The Library: Rewrite

Part Two: Biker Chick by Roberta J. Cabot I used to be a boy scout. Yeah, yeah, you can shut up now. The only reason I mention this is because of the ghost stories that we told around the campfire. No, we didn’t roast weenies or marshmallows, but we DID tell stories. Stories about ghosts in the dark — scary-fun. But there’s no fun if you actually SEE a ghost. I saw a ghost. A French-speaking ghost, mind you. Pretty classy for a ghost, huh? Wonder if I’ll see her again tonight. Can you believe it? I have an appointment tonight. Well, at least she’s pretty hot. My name is Mark. And this is the continuation of my Halloween story. (an official story-entry to Topshelf’s 2011 October TG Terror Contest)

*** Mark ***

I decided to take a quick shower. A little water therapy might just do the trick, and get me out of this funk. I closed my door, took my clothes off and dumped my stuff on the bed as usual. I went into the en-suite bathroom, got in the tub and pulled the shower curtain around me. I turned the shower on and got myself wet prior to soaping myself up. The usual.

But when I reached for my usual bar of soap — I couldn’t find it. Where’s my soap? I felt around the little shelf suction-cupped against the bath’s tile wall, and it wasn’t there. What was there was a brand-new bar still in its box, and a new bottle of Johnson’s Baby Shampoo. Now even my shampoo’s missing.

Could it be, in this new configuration of my apartment, I was sharing my bathroom with my new room-mates? Could that be why there were unfamiliar things on the shower shelf? Maybe it’s the girls’ stuff…

Well, I thought, given I was already wet, I had no choice but to go on with my shower. I reached for the box of soap. Now, who ever heard of putting a soap bar still in a box in the bathroom? I picked up the yellow box and read the name printed on it with my newly-improved twenty-twenty vision — "Heno de Pravia," it said in curliqued letters. I took out the soap, throwing the cardboard box into the little trashcan by the sink. The soap smelled strongly of jasmine. And I do mean strongly. Phew!

Well, in for a pound and all that. I started soaping up a little face towel and started to rub myself with it. “Ow!” What’s with the towel? It felt like it was starched or something. I turned it over, thinking I was using the rough side of the terrycloth. “Ow!” Geez, both sides…

I reluctantly put the little washcloth aside and soaped up directly with the soap bar. The slightly oily feel of it made me want to finish up right away, and I soaped up rapidly. Instead of rinsing right away, I put shampoo in my hair using the yellow-colored baby shampoo bottle, and lathered up. It was my usual routine, shampooing before rinsing. This way, I just needed to rinse the entire me just the one time. The shampoo bubbled up a lot. I think it was because of my hair, though I don't know how. And it felt softer and finer, too. Hmmm.

I rinsed myself thoroughly, but the slightly-oily feeling on my skin made me want to rinse some more. After a bit, I decided to quit even though I felt a bit of residue left. Guess I had to tough it out. I got a towel and, remembering the washcloth and my shower from this morning, I gingerly patted myself dry instead. The oiliness left on my skin made it feel softer. Maybe that was what the soap was meant to do. After I was dry enough, I stepped out of the tub and fished out the soap box from the trash. I read the printed stuff on it and, yes, indeed, there were “moisturisers” and other things in the soap. Guess I just need to get used to it. Especially the strong, jasmine scent. I told myself to go by the 7-Eleven later and buy new soap and shampoo.

I got my weird, pink toothbrush and brushed my teeth. “Up, down, up, down, side-side-side-side-side,” I said while brushing. My usual shtick. Maybe I should include a new toothbrush as well.

Afterwards, I wrapped my terrycloth robe around me and padded into my room. I looked around and found the clothes I was wearing, except for the jacket, had been whisked away by Olivia, no doubt lumped together with the weekly wash by now. So I went to my closet, intending to pick something like my usual. But when I opened it, I was greeted by the new clothes I had just hung up, and nothing else. I could have sworn I still had some of my old clothes still hanging in there before... Not wanting to wear the brand-new clothes yet, I went to my cabinet and picked out a plain, white crew-neck t-shirt, white wooly socks and underwear. But the only underpants that were in the cabinet were men’s style bikini underwear. Damnit, where are my y-fronts? After futilely digging through the clothes in all the drawers, I had no choice and picked a plain-white pair of the new Jockey’s.

I put on the shirt and underwear, noting how soft they were. Also how tight-fitting… my, ummm, junk, was clearly outlined. But even though they were tight, they felt soft and very comfortable. I examined the shirt closer and, yep, this was one of the new ones, too...

I sat on the edge of my bed and put on the socks, finding it easier than normal to bring my foot up and fold my leg across my lap to put the socks on. The hot shower must’ve loosened me up.

In my stockinged feet, I went back to my closet, and picked out some pants. I eventually decided on a new faded-blue pair and took them down from the hanger. As I was doing so, Kristy barged into my room.

“Hey, Markie, can I borrow your iPod? I was gonna work on some stuff and wanted to listen to some… well, hey, there.”

She looked me up and down in my freshly-showered, t-shirt-underwear-and-socks-wearing glory. She had the look of a big Doberman contemplating the idea of snacking on a big juicy hamburger.

“Kristy!” I exclaimed, holding the pants against me to hide my jockey’s. “Don’t you ever knock?”

Kristy giggled and knocked on my door. Grrr.

Hearing the knock, Nancy came in. “Hey, Markie. What’s up?” Great — just what I needed.

Nancy smiled a big mischievous smile. “Well… why wasn’t I invited to the party, hmmm?” Both Kristy and Nancy couldn’t stop giggling.

I tried to sound mad, but couldn’t hide the panic in my voice, nor the blushing of my face.

“Guys!”

Olivia took that moment to come in.

“Mark,” she said as she came in. “I’m just making a final check, to see if you have other clothes that need to be in the wash.” She saw me by my closet, covering myself with my pants.

“Well,” she huffed sternly (although she couldn’t stop a little smile from creeping into her expression), “I don’t suppose your mother would be proud of you just now, showing yourself to young impressionable ladies in this way. Shame, Mark! Shame!”

“Olivia!” I wailed in despair and consternation. After a bit, they all burst out laughing.

“Will you guys leave me alone to get dressed in peace?” My voice had risen to an almost screeching glass-breaking level. “Out!”

Giggling, the two girls left, but Olivia proceeded into my room. She picked up a few odds and ends here and there, went into my cabinet’s drawers and took out several items of clothing that as far as I knew were perfectly clean. She went into the bathroom and got the towel I just used.

As she brushed by me with the bundle of clothes, she smiled at me merrily. I stuck my tongue out at her, and she giggled.

But after the door closed behind her and I was alone once more, I felt it again. The sounds and images from last night. Could I face what I had to face last night again. My resolve felt like snow melting in the sun. But no - maybe I inherited my dad's hardheadedness because I wanted to get to the bottom of this - I could not leave it alone.

After a short wave of shivering, no doubt imagination-induced instead of a cold draft of air whispering past me, I shook my head. "No," I whispered to myself. I will find out what this is all about. I turned back to get dressed, and to go to the library.

I finally ended up wearing a pair of faded blue-jeans that were very close-cut but were a bit stretchy so they fit, a new Oxford shirt which I tucked into my pants and rolled the sleeves up, and a pair of biker-style low boots. Though I could remember getting several pairs of jeans and shoes, I couldn't remember picking out this particular pair of boots nor this pair of jeans. Truth be told, I don't think I would have picked a pair this close-fitting. In fact, they actually tucked into the low boots as I couldn't wear them any other way.

I went out to say goodbye to Olivia.

The sun had already long set when I bussed Olivia on the cheek and said goodbye. The back seat of her BMW was piled inordinately high with my dirty laundry (I didn't know I had that many dirty clothes, actually). And as she pulled away from the curb and tooled down Elm, Kristy, Nancy and I waved goodbye. And when she hung a right at University Drive, I turned around, went in the house, and came back out wearing my new leather jacket, and motorcycle helmet in my hand.

My two room mates saw me and my getup, and wolf-whistled.

"Hey, tough girl," Kristy said and giggled.

"So," Nancy said, "where you goin', biker chick?"

I pshawed the jokes away, swept my hair out of my collar (do I really need a haircut?) and went to the shed to wheel out my bike. It was pretty dark by then so I had to wheel it out by feel.

As I got the bike onto the pavement, the street lights clicked on. "I'm going to the library," I said.

"This late? Whatever for!"

I sat down on my Aprilia and put on my helmet. "Ummm, I need to borrow a book," I lied.

"But you just brought home a bunch of books this morning!"

"I, umm, forgot one. So I'm off to the library. Seeya later, girls!" I zipped up, started the bike and quickly zoomed away so they couldn't ask any more questions. I belatedly turned on the bike's headlight and drove towards the library, noting the rapidly disappearing sunlight.

The feel of the night air was somehow different tonight. Used to be, I'd find the slight tinge of coolness in the air very nice and bracing. But tonight, it was a bit, I don't know, foreboding. Nervously, I looked around and couldn't help noticing most of the people were walking in the opposite direction, away from the campus and the library, going home to their dorms or apartments, no doubt, although there were still a few going my way.

I noticed that some of the people walking were clearly couples, holding hands and talking intimately. There were larger groups, many of them talking boisterously, friends going out to dinner maybe, or to a friend's place. That made me vaguely sad, wishing I had friends to be with on a Saturday night, too. Yet here I am, alone, about to confront a ghost...

That made me think. I looked up at the street lamps, and they seemed to be totally normal. No signs of any of them mysteriously shutting off.

When I got to the library, I parked near the lamppost by the coffee shop across from the library, and chained my bike to the post.

The kids standing around by the front of the library and near the coffee place had clearly just come from the library, judging by the books and other stuff they were carrying. They were looking at me as I locked the bike and took off my helmet. None of them were talking much and weren't acting too friendly, except for this bunch of geeky four-eyes sitting around one of the coffee house's street tables, drinking lattes and machiattos, relaxing after a hard day of hitting the books. I sniggered at that thought, but then I realized I was no different. Now, why would I have thought so meanly of them?

The... ummm, geeks, were looking at me, and when they saw me looking back, they pulled themselves up. Two of them swiped at their stringy hair while one of them actually brought out a comb. The guy nearest me waved shyly and smiled. I wondered at their reaction since I didn't know them. They were acting like they were coming on to me or something. Internally, I shrugged. Probably all in my head. I waved back. What the hell, right?

I saw Laurie and Joey though the coffeehouse window as they served some customers. I waved at them and made my way across the street.

As I walked across the street, I noticed that the rest of the kids were all looking at me. Eerily silent and devoid of expression, they started to slowly walk towards me. It creeped me out so I picked up my pace. As I did so, so did they. I hurried some more. You know how, when you need to run but don't want to, you end up sort of shuffling, but quickly? I did that. Thing was, they did, too.

I found myself sprinting for the library doors with the silent mob of college kids chasing me. For whatever reason, I was able to stay ahead, and, in retrospect months later, I realized that was impossible - I wasn't the fastest sprinter in campus, and it was just a four-lane blacktop. I suppose the adrenaline was stretching my sense of time because, instead of a scant few seconds, it felt like that dash across the road took minutes.

I felt it when the people chasing me got to within touching distance, but I refused to look back. I knew I would falter if I did, and it would be curtains for me. But I felt a cold, light touch on the back of my neck, and I knew one of them touched me.

I screamed and reached back to bat away the arm. I put my arms up to stop the others from touching me. I looked up at the closed library doors. I prayed it wasn't locked, and even as I felt my arms being touched and grasped at, I saw the doors swing open.

Like a cannonball, I flew through the doors. I slipped on the linoleum floor and slid halfway down the reception area. I fetched against Mrs. Weatherby's counter.

Rubbing the top of my head, I sat up, leaning my back against the counter. I looked back at the doors and it was closed. Through the glass, I saw the kids - perfectly normal college kids. Except for their expressionless faces. They were all looking at me. The hair on the nape of my neck wouldn't go down.

I wondered why they weren't coming in. The doors weren't locked. I knew that because, with my new twenty-twenty vision, I could see the left-side door slightly ajar. But they weren't coming in. They were standing by the doors, standing almost against the glass, but they weren't coming in. I looked at the windows - the ones that scared me last night with their flickering shadows and eerie ghostly shapes. Now there were no shadows. They were covered up by a sea of faces looking in.

I was close to whimpering from fear. The decision to come here was born of a misplaced sense of bravery that, in the absence of warmth, sunshine and friendly voices, had disappeared, like mist blown away by a cold breeze. Why did I come?

I forced myself to stand and look around the rest of the library, and it was empty. So who opened the door for me? I didn't know whether to be relieved by that, or to be more scared.

The high-vaulted ceiling gave the room an echoing kind of feeling. The fluorescents, hanging down from the ceiling by their cords gave the individual tables sufficient light, but they did not illuminate the ceiling, and there seemed to be maevolent laughter coming from the inky blackness above.

The phrase, "this is a mistake," kept on repeating in my head. I wanted to get out of here, but I didn't know what to do.

There wasn't any choice, really - I could only leave by going through the front doors. I looked at the eerie people outside. They were standing completely still, all of them looking at me. How could I hope to get past them?

A sudden crack of thunder and its accompanying flash of lightning crashed through the room, momentarily overloading my hearing and eyesight. But in a few moments, the after-images faded and I could see and hear again.

I looked back at the doors, and there weren't any people there anymore. I looked at the windows and the sea of faces looking through them had also disappeared. What...

In the murky stillness of the library, I heard a voice.

"Bonsoir, ma chere," the ghostly voice said.

I looked at the empty study tables. They weren't all empty anymore. In the middle, sitting in a pool of white fluorescent light was a girl with blond hair. She was looking at me.

Author’s Postscript: I apologize for the extreme shortness of this, but the deadline was upon me. As usual, the time specified for the TG Terror contest was still too short for me. I guess I just can't write on demand. So here is a short second installment of my story, again still incomplete. Sorry for yet another cliffhanger. I do promise to finish it. Anyway, feedback would be appreciated, though I would appreciate it if grammar corrections would be sent via PM or email instead of a public post, okay?

- Bobbie

click here to read my old Working Girl Blogs, click here to read all of my blogs, click here to read my stories in BCTS, and click here to see my profile & know more about me.