But not as many of our esteemed students have seen Madeleine Morgan, the ghost of Burke Theater. This is especially interesting since Madeleine has a direct and very important tie to Morgan—she was the daughter of the school’s founders, noted academics Clara and Daniel. Daniel inherited a fortune when his wealthy father passed, and used that money to open the school. Initially, it was an offshoot of San Francisco College, a satellite institute of sorts, founded as a finishing school for proper young ladies. Quite different from the progressive and empowering haven it is today! It officially became Morgan College, its own entity, many years later—and now it’s difficult to imagine it any other way.

  Madeleine was only twelve when the school was founded, but she was always destined to attend, and her parents hoped she would become one of the school’s shining lights, a glorious example of proper young womanhood. But Madeleine was, in her parents’ words, “a hellion,” and she rebelled against the elder Morgans with every fiber of her being. She skipped more classes than she took, she spent most of her time seeking out thrills and indulging in mind-altering substances, and she failed out of Morgan almost immediately. The piece of land where Burke Theater now sits is rumored to be the area where she had her final showdown with her parents, telling them she was setting off on her own and leaving them, their fortune, and their judgmental ways behind.

  And so she did. No one ever heard from her again.

  Of course the more macabre among paranormal enthusiasts insist she never made it off campus—that her mother flew into a rage and murdered her, right here on our hallowed grounds.

  And now poor Madeleine haunts Burke Theater, enraged at her parents for trying to force her into a life she didn’t desire.

  Madeleine looks like many of our ghosts: humanoid with hollowed-out pits for eyes, gaping mouth, and a bit of a blue-white glowing aura.

  Of course, not all of our ghosts look the same—that’s part of what keeps things so exciting around here! But if you look closely, most of them have that aura. That glorious blue, so reminiscent of Morgan’s blue and gold school colors.

  If any of our members have experienced sightings of Madeleine, please send your accounts to our current Head of Society. We are dedicated to keeping these spirits’ memories alive—even if the people behind them haven’t been alive for a good, long while.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “SERIOUSLY. SEND ME a bill for the damages. Our team will be happy to compensate you for—”

  “Ms. Tanaka. Please.”

  Gloria Glennon, Morgan College’s honorable provost, held up a hand. Unlike the redhead tornado from the reception, she had a stern, placid air about her. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled back into a perfect bun—not too messy, not too severe—and her face was an implacable mask, revealing nothing. She’d worked in the graduate admissions office when I’d been a student, and I’d always found her stoic demeanor somewhat unnerving. When I have no idea how someone’s feeling about something, I tend to yammer, which is what I was doing now. I just couldn’t believe I’d barely been back on campus an hour and I’d already caused major damage to yet another building.

  I also couldn’t get that scared girl’s face out of my head.

  Don’t trust them.

  She’d been talking about the college—but why? What was she so afraid of? And why had she said my name like it was the answer to a complicated math problem?

  “You were obviously protecting one of our students from harm,” Provost Glennon continued, her voice smooth. “I’m sure we can deal with the damage. Although it might take us a couple semesters to get there—our budget has been tight in recent years.”

  We were sitting in the campus security office, which wasn’t the provost’s usual domain. Unlike the rest of Morgan, this space had no sense of history or atmosphere—it was a blah beige box with a desk and a few plastic chairs in a squat building tucked away in one of the distant corners of campus.

  “The student was still unconscious when the paramedics took her to the hospital,” Provost Glennon continued, “but I’m sure she’ll corroborate that whenever she wakes up.”

  “Wait—she didn’t wake up? She had to go to the hospital?” I frowned. Chaos had erupted even further after Aveda burst into the theater. We’d summoned campus security and they’d taken the girl to the on-campus clinic and swept Aveda and me off to the security office to debrief. But I’d assumed the girl had woken up. “What’s her name?” I said. “And is she going to be okay? Can we talk to her?”

  “Her name is Julie Vũ,” Provost Glennon said, giving me a chilly smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “She’s a junior, and it sounds like she’ll be fine, but she’s obviously had a nasty shock. Our on-campus clinic isn’t really equipped to deal with any possible tests she might need, so we sent her to the hospital—”

  “What hospital?” I interrupted. “I’d really like to see her.”

  “I’m not sure. It would be whatever preferred facility she listed on her student intake form,” Provost Glennon said. She gave me another slight almost-smile. Somehow, even the smallest of expressions looked wrong on her face. I couldn’t help but feel that she was being weirdly calm about the fact that Julie had to be taken to the hospital. Maybe I was just on high alert because Julie had told me not to trust “them.” Was Provost Glennon included in “them”? Was there a reason she didn’t want me to talk to Julie?

  At the moment, I didn’t have answers to any of these questions, so I just had to feel out the situation. I’d described the basics of the incident to Provost Glennon, but I had tried not to reveal too many details—like what Julie had said to me right before she passed out.

  “I’m curious, ma’am,” Aveda said, “has this sort of thing happened before? Usually, demonic activity tends to be confined to San Francisco. Although we’ve had a few East Bay oddities recently, which we’d love to gather more data on. Perhaps you can help us.”

  “Mmm.” Provost Glennon nodded—though it didn’t quite seem to be a nod of agreement. “As you’ve probably heard—especially since Ms. Tanaka used to be a student here—the college is known for its rather colorful paranormal goings-on. Or at least what have been characterized as paranormal goings-on.”

  “Evie told me that some parts of campus are considered haunted,” Aveda said briskly. “Though I must say, none of that has ever been officially reported to us, or we would have been out here right away
—”

  “These so-called hauntings have always been taken with a grain of salt,” Provost Glennon said, holding up a hand to stop Aveda before she could really get into our heroing service record. “We always chalked it up to the fanciful imaginings of our students. Who are, after all, often operating on not very much sleep.”

  “That’s what I said,” Aveda muttered, nudging me in the ribs.

  “The stories of ghosts in various locations around campus have always given us a bit of a charming mystique,” Provost Glennon continued. “And more importantly, no one has ever been harmed during an encounter with one of these so-called ghosts. No property has been damaged, either, so if spirits do exist and they’re choosing to exist here, well . . .” She shrugged, her perfect bun twitching. “They didn’t seem to have bad intentions.” She paused, took off her glasses, and used the bottom of her shirt to polish them, considering her next words very carefully. “Until now.”

  Aveda’s eyebrows shot up. “Meaning . . . ?”

  Provost Glennon let out a long, weary sigh and put her glasses back on. “The last few times students have reported these, ah, sightings . . . well. There has been damage. To people and property.”

  “Were the police notified?” Aveda was sitting up straight in her seat now, studying Provost Glennon keenly. Probably trying to suss out if she had a real problem worthy of our time or if she was just trying to get San Francisco’s premier superheroines to pay attention to her. “How many times has this happened?”

  “Only two individuals have officially reported incidents—but there have been rumblings from many students over the past few months,” Provost Glennon said. “Campus security was alerted, and at first, it didn’t seem like a major issue. We always have a lot more sightings in the weeks leading up to Halloween, that’s just the way it is. The students reporting these sightings—and the ones who have merely gossiped about their own encounters—sustained minor injuries. Cuts and bruises, things like that. But as far as I’m aware, no one had to go to the hospital until tonight.”