Reckoning

by Molly M. Hall

  A sharp pain shoots through my head and I squeeze my eyes shut, reaching out to the wall for support. But my hand grasps only air. Opening my eyes, I stare in disbelief. The hallway is lengthening, elongating into a distorted tunnel of classroom doors and gray metal lockers. The fluorescent lights overhead waver in and out of focus. My pulse pounds in my ears, and with a sickening feeling of weightlessness I stare at Rick, the only spot of color in the vast length of the hallway. Surely he notices. Sees and feels what I do. But he just continues clearing out his locker, talking on the phone.

  What is happening? This isn’t possible. It can’t be. It’s just an hallucination. My mind playing tricks on me again. Only this time, it’s much worse.

  I turn, knowing I have to get out before I scream, or get sick or do something else humiliating.

  Without warning, the weightless feeling disappears, replaced by a pressing heaviness. I feel as though I’m trying to move through water with weights on my arms and legs. My muscles scream in protest and it takes every bit of energy I have to stay upright.

  I make it down three steps before I hear it: The whispering. The soft, sibilant hiss that slowly grows in volume.

  No. Not now. Please…

  I stop and close my eyes, panting like I’ve just run a sprint. This can’t happen now. It just can’t. I tell myself to keep walking. Ignore it. Get out of the building and find Rachel. But I can’t. I’m frozen in place, my feet locked on the stairs. Against my will my head turns to the wall of windows. I know what I will see.

  She is there, at the edge of the athletic field, turning and spinning, her dress vivid pink swirls of incandescent color in the afternoon sun. As I watch, my eyes riveted on the glass, she starts spinning faster, the whispering in my ears becoming a rush of words and phrases that I can’t understand. My breath comes in erratic gasps and I feel as though I’m being sucked into a black hole. The girl draws closer, twirling in a dizzying maelstrom of pink and white. The edges around her begin glowing, a strange, sparkling silver. I stare, my eyes growing wider.

  This isn’t happening.

  The girl rises, lifting off the ground, spinning toward the windows, closer and closer, rising up to the second floor. I’m mesmerized, unable to tear my eyes away. I know I should leave, get down the stairs, break the spell. But I can’t move. I watch in horror, petrified, as she spins toward the window. In moments, she will break through the glass. Then everyone will know. Know what a freak Katriona Matheson is. Even if they can’t see the girl, they will see the destruction that no one but me could be responsible for.

  I clench my fists and the edges of the flyer cut into my hand.

  Rick.

  Oh, God. Rick is just down the hall.

  I start to feel dizzy and lightheaded, the rushing vacuum of noise in my ears throwing off my equilibrium. The girl is only feet from the window. I have to go now.

  NOW!

  Groaning with the effort, I turn my head away, grabbing the stair railing for support. I can feel the sweat breaking out on my forehead and neck. I try to move my legs, but they’ve become lead weights. I cringe, waiting for the sound of shattering glass.

  The whispering and hissing coalesces into words. Bits and pieces. Disjointed fragments that make no sense.

  “…cannot deny…”

  “…the time…”

  “…begins…”

  I bite back the cry that threatens to escape from my lips. It’s too much. I can’t take it any longer. The temperature grows colder and colder, the pressure in my head building to the point I think it will burst from the intensity. My knees begin to buckle and I fall against the railing. The edges of my vision start to go black.

  Then I hear it. Faint at first, but gaining in volume. It comes from a distance, growing closer and closer. A rushing sound, like air being sucked into a tube. I feel a breeze brush gently against the back of my head. Then silence. Abrupt and sudden.

  The temperature returns to normal, the icy chill disappearing as quickly as it came. The heaviness that had permeated the atmosphere, pressing on every muscle and bone in my body, vanishes. The hissing whisper stops, as if someone flipped a switch on a static-filled radio.

  I take a shaky breath and open my eyes. Sweat glistens on my wrists and trickles down my neck and chest. I glance warily towards the hallway, but it has returned to normal. My gaze slides reluctantly to the window. It is intact. The girl is gone. I take two trembling steps up, peering across what I can see of the parking lot and athletic field. Nothing. Just a boy running sprints across the freshly mown grass; a teacher headed to his car. The sun reflects off cars and windows. Fluffy cumulus clouds build to the west, the jagged peaks of the mountains dark against the billowing whiteness.

  Something flashes to my left, like sunlight glinting off metal. Silver, bright and sparkling, then it’s gone.

  Sighing, I lean against the railing. I feel sick and nauseous. I have to get downstairs. If Rick sees me like this, I’ll have no way of explaining. Peeling my hands off the cold metal, I take a deep breath and start unsteadily down the stairs. My legs are shaking and I’m having trouble focusing. The flyer that I had so carefully folded is now crumpled and wrinkled. Smoothing it out, I slip it into my shoulder bag.

  Then someone shoves me from behind. A hard, bruising blow to the middle of my back that sends me sprawling forward, tumbling down the last of the stairs.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I open my eyes to find Mr. Dawson bent over me, his dark brows creased with worry. Shoving his eyeglasses to the top of his head he looks at me in shock. “Oh, my God! Kat! Are you alright?”

  I rise up on one elbow, wincing as the muscles in my back scream in protest. “Um, yeah. I’m fine,” I mumble, confusion and fear jockeying for position in my brain.

  “What happened? Did you trip?”

  I look from Mr. Dawson to the stairs, unsure how to answer. Should I tell him I was pushed? What would be the point? I can’t prove it. Better to just let him think I’m clumsy, too uncoordinated to safely make it down the stairs. “I guess I must have,” I say. Then, just to confirm what I already know, I ask, “Was there…anyone…behind me?” A small part of me hopes he will say yes. That he will say Stephanie. Or PJ. Someone, anyone, whom I can blame. But I know he won’t.

  He shakes his head, still looking at me with concern. “No. No one. I was headed to the dean’s office when I looked up and saw you just…pitch forward and fall down the stairs. Are you sure you’re all right? I’ll get the nurse. I think she’s still here.”

  He stands to leave, but I hold up a restraining hand. “No, no. Really, I’m OK. Just a bruised elbow, I think.” Gathering my shoulder bag and notebook, I struggle to my feet.

  “Are you sure?” he repeats, supporting my elbow. “That was quite a fall. You really should be checked for injuries.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I just tripped.” I brush the hair from my eyes, trying to manage a smile. “I’m more embarrassed than anything,” I add. And it’s not without some truth. Right now, I want to get out of here.

  “Alright. But you take it easy. Any headaches or anything, you get to a doctor.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  I glance once at the stairs, then head as gracefully as I can to the exit.

  _________

  During the ride home, I don’t mention the incident to Rachel, somehow managing to keep up a light-hearted conversation about Rick and the party and a bunch of other things I can’t remember. As soon as I’m inside, I head to the bathroom and strip off my shirt. The middle of my back throbs painfully and I’m almost afraid of what I will find.

  Standing in front of the mirror, I slowly turn, straining my head over my shoulder. Catching sight of my reflection, I gasp, my stomach clenching in shock. Right in the middle, exactly where I’d felt the blow, are several red marks. Not exactly a handprint, but close enough to be unmistakable. Four red welts, like those left after a hard slap, extend out toward my ribcage. A smaller, rounded shape, like t
he base of a thumb, sits a couple inches lower. It stings sharply, almost like a burn. I reach one arm behind me, touching it gently. It feels hot, irritated. I stare at it, my mind fumbling for an explanation. Someone or some thing shoved me, hitting me hard in the back. That much I know. I’d felt it. But no one had been behind me. That I also know. I had been alone on the stairs. Mr. Dawson had confirmed it.

  But what if I wasn’t alone on the stairs? What if someone else had been there? Someone no one else could see. No one but me. Like the girl in pink.

  I straighten my head and stare at the wall, one word pounding through my head. Why?

  I twist around to look in the mirror again, and scream. A face hovers beside my reflection, pale and wavering. Long blonde curls fall past her shoulders. Light blue eyes, lit by an icy fire stare at me intently. I spin around, looking behind me, searching for the other figure that must be in the room. But there is only the wall. I turn back to the mirror, pressing a trembling hand to my mouth.

  It’s her. The girl. I know it, without question.

  Her mouth opens as though she is about to speak. Then her features began distorting, her face elongating, lips pulling back into a grimace. The blonde curls lengthen and grow darker. Her eyes start to glow, the icy fire melting into an eerie blue phosphorescence that turns my blood cold. The image grows stronger, coming into sharper focus, until I almost believe it is going to separate from the mirror and morph into a flesh and blood being standing in the bathroom next to me. Then, abruptly, it clouds and disappears. I stare at the mirror, shaking my head in mute denial, before collapsing on the floor. I huddle in the corner, the bathtub’s icy porcelain surface barely penetrating my skin as I try to control the tremors of fear coursing through my body.

  The front doorbell rings and I jump, banging my shoulder painfully against the wall. The bell rings again, followed by several quick knocks. Hastily throwing my shirt back on, I stumble toward the front door. Taking a deep breath, I yank it open, half-afraid of what I will find.

  But it is only Lovell, staring at me with an inscrutable expression. Concern? Worry? Relief?

  “Everything OK?” he asks, his eyes darting quickly past my shoulder. “I was working out back and thought I heard a scream.”

  “Yeah, I’m…fine,” I say, my voice a hoarse croak. “It was…a spider. I really hate them. But I took care of it.”

  “You sure?”

  I nod.

  “OK. I just wanted to check. Let me know if you need anything. Spiders can be pretty nasty. I killed a huge one in the bathroom the other day.”

  My back throbs and burns, and I just want to be alone. “Yeah, thanks. I will.”

  He nods and I close and lock the door, then walk slowly back to the bathroom. Holding my breath, I force myself to look in the mirror. But there is nothing but my own reflection, pale and nervous, my eyes overly wide and bright in the afternoon light. Letting out a shaky sigh of relief, I grab a towel and drape it over the mirror, eliminating my own disturbing reflection as well as any others. Stripping off my clothes, I step into the shower, washing away the sticky traces of sweat and fear. The heat from the water feels good, relaxing and soothing my aching muscles. I stand there, intentionally keeping my mind blank, until the water grows cold.

  Toweling myself dry, I gently apply aloe vera to the welts, then wrap myself in a warm, thick bathrobe. I sit on my bed, brushing my hair in smooth, steady strokes until it dries. When my mom gets home, I decline any dinner with the excuse of a rotten headache. It isn’t a lie. Lying down on the bed, I watch the shadows lengthen and fade, moving slowly across the walls as the light grows dimmer, the soft yellow and orange glow of sunset eventually replaced by silvery moonlight.

  My mind is numb, unable to move beyond the events of today. There are no answers. No explanations. And I begin to wonder if I’m losing my mind. The thought terrifies me. But how else can I account for hallways that suddenly stretch into tunnels. For ghostly images that lift and spin, threatening to shatter windows. For atmospheres that become so thick you can hardly move. For phantom hands that send you hurtling down the stairs. For disembodied, morphing faces in mirrors. Those things just don’t happen.

  But in my world, they do. I’d seen it. Felt it. And it was spinning out of control. Just when everything should have been gloriously wonderful, the weird, self-controlled, borderline world I lived in was crumbling. The walls I’d so carefully constructed over the years were tumbling around me, and I had no idea why or how to make it stop. But even worse was the knowledge that it was only a matter of time before I freaked out altogether. What would happen then? Would they haul me away in a straightjacket? Drug me into a zombie-like stupor, while an endless stream of doctors and nurses try to convince me the things that I see and feel aren’t real?

  Rubbing a hand across my forehead, I think about the girl in pink, and why she’s terrorizing me. Because that’s what it is. There’s no other word for it. It’s no longer just a matter of seeing spirits. It’s gone far beyond that. I have the physical evidence to prove it. But what does she want with me? If she’s trying to tell me something, what is it?

  But I don’t think this is about some message from the dead, some spirit who can’t rest. It’s more than that. It’s a malevolent attack aimed directly at me. But how do I stop it before it gets even more violent? Because something tells me that it will. This won’t end.

  I curl myself into a ball, wondering what’s next.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Saturday. My birthday.

  I wake before dawn and lie in bed, watching the light change from gray to pale yellow. I’ve felt like a paranoid schizophrenic the past few days, deliberately avoiding mirrors and nervously glancing over my shoulder every five minutes. But today is going to be different. Today, no matter what it takes, I’m going to be a normal girl.

  Pushing myself out of bed, I step to the window and open the blind. It’s a beautiful morning. A pearlescent blue sky glows between the leaves of the trees. The sprinklers shower the grass with a fine mist, a rainbow of colors reflected in the morning sun. Birds hop across the grass, darting beneath the shower in search of worms and moths.

  Squaring my shoulders, I turn back to the bed and begin smoothing sheets and covers, carefully replacing the pillows across the top. For some reason, I feel different today. Lighter, clearer. It’s nothing I can put my finger on. It’s just something within me. Something that can’t be seen, or touched, or named. Whatever it is, I’m grateful.

  Fluffing the last pillow, I reach my hands toward the ceiling in a long stretch, wondering how I will fill the hours until Rick’s party this evening. Part of me wants the day to go quickly, the hands on the clock to spin crazily forward so I can be at Rick’s. The other part wants time to stand still, putting off the moment when I actually have to arrive, hoping he will notice me. Although Rachel is convinced that the stars have aligned in some kind of cosmic matchmaking, I am unconvinced. I refuse to let myself believe that this is anything more than a casual invitation to a high-school bash. But I can’t deny the fact that it makes me feel good to hear her say it.

  When I’d told my mom about the invitation, I’d been surprised by her skepticism. She’d looked at me doubtfully before volleying a barrage or questions in my direction.

  “Rick? Who’s Rick? I’ve never heard you talk about him before.”

  “He just one of the guys at school. We don’t hang out…much.” Ever.

  “Well, how do you know him?”

  “Mom, it’s high school. I know a lot of people.”

  “Well, I’m sure you do, honey. It’s just this is the first I’ve heard of him. And now he’s asking you to his party. What kind of party is it, anyway?”

  “It’s just a big year-end party at his house. They’ll be tons of people there. And parents. It’s pretty casual.”

  “Is anybody else you know going?”

  “Yeah, Rachel’s going. And I’m sure there’ll be a bunch of other people from class there,
too.”

  “How are you getting there? Is it far?”

  “Rachel’s driving. And, no, it’s not far. Just a couple miles from here, over by the Observatory.”

  “And she’ll bring you back home?”

  “Yeah. It’s great. This way you don’t have to be bothered.”

  “Well, I don’t know. I don’t know this boy…”

  “Really, Mom, it’s not a big deal. We probably won’t even stay very long. We’ll just go for a little while then come back and hang out. Like usual.” I had found the entire conversation a little ridiculous considering her dating/social life/get out in the mix philosophy. Especially when she was all too ready to throw me at the feet of Lovell.

  But she’d finally sighed and said, “All right. Just make sure I have his phone number and address in case anything comes up with Rachel.”

  I’d agreed, quickly scribbling it down, wishing she’d show as much reluctance with Lovell.

  My cell phone rings, breaking into my quiet reverie. Recognizing the number, I eagerly answer.

  “Hey, Rach!” I hope she can come over early and we can spend the day just hanging out. Being with her will make the time pass easier.

  “Hey, Kat,” she says, and I know by the sound of her voice something is wrong.

  Immediately tensing, I ask, “What’s up?”

  “Um, I have some bad news.”

  “What?” I draw the word out, sending out silent pleas that she isn’t about to tell me what I think she is.

  “Um…I can’t go to the party tonight.”

  I close my eyes, my mute entreaties ignored. “What? Why?”

  “I’m grounded.”

  “For what?”

  “I went out with Ryan last night,” she says, referring to the guy she’s been dating on and off since March, “and I missed my curfew. It was a total accident. The movie we went to ran longer than we thought it would, and then we went to The Hacienda for Mexican food, which I know is, like, really far away, but it’s so good. Anyway, they were really busy and it took forever. And then Ryan had to stop at Casey’s house to pick up these video games he’d loaned him and we ended up hanging out there too long, and the next thing I knew it was, like, after eleven, and…” She pauses and sighs heavily. “But it doesn’t matter. My parents are still pissed. So I’m grounded for a week. I’m really sorry.”