Dirge - Beth Byrne

Brad looks a little lost and helpless for a moment, staring not at you, but in your direction. Then he leaves, as if all of a sudden filled with resolve and purpose.


The van drives away with him.
 
Beth stands, tucks the book back under her arm, and leaves the building. She considers dropping her ice cream in the trash... But she paid for it. Might as well eat as she walks.


She heads back to the dorm rooms, trying to remember where Phoebe's is. She had been there all of once, for a class project, and had not stuck around very long.


The number springs to her mind regardless. Room 718. The opposite hall, towards the end. She climbs the stairs, swipes her ID, strolls down the hall, then tests the door.


I'm not sure if I'm hoping for it to be locked or not. On the one hand, an unlocked door is easy. On the other... is she really that naive?
 
It is unlocked. Inside is dark, silent. Musty, with a slightly sweet smell that nonetheless nauseates you.
 
"Ugh," she says aloud, wrinkling her face with distaste. Where is that coming from?


She glances around, then crosses over to Phoebe's room, peering in.
 
Empty. Smells of stale sweat, and the sickly sweetness is stronger. Her bed is a rumpled mess and the room is strewn with erotic manga, neatly stacked empty juice bottles and equally neatly stacked takeout containers. She doesn't actually have roommates, you realize. But she's not in here.


The bathroom door was ajar...
 
Beth picks up one of the manga novels with a sense of mixed confusion and curiosity. She's not really sure how to react to it, so she sets it back down.


The more you know, I guess.


The room looks lived in, but unkempt, like nobody's bothered to clean in a long time, which is probably the source of that awful smell. Absent? Depressed? Really just that much of a slob?


She withdraws and takes a few steps to the bathroom door with a growing sense of trepidation, opening it just slightly more and slipping in.
 
It's dark. It stinks. A foetid, sickly-sweet stench that creeps from the room and on slipping inside blossoms around you.


You can make out the mirror in the light from the door. You can make out the edge of an actual bath, which seems a bit rich for the setting.


You can hear water slopping gently against the sides of a vessel.
 
Beth holds her breath for as long as she can before giving up. The smell makes her want to throw up, and she has to pause for a moment to fight it down, carefully smoothing her features into something expressionless. Her curiosity is piqued, but so is a creeping sense of dread.


Smell. Origin: Bathroom. Source: Potent liquid; Rotting food... Rotting corpse? Something... Some Thing? Noise: Something floating? Bath toys, floating corpse, boat -


No. Cut out the illogical. No boat.


Chances of death are low. Must seek more reasonable explanation.


Slowly, she approaches the bath and pulls the curtains back, the white ribbon from last week still tied around her wrist.
 
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Something moves in the water. A thick, foul-smelling scum on the surface shifts. It looks like old blood, studded with dead flies and less identifiable things.
 
"Sh-shit!" Beth stumbles back a couple steps, then leans over, the vomit she had swallowed before splattering onto the hard floor of the bathroom. Half-digested coffee ice cream.


Hastily, she wipes her mouth with her sleeve, other hand against her knees to prop herself up. Her head tilts back, lifting her gaze back to the shifting contents of the tub.


Decay. Blood? Can't be Phoebe, saw her this afternoon.


So she's had this in her tub for days... Could she have been dumb enough to not notice?


The thought is tinged with hope, not derision. Even Beth, analytical and truth-seeking though she is, doesn't want to keep following these observations to their implications.
 
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The crust cracks and breaks, as you watch. Chubby fingers rising from the water and grasping the side of the tub.
 
A push and pull develops in Beth's mind between self preservation (which tells her that whatever is coming out of the tub is unnatural and thus probably not full of good intentions and that she has no way to defend herself) and thirst for answers (which tells her that this is everything she has waited for and if she leaves now, she will regret it forever, that the worst thing a person can do is turn away from the brink of discovery).


Curiosity wins, but fear remains, nursing its wounds, slumped against the wall of the ring. She jolts into action, rifling through the contents of the bathroom with frantic hands in a search for something she can defend herself with if it comes to that.


Suspicion is a frequent guest within her thoughts; occasionally paranoia tags along.
 
You find a pair of scissors - not very big, not very sharp, but something at least.


An arm follows the fingers, and then a head, shoulders; Phoebe's face, stained with filth, hair matted. Eyes faintly luminous blue in the dark.


"Beth?" she whispers, drawing the vowels out in a hiss.
 
Beth's grip on the scissors slips, and she nearly drops them. She catches them just in time, holding them even tighter than before. Part of her, the very most human part, wants to look away, but she can't seem to tear her eyes off of Phoebe's wretched face.


"What happened to you?" she asks, drying her voice of inflection to avoid giving away any unease, even though her hands shake.
 
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The apparition blinks, slowly, lids out of sync. It moves clumsily, trying to climb out of the bath. The rising stink makes you gag.


"Happened?" She slurs. Or it does.


"Cut, and blood pours out. I get in."
 
Sweat collects along Beth's lip; she takes a small step back.


Cut where? "I get in"... the tub? Her eyes roam over what she can see of Phoebe(?)'s body, looking for wounds. Cognitive capabilities impaired? Or just speech? What circumstances? Almost certainly attacked. Mess looks as though it's sat a while; just saw Phoebe this afternoon. Not Phoebe? No, it (Phoebe?) knows my name - must be Phoebe. But...


Logic is failing her. "Who did it?" she asks, then a little helplessly repeats, "What happened?"
 
The thing hauls itself from the tub, filthy water running down the side, clumps of the gruesome crust clinging to naked skin.


"We hunger," it croons, shambling to its feet. It reaches for you, expression suddenly plaintive. "Touch me, please."
 
Beth stumbles back, away from the thing. "Oh hell no."


She says it as she thinks it, then turns around and high tails it out of the dorm.


Royal We? Hunger? No, no, fucking no. Live to learn another day.


She runs out into the lobby of Ponce Hall, clinging to a railpost of the balcony and catching her breath, then glances back to see if Phoebe(?) is following.
 
"Beth!" The thing shrieks in Phoebe's voice. Glancing back, it staggers dripping and unsteady into the hall, thudding against the opposite door. It takes a moment to get its bearings and stumbles after you.
 
"Shit!"


Beth leaves the building. Hell, Beth leaves the small campus. She runs with her blood pounding in her ears, chest threatening to burst open from the force with which her heart thuds against it. She doesn't pay much attention to direction, only focused on putting as much distance as possible between herself and not-Phoebe. After a little while, she looks over her shoulder as she moves, wondering how much success she's having.
 
You find yourself at the cemetery gates, alone. No sign of the thing wearing Phoebe's skin - perhaps it ran into someone else along the way.
 
She slows to a walk, then a standstill. If it ran into someone else, that's not her concern. Well, she should revise that thought; it might provide valuable information, but it's not anything that'll weigh on her conscience.


She still feels vulnerable out in the open, so she pushes the gate open and enters, wandering in search of somewhere to sit. She manages to find that same casket from earlier in the week. It's a large, dark structure, so it perfectly suits her purposes. She sits down, back against it, and closes her eyes for a moment.


She doesn't let herself rest long. Quickly, before it slips from her memory...


She pulls her journal out from her bag and opens to a new page.


Beth's Journal Entry
DATE


EVENTS


Classmate (P.) not reactive to attempt to make amends (re: comment on facial disfigurement)


Boy (religious, student) inq. P whereabouts






Last seen by ⊙ 1PM




Sense of omm. of truth




Campus police involved




⊙ Resolution to investigate


P dorm, general area:






Cleanliness not maintained




Overpoweringly sweet scent (decay)




P lives alone


P dorm, bedroom:






Cleanliness not maintained




Scent = stronger




Hobbies clash w/ erroneous relig. beliefs


P DORM BATHROOM:






Scent induces nausea




Bath full of ?, surface of ? crusted w/ congealed ?? (blood?)





Logical inference: sat some time






Surface breaks & P's body emerges







Semi-responsive





Possessed P's memories (called ⊙ by name)





Simplistic speech






Cognitive impairment?






"Blood pours out. I get in."





"We hunger. Touch me."



PROBLEMS


Chronological: Saw P 1PM, but based on state of room & decay, thing (body of P) was in tub for days.


Behavioral: Thing (body of P) did not act in accordance w/ P precedence. 1PM P also did not act in accordance w/ P precedence. THING diverges more drastically - ⊙ interpret harmful intent.


Suspicious: Boy (Poss. Brandon, Braxton, Brad, Bisley. Shorthand B) seeking P, but can be assumed to not have checked P's dorm. Methodology questionable & motive dubious.


HYPOTHESES


THING is murdered body of P being controlled by external factor & B is the (a?) culprit.






FLAWS




No explan. for B's invlvmt




Does not account for 1PM P


1PM P is not real P & is controlled by ext. factor.






FLAWS




Does not account for B




Does not account for THING




No justification


1PM P is undergoing emotional trauma bc of B which shifts personality & causes avoidance






FLAWS




Does not account for THING




Does not account for B's flawed methodology


THING is figment of ⊙ imagination






FLAWS




⊙ does not see things unless there

??? NEED TO KNOW MORE


...And preserve own well-being, which is the problem.



When she's done furiously scribbling, she slips the notebook back into her bag and looks up, exhausted and examining the prospect of returning to campus with both curiosity and fear.
 
A week goes by.


Police wander the campus, watchful. Phoebe's building is closed off. People are questioned, everyone is paranoid. Fights break out between groups and couples as all the digging brings smaller transgressions to light.


Phoebe killed another student; Dwayne Willis. Neither of them have been found, but apparently his room indicates a struggle and no one has seen him since.


You haven't been questioned yet, but it's undoubtedly a matter of time.
 
She has a hard time believing it, but then, she isn't really sure what to believe these days. The Phoebe she knew wouldn't have wanted or been able to kill anyone, of that she is sure. The Phoebe of a couple weeks ago, she isn't so sure about. The Phoebe of a scant seven days past affords no doubt.


The internet is her friend. In one tab, an article from the local paper. In a second tab, a Google search for Dwayne Willis' name. In a third tab, Phoebe's Facebook friend list, ready to be searched for Dwayne and Brad (Brent? Bryan?). In a fourth, the school's anonymous confession page, most often used for young love but not without some diamonds in the rough, especially lately.


She finishes putting on music in the fifth tab and clicks back to the second. Ideally nobody will disturb her here in this coffee shop. New Information: Person of Interest. Objective: Identify link between Dwayne Willis and Phoebe. Hopefully this is simple. Possibly shared class, nearby dorms, Bible Study, etc?
 
The only relevant detail you have is that Dwayne shared her building; he was on the ground floor. Bradford it turns out is one of those high-energy volunteering types. He volunteers with his Church, he volunteers with campus events, he volunteers with pretty much any authority figure that'll take him. His Facebook feed is a succession of picnics, fundraisers, and #blessed. His spacious family home is not far from campus, and it doesn't look like he stays in a dorm.
 
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