Eden

3

CHAPTER THREE

"Fear will want to be your friend. Let it."

– The Pure 8:11, The Bible of the New World

I'm being paranoid.

Or at least, that's what I tell myself the second I get inside the lighted dorm and have shut off the dark hallway with a resonant slam of the door. In here, where there's light and warmth, everything that happened in the hallway feels like a very realistic bad dream. But I'm still shaking, and there's no denying the lingering fear in my gut and the fading shouts telling me to run. It probably wasn't Lucifer, but there was something there, and whatever it was, it wasn't good.

I move away from the door and venture further into my dorm, afraid that whatever presence haunted me outside might seep through the thick wood. There's a tall staircase up against the wall to my left, leading up to the second floor balcony. And all the way up the wall are pictures of the dorm's occupants. I'm in a few, but not many, mainly because I have this annoying habit of sticking to myself – a habit that I've had since I started high school. Once upon a time, my motto was don't make friends. Now, after meeting Lexa and Kal, it's don't make any more friends. Don't talk to too many people.

Keep to yourself.

I pass the fireplace, the flickering fire in its hearth coating everything in a warm glow, and barely spare a glance at the large six-seater couch next to it, its leather faded and worn. There's a long hallway that extends in both directions at the back of the dorm which lies directly beneath the second floor balcony. I used to have a room in that first floor corridor – a room being four short walls and two small beds squished into the back corner, along with a desk, wardrobe, mirror and chair. There were only two bathrooms, and they were communal.

But then I reached my senior years and as is customary, I was bumped up to the top floor where privacy is abundant, the rooms are bigger, everyone gets their own bathroom, and it's easier to keep to yourself.

I ascend the stairs now, walking closer and closer to that dark soaked second floor, feeling strange walking around a place that's usually filled with so much noise and movement. Everything seems so still – so silent – that if I were to just step in the wrong place or make a sudden sound, the whole world would come crashing down on top of me. There's a pressure in the air, pushing against my skin, forcing me into silence – a pressure that has me believing I wouldn't like the sound of my voice if I were to speak.

At the top of the staircase, I turn left into the darkness of the second floor corridor. We were allowed to pick our rooms when we reached fifth year. The rooms closest to the staircase went first, shortly followed by all the ones that weren't swallowed by darkness at night. I got the one nobody wanted – the one at the very end of the hallway, situated in the blackest pit in the entire dorm. But I suppose 'got' is the wrong word – I chose that room. Because of my motto. And because of the reason behind it.

Not once have I ever regretted my choice. If you're looking for privacy – for quiet – then my room is ideal. But suddenly, walking the length of the darkened hallway doesn't look so appealing. I can feel whispers reaching out to me from the beckoning void, ones similar to those I encountered in the hallway where the night was just as thick and just as heavy, a threatening weight on your shoulders pushing you down into the fiery pits of hell.

Come, the dark whispers to me, and for that very reason, I want to turn away. To return to the dining hall where my friends are probably sill eating their rainbow mash and chatting about exams. But the only way to get back there is to pass through the large, empty hallways that are filled with the night and other things. Like an unexplainable presence that left a cold touch on my back.