I guess you might want to read my last post or if you’re totally lost, this might help.
My mom visited me at college. It was during the week because she needed to keep the store open on the weekends and she couldn’t stay for more than a few hours. It’s a long drive just to visit for dinner and a quick tour around the campus. I don’t know how I should feel about it. I didn’t get much warning, either. Just a quick call from a rest stop to let me know she was an hour out from our hometown and when she’d be arriving at campus. She wanted to know which dorm I was in and if it had visitor’s parking. I was so startled that I didn’t know what to do other than give her the building name.
Then I hung up and freaked out.
Like we haven’t really talked about her attempts to sabotage my dreams here. We’ve just danced around the subject each time we talk on the phone. She asks about my classes and how I’m getting along with my roommate. I’m giving her a carefully filtered view of my college life. It’s tidy and safe. I’m making friends. I joined a club. My classes are hard but I have resources to help. I’m going to the tutoring center for help.
(not really, I went once for math help and found I could figure it out on my own just as easily as having someone explain it, but I think it makes her feel better to hear I’m not doing this all on my own)
I keep reminding myself that her hostility towards me leaving was probably due to fear. After all, dad left our small town and went west and never came back. His death left our family paralyzed. His soul has long since passed along to whatever comes next, but we haven’t moved on. We’re still stuck there, waiting by the phone, wondering why he hasn’t called that night like he always did.
And now I’ve left and mom is there at her store, waiting for the day I don’t call.
I wish I could talk to her about this. I wish I knew how. But I don’t fully understand it myself. It’s a big ugly knot in my chest, a thicket of thorns, and every time I pry at the branches to understand my own thoughts it leaves me bleeding. I feel… scared? Resentful?
Guilty, I think. Mostly guilty. Like I’m dishonoring his memory by leaving the town and going out into the wide world where these things lurk, waiting to pounce, where none of us are safe.
But I’m an adult, right? I can make my own decisions, right? I don’t have to live chained to the past.
It doesn’t feel that way yet.
I felt guilty all throughout my mom’s visit. I wasn’t exactly lying to her. College really is going well, I feel. Even being around this many people is starting to feel less intimidating. I’ve settled into a routine and I think I’ll be able to keep up with my classwork. I think hearing all of this from me in person as we ate dinner at the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet reassured my mom. She didn’t like me being so far from home, she said. She was worried I’d get out here and well, something would happen. She didn’t want me making the same mistakes she did.
I didn’t ask what mistakes, exactly, those were. I already knew of one. The affair. That was a pretty big mistake, even if I was too young at the time to really understand what was going on. I don’t really care to know what else my mom did when she was younger and honestly, I don’t feel like it matters. We’re not doomed to repeat the mistakes of our parents. We’re all different people, after all. Our futures aren’t set in stone.
It’s just the specter of the past, reaching forward in time to fill us up with fears of what might be and what could be.
I didn’t tell her about the rain. I didn’t tell her about sweater girl or campus security or the traveling river. I didn’t even tell her about how sometimes my roommate seems like she’s hiding something. The picture I painted for my mother was a neat and sanitized version of my life. Perhaps she realized this, for there was an undercurrent of anxiety that hovered between us like a plucked string that hadn’t quite settled back into silence.
But she didn’t press. I’d already walked away from my family once. I might just do it again.
She left after seeing all of campus to make the long drive home. I returned to my dorm, giddy off my new-found sense of freedom. My mom had made the trip out here and found that I could not be removed. That I was my own person and I was here to stay, that I would make my own mistakes and live my own life.
In my jubilation, I messaged Grayson and asked if he wanted to get lunch tomorrow. Just to hang out and chat, I said. It’d be nice to have some more friends than just my roommate.
He said sure. And then when I freaked out (because we’re not dating and I don’t want to be dating and there’s so many worries in my head and I can’t make sense of them all) Cassie told me she’d take my cell phone away if I even dared think about canceling on him.
So I didn’t.
Remember how I said that I had a professor that didn’t cancel class when it rained? It was in the syllabus. He also is one of the few professors that takes attendance and grades you on it. Now, to preempt the speculation: I don’t think he’s inhuman. I think he’s just an asshole. On the first day of class he went on about how he won’t indulge in silly “superstitions” that are just an excuse to skip class. It was quite uncomfortable to sit through. Confrontation makes me deeply anxious, so I stared at my nails the whole time and counted the minutes until he finally shut up and got on to actually teaching us something.
His class is also at 8 in the morning, so I think he’s really out to make his students suffer.
Anyway, I’m bringing this up now because as you can probably guess, it was raining when I woke up that morning. I’d already resolved by then that if this happened, I’d take my chances in the rain. There’s been enough people in the discord saying that they’d been out in the rain and nothing bad had happened that I’m starting to think the rain is like any other piece of old land. Be cautious, be smart, be aware, and you’re probably going to be okay. It’s no different than, say, driving in heavy rain. The risk is elevated, but it’s not guaranteed that something bad will happen.
At least, that’s how I was justifying it to myself. Maybe it’s because I grew up around the dangers of old land that I felt more comfortable taking the risk. I also feel compelled to remind you all that I am on scholarship and can’t let my grades slip. This is just how life is. We make sacrifices for the things we really want.
Cassie was still asleep and I was careful not to wake her up as I was getting ready. She’s been a bit more open with me after the incident with the traveling river. I think she finally believes that I’m no stranger to these sorts of occurrences. She admitted that she doesn’t like talking about the rain. It scares her.
I asked her what she saw in it.
“Nothing,” she said quietly. “I’ve seen nothing. The traveling river is the first abnormal thing I’ve seen on campus.”
“But you believe what everyone says.”
“I… don’t know what I believe. I just know I’m scared.”
Out of respect for her fear, I left carefully, closing the door gently behind me. She didn’t need to know I was going out in the rain. If it was still coming down by the time I got to class, I’d text her to let her know I’d made it safely so she’d have that reassurance when she woke up and found me gone. Then I pulled my raincoat hood up and headed out into the downpour.
(and let me just say that I’m not a fan of raincoats considering there’s those folks on the campgrounds that cut pieces out of people wearing them but my umbrella got wrecked by a particularly strong gust of wind and I haven’t gotten a new one yet)
I wasn’t the only person braving the weather. There were a handful of students walking briskly through the storm. The rain is starting to become a common occurrence now that spring is fighting for its turn. I’ve noticed that there’s always a small amount of brave souls that head outside and that they tend to stick to the more well-traveled routes across campus. They move in groups. I attached myself to a trio and trailed along behind them. Luckily for me, we were heading for the same building. One of them was in my class, even. We arrived there safely and paused in the lobby to shake the water off umbrellas and remove our jackets.
“Mr. N. is a real asshole, isn’t he?” my classmate remarked as we headed into the lecture hall.
“He is,” I agreed heartily.
Most of us had shown up. I think the ones that didn’t are the ones that think they can magically pass the class on virtue of the final alone, even though the professor has told us that class participation is 30% of our grade. I mean yes, technically you could pass I guess, but there’s not a lot of margin for error and I don’t think people that habitually skip class are going to do well on the final.
At least his class is interesting and engaging. I looked at my phone only when Cassie texted me back, asking me to be careful on the way back to the dorm. Then when class ended, I messaged Grayson to tell him we should cancel lunch, on account of the rain.
‘its fine, I’m going out in it anyway,’ he replied. ‘I have class’
I guess I couldn’t chicken out that way. So I told him I was actually out in the rain too, also on account of class, and we made plans to meet up at campus’s only excuse for a restaurant. It’s a tiny building alongside the only road running through campus. Their lunch menu consists entirely of sandwiches and watery soups. I think the reason it stays in business is because it has a monopoly.
I got there half an hour early because I had nothing better to do. I ordered a coffee and the last remaining cinnamon roll from their breakfast pastries so they wouldn’t have an excuse to kick me out. Not that I think any of the students working there would bother, but I’ve seen the manager a couple times now and she kind of scares me.
I was messing around on my phone when someone sat down opposite me. I glanced up, smiling, expecting to see Grayson.
It wasn’t Grayson.
It wasn’t anyone I recognized, which isn’t unusual as I’ve discovered that I have terrible name/face recognition and being on a campus with more people than I’ve seen in one place in my entire life has quickly become my personal nightmare. I expected him to say my name and maybe ask about whatever class we have together and thereby give me some sort of clue as to who the hell he was.
But he didn’t say anything. He just smiled at me. And then I started to notice some things were… off… about him. He seemed pretty ordinary at a casual glance. Just some student with freckles covering his face and the backs of his forearms. But as he remained silent I stopped being polite and just stared hard at him. That’s when I noticed something about his freckles.
They were moving.
Twitching. Just the edges, subtle movements like someone trying to keep from smiling.
“Are you going to finish that?” he finally asked, pointing to my cinnamon roll.
“N-no.”
If he was inhuman, the best course of action is to go along with whatever they ask. It’s not a sure way to survive, but the odds do lean a little bit in your favor. I watched as he grabbed the plate and slid it over to his side of the table. He crammed it into his mouth, chewing noisily. Then he reached for my coffee and drained it one gulp.
Maybe I was seeing things. There are some weird people in college, after all. I took off my glasses and cleaned them on my shirt. When I put them on, he was staring at me again, his hands folded neatly on the table in front of him.
His freckles were still twitching.
“I’m still hungry,” he said.
“W-well I’m meeting someone for lunch so maybe I could-”
I was stalling for time. If he was inhuman, I couldn’t refuse him, but if he wasn’t then maybe he’d leave when Grayson arrived.
Or maybe Grayson would offend him and then he’d be the next victim. Just like what had happened to sweater girl.
My frantic thoughts were interrupted when he grabbed my wrist. He dragged my arm towards him on the table. I glanced around frantically, wondering if anyone else was seeing this and would intervene - would do anything to help - but it was like I no longer existed to the people around me.
“I’m still hungry,” he hissed and this time, his voice was a chorus.
His freckles had all split open and they spoke in unison, a rippling tide crawling across his flesh of tiny slits filled with miniscule teeth.
I screamed. I kicked at the table, knocking the leg out from under it and sending it toppling to the ground. He stumbled backwards to avoid it falling on him and released my arm in the process. For a second I hesitated, glancing frantically around for an escape. He was between me and the door. The other people in the store hadn’t responded to the crash of the table hitting the ground.
I was on my own.
I ran towards the back. There was an ‘employees only’ door and I burst through this, glancing around frantically for an exit sight. There had to be a back door, right? I heard footsteps behind me. He was giving chase and there was hardly any distance between us. I had to choose.
I picked left. To the right was the kitchen and I didn’t think the exit would be in there. It was more likely to be in the hallway, right?
The door opened into darkness. I could see shelves in the square of light let in from the hallway.
I’d picked wrong. It led to a supply closet.
“So hungry,” the freckled man hissed from behind me.
There was nowhere to go. I stumbled into the pantry, fumbling at the shelves as I backed away from the advancing creature. My hand closed on a box of dry macaroni.
“Here,” I stammered, holding it out towards him. My hand shook, rattling the pasta around. “You can eat this.”
“I want… something fresh,” his mouths hissed. “Something… juicy.”
Desperately, I glanced around. No meat. No fruit. Nothing to offer him in my stead. I cowered at the far wall, paralyzed in terror. His freckles made wet, sucking sounds as they licked their legion of lips in anticipation of the feast. I closed my eyes and tried not to imagine what it would feel like when they latched on and began to eat.
Then the pantry door was flung open again. It slammed into the wall with a crash that rattled the shelves. Framed in the doorway was a woman, tall, broad-shouldered, and she held a broom in one hand.
“YOU AGAIN?!” she bellowed.
The creature spun around. He dropped low to the ground, like a cornered rat. His back arched. The woman stepped into the pantry, keeping some distance between them. She stepped so that there was a clear path to the door.
“Get out!” she snarled. “Go back to rummaging in the dumpster like you always do!”
And she hit him with the broom.
He screeched as if he’d been scalded and fled for the open door, loping along on all fours. He crashed into the hallway wall as she took another swipe at him, rounded the corner, and was gone from sight. Then the woman let out a deep sigh and flicked the lights on. She turned to look at me.
“I don’t care how bad you feel for the possums,” she said to me, “but you can’t be feeding them. It makes them mean.”
For a moment I could only stare at her. Then, slowly, I put the macaroni back on the shelf. She was an older woman with her hair hidden underneath a cap. She wore an apron with a name badge that didn’t have her name. It just said ‘Manager’.
“That wasn’t a possum,” I said.
“Of course it was,” she said huffily. “Now go on, get out of here.”
Something in me snapped. I said I don’t like confrontation, but my heart was hammering and I hadn’t even begun to come down from the adrenaline that was coursing through my blood.
“It! Was not! A possum!” I shrieked hoarsely. “I’m from the country! I know there’s things out there that aren’t - that aren’t - normal! That thing was one of them!”
I stood there, panting, and the handle of her broom creaked ominous as she tightened her grip on it. Then she stalked over to me. I swear, this lady had like a foot of height on me. I shrunk under her glare.
“Listen here,” she said sternly, jabbing a finger in my chest. It nearly knocked the wind out of my lungs with the impact. “You leave here and you tell yourself it was a possum. You think I haven’t said something about this? You think they listened to me? The only thing the administration cares about around here is keeping the college running smoothly and collecting those tuition fees. I learned real quick that if I want to live a peaceful life I’d better keep my mouth shut. So you’d better learn the same.”
I swallowed hard. So this is what it was like being on the receiving end of a whole bureaucracy designed to keep those that saw something from speaking up.
“I-is it campus security? Are they the problem?” I desperately asked.
“I said you keep your mouth shut.”
Then she grabbed the collar of my shirt and hauled me through the hallway. With one final shove, she pushed me through the employee only door and back into the restaurant.
I was too shocked to do anything but stand there dumbly for a moment. When I looked around, I found myself staring at Grayson who had just walked in the door. He froze when our eyes met. Then, carefully, he walked over, moving slowly as if he were trying to avoid spooking a wild animal.
“Hey,” he said carefully, “are you okay?”
I started crying. And then of course the tiny restaurant got real quiet as everyone furtively stared and tried to pretend they weren’t suddenly deeply invested in my business. Grayson hastily put an arm around my shoulders and steered me towards the door. He opened his umbrella as we stepped outside, pulling me close so that I’d be sheltered from the rain.
“Something happen at class?” he asked gingerly as we walked in the direction of my dorm. “Or is it homesickness?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I sniveled.
Keeping my mouth shut, just as the restaurant manager had told me. Grayson didn’t pry further and I let him make his assumptions as he escorted me back to my dorm through the pouring rain.
I’m scared. This place is old land. I’m not surprised. Universities always talk about their legacy and while the population churns year after year, that history echoes through us all. We tell its stories and wear its colors and the land grows stronger every time we do.
Perhaps every college is old land. But at this one… there’s something in the rain… and someone in the administration knows it. [x]