Alexandra Sokoloff - The Harrowing

She sat, ground her fingers into the pointer, stared fiercely at the board. “ I’m asking you . What are you saying? What do you want from us?”

She looked up at Lisa. Lisa extended her fingers and touched the piece, looking across at Robin.

The pointer trembled under their hands—then went crazy, scraping savagely from letter to letter. Robin and Lisa could barely hold on.

The words were flying so fast, Robin was registering them almost subconsciously.

The table began to rock, jumping on its legs, bucking wildly on the planks of the floor.

The girls bolted up from their chairs, springing away.

“Holy shit.” Patrick pulled Lisa backward, away from the rocking wood. Robin backed up and ran into Cain and Martin, who both steadied her. In the center of the floor, the table kept up its wild shaking dance.

The door slammed open behind them.

The table stopped dead. The five of them spun—to see Waverly standing in the doorway.

Robin drew a breath, for a stunned second thinking Waverly had seen the table shaking. But her roommate was totally fixed on Patrick.

“You cunt-hunting scum.” Waverly’s words were slurred. She was swaying slightly, drunk, as she turned a venomous gaze on Lisa. “I knew I’d find you with this whore—and the rest of this trash.”

The five stared back at her, flushed with adrenaline and anger at the interruption.

Waverly turned on Robin, blue eyes flashing fire, Southern accent thick as tar. “And you, with your tail up, panting after him. ‘Oh, Patrick, let me do your paper while I go down on you.’”

Robin felt herself flush with fury. “ Get out —”

A candlestick with a burning candle flew across the room, barely missing Waverly’s head.

Waverly whirled from Robin, staring at the rest of them. “Who threw that?”

Dead silence.

Behind Waverly on the floor, the candlestick rolled against a stack of dusty old newspapers. The pile suddenly ignited, flames licking up shockingly quickly.

“Look out!” Cain shouted. He leapt to pull Waverly away from the fire and stomped the flames out.

The six of them stood in dazed shock. Then Martin turned coldly to Waverly. “You should go now.” His voice was quiet, deadly. The whole group of them stared at Waverly from their semicircle.

Waverly looked at Patrick. He stood still, as if rooted to the plank floor. She shook her head in total disbelief. “You’re really going to stay here with these freaks?”

Patrick turned on her. Robin saw something twist in his face, though his eyes were as blank as a sleepwalker’s. His voice was a snarl, strangely accentless.

“Fuck off and die, you bitch. Just die—”

Waverly staggered back, stunned, then turned and ran from the attic.

Patrick shuddered, and for a moment he looked dazed, almost sick. He strode across the floor and slammed out after Waverly.

It had all happened so fast, Robin couldn’t move. Cain and Lisa seemed equally paralyzed.

Martin walked forward almost calmly, picked up the candlestick, turned back to the table, pale and resolute. “Come on. Let’s keep going.” He straightened the candle in the holder, fumbled out matches to light it Robin saw his hand was trembling.

Cain stared at him. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Martin’s face was feverish. “Don’t let her ruin it.” He seized Robin’s hand, tried to pull her back to the board.

Cain grabbed Martin’s wrist hard, stopping him. He pulled Robin free, stared Martin down. “I don’t know what you’re after, but we’re done.”

He slid an arm around Robin’s waist. Robin leaned into him, releasing herself into his protection. Cain’s arm tightened around her.

Martin stepped sharply back, stared at the two of them, jolted, a look oddly like betrayal.

Cain took Robin’s hand and led her toward the door. Anywhere , she thought. Anywhere but here . She reached out for Lisa, touched her arm, and Lisa moved obediently with them.

Just before the door closed, Robin caught a glimpse of Martin standing alone under the rafters.

The candles flickered beside the board on the table behind him.

The moon sailed through drifting clouds. Wind billowed through trees, swirling leaves on the street outside the dark dorm.

In the black of her room, Robin slept fitfully in her blankets.

Something was moving in the room…sliding through the silence, a thick, animate presence. Its gaze searched the dark, finding and fixating on Robin.

It slithered toward the bed —

Robin woke from her dream with a gasp—and realized she was not dreaming. Something was on her, a foul dead weight, impossibly heavy, flattening her to the bed. Her whole being recoiled from the presence above her—malevolent, hungry, crushing her down.

She flailed out, thrashing against the weight, convulsing and contorting her body in an attempt to throw it off.

Through her terror, she was aware of a thud from somewhere in the room. There was a sharp slam, and a piercing scream.

Robin pushed upward with all her strength and threw the weight off her.

She gulped for air, able to breathe again, free—and then bolted up at a sudden banging crash.

Then there was total silence.

Robin’s heart was knocking at her ribs; her breath came in panicked gasps as she looked wildly around her in the dark.

The room was empty, the door to the hall wide open. Beside her bed the windows were open, too, the curtains billowing inward.

And then somewhere outside, the screaming started. Voices shouted frantically: “Oh my God.” “Call an ambulance!”

Robin threw back her blankets and jumped out of bed, ran to the window to look out.

Lights were going on all over the dorm; half-sleeping students appeared at windows.

A crowd was forming below, dazed students gathering, running out of the dorm, stopping in horror.

A broken body lay on the bricks in a pool of blood, blond hair spread around her head like a halo, sightless eyes staring up.

Robin pulled back in terror.

It was Waverly.

Robin burst out through the front door, hurried down the steps.

More and more students were gathering in the windy street, wearing nightclothes, in shock. The flashing red lights of electric security carts illuminated the plaza; sirens were screaming from somewhere, approaching. Someone in a uniform started yelling at the students to get back.

Robin scanned the onlookers. She saw Cain first, slim and still in the white lights; then all the rest of them were there, finding and fixing on one another, drifting together through the crowd as if magnetized—Martin, Patrick, Lisa. Robin eased her way up to them through a group of sobbing girls.

Patrick’s eyes were wide, glazed with shock. He stared toward Waverly’s body.

“What happened?” Robin asked numbly.

The four all looked at her strangely in the moonlit dark, lights from the security carts flashing on their faces.

Lisa was the first to speak, her voice low and harsh. “Don’t you know? She went out your window.”

Robin jolted. “ What? ”

Lisa looked upward, indicating the curtains billowing from Robin’s and Waverly’s open window.

Robin started to shiver. She had only pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt; the wind was icy and groping.

Cain spoke roughly beside her. “We better get our stories straight.” He was moving slightly, away from the crowd, so they couldn’t be heard. Everyone moved with him, subtly pulling away.