CHAPTER 21: THE PARK
Need to use the song “Being Alive” for this chapter. Play the song when told.
Due to the investigation, Glenworth is closed down until further notice. I spent the entire weekend mourning over the death of my beloved friend and Professor. I wish I could somehow wake up from this nightmare but everyone knows life isn't so simple. I wonder if there was something I could’ve done to prevent it from happening. As I sit in bed, unable to sleep on this Sunday morning, my mom comes in with a breakfast platter.
"Hey, sleeping beauty," she smiles at me soothingly while placing the food on my desk.
Eating food right now is the least of my concerns. All weekend I barely ate much. Those traumatizing images of his dead body are still fresh in my mind.
"Hungry?” she asks.
“No,” I reply modestly.
“Well, you have to eat something. You haven’t eaten in two days,” she replies and sits on the foot of my bed. “I want to have a quick one-on-one with you about school.”
She stops temporarily to contemplate.
"I know how important school has been to you. I can't make you do anything you don’t want to do. If you want to stay at Glenworth, fine. Just make sure you're very careful, okay?"
"Mom, I'll be fine. Don’t go around worrying about me. You’re going to stress yourself out for no reason.”
"Just be mindful. Keep your phone on you at all times…”
"Mom," I interrupt. "I can handle it. I’m grown and capable of making my own decisions. I just need time to myself right now.”
She pauses for a moment to breathe. It’s only natural for a mom to feel cautious about their children, although I’m clearly old enough to make my own decisions. That’s why I never blame her for her motherly instincts.
"I love you so much. I just don't want anything to happen to you.”
“I know,” I reply understandingly. “I love you too.”
She opens her mouth to speak but doesn’t.
“I can take care of myself. I’m not a kid anymore mom.”
She nods in agreement with me before responding.
“You’re right. You’re not a little girl anymore,” she says with a slight hint of sadness in the last sentence.
She’s probably finally realizing that I’m an adult and is more than capable of handling my own responsibilities, including attending school. A sigh is released from her mouth, followed by another brief pause. Silently, she kisses me on the forehead and leaves my room.
School finally reopens that following Thursday. The ride to school is very silent. We pull into the school lot, which is swarming with police.
"Okay, keep your phone on you at all times.”
"I will.”
I hop out and shut the door and then step onto the walkway. As soon as I exit the car, I immediately feel sorrow in the atmosphere. Everything feels deprived of joy. What makes matters worse is the grayness outside. The clouds are dark and ominous and there’s an unusual chill in the air.
There’s no usual clowning around or side conversations in the hallways. Everything and everyone appears dim. In Computer Science, we mostly sit and review our notes from the previous class. My next class is with Professor Cruz. We're given some reading material about a Greek philosopher by the name of Plato, which takes up the entire hour of class. I was hoping that maybe her bright energy could lift my spirits, but she seems to be just as distraught as everyone else. I need something to deliver me from this depression that’s clouding the school. As my fellow classmates exits the room, she calls me over to her desk. She then rises to her feet and peaks outside of her classroom door before closing it.
She then approaches me with a unreadable expression. A few seconds passes by, and she hasn’t said a word. She is just peering deeply into my eyes as if she is trying to study me.
“What's up?” I ask with confusion.
“You have no idea what’s happening, do you?” she replies while peering hard into my eyes.
I have no idea what she could be referring to.
“No,” I reply.
“Iva, you must listen carefully. You are not safe here; no one is. There is so much to tell you, but this isn’t the right place to do so.”
She starts to show signs of worry in her eyes as our conversation moves along. I can feel her worry transferring over to me.
“It’s about Grant,” she replies.
Then a notion hits me.
“You know who did it, don’t you?” I whisper.
She knows exactly what I’m referring to. She then nods slowly. Suddenly, a female student opens the door and peaks inside the classroom.
“Is it fine to come in?” the student asks.
“One minute,” Professor Cruz replies.
The student then shuts the door gently and waits for us to finish our conversation.
“I have one last class to teach, but I will be here until 3 o’clock,” she informs me. “We really need to talk.”
“Okay,” I reply.
I then exit the classroom. Immediately, I feel a discomfort in my gut. Could it be true? Does she really know the identity of Grant’s killer? If so, then why didn’t she report it? Or maybe there’s a reason why she hasn’t reported it yet. As I walk to my last class of the day, Biology, I take a quick stop in the girl’s bathroom.
I seem to be the only one inside. I place my folder next to the sink and splash a little bit of water on my face, hoping to rinse away my anxiety. I lean my weight onto the sink and peer into my own eyes. A sound of a flushing toilet is heard behind me. One of the stalls open and I see the reflection of a pale blond. My stomach sinks into the ground. It’s Arlene Blaire! This is the last person I want to see right now. Why me?
I try to appear casual and calm as she makes her way to the sink next to mine, not paying me any mind, and starts to wash her hands. I grab a paper towel from the dispenser and dry my hands as she washes hers. I look out the corner of my eye as she looks at her reflection, as if she’s checking her face for zits.
“That’s a sad thing that happened to Grant,” she says while looking at her reflection.
I stop drying my hands and try to appear unbothered by her statement, but I can’t help but feel awkward.
“Right,” I reply halfheartedly.
I throw the damp paper towel I used for my hands into the trash and then grab another one to dry my face.
“I always wondered…,” she continues. “What do people think about before they die?”
I feel my soul cringing the more she speaks to me. I never had such disinterest in a conversation before.
“I have no clue,” I reply.
“I wonder what Grant was thinking about.”
I then stop drying my face to look at her through the mirror again. Her eyes connects with mine through her reflection. If I’m not mistaken, I can see a smirk forming on her face. The feeling of disgust destroys my anxiety. I ball up the piece of paper-towel and toss it into the trash before leaving the bathroom. I can’t believe she actually had the audacity to say such a thing about someone who was just murdered.
I continue my walk to Biology, hoping to get rid of the disgust before anyone would recognize it. Maybe Jason’s smile can lift my mood. Two minutes later, I enter class and immediately become disappointed. The class is short a couple of students, including Jason; the person I really wanted to see. At least I’m on time and don’t have to worry about getting an evil-eye from Nelson. He closes the door and pauses in silence before starting the class. A cloud of sorrow is hovering over him.
"Good morning," his voice is lower than usual. "I would like to start off on a side-note.”
He clears the hoarse from his throat.
"If there’s anyone in here, who feels they're having a hard time dealing with recent events, you are excused. I will not hold you accountable for your absence, whatsoever. I’ll have a makeup day for anyone who misses class today.”
He pauses to scan the room. Suddenly, a girl stands and modestly leaves the classroom silently. He pauses once more for anyone else who may want to excuse themselves.
"Today we will be reviewing chromosomes," he continues with class.
Before long, class is over and I’m gathering my belongings. Suddenly, my cell-phone vibrates. I retrieve it from my pocket and discover a text message from my mom that reads…
“CAUGHT UP AT WORK, I WILL BE A LITTLE LATE. STAY SAFE.”
I finish gathering the rest of my belongings and join the fleeing crowd, but Professor Nelson calls to me as I pass by his desk.
"Iva.”
"Yes.”
“I want to have a word with you about last Friday.”
He rises from his seat and approaches me with his head lowered.
"What do you want to discuss?" I ask him.
"When I came in, what were you and Grant talking about?"
"We were just having a casual conversation about……school. Why?” I completely lie and hope he doesn’t realize it.
"It’s just I notice him acting a bit strange. Didn’t you?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.
"I noticed that myself.”
"Do you have any idea why?"
"No," I reply regrettably.
Professor Nelson leans backward against his desk and folds his arms as his mind dives into a trance.
"I know I can seem nosy sometimes, but that’s because I want the students and faculty safe.”
“I understand,” I agree with him.
He looks down at the shiny floor tiles and pauses to reflect on the tragedy.
“I can't stop thinking about him,” he goes on. “He was a good teacher and a good friend. The world needs more people like him. He didn’t deserve that," he finishes the sentence with glistening eyes.
"I know. It’s so unreal. I feel bad that I didn’t attend the ceremony.”
"It was really nice, everyone was out showing support. They have a very beautiful memorial at the park for him," he tells me.
"I’ve heard. How do you get there? I want to pay my respects. I at least owe him that much.”
"Make a left up the street, can't miss it.”
"Thanks Professor, see you on Tuesday.”
"You have a nice day, Ms. Hill," he replies as I exit the room.
I make my way out of the building and check the time on my cell-phone. It’s now 3:40. I cut through the parking lot and proceed up the sidewalk. All I can think about is Professor Nelson and what he told me in class. He also noticed Professor Grant's peculiar behavior, so that proves that I’m not imagining things. He seemed shocked, afraid, and worried at the same time.
I see three students coming down the sidewalk. Their eyes are red and watery from continuous grief. I look down at the sidewalk, away from their gloomy expressions. I can't stand looking at anymore sad faces today. When they pass by me, I muster the courage to lift my eyes again.
As I continue to walk, the wooded area next to me turns into a green clearing. The park is a wide field with trees surrounding it. Two other students are walking away from a small platform at the opposite end of the field. I recognize them from my English class. They give a friendly nod as they pass by me and I return the favor.
I feel my eyes starting to sting as I get closer to the memorial. I stop a couple of feet away to admire all of the beautiful flowers, pictures, teddy-bears, and candles.
I softly shake my head in utter disappointment as I stare at one of his pictures.
"I'm so sorry Professor Grant," I whisper to him.
I look away momentarily to swallow the burning ball in my throat. After taking time to recuperate, I kneel into the grass and take off my book-bag. I then pull out his story and place it next to some roses.
"I enjoyed it, a lot," I whisper lowly to his picture.
His smile is so genuine and his eyes are so blameless. A picture of his smiling face helps reduce the weight of contempt in my soul, although I know I will never see his real smile again. Besides wanting to know the identity of his killer, the main question on my mind is why do I feel so goddamn guilty for what happened?
BUT THEN…
A faint sound of crunching leaves gently caress my ear, shifting my focus away from his picture.
I abruptly hit the brakes on my racing thoughts as my ears become alert. I’m sure I heard a faint noise; a noise I probably wasn’t meant to hear. I look to my left towards the wooded area that separates the college from the park, where I heard the soft sound coming from. I always had a vivid imagination, so this wouldn’t be the first time my mind exaggerated a noise that could easily be caused by the wind or an animal going about its day.
Suddenly, the sound of fluttering feet snaps me away from my grieving and pushes into another emotion; fear. The autumn wind blows gently across the field and sways the orange leaves. The hand-like branches are reaching toward the grey sky like tormented souls crying out for deliverance.
I stand still while looking into the crowd of dark trees that fades into a wall of fog, hoping to see an animal scurrying among the leaves. I wait for a few seconds and hope that some rodent would satisfy my sanity. It doesn't happen the way I hoped. I guess it's just my mind playing tricks on me, so I assume. I then hear a similar sound, but this time it’s louder than the first. Now I'm certain that something is moving behind that murky wall of mist.
I never was a huge fan of horror novels, but I have read some Stephen King in my day, and this is truly starting to feel like the beginning of a horror novel.
Here I go again, thinking too hard about something that could easily be an animal moving along the forest floor.
My ADHD plays a huge part in all of this. Sometimes I zone out so hard that my mind wanders off into memories from my childhood or a task I suppose to complete the day prior. More often than not, I also think way too hard about a situation and blow it out of proportion.
I remain completely still and alert with a hint of intimidation spreading throughout my small one-hundred and twenty-pound frame. Another gust of wind comes through the park with much more force. I can’t decipher if the chills I’m feeling are from the wind or the eerie pitter-patter of feet coming from the woods. A wool coat and a long-sleeved shirt are not enough to suppress goose-bumps from swelling on my arms. Even the thin hairs on my neck, which are exposed to the wind, are now standing at attention. I lift the collar of my coat and wrap my arms around myself to combat against the spooky feeling that’s trying to consume my body.
My arms automatically fold tightly against my body. I stand motionless and attentive; hoping it’s just paranoia trying to get the best of me. An abrupt sound of screeching crows rips through the wind and rattles my heart. I watch as the murder of crows scatter across the gray sky and disappear from my sight.
I take a glance at my surroundings-------realizing I’m all alone------ and all of a sudden I start to feel vulnerable. I then begin to slowly walk away. Each step I take feels like they’re being mimicked by someone else’s behind me. I can’t shake off the consistent feeling of being followed or watched. I know it’s most likely my mind playing tricks on me, so I try to rationalize with my own thoughts.
“It’s all in my mind,” I think to myself.
To be on the safe side, I quicken my pace. I can't stop feeling the presence of another person behind me. I glance around the park and hope to God I’m wrong. Again, it’s just paranoia getting the best of me and I’m feeding into it. There’s not another soul in sight, and I know this, so why am I so freaking anxious? However, as soon as I begin to believe that my mind is playing tricks on me, something unexpected happens that makes my heart sink into my stomach…
“HELP,” a voice calls out to me somewhere within the wooded area.
I stop walking instantly when I hear someone shout my name from the woods. The uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, which I tried to disregard, lashes back at me with a vengeance. The voice sounds like the voice of a woman being abducted.
I stop walking when I hear the voice because fear has caused me to become paralyzed. The fear I feel in my chest becomes darker and more prevalent. I take a moment for my breathing to become stable before snapping out of my frightened trance and begin walking again. This time my legs are moving twice as fast, almost like I’m power-walking. I look over my shoulder to make sure no one is following me.
“IVA!” the woman shouts from the woods.
Suddenly, a disturbing realization hits me like a ton of bricks. I stop walking again when I recognize the voice which is calling out to me. A dose of terror turns my body ice-cold, and my heart begins pounding inside my chest like a beating drum, yet I can’t help but reply. My uncle and my mom are probably the only people I would totally risk my life to save, and I’m certain that voice belongs to only one person, Julia Lancaster; my mother.
“Mom?” I speak back into the woods.
How…how could this be? My mother should be at work right now. It just doesn’t feel right in my gut; still, I know that voice all too well to ignore it.
“Help me!” my mother calls out in anguish.
It’s definitely her. Her voice is embedded into my DNA. She’s both my best friend and my mother. I know her voice better than I know my own.
“Iva…” she whimpers in pain somewhere within the obscure wilderness.
I’m terrified right now----deeply terrified------but my love for her engulfs my fear. I have a stare-down with the misty trees as confusion and fear starts to rip apart my mind like never before. I walk towards the woods with wrecked nerves.
“Mom, where are you?” I shout next to a tree.
I look in between the ensemble of trees. I don’t see her anywhere. I can only see leaves blowing in a shaded wilderness that leads to no specific trail. I take a second to look around at the gloomy forest in hopes to find my beloved mother. I can’t find her anywhere. Instead, I’m surrounded by distorted dark figures that were once called maple trees. Small branches and roots are sticking out of the ground like demons reaching from the pits of hell to grab me.
“Help me,” she cries out again.
I can’t take it any longer. Her desperate cry for help causes me to break through my fear. I make my way deeper into the woods, unsure if I would make it back out again. I feel around the pockets of my coat with jittery hands, hoping to find my phone. Never in my life have I had the need to call the police, until now. I find my phone inside of my left coat pocket, and with a quivering thumb, I dial those three infamous numbers I’ve never dialed before until now. I put the cold phone against my ear and wait for the call to go through. The longest three seconds of my life passes before I can hear ringing.
“9-1-1 what is your…”
“Hello? Hello?” I reply in a panicked voice.
“Yes, what is your emergency?” the dispatcher replies in a calm voice.
“Yes, um, my mom is in trouble….I think,” I reply with a shaky voice.
“Is she hurt?”
“I don’t know. I can only hear her screaming.”
“Ma’am, please calm down. Tell me your location.”
Once again, my mother shouts my name, giving my heart a hard jolt.
“Hold on one second,” I tell the dispatcher and then focus my attention on her voice. “Where are you?!” I shout into the misty woods.
I halt and wait for her to reply, but she doesn’t.
“Are you still there?” the dispatcher voice echoes from the phone.
“Yes, I’m still here,” I reply.
“Can you tell me your location?”
“I’m in the woods next to Glenworth University. I’m a student. And um…”
“What is your name ma’am?” the dispatcher cuts me off.
My…my…name is Iva Hill,” I stutter.
“Help,” my mother cries out.
“Hold on one second…” I reply to the dispatcher.
Once again, I divert my attention away from the dispatcher to answer my mother.
“I’m trying to find you, but I don’t know where you are!” I reply with frustration. “Just keep talking.”
I look around, but the humidity is rising from the forest floor; making it difficult for me to see. I squint as hard as I can and try to see beyond the fog. She could be anywhere. My only hope is using my hearing to track her down.
“Where are you?” I speak at a high volume; my voice is echoing through the seemingly endless forest.
I continue to walk deeper into the heart of the foggy and dim wilderness with no sense of direction.
“Help me please,” she replies from a close proximity.
I’m getting closer because I can hear her grunting and murmuring. I follow the sounds. I maneuver under low branches and nearly trip over roots that are protruding from the muddy soil. I walk around a tree and suddenly I see something that makes me flinch. I drop my phone in order to catch my heart from leaping through my ribcage. I see something resting against a tree; a person. This person has his or her back turned. The tree they’re resting against is tall with a large base with tentacles for branches. It looks like something ripped straight from Tim Burton’s imagination.
.
The person is wearing a long brown cloak, which is concealing its entire body. I’m almost certain this is where the voice was coming from.
“Mom…?” I stop speaking when my mind begins to form unnerving questions.
Why is my mom over six feet tall? When did she develop that abnormal hunch in her back? Why are her arms so long? Then the most important question of them all comes to mind; what is this imposter and why does it sound like my mom?
I stop dead in my tracks about fifteen-feet away from the person. I'm now close enough to see it clearly through the fog. As my vision of this thing becomes clearer, so does the entire scenario that’s unfolding in front of me. I have a strange feeling that I’ve been lured into a trap.
“Iva, just a little closer honey,” this thing, which clearly isn’t my mother, replies with my mother’s voice.
An ugly feeling grows inside of me. My neck gets hit with a cool sensation that makes its way down my spine and lingers there. It feels like someone is rubbing a piece of ice up and down the middle of my back. This is a sensation you can’t get from cold weather; instead, you get this feeling when you realize something very unnerving.
I remember watching an old horror movie called “The Thing” by John Carpenter. It was an older horror film that my mom forced me to watch so she could laugh at me cowering behind a pillow. Although I was well into my teens, that movie scared the heck out of me; it still does.
One scene in particular sent major chills down my spine that caused me to stay up for two days straight. It was the scene where one of the character’s head ripped open and started to chomp on another man’s head like it was a piece of steak. My mother had the thermostat on seventy-five degrees that day. However, my body temperature dropped several times while watching that movie. I have the same feeling now, but it’s ten times more severe. There’s something about this whole situation that’s not adding up correctly.
The wind comes howling through the forest, which only forces me deeper into this nightmare I walked into. The strong gust of air disturbs everything in sight including the cloak. The bottom of the cloak is lifted slightly. I feast my eyes upon a pair of large feet with curled nails.
I gasp deeply and try to conceal my fear by covering my mouth when I see how hideous its feet are. I can barely cover my mouth because my hand is quivering out of control. I’ve never felt so terrified in my entire life. The fear is so powerful it makes my legs weaken, and I begin to feel lightheaded as if I’m about to pass out. I stumble back a little and nearly collapse, but I manage to grab one of the long branches to balance myself.
“I can’t believe how gullible you are,” this thing speaks to me in a low monotone voice; its real voice.
Another dose of fear hits my bloodstream, causing me to become paralyzed temporarily. In other words, I’m literally scared-stiff right now. What the hell is this thing? I’m sure it’s not human. My mind is so frightened and confused that I can barely think.
“What have you done with her? I reply with fear attached to every syllable.”
“It should be clear by now, Iva. It’s not her that I’m after.”
“What….do you want?”
A slight pause lingers between us.
“I want be your worst nightmare,” he replies in a menacing tone.
He speaks in a whispering yet eerie tone; somewhat similar to my elderly neighbor in Virginia who had terrible smokers-cough as long as I can remember. Every syllable seems to end with a wheezing sound. One would only assume it’s a male; whatever it is.
My immediate instinct is to create more distance between us, so I do just that while trying to remain perfectly quiet. I don’t know why but this tall thing isn’t moving at all. He’s just….standing.
Suddenly, he takes a step back without turning; mimicking my movement. I stop walking as well, not knowing what I should do next. I have three options as of now: I could scream, I could run, or I could try to buy time by talking to him. I take another slow step backward. He then takes another swift step towards me with his back facing me.
“STOP WHERE YOU ARE!” I shout.
“It’s rude to leave without saying bye,” he replies without turning.
He stops walking backward and shifts his head to me slightly. I still can’t see his face because his head is covered in a draping hood.
I assume this person or thing does not want me to see his face, and I’m almost sure he doesn’t care about being identified by police. I think he doesn’t want to show his face because whatever lies underneath that hood has to be something terrifying beyond my wildest nightmare. Judging by his ugly hands and feet, I could only imagine what dreaded features await me when he turns around.
“You have a beautiful spirit,” he starts to speak in a low, weak voice. “You’re terrified right now, yet you came out here still. You won’t believe how many people would completely ignore the cries of their loved ones to save themselves.”
As he speaks, my muscles tense up and my breathing increases. Tears swell in my eyes as fear takes over me like never before. My body can’t seem to handle this level of fear. The tips of my fingers are turning numb, and my heart feels like its shrinking inside my chest.
Again, he takes a step back at a sideways angle, unwilling to reveal his face.
“Don’t come any closer,” I warn him.
“It’s nothing wrong with being afraid. Hell, I even scare myself sometimes.”
My mind has run out of options. I refuse to fight this thing, so I might as well run like hell. I push myself off a tree and start running for my life. My shoes are sinking into the soft ground and gathering mud on my heels as I dash away. I stop running and gasp for air when I see the creature standing in front of me with his back turned. Its speed is incredible. My moment of hesitation is over and I dart to my left and try to find a way out of the fog.
I then catch the sound of feet moving rapidly somewhere behind me, followed by a quick passing wind. Once again, I stop running when I’m greeted by the creature’s back. He’s so fast that I didn’t even see him move. I guess running is out of the question.
I stop and try to catch my breath. Thoughts of my uncle fill my mind. He has experience with sociopaths and murderers. I try my best to remember the advice he’d given me about how to deal with maniacs like this. One thing I do remember him mentioning is to let them talk and buy as much time as possible. I would scream but he warned me about the dire disadvantages screaming could bring.
“Screamers die quicker,” I remember him telling me.
“Tisk tisk,” he mutters. “Why are you leaving so soon? I thought we were friends Iva?” he says the last sentence with a child’s voice.
The child’s voice is unfamiliar; however, the fact that this thing can mimic a child’s voice is bringing dark fear all over my body. I have reached a level of fear that no one should ever reach.
“How, um, do you know my name?” I ask while gently stepping backward and trying to buy myself some time.
I'm also looking around for something to defend myself with as I speak to him.
“I know all about you. I’ve been searching my entire life for you,” he says in his regular voice. “I’ve killed so many people in my life; searching for the perfect victim; someone with an innocent spirit, someone with love in their heart, someone who fears just as much as they love. You are my perfect victim,” he says this while taking two