Please. Help.
I turned around, frantically searching for whoever had spoken, but found the locker room empty.
“Hello?” I mumbled, glancing through the open stalls and shower doors to see if someone was there. But the place was empty.
Maybe I’d imagined it—the leftover static of Michelle’s name in my head—a literal ghost story I’d heard earlier. Maybe the tragic story about Michelle Nelson was still bothering me, making my subconscious and imagination run wild. I had double-checked the locker room, and there was no one there but me. So clearly, I misheard.
Goosebumps erupted on my flesh, and a deep throbbing pain radiated in my skull. I rubbed my forehead as I headed out of the locker room, anxiety making me rush to get home as I sprinted towards the front of the school. I regretted sending Mr. Lewis away earlier when I told him I was studying with Sara-Kate, but I didn’t want to be a bother either by making him wait for me.
Besides, the apartment was only about ten blocks away, and clearly I needed to work off some of this extra anxious energy that still thrummed through my veins. It was a weirdfirst day at a new school, but at least I could say I made a friend. Even if that friend was the most extroverted and confident person I had ever met. So unlike me.
My headache finally receded a bit as I made it off campus. I smiled in spite of myself as I scrolled through my phone to look at the apps Sara-Kate downloaded for me (she was appalled at my lack of social media presence) and the pictures she took of herself and us while we were studying, all thoughts of the weird voice from the locker room fading away. In between Sara-Kate filling me in on life at Windsor, we actually did get the math homework done, and I felt marginally better about a unit quiz we were going to have on Wednesday. Now I just needed to get a better understanding of chemistry, and I'd feel better about not embarrassing myself or Uncle Dan by getting kicked out of this crazy expensive school for being too dumb.
I slipped my phone back into my bag, pushing my hands deeper into my jacket pockets to get warm. The sun was already sinking behind the buildings, making the chill in the air bite at my cheeks. I made my way across the street, blending in with the other pedestrians who were rushing here and there. My mind drifted back to my supposed study session with Alaric tomorrow afternoon. I shook my head, trying to clear away the anxious thoughts and the mild headache that was still thrumming just beneath the surface.
Even if Alaric did decide to actually tutor me, that was all it would ever be. It was clear my experience with boys was nonexistent. And at this point in my life, when I felt like I was barely hanging on and getting used to this new life, the last thing I needed was to complicate things with a boy, especially an older boy, that I had just met. No, he was my lab partner and nothing more. No matter how many puppy-dog eyes Sara-Kate threw my way.
As I stepped onto the curb on the other side of the street, I decided to take a quick detour into Central Park. I still hadn’t had time to really explore my surroundings or do any of the touristy things people do when they first go to New York yet, so a walk through Central Park seemed necessary. I also still felt jittery after that weird moment in the locker room, so walking through nature and breathing in the fresh air would be good for me.
I followed the paved path away from the city, the sounds of cars and traffic fading ever so slightly as I made my way towards the Metropolitan Museum of Art near 72nd Street. I pulled my jacket and scarf closer to my body, fighting back the chill. The sky was dark and overcast, seemingly threatening rain, but I couldn’t make myself turn around. I felt a draw, a magnetic pull that urged me forward. I took in the greenery and dark trees that shielded this small haven of nature in the midst of an urban jungle. Small droplets fell as people rushed their way through the park, pullingtheir umbrellas and rain jackets close. I kept up my leisurely pace, moving further and further towards something.
My pace slowed as I came upon an old stone needle with ancient-looking markings. As I came closer, I realized they were ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. I read the marker for the Obelisk, or Cleopatra’s Needle, learning that this monument was thousands of years old and made its way here to New York in 1881. It was tall, with its point facing the angry-looking, rain-filled sky when thunder crackled, causing me to jump back.
The thud in my skull spiked into a hot, precise needle of pain. I hissed, holding my head as the pain rippled through me. Something was wrong.
The urge to leave, to turn around and run, was powerful but fought against another equally potent, yet contradictory impulse. I glanced back up at the Obelisk, feeling a force within me pushing me to touch the stone, to reach across the barrier and just place my hand on it, a tingling in my fingers itching to make contact with the ancient-looking artifact. It felt as if something watched from within the stone—not with eyes but with hunger, as if the Obelisk itself had been holding its breath. My fingers hovered over the cold surface—so close I could feel the grit under my nails—and then, as if someone had yanked the world by a string, I turned and ran.
I didn’t know what this intense feeling was within me (probably survival instincts finally kicking in), but I had seenenough horror movies to know that when your intuition tells you to do something, you listen. I didn’t stop running until I was back in the apartment, soaked through my clothes as the sky turned a few droplets into a torrential downpour.
Back at the apartment, I peeled off my wet clothes and sat on the floor with water pooling around me. Even with the door shut, the feeling of being watched didn’t leave. On my palm, a faint smear of stone dust clung to the skin, it was black like ash. Strange, as I had never even touched the stone.
That night I dreamed of Nana. It wasn’t the first time, but usually my dreams were bits and pieces of past memories, like a movie montage that my grief liked to play on repeat during my sleeping hours. This time, it wasn’t a memory, but almost like a would-be memory. Something my brain came up with since she was gone and I wouldn’t have any more new memories with her.
She was walking through Central Park, like I had done earlier today, but instead of clouds and the threat of rain, it was sunny and warm, like how I’d imagine springtime in New York to be. She was walking ahead of me, her long gray hair braided back in its usual way, the end of her braid just meeting her lower back.
“Nana!” I called, my voice sounding muffled, like I was trying to talk through an old radio with static. “Wait up! Where are you going?”
She didn’t turn around, but kept walking, as if she had somewhere important to be. I tried to make my feet move faster, but it felt like I was walking through thick mud or wet sand. It took all my strength to move one foot in front of the other. And Nana never slowed down or looked back, just kept moving further and further away.
“Nana!” I screamed, fear and anxiety clutching at my heart. “Wait! I’m coming!”
But if she heard me, she didn’t act like it. She kept moving; her figure becoming smaller and smaller as the distance between us continued to lengthen. Soon, she disappeared into a dense patch of trees and bushes, and I lost sight of her.
The next moment, I was transported back in front of the Obelisk monument, but it looked different. Instead of stone, the monument was made of fire, and the hieroglyphs glowed an intense red and orange so bright, I had to shield my eyes. I coughed violently; the heat overwhelming me for a moment. I looked up again, this time to find my Nana standing next to the pillar of fire, reaching her hand out, just as I had been tempted to earlier today.
“No!” I screamed. “Nana, no! You’ll burn yourself!”
But my voice died in my throat as Nana reached out and touched the living flame. She immediately eruptedin flames, the scent of burning flesh almost knocking me down. I gagged and tried to scream as my Nana slowly burned. I waited for her screams, but no sound came. Instead, Nana, burning so brightly, her skin seeming to melt off her bones, turned to look at me as if she had just noticed me for the first time.
“Run.”
I woke up screaming.
I barely touched my eggs and bacon the next morning at breakfast. Uncle Dan had already left for the office, and so it was just Tiffany, Iris, and me. My eyes felt heavy as I pushed the now-cold food around on my plate. After my nightmare, I couldn’t fall back asleep, afraid I’d just return to the nightmare of watching my Nana burn alive. I wasn’t one to interpret dreams, but even I could sense that wasn’t a good message, or whatever.
“Are you sure you’re okay this morning, Mari?” Tiffany asked gently for the second time. I couldn’t blame her for being worried. While she didn’t mention my middle of the night outburst, I was sure she must have heard something.
“Yeah, I just didn’t sleep well.” I tried to reassure her. “Bad dreams.”
