A Myth to the Night

by Cora Choi

Chapter 3: The Roommates

  “So, this is where you keep the penthouse suite.” The words came out of nowhere. I was startled to hear someone speak. I didn’t know whether it was morning or afternoon, but the few rays of sunlight that peaked through the cracks of the cellar door told me that it certainly wasn’t night. I heard several feet shuffle near the door. Then disgruntled voices seemed to mumble all at once. They were all male. I began to pace across the floor, distressed and helpless. Were they going to come in? Did I have cause for concern?

  I walked to the base of the stairs but then backed away and paced from wall to wall. I approached the stairs once more, but anxiety gripped my heart and pulled me back again. I repeated this jittery dance several more times before I finally turned sharply and marched up the stairs, knees bent at right angles, feet flat on each step. Why were they here?

  At the top stair, I squatted low, to avoid hitting my head against the cellar door. I tilted my head to the side, and pressed my ear to the door.

  “Keep joking,” said the grainy, aged voice of an older man. The scratchy syllables were pronounced with a short staccato rhythm. “You’ll need that humor once you see your new room for the school year.”

  He continued to grumble as the sound of jingling keys filled the air. The voice and the unwelcoming tone were familiar, but I couldn’t conjure up the face to go with it. His foreboding words were followed by a laugh that sounded like a cross between a squawking crow and a choking cat.

  I took a step back. Your new room for the school year? Curiosity overwhelmed me, and I turned my head, to peer through one of the larger cracks in the door.

  The narrow scope of my vision permitted me to see only the face of one boy—or should I say, young man. He was hovering over the edge of the cellar door, looking around at the others who were beyond my field of vision. He looked like a freshman, maybe 18 or 19 years old, the same age or a bit younger than I was when I had died. His skin was still smooth like a young child’s, yet his eyes carried the hardened glare of a prisoner who had been given a sentence too harsh for his crimes. He focused on someone or something that was beyond the confines of that crack in the door, and it provided me the perfect opportunity to continue studying his face. The more I looked at him, the more his features looked familiar, although I knew this was impossible since I had been locked in the cellar since before he was born, and I hadn’t seen a living soul in nearly two decades. I would’ve stood at the door for much longer had he not abruptly looked in my direction.

  His stare caught me off guard and I stumbled backward, tumbling down a couple of stairs awkwardly. Had he seen me? His eyes seemed to have looked through the crack right at me. Unless he was a phantom, too, there was no possibility he could see or hear me during the day. As long as the sun was out I was invisible to all living souls. A chill shuddered through me.

  I wanted to run away . . . I could run away . . . It was day and I was transparent, anything could pass through me and I could pass through anything—although I never did. Regardless, even though I was dead and invisible, I still had the habit of keeping to the rules of the living and never walked through walls or passed through doors. As a result, instead of fleeing from the imminent intrusion, I continued to stand at the top of the stairs, silent.

  “In the old days, they would’ve kicked all of you out for breaking the rules like you did,” continued that old rough voice. “But rumor has it that a benefactor has stepped in on your behalf. Consider yourselves lucky.”

  The little pockets of light that peeked through the door, flickered as the bodies outside shifted this way or that. I looked from side to side as I tried to count how many there were, but I couldn’t keep track of which flitting shadow belonged to whom. And I wasn’t bold enough to look through the gap in the door again and count.

  “Lucky? Is moving from the dormitory to the basement lucky?!” Despite trying to sound fierce, the young voice croaked at the end of the phrase. Surprisingly, I felt the corner of my lips turn up into a smile. My own voice often did that, especially when I found it impossible to contain my anger.

  “Aren’t there other students who break the rules?” The young man asked.

  “Not as bad as you four have.

  “Are we the only ones being sent down here?”

  “The only ones—and probably the last ones!” snorted the older man.

  The more he spoke, the more I disliked him. As far as I could tell, he only expressed himself through threats and derisive comments.

  “They’re separating the bad apples so they don’t spoil the others,” he continued. “Be grateful that you’re still on the island and a student of this school. The chancellor wanted to send you four packing as soon as the tide was low enough and the causeway accessible. I’m sure your parents would’ve been thrilled to see you kicked out after the second day of classes. If any of you were my kids, I’d smack you until you were raw.”

  “Do you know who it was?” asked the same young man.

  “Who?”

  “The benefactor. The person who spoke up for us.”

  “No,” said the old man. “How the hell am I supposed to know? Benefactors never show up here. Only their money does.”

  “Do you know why the benefactor spoke up for us?”

  “No.”

  “Will we ever meet this person?”

  I heard the old man sigh. “To hell with all your questions! All you should know is that you all were lucky. It’s hard to get into this university, but it’s not hard to get kicked out.”

  The old man grunted, and I saw the door shift slightly from the place it had been resting for years. I bit my lower lip as I moved down a few more stairs, away from the door. I heard him make another attempt to pull the door open, but it didn’t budge. Only five stairs separated me from the door. If it burst open now, I would surely see all their faces. I looked up at the door, thrilled that I would no longer be lonely yet terrified.

  “Door’s locked,” grumbled the old man.

  “I never heard of a student being kicked out,” said another student.

  “Maybe not kicked out, but I’ve heard that some of them have disappeared mysteriously,” said another young man.

  Were they referring to the students who had gone missing? I gripped the iron stair rail tightly, frozen to the steps I was standing on. Neither standing on the ground nor near the door, I was suspended halfway as I waited for them to continue to talk. Time itself had seemed to stop as I waited to hear the rest.

  “Most students who get into this school have worked their tails off and are usually sharp enough not to throw it all away like you troublemakers almost did. As for the ones who disappeared—it’s been years since we’ve had a student vanish into thin air. And anyhow, that was because of the Demon of Stauros. He’s a wicked one.” The old man snorted.

  “I’m not wicked!” I wanted to shout. I almost ran up the stairs and lunged at the door—but I stopped myself. I heard the rustling of keys and the scraping of metal against metal and realized the door was being unlocked. I stood still for a moment, not knowing what to do. Upon hearing the old man tell the others to move aside so that he could open the door, I immediately flew down the rest of the stairs, hid underneath the steps, and poked my head out cautiously to stare at the door.

  The old man heaved loudly and the door creaked, but it wouldn’t give. With the heavy rains in the winter and the salt from the sea winds oxidizing the hinges, the door was practically sealed shut.

  He made one last attempt, swearing with the effort. Still no result. One of the young men stepped in. I could hear him putting all his strength into it. A second later the hinge croaked loudly and the door swung open.

  “Holy mother of god,” groaned one of the young men.

  Light flooded the cellar, illuminating the moldy murky walls of my dwelling. I hadn’t seen so much light for ages and the sudden exposure was overwhelming. Feeling like an escaped convict caught in a searchlight, I quickly dodged into
a dark corner, the darkest one I could find. I tucked myself into a tight ball. I heard a few coughs accompanied by the sound of footsteps coming down the spiral staircase.

  “Looks like no one’s been down here for ages,” muttered one of them, his voice full of dread.

  “Go on, get in there. Dust and cobwebs don’t kill,” said the old man. “There’s no light down there, so you’ll have to use the lanterns. You’ll find no sinks or toilets, either, so for a basic wash, use this water pump that’s a few feet away from the door, and when nature calls, go use the toilets in Sora House, the dormitory that’s sitting right next to you. But don’t even think about moving back into the dorms. You all are living here until the end of the school year.”

  They started down the stairs. One by one, I saw their shoes, their pants, their shirts. One wore dark sunglasses and another had messy hair like a bird’s nest. Those two mumbled constantly about the dreadful state of my Spartan abode. I couldn’t disagree with them.

  “What happens when it rains? Can we go into Sora House?” asked the same young man who had posed all the questions earlier. He was the smallest, yet he led the way down the stairs. He paused midway to turn and face the door, waiting for an answer. The sunlight reflected off his round spectacles.

  “No, you stay here,” the old man barked back.

  When the first three reached the floor, they stood huddled at the base of the stairs like scared sheep.

  “Well, go on and find a lantern and light it,” ordered the voice from above. His large figure filled the small doorway blocking most of the light.

  “Who wants to go?” asked the small one, his voice cracking with the last word.

  “I will,” said a fourth boy as he casually clunked down the last of the steps to the floor and joined the other three. From his silhouette, I could see that he was tall and thin. He walked with an air of cool confidence. Nerves that I never knew I had seemed to spring to attention as I watched him. He was the one who had stared at me through the door earlier.

  “Thanks, Drev,” the other three mumbled one after another.

  Drev put down his duffel bag and held his hands out in front of him cautiously, taking small, hesitant steps that dragged along the floor.

  I knew where the lanterns were, and I saw that he was going in the opposite direction. At this rate, it would take him forever to find one. I moved quickly, and despite knowing that he couldn’t see me, I took precautions to be as discreet as possible. I stepped furtively, dodging all the spots where pockets of light revealed the swirling dust particles in the air.

  I grabbed a lantern and brought it to where he was. I crept up gently and put the metallic handle right in front of his outstretched hand. Drev grasped it, and I let go.

  He stopped. I felt that he was staring right at me. Although I was certain he couldn’t see me, I took several steps back. He continued to stand there, still and silent.

  “What’s taking you so long?” The voice boomed from above. “Have you found anything yet?”

  “Yes,” he said quietly. His tone carried a trace of suspicion, and he continued standing there, facing me.

  “Well, why the hell are you just standing there? Light it!”

  “Here, man,” said the one with dark sunglasses as he began rummaging through his sack. “I think I got a light.”

  Drev turned and walked back to where the others stood.

  A second later the boy in the sunglasses emerged with a lighter.

  “Thanks,” said Drev. He opened the lantern door and raised the wick. The other student lit it and the flame flared up and then settled down, its light outlining their shadows against the musty walls. The tiny light seemed to bring the entire room to life. As welcoming as the flame was, I still felt awkward in its light and squeezed myself as far as I could into the corner behind the stairs, trying to avoid its radius.

  The boys ventured toward the center of the room, the light revealing the dense dust and suspended cobwebs. They paused as they reached the yellowed bunk beds that caved in at the center. Dark stains on the sheets hinted that these beds might have been the final place their predecessors had slept in. The boys didn’t take a step farther. With their mouths slightly open, they stood there stunned. They looked at each other but only found the horror of their reality reflected back at them. They looked up to their one escape route. But the old man standing at the top of the stairs provided no consolation.

  “Enjoy your new room,” he cackled, waiting a moment before slamming the door shut.