The Felix Chronicles: Freshmen

by R. T. Lowe

  “Of course they did,” Caitlin said fiercely. “The rich and powerful always get—”

  “Anyway,” Lucas interrupted, shaking his head at Caitlin, “the chief of the tribe supposedly cursed this place. I’m not sure why, but someone must’ve thought that just meant the fourth floor. That’s why nobody comes here. Not even the librarians or the cleaning people. Crazy story, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Harper said listlessly. “Really crazy. Thanks for the super-fun tour. Can we go now?”

  “So why are we standing here?” Allison asked. “What’s up with this”—she pointed in front of her—“wall?”

  “Wall?” Lucas said with high arching drama in his voice. “Is that what you think this is?” He took a step to his right, then stepped forward and disappeared into the bookshelf.

  They stood motionless in the shadowed corner of the library, looking at each other like befuddled spectators trying to unravel the mystery of how the stage magician had retrieved not one, but two bunnies, from his top hat. Felix rocked back on his heels. The girls appeared rooted to the floor. Finally, Felix stepped back and took a closer look at the wall. Every eight feet or so, deeply recessed vertical wood panels about as wide as a person separated the collections into sections, each identified by a numbering system that Felix hadn’t figured out yet. Stained espresso—almost black—the panels were several shades darker than the horizontal shelves, the baseboards, and the crown molding. He stared at the panels, wondering why they were so much darker than everything else. And then just like that, he figured it out.

  “No way,” Felix whispered, stepping toward the panel where Lucas had vanished. He reached out with his hand, and instead of encountering the grainy coolness of wood, he met no resistance at all—just air. The panel was missing. In its place was a perfectly concealed opening between two sections of shelving.

  “A secret passage,” Allison said, her voice rising with excitement. “Cool. You first.”

  Felix turned sideways and slid into the narrow gap, feeling a light draft on his skin. The scent of aged leather filled his nostrils, reminding him of the old mitt his dad had used when they played catch in the back yard. He shuffled along, arms raised up straight over his head, until his right shoulder bumped up against a wall. Another corridor (an even narrower corridor) faced him and ran parallel to the bookshelf for maybe fifteen or twenty feet. It was dark—but not completely dark—and he could just make out a wall in front of him, which had to be, he thought, where the corridor ended.

  “I’m not going in there,” Harper complained in a voice that sounded small and far away. “What if there’s spiders?”

  As Felix came up on the wall—which did appear to be the end of the corridor—he felt the air pressure drop and the currents shifting and swirling around him. There was a doorway to his right. He turned and slipped through it. He heard a noise. He stopped to listen. It sounded like something was rattling. It was nearby but difficult to pinpoint because the light had drained away to near total darkness and the noise seemed to be coming from different, and multiple, directions. Then he detected the movement of something big. A silhouette. Lucas’s silhouette.

  “One of these damn lamps has gotta work,” Lucas muttered. Click click. Click click.

  Felix took out his cell phone, thinking the flashlight app might help. And that was when—click click—the light came on.

  “Finally.” Lucas blew dust from his fingers.

  Felix swiveled his head around, his eyes taking it all in. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was like he’d stumbled upon another world. He was in a room, but it wasn’t like any room he’d ever seen before. It was big, ornately decorated and everywhere he looked there was stuff. High-backed chairs (he counted off ten) surrounded a huge round mahogany table in the center. Scattered across the table were books which had collected a thick layer of dust. Against the wall across from the entrance a pair of wingback chairs faced a tufted leather sofa; a claw-foot marble-topped coffee table rested on a Persian rug between them. Lamps—antiques by the look of them—sat on the floor and on the little tables nestled up against the chairs and the sofa. Distributed around the room were vases and urns of all different sizes (some nearly as tall as Felix), the smaller ones perched on decorative tables with fancily-carved legs. Framed paintings—lots of them—hung from the wainscoted walls, but Felix couldn’t make out what they were in the dim light.

  “This is so awesome!” Allison stepped into the room, her eyes glinting.

  Caitlin and Harper came in right behind her, emerging from the darkened corridor. They didn’t look nearly as impressed. Harper, in fact, wore a mixture of fear and revulsion on her face.

  “How’d you find out about this?” Felix asked as he continued to stare around the room.

  Caitlin sneezed.

  “This is the actual corner of the library.” Lucas smiled proudly. “Tyler found out about it and told me and my other brothers. He went to school with a kid who was the son of a nephew of the guy who was the president of the school when this floor was built. You know, the guy it was named after—President Woodrow. Anyway, this kid told Tyler that Woodrow was obsessed with castles and secret rooms and shit like that. He told him there are other secret rooms somewhere in the library. And also in the other buildings renovated when Woodrow was president.

  “My brothers call it Woodrow’s Room. So I guess since it’s already been named we should call it that. Bret graduated two years ago and he said no one ever came in here except him and a few of his buddies. Which is weird if you think about it because anybody could use it. I mean, there isn’t even a door. Anyone could come in if they knew where to look.”

  “Maybe nobody wants to use it because it’s the scariest room in the world.” Harper moved closer to Caitlin, clutching her arm. “This whole floor’s creepy. Aren’t you just a little bit worried about ghosts?”

  “That?” Lucas waved his hand dismissively. “People have said weird things happen up here. Books falling off shelves. Chairs moving around. Strange noises and shit. But c’mon. Just ask Caitlin. There’s no such thing as ghosts, right?”

  “I actually agree with you for once,” Caitlin said. “But still, it kinda freaks me out. Maybe it’s just all the grime. It’s disgusting.”

  “All it needs is some light and a little dusting,” Lucas said. “I’m telling you, this is gonna be the coolest room on campus. Trust me.”

  “Now it’s just the creepiest, dirtiest room on campus,” Harper said. “I’m going to find a room on the second floor. Who’s coming?” She turned and headed out the way they’d come in.

  “Wait for me!” Caitlin screeched, scurrying through the doorway.

  “You guys suck!” Lucas shouted after them.

  They looked from one to the other, then Allison finally said apologetically, “I’d stay. But I can’t read in the dark.”

  Lucas smiled, then he looked around and his face settled into a deep frown. “Lazy ass Bret. Whadya wanna bet he didn’t clean this room a single goddamn time while he was here?”

  “I don’t know,” Allison said, brushing her hand across the cover of a book resting on the mahogany table, sending up a dust cloud. “When did you say he graduated?”

  “Two years ago.”

  “No one’s been here in a long, long time,” she said. “Longer than that maybe.”

  Lucas went silent for a moment. “He wouldn’t lie about that. Bret’s lazy as all hell, but he’s not afraid of anything.”

  Allison nodded. “I guess we should go find them before Harper gets eaten by a spider.”

  Chapter 16

  The Numbered Ones

  Robby hated his brother. Not all the time. Just most of the time. Like today. Their dad seemed to take enjoyment in telling him that Simon—his younger brother by almost three years—knew how to “take the bull by the horns.” The implication, of course, was that Robby didn’t. This morning’s ‘bull’ was a black-tailed deer, which they were hunting—hunting in Ashfield
Forest.

  Robby thought it was a horrendous idea. Simon didn’t. So here they were. It didn’t matter that Ashfield Forest was AshCorp’s private property; that two hikers were killed in Ashfield Forest; or that three others had disappeared in Ashfield Forest without a trace. And it wasn’t as if Simon was unaware of these facts. The Ashfield Forest Mystery was front page news. Everyone was talking about it and everyone had an opinion. The guys at the car repair shop where Robby worked had plenty of theories. The emissions testing guy, Carlos, thought that a cannibalistic cult had taken up residence in the forest. Robby, on the other hand, along with his boss and the guy who fixed dents, all thought AshCorp was hiding something: quite possibly a rampaging monster which had escaped from the secret lab where AshCorp created it. Simon didn’t seem concerned. Their family had hunted in Ashfield Forest long before it was called Ashfield Forest and Simon was going to hunt “wherever he damn well pleased.” It was as simple as that.

  Just after sunrise, one of the old service roads (with bullet scarred DO NOT ENTER and NO TRESPASSING signs as pocked as the face of the moon posted every quarter mile) had led them deep into the arms of the forest where they’d been picking their way through the ancient woodlands for the past hour. Robby had looked over his shoulder whenever he thought Simon wouldn’t catch him to make sure he could see his brother’s sunflower yellow Hummer. He’d lost sight of it within minutes. The trees, mostly Douglas firs, got taller and wider, and grew closer together, the further they ventured from the dirt road. They were in an old growth forest—Simon called it a primeval forest because he thought it sounded cool and scary—which meant no one had ever harvested the trees; some had been around for 500 years and stood 300 feet tall. But not every tree was gigantic. Younger Douglas firs grew from the decaying remains of their dead toppled kin, and hemlocks flourished under the shade of their taller cousins.

  There weren’t any trails so they went where they could—directed by the forest as much as they chose their own paths. Robby knew he would have to rely on Simon to get back to the car. His sense of direction was abysmal, and landmarks never worked for him. A tree was a tree; a winding stream was a winding stream; a rock was a rock. It all looked the same in the woods. The carpet of dense green moss and decomposing logs and branches—which seemed to be everywhere—blanketed everything in uniformity. As a general matter, Robby wasn’t afraid of the woods, and he didn’t even mind being dependent on his brother to get home—but Ashfield Forest was different. He’d never liked hunting here. Even before it became a mystery, he’d always felt like an intruder. Like he didn’t belong.

  Simon, the natural born leader, stayed ahead of him, the only thing moving against the landscape, going around and between the trees, jumping over logs and brushing aside sword ferns that stretched five feet off the ground. Robby breathed in the clean earthy air and kept his eyes on Simon’s back, trudging through the soft squishy soil, trying to stay within ten or fifteen feet of his brother. He loved the smell of the woods, especially early in the morning after a good soaking rain. It was so much better than the poisonous fumes he inhaled at the shop. He hopped over a rock and landed right on a branch. A dry branch. It snapped, breaking the stillness of the early morning calm like a gunshot. As wet as the ground was, he hadn’t expected that.

  “Oops,” he muttered, awaiting the storm.

  Simon stopped and turned to face him, his camouflaged attire blending seamlessly into the ferns and moss-shrouded trunks behind him. “Jesus Christ!” he hissed savagely. “What the hell are you doing, numbnuts? Watch where you’re going!” He shook his head angrily, then pivoted back around and loped off at a fast clip.

  Robby didn’t bother to say anything in his own defense. Simon was right. Stomping through the woods like an amateur would scare away every deer from here to Canada. So he set off again, following after Simon in the gray morning light. There wasn’t a single cloud visible through the treetops, yet very little light reached the forest floor. The trees were so big they practically blotted out the sky. But every so often, there was a gap where a giant tree had died and fallen to the ground, leaving an opening for the probing sunlight to make its way through the canopy. No clouds today. No birds. No anything. Just clear early October sky.

  But something was different today, something was off. And it wasn’t just the usual Ashfield Forest uneasiness. Robby couldn’t put his finger on it, though it had been bothering him since the moment they’d climbed out of the Hummer with their rifles. Simon seemed oblivious to it—whatever it was. He just marched along at a blistering pace that Robby could only match by going at an awkward stuttery-stepped half-jog.

  Without warning, Simon stopped and held up his arm.

  Robby pulled up next to him and looked out at the monotonous canvas in front of them. The forest was quiet and still. There was nothing but… total silence. That’s what it was. That’s what was off. Where were all the forest sounds? What happened to the birds chirping, and the squirrels, voles, rabbits, and other little critters scurrying through the underbrush to get away from them? The forest was silent. Too silent.

  “Hey Simon,” he whispered, glancing sideways.

  Simon turned to face his older brother. In his early thirties, Simon was a former high school athlete, and a good one. The girls had always been infatuated with him, and with each passing year, he seemed to get better looking and more fit. He loved to shoot things and he looked the part of the intrepid hunter, just like the guys who graced the covers of North American Sportsman, Simon’s favorite magazine. At the moment, he just looked annoyed with Robby.

  “What?” Simon said irritably, taking off his hat. A fancy downtown salon that charged $60 a visit lovingly tended to his full head of hair. Enzo, the neighborhood barber, buzzed what little hair Robby had remaining for eight bucks and that included the tip.

  “Don’t you think it’s too quiet out here?” Robby said in a low voice. “I can’t hear a thing.”

  Simon scratched his forehead and put the hat back on. “Did you just notice that, genius? Someone musta went through here earlier and spooked all the animals.”

  “We didn’t see any cars on the way in,” Robby pointed out.

  “True.” Simon cocked his head to the side, peering through the low hanging branches of a hemlock draped with strands of spaghetti-like gray-green lichen. “But they could’ve taken a different road.” He pointed off in the distance toward a raised clearing. “C’mon, let’s get to the top of that mound over there and have a look around.”

  Robby had to pump his short legs to keep Simon in sight, and even so, he lost him for a brief and very scary moment as he climbed over a decaying log. Robby skipped around some branches and squeezed between two thick trees instead of going around them for fear of losing Simon again. When he caught up to his brother he was winded, but he felt better. Simon was an asshole, but he knew how to take care of himself. If a monster or a cannibal or some crazy serial killer was out here looking for two more victims he wanted Simon by his side.

  The mound didn’t afford much of a view. The horizon never seemed to change, though the woods seemed gloomier than before. And colder. Not cold enough to see your breath puffing out like little exhaust clouds. But close. And the forest was still quiet. The silence was eerie, unsettling. Robby’s bad feeling was getting stronger, more acute, and he was finding it hard to swallow. He wanted to go back to the Hummer, but if he confessed that to his brother, he’d be risking an avalanche of taunting and ridicule.

  “Quiet!” Simon said suddenly.

  “I wasn’t talking,” Robby said, his face furrowed in confusion.

  “Shut up! You see that over there?” Simon was pointing at something, his arm held out in front and nearly straight. “Next to the tree with the… the knot… the crooked tree there. Fifty yards straight that way. See it? Ten o’clock. What is that? A bear? That’s not a tree, is it?”

  “I don’t see anything.” Robby tried to find ten o’clock, still breathing heavily from his j
aunt up the slope.

  Simon looked over at him, his mouth tight. “That’s three o’clock, you idiot. I said ten o’clock.”

  Robby knew how to tell time. He was looking at ten o’clock, and there was nothing there. Then he saw it. Or at least he saw something that looked… out of place. “You mean that? That’s not a bear—too skinny. Just a tree, I think. Funny shape though. Kinda looks like a person.”

  “Holy shit!” Simon blurted, flinching back. “It moved!”

  Robby didn’t see anything move, but a clot of anxiousness suddenly swelled in his stomach. “Are you sure it…?”

  “It moved! I’m tellin’ you. Give me your binoculars!” Robby slipped the cord over his head and handed them to his brother. “Where’d it go?” Simon muttered as he adjusted the magnification, his head moving back and forth in a sweeping motion. “It was right there.” He jabbed a finger in the air. “Dammit Robby! Where’d it go? It couldn’t have just disappeared. Were you paying attention?”

  Robby was staring intently at a crooked tree, but he wasn’t even sure if it was the same tree as before or if they were even looking at the same thing. There were lots of crooked trees out here. “I dunno. I lost it. I think it was just a tree.”

  “It moved, dumbass! Trees don’t move. Where’d it go?”

  “I didn’t see anything. Maybe you saw a hunter? Maybe someone in camo?”

  “Stop talking and look for it!” Simon ordered harshly.

  There was something in Simon’s voice that Robby didn’t like. He knew his brother got scared just like everyone else, but unlike everyone else, he never let it show. Not even when they were kids. Fear was for girls, Simon would say. For sissies. But now, Robby was beginning to wonder if being in Ashfield Forest was worrying Simon more than he was letting on. Maybe he’d just wanted to come out here so that he could tell his buddies about what a brave badass hunter he was. Robby unslung his rifle, tucked the butt tightly against his shoulder, and peered through the scope.