In the sprawling dorms of Westwood University, unsettling events started unfolding, transforming mundane residence life into a tableau of horror. Subtly at first, personal items vanished from dorm rooms, later to be discovered in common areas, arranged in ways that chilled anyone who found them.
Among the initial incidents setting this eerie tone was a collection of photographs from different rooms, found scattered across the common room floor. Their faces were scratched out, surrounded by candles, some still flickering with faint light. It appeared as if someone aimed to erase the identities, the very essence, of those captured in moments of joy, turning the room into a shrine of anonymity and loss.
The episode with the mirrors followed; all from the bathrooms on the second floor ended up in the study lounge. Positioned to reflect each other, they created an endless corridor of darkness. In this glass maze’s center, a single chair faced the mirrors, an open journal on its seat filled with disjointed scribbled notes about watching, waiting, and all-seeing eyes.
Perhaps the most disturbing occurrence took place in the communal kitchen. Residents found all the block’s knives arranged on the countertop in a large, sinister smile, edges lined with red food coloring to mimic blood. Above this display, a large piece of paper was taped to the wall, declaring, “Smile, you’re being watched.”
Suspicion naturally veered towards my roommate, Jamie, whose ethereal presence and unnatural movements through our shared space seemed eerie. His eyes harbored depths of knowledge, or secrets, not typical for a college sophomore, raising suspicions about his involvement or whether he was human at all. The unnerving relocation of items and chilling setups felt like the work of a ghost, and Jamie, with his mysterious aura, seemed to fit the profile all too well.
Campus police, usually dealing with noise complaints and underage drinking, found themselves mired in a mystery that defied explanation. Their suspicion of Jamie intensified with each interview. His responses were too polished, too detached, making him seem like an observer rather than a participant in the unfolding chaos. Yet, whenever they thought they had him cornered with logic, Jamie would weave his words like a web, his charm deflecting their accusations and leaving them doubting their own judgments.
Halfway through the semester, after countless sleepless nights filled with eerie occurrences, the truth finally came to light. It wasn’t Jamie or any supernatural force causing the disturbances but a disgruntled janitor from our dorm. Angered by his dismissal, he decided to leave behind a legacy of fear and confusion, manipulating our belongings to create scenes straight out of a horror movie. While this revelation eased some of our fears, it did little to explain Jamie’s peculiar behavior and unsettling presence. Despite the janitor being identified as the culprit behind the creepy incidents, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was more to Jamie than met the eye. Determined to uncover the truth, I decided to delve deeper into the enigma that was my roommate. Driven by desperation and curiosity one sleepless night, I decided to sift through Jamie’s belongings, hoping to find anything that might affirm his humanity or uncover his ghostly nature.
Beneath a facade of the ordinary, a clutter of textbooks worn from use, a heap of laundry neglected far too long, I stumbled upon a cache of documents that sent shivers down my spine. Hidden within the depths of our dorm, Jamie was shielded under the guise of the Witness Protection Program, stowed away at Westwood University for reasons far darker than I could have imagined. Driven by a macabre curiosity, I powered up my laptop, diving into the abyss of his past. What surfaced was a narrative drenched in blood: Jamie had been entangled in a chilling series of murders the previous year, his hands stained just days before his transition into adulthood, all while his accomplice was condemned to death row, all because he was a month younger than this his first victim… I mean coconspirator.
The horrors laid bare were grotesque. Their first act of violence shattered the serenity of a suburban twilight, a prelude to a string of abductions marked by a trail of the unseen and unheard. The crescendo of their cruelty was a night that echoed with terror, leaving three souls lost, later discovered in an industrial grave, mockingly positioned as a grotesque caricature of domestic bliss, their final moments twisted into silent screams. Amidst the carnage, Jamie’s fingerprints wove through the scene, a damning testament to his involvement.
The investigation peeled back layers of deception, unveiling Jamie as the architect of this nightmare, a maestro of manipulation whose youthful exterior belied a sinister depth. Yet, when cornered, he spun a web of lies, casting himself as a pawn in a game of malevolence, coerced into darkness by his now-condemned friend. The court, swayed by the façade of innocence and the strategic tears of a boy on the cusp of manhood, granted him a path to redemption through the shadows of witness protection. Meanwhile, his co-conspirator, mere months older, was left to face a fate sealed by the gavel’s fall.
The realization that Jamie might have been the puppeteer, pulling the strings with calculated indifference, cast a pall over everything I thought I knew. It makes sense he’s in witness protection, his entire town is out to get him. Understandably.
As I sat there, enveloped by the chilling revelations strewn about me, the door creaked open. Jamie’s silhouette filled the frame, his gaze piercing through the dim light to fix upon the screen and then on me. His voice, when it broke the silence, carried a weight that froze my blood. “You shouldn’t have looked that up,” he whispered, the words slithering through the air like a cold draft, sealing my fate to the shadows of his past deeds.