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A ripple of laughter spreads throughout the room at his apt assessment.
“I know I’d feel more than a little unsettled,” I agree. “Hill does a great job of?—”
“Kinda like that weirdo in the black robes who’s been giving people heart attacks around Fairchild Manor,” Jake cuts in, a mischievous grin curling his lips.
My lecture dies in my throat, the whiteboard marker almost slipping from my suddenly numb fingers. “Uh, sorry, what are you talking about?”
The class erupts in excited chatter, everyone talking over each other in response to my question. I struggle to make any sense of the jumble of voices, not least because my blood is pounding loudly in my ears.
“Sarah Meyers saw them last week.”
“It’s just some loser playing a weird prank.”
“Nah, my mom thinks it might be a real ghost.”
I throw my hands in the air, trying to regain some control of the room. “Hold up, hold up. One at a time, please. Jake, what’s all this about?”
Jake leans back casually in his chair, clearly relishing being the center of attention. “Ah, it’s just some prankster hanging around the Manor and the grounds. Freaking people out, you know? There’s no way it’s a real ghost, who the hell dresses like that? Unless it’s the grim reaper.” He tacks the last part on with a loud cackle, playing up to the class clown bravado.
I grip the edge of my desk where I lean against it, my knuckles turning white with the strain.
“Uh, you okay, Miss Wilson?” a soft voice from the front row spears through the hurricane blaring in my skull.
I blink a few times, realizing I must have been staring into space. The whole class is watching me, some looking concerned, others mockingly amused. I try to force a smile, though it undoubtedly reads more like a reluctant grimace. “I’m fine, thanks. Just…not especially pleased about all this. Does anyone know who’s behind it?”
I wince as the discussion reignites in another frenzy, everyone chucking in their two cents about who they think it might be. It quickly becomes apparent that none of them actually have any idea who the culprit is.
“Okay, okay, that’s enough of that,” I call out, having to raise my voice louder than I would have liked. “While this is no doubt entertaining for all of you, we should get back to discussing literature. Or you’re all going to fail the midterm.”
Though the chatter dies down with another class-wide groan, I can still see a gleam of excitement in their eyes. They’re all practically vibrating with the need to keep gossiping about Avalon’s latest mystery.
“Before we continue,” I say, adopting the no-nonsense teacher voice I don’t often employ, “I should remind you all that trespassing is illegal. And harassing people, even if you’re just playing a prank, can have serious consequences. Am I understood?”
I lock eyes with each of them in turn, praying that my warning dissuades anyone who might be involved. “I don’t want to find out that any of you have been sneaking around Fairchild Manor, or anywhere else you shouldn’t be, for that matter.”
A chorus of mumbled confirmations echoes throughout the room. I give a satisfied nod and turn back to the board. “Alright, let’s take a look at some of the chapter’s gothic elements…”
The rest of the lesson passes without further incident. I go through the motions on autopilot, teaching about foreshadowing and building atmosphere, but my mind is elsewhere. By the time the bell signals the end of the period, I’m almost stunned to find I’m still standing in the same spot.
I sink into my desk chair as the students scuttle out, still whispering excitedly about whoever this costumed phantom might be. Finally, I’m left completely alone with my thoughts.They swirl like fallen leaves caught in a gust of wind, chaotic and impossible to pin down.
It’s a relief to know I didn’t imagine the cloaked figure chasing me through the house on Saturday. But the revelation only brings with it a host of accompanying questions. Who could it be? Will they be caught soon? Do they have anything to do with all the weird stuff going on at my house?
The thought causes me to squirm nervously in my seat. If a student has been breaking into my home, that’s a whole other level of inappropriate. I may have to do more than just locking my door… Maybe self-defense classes?Something.
I’m startled out of my musing by a sudden loud buzz. I fish my phone out of my bag, my already-exhausted heart kicking up a gear when I see Dominic’s name appear on the screen. In all the chaos of discussing this mystery figure, I’d almost forgotten he existed.Almost.
The text is brief with no invitation for debate.
Dominic: We need to get down to planning this costume party. I’ll come by your place after school is out.
I stare at the message, unsure whether to be relieved or irritated. It’s clear he doesn’t intend to abandon us as the sponsor, but who the hell does he think he is dictating to me when and where we’ll meet? Inviting himself into my home, of all places.
My thumbs fly over the screen as I type and delete several increasingly furious responses before I settle with justlikingthe text. I tell myself I should be pleased he hasn’t disappeared into the ether and taken his money with him. But, of course, I can’t entirely quash the nagging rage that turns my vision red every time I’m reminded of how he’s crashed through my simple life like a damn bulldozer.
And then there’s this other nagging feeling.
A quiet thrill that comes completely out of left field. There’s a part of me that wants to keep my estranged stepbrother close, holding him to me as if we might get a second chance to fix whatever is broken between us and actually mean something to each other.
