The Victorian Ghost Club

~Stave One: Dusty Dew Drops

The raven cawed threateningly from the oak, an omen of sorts for what was about to come. I, Ezra Ellsworth, a mere freshman about to step foot onto the Trinity College estate at Cambridge, had not the slightest inkling of this raven's severe warning. In a fortnight's time, I would be awaiting execution for Silas Merriweather's murder. My dear friends, whom I make the acquaintance of during this fortnight, will be quivering beside my own timorous being. How were we to explain to the judge that a supernatural entity had taken the life of our fallen friend? The only man to believe us was a writer by the name of Charles Dickens, and he had fled to the ocean to be unbothered by this cumbersome affair.

Serendipitously, my great-uncle passed away the spring before this raven's omen, and in his will, granted me tuition to attend Trinity College, in Cambridge. My pa called me a helluo librorum, saying I'd fit right in at Trinity. I was not as certain. Living above a bookstore, as my pa is a book clerk, I was granted the privilege of becoming literate at a young age. While I deeply adore the act of reading and exploring wondrous adventures found in these capsules of old, my heart yearned for such escapades of my own.

In the same oak tree in which the ominous raven perched, I caught a fleeting glimpse of chestnut red tumble from a high branch to the dusty dew dropped-filled lawn at my feet. Startled, I took a step back, a bit perturbed by this disturbance during my walk to campus. A wide-eyed young man flicked his wispy auburn locks from his rosy face, grinning as though he'd just invented the railroad.

"Well damfino, and I almost reached the top of this ole brute too!"

The lad's elfish grin was as contagious as typhoid; I couldn't fight the small smirk sneaking onto my lips. "And what, pray tell, were you attempting to accomplish at the top of this 'ole brute?'"

An impish shrug passed through the lad's shoulders. "Simply to seek a bit of amusement. Memento vivere."

I admit, in this moment, my paradigm shifted as I realized my soon-to-be peers would be just as well-verse, if not more so, in the academic practices I, for so long, indulged on my own. Pleasantly surprised by this casual coining of Latin, I warmed up to the elfish lad.

"Audentes fortuna iuvat, my good man. I'll have to partake sometime."

"Here we go, chuckaboo! Are you off to the dorms?"

"Aye."

"Let's off, then. What room are you staying?"

I peered at my acceptance letter, searching for the dorm detailings.

"Room 352."

"Don't sell me a dog! Why are you blathering on like a bubbly-jock? That's my room!'

I showed him my letter as I stated, "I swear it, have a look."

"In that case, et tu, Brute? Off we go!"

As we strolled past the ogrish oaks beginning to falter at the whisper of autumnal death, we exchanged societal pleasantries. His name was Felix Gibbs, and it was his first year at Trinity as well. He's from a country estate and traveled here with his twin sister, Felicity. She was apprenticing with a dress-maker in town, though Felix confided she'd much rather be attending university with him.

"Felicity is more of the astute nature than I," Felix proclaimed proudly, as we neared the dorm entrance. "If they allowed girls to attend Trinity, she would be the first to be accepted- I kid you not."

Just as we were to step onto the corroded brick of the dorm, a shout reverberated through our eardrums.

"Oi! You want to cop a mouse? Get off the field! We're playing football here!"