Homecoming, Part One: Departure

It was dark and it was cold. The starless sky stretched from horizon to horizon like a velvet sheet, and although a full moon hung halfway between sky and ground, its pale light seemed weak against the thick curtain of night. Behind him stood a wide swathe of forest, so drenched in shadow it looked like a construction paper cutout. There was no approaching that vast wall of darkness – it was more of a barrier than foot-thick steel. Ahead, across a perfectly manicured lawn, stood a two-story house of aching familiarity. Its walls were a shocking white in the dim light, with three windows sunken into the second floor that glared pit black. Below these, a pair of sliding glass doors yawned over a small, neat, concrete back patio. Fuzzy round bushes and tall evergreens, tinted by the strange half-light of the moon, surrounded the house like a pack of wolves, bristling with jagged shadows. A path of loose gravel, barely visible, snaked from the lawn at the left side of the house to a driveway out front.

He moved forward, feeling the evening wetness of the grass cling to his bare feet as he approached the house. The shuffling sound of grass brushing against his legs seemed loud in the still night, and he briefly wondered where all the crickets and frogs and evening insects had gone. It was the silence that stopped him. Something was wrong.

The patio doors stood a scant twenty yards away, tall and dark, and he could see a tiny patch of moonlit carpet beyond its glassy surface. He started toward them, then stopped, eyeing the tall clusters of trees and bushes to either side of the small patio. They stood closer than he remembered, and he felt a sudden impression that more than shadows waited within them. A chill ran down his chest and settled uncomfortably into his gut.

He couldn’t go in through the back – the doors would be locked at this hour, anyway. He reached into the pockets of his pajama pants and discovered his keys at the bottom. They felt solid, substantial in his hands, and he drew them out, careful not to let them jingle. As it was, he had made too much noise already.

Keys in hand, he cut a wide clockwise circle toward the brick path at the left side of the house. He didn’t like the idea of crunching across the top of the gravel, but there was no avoiding it to reach the front of the house. Although it was only a quick dash across the ten or so yards, he knew, instinctively, that running would be a bad idea. Gritting his teeth, he danced burglar steps across the middle of the brick path, giving the trees to his left side a wide berth. Only when he reached the front yard did he realize how hard he was breathing, or how slippery his keys felt clenched in his hands.

The front door stood beneath an awning, behind a wide porch roughly three feet deep that stretched across the front of the house. A pair of windows hung on either side of the door, curtains drawn to hide the interior. The ubiquitous mass of trees and shrubs curved around the front porch, leaving only a small pass to the door, but through them he could glimpse a rocking chair benignly sitting on the right side of the porch. Some yards beyond the front lawn sat the mirror-smooth waters of a small lake, the pale orb of the moon hanging just beneath its surface. And around everything, the abyssal blackness of that seemingly endless forest.

He hesitated on the front lawn as he slid the individual keys around in his hand, looking for the one to the front door. He would have to turn his back on the trees that surrounded the house to unlock the door, and there wasn’t enough room for him to feel safe doing so. He clenched his teeth, listening to his heart thumping in his ears, feeling the hard edges of his keys slide in the dampness of his palm. It would take less than ten seconds to stride to the door, unlock it, and go in. Ten seconds, and only a tiny fragment of eternity.

Steeling himself, he walked toward the front door, eyes fixed rigidly upon the lock. Fifteen paces. Hairs prickled at the back of his neck, and he knew something was watching from the darkness underneath the trees. Ten paces. Terror gnawed at him, sending icy waves coursing down his legs, making it a fight simply to keep putting one leg in front of the other. Five paces. He crossed onto the front porch, walking less than an arm’s span from the bushes to either side, and swallowed the aching constriction in his throat as he kept his gaze fixated on the lock. A few more steps and he stood at the door; his hands were shaking so badly he scraped the key across the lock with a metallic rattle. He swore in a whisper, inhaled deeply, and deliberately pressed the key into the lock. He turned the key and heard the deadbolt click.

The bushes behind him rustled.

Twisting the doorknob, he flung himself into the house and slammed the door shut, flicking the deadbolt with his other hand in one fluid motion. Something thumped against the door, once, rattling it slightly against its hinges, and then fell silent.

He stared at the door for a few long seconds, not daring to breathe, but no more sounds came from outside. It took him a moment more to realize that it was no longer silent. He turned.

Stairs stood a scant three feet in front of him, rising sharply upwards into the shadowy corridors of the second floor. To his immediate right, a doorway yawned into the gaping blackness of the dining room, and he could just barely see the outline of a chandelier hanging over a long table. The living room lay through a doorway to his left. A black velvet sectional sofa squatted in the center of the room, huddled around a clear glass coffee table and facing the tall, angular corners of a television cabinet set against the nearest wall. Another coffee table sat behind the sectional, its sole occupant a large china lamp decorated with pale pink flowers. The TV was on, sending a spray of dim, grayish light across the room and causing shadows to writhe across the far wall. The sound of static filled the room like rushing hurricane winds, and he knew he wasn't alone inside the house.

He reached with his left hand for the light switch and flipped it on. A floor lamp in the far corner began to glow with a dim orange light, barely visible against the swimming snow of the television. Cursing under his breath, he strode across the living room to another lamp and twisted the switch. The lamp shade filled with a murky yellow light – just enough to illuminate the table on which it sat. He cursed again, louder this time as panic began setting in, and tore the lamp shade off its base. The bare bulb was clear and he could see the filament burning through its clear surface, scarcely as bright as a candle flame. Not enough light by far.

Almost screaming in frustration, he swung around and started for the dining room.

Something stood in the doorway, tall and black and ragged like a shred of night, its features invisible save for the hint of an awful smile.

"Welcome home..."

And then it was upon him.

**********

Elliot Parsons jerked upright in bed, slick with sweat, his sheets clinging to him like a second skin. For one panicked moment his eyes darted across the shadows in the room, searching for something hidden in their depths. He found only small towers of textbooks, rumpled clothing, the odd jut of a armchair's shoulder, the benign outlines of a table lamp. The shadows were only that - nothing sinister tonight. Elliot took a deep breath and ran a hand down his face, letting it float over his mouth as he listened to the decelerating thump of his heart and the hiss of his breath between his fingers, and finally felt the wet chill of his sweat-drenched sheets against his bare skin.

"Elliot?"

Alex stirred beside him, his voice muffled with sleep. Elliot glanced behind him, abruptly angry with himself for having reacted so violently to a dream. He leaned over and smoothed a hand along Alex's bare arm.

"Go back to sleep, Alex. It's nothing."

As usual, even barely awake and half-brain-dead, Alex didn't listen. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and laid a hand on Elliot's shoulder.

"You alright?" He looked down sharply, brows furrowing as wakefulness dribbled into his face. "You're soaking wet! What happened?"

"Nothing. Just a nightmare."

"Again?" Alex took Elliot into his arms, warm and comforting. "God, you're freezing! That must've been some nightmare. You wanna talk about it?"

Elliot sighed and leaned his head back into Alex, listening to his heartbeat and feeling his warmth wash over him. He ran a hand along his lover's biceps, tracing the smooth lines of muscle underneath the skin, the fine dusting of golden mist-like hair along his forearms, and let them chase away the strange terror of the nightmare.

"No, I'm fine. It's...I don't know. Actually it's creepy, is what it is, but...that's all." Elliot closed his eyes, simply taking in the warmth of Alex's skin against his as the last vestiges of the nightmare slowly faded away. Alex ran a slow hand through his hair, pausing so often to unfurl some particularly stubborn tangles, and Elliot settled into the comforting sensation. At length, he glanced at the bedside clock. "Christ, it's six already. I hate waking up this close to class." He raised himself up and kissed Alex on the cheek, then swung his legs out of bed and reached for his glasses. "You go back to sleep, see if you can get a couple of hours. I'm just going to get up, maybe go for a run."

Alex shook a hand through his own hair, raising a mess of blond cowlicks, then leaned into the side of Elliot's neck. "You've got at least an hour before you need to start getting ready. Come back to bed. I'll keep the bad dreams away." He kissed him on the shoulder.

"Ugh. Alex, stop that. I'm not seven." Elliot laughed, pushing him away. "Anyway, you know if I go back to bed now I'll be groggy and grumpy all day."

"Mmmm...yeah, wouldn't want a grumpy Elliot," Alex grinned at him, then slid his hand along the outside of Elliot's thigh, tugged lightly at the waistband of his boxers. "Well, if you're getting up anyway..."

"Don't you have an exam today?" Elliot allowed a severe expression to fall over his face, but suspected the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth ruined the effect.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Alex's grin widened as his hand slipped underneath the boxers' waistband and his finger traced a teasing circle against Elliot's skin. Elliot gave in to the smile as a warm tingle spread up his back and across his side.

"You're terrible." Elliot leaned in and brushed against Alex's lips with his own. A chaste kiss. Even Alex's morning breath hinted of cinnamon. "Don't blame me if you fall asleep in class and fail," he said.

"You're warning me about falling asleep in class?" Alex replied with a snarky grin. He leaned in and they shared an open-mouthed kiss. Alex's lips were soft, silky, and Elliot felt a bare hint of tongue dance across the bottom of his incisors. Heat rose into his cheeks and tingled down his extremities, spreading across to the front of his now straining boxers. Elliot shifted back onto Alex, kneeling over him at the waistline, then slowly kissed him on the neck, allowing the tip of his tongue to glide along his jugular. Alex inhaled sharply, two staccato breaths, and gave a soft moan high in his voice.

Elliot smiled into the curve of his neck, "Yeah, okay. Point taken. You talk too much."

All thoughts of darkness and shadow, and the remainder of the pre-dawn night, were lost in the warmth of heavy breath and sliding muscle.

**********

"So I was thinking - infinitely variable transmission. Cool as shit, or what?" Jamie was saying as they walked out of Norbert Hall. The sun was radiant for a particularly biting November morning, and cotton-candy clouds were drifting sedately across the pale blue sky.

"What?" Elliot asked, squinting distractedly at the sunlight glinting off the snow in the quad. Walking into the sudden morning brightness after the artificially dim illumination of Norbert Hall was giving him a headache.

"Oh ha ha, very funny Elliot," Jamie replied, tugging at his Yankees cap in a huff. "If you're going to be a smart-ass you can at least be creative about it."

"Oh, sorry J, I wasn't making fun of you, I just didn' t hear what you said. I didn't get much sleep last night." Elliot yawned, as if to support his statement, and started across the Quad. A pair of fat mallards waddled by on the side walk, slowly making their way to Duck Pond - the lake at the other end of the field that teemed with the eponymous birds. Grinning students parted bemusedly for them, giving the ducks a royal berth.

"Yeah, I guessed that the third time you nodded off and face-planted into your desk," Jamie smirked, eyeing the ducks as they quietly quacked to themselves. "Just tell Alex he needs to keep his hands to himself for a while."

Elliot gave him a steady look.

"Seriously! What the hell are you going to do when you actually move in with him? I'm surprised you can walk as it is."

"Ha. You're just bitter that I have sex on a regular basis and you don't," Elliot replied as he drew his sunglasses out from his shirt collar and slipped them on.

"I-yeah. Yeah, I really am," Jamie hung his head with an exaggeratedly tragic air. "There aren't enough hot, dorky girls on campus."

"So you keep telling me. Personally, I think you're just being too picky." Elliot glanced to his right after the ducks, and stopped.

A house stood at the far edge of Duck Pond, a half-mile or so away, shaded from the morning sun by the tall, bare trees that surrounded the small lake. Even at this distance, Elliot could see the paint peeling in leprous patches, revealing rotted gray wood and protruding beams. The black, skeletal remains of kudzu twisted like varicose veins into the brown brick chimney at the left side of the house. Unkempt bushes ringed the house too closely, with the air of a predator pack bringing down a stricken beast. Dusty windows stared blindly over a sagging awning bowed by time and weather, which provided a modicum of cover for the front porch. The front door was a faded green, almost gray in the shadows of the awning, behind a storm door that hung slightly ajar. A rocking chair sat appropriately, yet incongruously, to the side of the door. Even in decay, the house was clearly recognizable, and Elliot felt a shiver run down his spine.

There was a hint of motion in front of the house. Elliot nearly jumped. It looked for a moment like the rocking chair was swaying, as though someone had just stepped out of it, but now it sat completely still.

"What?" Jamie, who had walked ahead a few paces, came back and looked at the house. "What's so interesting?"

"Have...have you ever seen that house before?" Elliot asked.

"Parrish House?" Jamie swung the bill of his cap around to the front and squinted into the distance. "Yeah. So have you. We've been walking past the place since freshman year."

"It's been there since freshman year?" Elliot asked, then realized it was a silly question. Of course it had. He vaguely recalled strolling right by the house when he still lived in the dorms, and had even commented once or twice on how it marred the otherwise beautifully landscaped Duck Pond surroundings. Nevertheless, it had never registered as an entity of particular significance until now.

"It's been there a lot longer than that, dude," Jamie replied, pulling the bill of his cap back to its usual spot at the base of his neck. "That's the only reason they haven't torn it down yet. Historical significance or something like that, but nobody ever gets around to restoring it." He gave Elliot an odd look. "Haven't we had this conversation before?"

"I guess. I don't really remember." Elliot forced his gaze away from the house and turned to Jamie. "Do you know anything else about it?"

"Not really. Local history isn't my forte. Who gives a shit, anyway?" Jamie shrugged. "There are tons of older, creepier houses along Church Street."

"You think the history department maintains it? I mean, it's on campus property, so it can't be privately owned, right?"

"I guess, if you call that maintaining it. You can probably check with administration and find out for sure." He paused. "Why the sudden interest?"

"It's nothing. I just got a serious sense of déjà vu, is all." Elliot was suddenly glad that his sunglasses hid his eyes. "Come on, let's going."

As the two of them walked away, Elliot stole a glance at Parrish House. Its windows sat black and empty, but Elliot couldn't shake the feeling that more than shadows were staring back.

*************

A chill wind blew through the open living room window, catching venetian blinds and rattling them against the window frame with an irregular plastic clatter. The sound seemed painfully loud against a silent night. With the wind came a mouldering, clammy smell from the forest outside, and a hint of something musty underneath. Something foul. A pale, bloody light streamed in through the seams in the blinds and scattered through the room, raising sinister shadows in the corners.

The rug felt damp underneath his feet as he slowly walked across the room, even as the wind raised goosebumps on his skin. Beneath the half-open blinds, the window looked out into the swathe of black forest beyond the front porch; a crimson moon that seemed to fill the horizon breached the shadowed trees and cast its scarlet light in patches over the lawn. As he stood by the window, the forest stirred into a chorus of sibilant whispers, and something shuddered and jerked to its feet deep within the trees. He closed the window with a thump, plunging the room into a sudden silence.

A sound to his left spun him around. It was quick, rhythmic, the sound of something hard hitting wood, and it came through the dining room that stood darkened beyond the doorway in front of him. Almost against his will, he walked through.

A pale light spilled from the adjoining kitchen, diffused by the thin cloth curtain that hung in the doorway between the two rooms. The small chandelier glittered in the soft light, sending a spray of tiny glowing pinpoints across the long table that sat underneath. A clean white cloth spread over the tabletop, and a bowl of fruit had been placed artfully in the center; the table was only ever used when there were guests. The good china, however, was purely decorative and sealed in a glass cabinet in the corner of the room. Nobody had ever visited who merited their use.

He passed by the table, through the thin curtain and into the kitchen. His mother stood in front of the counter, dicing carrots with a short, flat blade. Her motions were quick, sure, the result of years spent cutting vegetables. She didn't see him, but grabbed the load of perfectly sliced carrots and dropped them into the pot of boiling water at her side, then turned to the small pile of peeled potatoes on the counter. The scene was so familiar that for a moment he could only stare. Then he noticed it - an odor that crept beneath the smell of Lysol and rose petal air freshener, scarcely noticeable but for a stickiness it left in the back of his throat. An odor that slowly grew stronger even as his mother continued her wordless dicing of potatoes.

He glanced around the kitchen, at the small home-assembled table in the corner, the oak cabinets lining the walls that he had helped put up. He stopped. One of the cupboards above the far end of the counter was ajar, and something black dripped out of it in a slow, viscous stream. It pooled on the counter like an oil slick, spreading across the pale blue Formica almost deliberately.

A feeling of intense displacement washed over him, a sense of wrongness like looking into a mirror and realizing the image reflected wasn't precisely right. He knew this kitchen like the back of his hand, but all of a sudden the landscape of his hand had changed underneath his skin. With a steadily increasing sense of unease, he walked to stand in front of the viscous pool. The smell was stronger here, but still light, unidentifiable, like a half-remembered word stuck on the tip of his tongue. He stared at the thin stream of black liquid for a moment, then reached a faintly trembling hand toward the cupboard handle. His sense of unease crested into an almost tangible fear. At his side, his mother continued cutting potatoes, the blade knocking loudly into the cutting board. His fingers brushed the cupboard handle, found it icy cold, wrapped themselves around it and pulled the door open.

The lights went out.

He jerked back from the open cupboard, almost stumbling. As his eyes adjusted themselves to the sudden dark, he saw that the cabinet was empty - inside was only the layer of paper his mother always used to cover the shelves. A glance left showed that she had vanished as well; the kitchen counter stood bare, unused, and spotlessly clean.

He swallowed hard, took a deep breath to still his suddenly hammering heart, and turned for the light switch.

Something stood in the kitchen doorway. It blended almost completely with the shadows beyond the threshold - shadows that hid its features, except for an indescribable writhing that seemed to heave and pulse just underneath the surface of its skin.

It smiled at him.

**************

Elliot jerked upright in bed, breathless and heart pounding. Again, sweat-drenched sheets plastered to his skin, icy as the moisture evaporated. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then slowly lay back down. A nightmare again. He turned to his side. Alex lay curled beside him, still asleep, and as usual hogging most of the sheets. They wrapped around him like a fabric cocoon, expanding and contracting rhythmically as he breathed. Elliot sighed and scooted into Alex's broad back. He was glad he hadn't wakened Alex this time, but he couldn't help feeling vaguely regretful without his lover's comfort.

"What are you, seven?" he whispered to himself, and ran a careful hand lightly through Alex's fine blond hair.

His hand came back coated with a viscous black tar that burned like dry ice on his skin. A stench like rotten fish and human waste suddenly enveloped him, covering him with an almost physical thickness, and he became aware of something stirring behind him. With the presence there came a wet, bubbling, popping noise, like firecrackers pulled underneath a sucking mire, which resolved into a distorted, alien approximation of words out of a mouth for which they were ill-suited.

"Welcome home..."

**************

Elliot shot upright in bed, screaming. Something in the dark touched his arm, and he flung himself out of the damp sheets with all his strength. His legs tangled around something crouched low on the ground and he tumbled forward, twisting slightly in mid air as he flailed to steady himself. His elbow smashed into something flat and hard with a loud crack. Pain shot up his arm even as sharp edges caught his skin at the joint and scraped down his forearm in a burning strip. He landed on the other elbow and a moment later the side of his head snapped into the ground. A wash of prismatic spots bloomed in front of his eyes as pain crazed around his head, and for a moment all he could do was shift onto his back, gasping for breath.

The lights came on, blinding in their abrupt illumination, and a moment later Alex was hovering over him, expression terrified.

"Jesus! Elliot! Are you alright?"

"I'm...I'm okay." Elliot shook his head to clear the cobwebs and immediately regretted it as the room swam.

"No, don't move. Christ, you're bleeding! How many fingers am I holding up?" Alex held his hand up in a peace gesture.

"Ugh. Between three and a lot?"

"Shit. Alright, stay there, Elliot, and don't move! I'll call an ambulance." Alex gave his hand a squeeze and turned for the door.

"No, Alex - I was kidding! Two. You held up two fingers. I don't have a concussion, I just feel like an idiot." Elliot slowly raised himself to a sitting position and felt the side his head. A large bump was definitely forming; it protested as he applied a bit of pressure, but the sudden nausea was slowly fading. Blood was seeping from a series of long, deep scrapes along his forearm. He'd put his elbow through the front of his dresser and had gotten caught in the resulting mess of jagged splinters. He glanced at the foot of the bed - his backpack lay sprawled face-down on the carpet, textbooks peeking out of an open zipper.

"Don't joke, Elliot," Alex reprimanded him. "You scared the shit out of me! I heard you falling and hitting things and that loud cracking noise. Did you break anything? Are you sure you can move your arm?"

"Yeah, it's fine...it's sore, but it's not broken. You must've heard me finishing off the dresser." He looked down at his arm. "Shit, I'm bleeding all over the carpet."

"Oh, fuck the carpet. I'm just glad you're alright." Alex pulled Elliot in for a hug. "Maybe we should call an ambulance anyway."

"Don't be ridiculous," Elliot slowly pushed himself to a standing position. "I'm fine. Really."

Alex looked at him for a moment, then shook his head. "Well, let's at least put something on your arm. Make sure it doesn't get infected."

Ten minutes later, they were sitting in the bathroom as Alex helped Elliot disinfect and bandage the long scrape on his arm.

"That same nightmare again?" Alex asked as he slowly wrapped a strip of gauze around the wound.

"Yeah, more or less."

"That's three times in one week. What's bothering you, Elliot?"

"Other than a recurring nightmare and the fear that I'm failing vibrations, nothing really." Elliot paused. "Oh, don't go all Freudian on me, Alex."

"Well it's just..." Alex glanced at him with an oddly uncertain expression, then turned his attention back to the bandages. "Elliot, look, I know I kind of pushed you into moving in together, and if it's really hanging over you, then-"

"Whoa, whoa, what?" Elliot held up his hands, palms facing outward. "Time out, start over, I'm confused. It's late and you just did a really abrupt subject change. Where did that come from?"

"Well, you're having nightmares about monsters invading your house. Dream symbology suggests that means you're concerned about your sense of self being violated, and-"

"Didn't I just ask you not to go all Freudian on me?" Elliot said, smiling. "Vibrations is stressing me out, yeah, and being tired and irritable all the time isn't helping, but you are not...what was it? Violating my sense of self."

"Well, I mean...you didn't exactly seem enthused when I first brought it up."

"You surprised me, that's all. I honestly hadn't given it that much thought. But I want to be with you, Alex." He chuckled. "I spend most of my time at your place anyway, so why keep paying rent at mine? Believe me, I wouldn't have agreed if I had any reservations."

Alex looked at him for a moment, then hugged him close.

"I wasn't sure. You seemed happy about the idea, but I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe I'd pushed you into something you don't really want. Then you start having dreams about some kind of monster chasing you around the house...you can see where it might seem like you're having second thoughts."

Alex glanced at him, then looked away, but in that brief moment Elliot saw vulnerability in his eyes.

"It's really okay if this isn't what you want yet, Elliot. I'd love to share a space with you, but if you're not ready, I'll just...suck it up, I guess. I love you. I'll take you whatever way I can."

Elliot sighed and turned Alex's face back so that they were looking into each other's eyes.

"I love you too, Alex, and you're being dramatic. I'm not being shipped off to the trenches. You have me, whatever way you want me. The nightmares are just nightmares. I'll deal. And if we have other problems, we'll deal with them too, one at a time."

Alex sighed and relaxed into a smile, leaning in so that their foreheads touched.

"Spoken like a true engineer."

Elliot smiled at that, then reached up and slowly ran a hand through Alex's hair. With a shock, the dream image returned to him, of his hand pulling out of the caress coated in a foul black slime, and he couldn't suppress a violent shudder. Alex leaned back and looked at him, frowning.

"What's wrong?"

"It's chilly in here," Elliot replied. "Let's go back to bed."

They finished bandaging Elliot's arm. Alex stowed the first aid supplies back into the medicine cabinet as Elliot crawled back under the covers. As Alex came back into the bedroom, Elliot looked at his silhouette against the dim hall light and fought the urge to ask him to leave the door open.

**************

Vibrations always managed to suck. Elliot leaned his head against the heel of his hand and tapped on his notebook with an empty mechanical pencil. He glared for a moment at the baroque, almost illegible scrawl jerking its way across the chalkboard in inelegant white lumps. Professor Larkin's voice, more mechanical than an automotive assembly line, filled the room with its somnolent monotony. His words seem to dribble out of his mouth and had to drag themselves across the floor; in doing so, they managed to suck down with them any interest Elliot might have mustered in the subject. He caught the occasional mention of "periodicity" and "resonance frequency," but those were quickly pulled under the quagmire of less interesting speech. With a sigh, he resigned himself to another lecture watching flies dash themselves exuberantly against the florescent ceiling lights.

"Mr. Parsons?"

Elliot jerked upright at the mention of his name. Professor Larkin was beckoning to him with a piece of chalk and an impatient expression on his face. Elliot stifled another sigh. Professor Larkin was one of the few instructors who still demanded that students fill in answers at the chalkboard.

"Ah...yes, professor?"

"The resonance frequencies, if you would be so kind?" He gestured again with the tiny piece of chalk. "Unless, of course, you have something more worthy of your time?"

"No, of course not," Elliot mumbled, and rose from his seat, flushing as he realized everyone was now staring at him with rapt attention. Motion to his right alerted him to the fact that Jamie was shaking his head ever so slightly, palm pressed against his forehead. Elliot fought the urge to grin. Ever the perfect student, Jamie was keenly aware of Elliot's impatience with Professor Larkin, and just as keenly disappointed that his friend didn't find vibrations interesting enough to make up for it.

The arcane scrawls on the chalkboard weren't any more comprehensible up close, and as Elliot took the furiously proffered piece of chalk, he realized with some desperation that he couldn't recognize a single symbol in the equation. The expressions on the chalkboard ran together like a preschooler's scribbles, as though it had been written without once lifting the chalk off the board, and the lines scrunched into stumbling lumps. He couldn't even distinguish a single variable to be solved for.

"Ummm..." Puzzled, Elliot turned back to Professor Larkin and froze.

The classroom was empty.

Rows and rows of desks sat facing him, the dark blue plastic and shining chrome starkly contrasting against the pale gray floor tiles. The room was utterly silent, and in that silence Elliot let his gaze turn upwards toward the ceiling, realizing that even the flies he had been watching up to that point were gone.

He pressed himself against the blackboard, heart suddenly racing. The silence of the room pressed against him, oppressive and ominous in its emptiness. Through the floor-length windows he could see students milling about on the quad, like figures in a silent film. The sight of other people calmed him somewhat, and he took a step toward the windows.

The lights went out.

The room plunged into shadows, and for a moment all he could see was the wan, round disc of the full moon hanging outside in the night sky. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the familiar wide stretch of lawn outside the windows, the gleaming surface of the mirror-like lake, and the looming black forest that stood just beyond.

He stood for a moment, listening to the sound of his own frantic heartbeat in the silence, and realized that his arms were trembling at his sides. This wasn't real - none of it was real. He had fallen asleep listening to Professor Larkin's droning voice, and this was simply the most lucid dream he had ever had.

The sound of desks scraping against the floor snapped him out of his paralysis and he jumped with a short yelp. The desks at the far corner of the room were moving, their metal feet grinding against the floor as something shifted them aside. The classroom suddenly filled with a horrendous stench - the vile, familiar mixture of rotting fish and an open summer outhouse. He coughed several times as the smell hit him like a wet blanket and staggered back against the chalkboard. The pale slivers of moonlight cutting into the room were too dim for him to make out what was moving in the shadows, but still he could see snatches of motion from something large and black on the floor. Something that was slowly threading its way toward him through the desks.

He turned and ran for the door. He stopped.

The classroom door was gone, replaced by an empty patch of white cinder block wall. He hesitated, then dashed forward and beat against the stone, as though he could force the door to reappear with enough violence.

Another noise spun him around - the thing was making a high-pitched shriek, like a scratching record, shot through with liquid pops and bubbling gurgles. It was still too dark for him to really see it, but the thing was close enough now that he could see it was dragging itself along the ground with a number of appendages that might have been arms, save that they moved with a liquid, cephalopod grace. Protrusions at the end of some appendages might even have been fingers, except that they were far too long, far too slender, and curled and flopped convulsively each time they touched tile.

He spun around and started toward the windows, then stopped again. The windows were gone, replaced by a blank wall that spanned the length of the room. A single tiny porthole sat high against the wall, measuring barely a foot in all dimensions, with a thin beam of moonlight streaming in at a visible diagonal, providing just enough illumination to show that the thing on the floor had closed within ten feet. Panic crested, broke over him like a wave, and he sank with his back against the wall and screamed. The scream was high, shrill, and crescendoed as the black thing flopped once, then reached up toward him with an arm-tentacle-appendage, the tendrils at the end squirming like worms on a hook as they approached his face.

"Elliot! Christ, Elliot!"

Someone was shaking him and Elliot flinched violently away before realizing it was Jamie. His friend was sheet white, his forehead beaded with sweat, and his eyes were filled with shock and worry. His pulse pounding so hard it made his head hurt, Elliot looked up and realized the entire class had risen from their seats. A few were gathered in a half-circle around him, all looking as shocked and as concerned as Jamie. Professor Larkin stood just inside the circle, half-crouched, his expression flickering so rapidly it looked like he was having facial spasms. Something in the classroom was making a rhythmic, high-pitched squeal - distantly, Elliot realized the sound was coming from him.

"What...what happened?" Elliot asked, breathless.

"Elliot, calm down and take deep breaths. You're hyperventilating." Jamie cautiously laid a hand on Elliot's shoulder, and was rewarded with another violent flinch. "Dammit, does someone have--Dan, can you grab that plastic bag over there? Thanks." The bag was brought over, and Jamie held it in front of Elliot. "Breathe into the bag, Elliot. You'll feel better."

Slowly, hesitantly, Elliot took the bag and inhaled into it, looking around the room as he did so. The lights were on, with the damn flies still banging away at the plastic. Outside the windows, pale gray clouds floated above the grass-covered quad; people were milling about on the grass, playing football, making their way across campus to their next class.

"You alright now?" Jamie asked.

"What happened?" Elliot asked again, feeling faint. His panic was slowly draining away, but it left behind a residue of dread he couldn't shake off.

"You tell me," Jamie replied. "Professor Larkin called you up to solve the equation. You took the chalk, stared at the equation for, like, two seconds, then fell down and started screaming." The right side of his face twitched. "Man, I know you think vibrations is scary, but...dude..."

Elliot just stared at him.

"Are you alright now, Mr. Parsons?" Professor Larkin asked. "If you need to go to Niffert Health Center, it's perfectly understandable. In fact, I think it best if you skipped the rest of your classes today."

"Yeah, I think...yeah." Elliot slowly shoved himself into a standing position, grabbing onto Jamie's shoulder as nausea washed over him. When the feeling passed, he stepped away and made his way to his desk. Almost in spite of himself, he turned and stared into the corner of the room - a thin crack meandered its way down the seam of the wall, but nothing else seemed amiss. Shuddering, Elliot snapped his notebook shut, jammed it into his backpack, and slung it over his shoulders.

"May I be excused as well, Professor Larkin?" Jamie was asking. "I'd like to walk with him to the health center."

"Of course, I think that's an excellent idea." Professor Larkin gestured with a piece of chalk, his face still bearing an arrested expression. "I hope you feel better, Mr. Parsons."

Elliot nodded and walked out of the room, trying to ignore the stares that followed him out.

***************

"Annnnd let's just check the other eye."

The pen-light moved to his right eye in the dark. Elliot blinked and stared straight ahead, mentally tracing the pale shadows of blood vessels in his retina. Dr. Keller held the light a moment longer, then clicked it off and flicked the wall switch.

"Elliot, I'm obliged to ask whether you've taken any psychoactive drugs in the last 72 hours. LSD, PCP, mushrooms? Ecstasy, perhaps?"

"Of course not."

"Have you been exposed to noxious gases of any sort? High concentrations of gasoline or methane?"

"No."

"Have you used large amounts of aerosol products without proper ventilation? Eaten any unidentified iridescent fungi? Encountered mind-affecting cosmic rays on your way across the Quad?"

"Well, maybe a little bit of iridescent fungi," Elliot replied, then quickly added. "It was shiny! I couldn't help it!"

Dr. Keller smiled at him, then asked, "Can you think of anything that might have caused you to experience hallucinations, Elliot?"

"Well, um, I had a nightmare last night, kind of spazzed out, and hit my head on the floor, but I don't think that did it."

Dr. Keller briefly examined the side of Elliot's head. "Hmmm, no, you wouldn't be standing here if you'd suffered head trauma severe enough to cause massive visual hallucinations."

"Yeah, I know. I mean, I've been hit harder playing with Alex on his Wii." Elliot paused a moment, then made a face. "Can we pretend I didn't just say that?"

"No, no I don't think we can," Dr. Keller said gravely. "Fortunately, we're not concerned today with the vigor of your sex life. Now, were you asleep before the attack?"

"No. I was standing at the chalkboard getting ready to solve an equation. Jamie said I'd been up there all of three seconds before, ah, before I started screaming."

"Well, you're showing all the classical signs of sleep deprivation, Elliot," Dr. Keller replied. "Three seconds is a very short period of time, but not out of the realm of possibility for a bout of microsleep. Dreaming in such a short time is even less likely, but again, not completely impossible."

"That sounds really far-fetched."

"I'm afraid it's all I can offer you, Elliot," Dr. Keller sighed. "I can't find any obvious cause for the attack. Aside from being sleep deprived, which is true of half the students on campus, you're physically very fit and in perfect health. Is there anything else you can tell me that might be helpful? Anything at all."

"Well, um, I've been having some nightmares lately. Fairly often - like, two or three times a week. I know it sounds weird, but could they have caused it?"

"Recurring nightmares?"

"Sort of. It's the same general idea every time, but details keep changing."

Dr. Keller looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. "I'm no psychiatrist, Elliot, but from a purely physical standpoint I can't pin hallucinations on nightmares. They're certainly contributing to your stress levels and sleep deprivation, which makes me more inclined to believe that you may have fallen asleep in class. They won't, however, cause waking hallucinations."

"Okay. I just thought...well, it's the only really unusual thing that's been happening lately."

"And you were right to bring it up," Dr. Keller smiled at him. "So my best suggestion at the moment is that you go home and get some rest. For several days, if necessary. And, of course, give me a call immediately if you suffer another episode. I can prescribe a sleep aid if you're having trouble staying asleep. Just promise you won't abuse them like the troubled, rebellious teenager that you are."

Elliot rolled his eyes. "I haven't been a teenager in years."

"Really? It seems as though your high school graduation was only yesterday. Must be my old age. Time passes so quickly nowadays," Dr. Keller paused a moment, then squinted at Elliot. "It's not Alex keeping you up, is it? Long nights of wild, youthful abandon? Excessive violence while playing with his wee? "

Elliot blushed furiously, then laughed. "God, you're such an old pervert!"

Dr. Keller sighed, "Yes, I know. It's a terrible disappointment to Helen." He laid a gentle hand on Elliot's shoulder. "Get some rest, Elliot."

"Alright, I'll try. Thanks Fred, I needed a laugh."

"Of course. Tell Alex I said hello, and that I order the two of you to desist any vigorous sex in the bum for the next two days."

Elliot fled.

***************

Jamie was waiting for him when he left Dr. Keller's office. He appeared to be reading an issue of U.S. News and World Report, but Elliot noticed his gaze occasionally flicker over the top of the magazine toward a rather pretty blond sitting across the room. She didn't seem to be paying attention, but Elliot could see a smile playing at the edge of her lips as she played with her iPod. He quietly cleared his throat.

"Oh, hey," Jamie said, putting down the magazine with a final, furtive glance at the blond girl. "What'd Dr. K say?"

"That I need to go home and get some sleep."

"Pfft...I could've told you that," Jamie replied. "Practically everyone in engineering needs to go home and get some sleep."

"He said that, too," Elliot sighed. "Let's talk about this somewhere else."

They walked out of Niffert Health Center, back into bright sunlight and the brisk December air. Elliot put on his sunglasses and they walked a short distance toward the Quad before Jamie finally snorted and said, "Okay, so spill. What'd he say?"

"He doesn't know what's wrong," Elliot replied quietly. "Says I'm in great shape and perfect health. So that sort of leaves just one option for what's going on."

Jamie wrapped an arm around Elliot's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.

"So you're insane. Big deal. Like that's news to you, dude," he said with a smile. "I've known you were crazy since middle school, and it hasn't stopped us from being friends."

Elliot chuckled. Jamie's expression turned briefly serious.

"You know you can talk to me about anything, Elliot. Anything you need to get off your chest."

"I know."

"I mean, did I freak out when you told me you were a fruit basket?"

Elliot stared at him.

"A gaylord? A poofter? A kicking friend of Dorothy?"

"I get it, thank you," Elliot sighed. "Okay, there is one thing, but it's kind of stupid."

"That's okay. I love stupid. It makes me feel so much smarter. What is it?"

Elliot looked around for a moment, then said, "Alright, only Alex really knows about this, but...I've been having nightmares lately."

"What kind of nightmares?"

Elliot told him. Jamie was frowning as the story came to a close.

"Huh. Weird. Creepy and weird. Did you tell Dr. K?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And?"

"Like I said: he just thinks I need to get some sleep."

"Hmmmph." Jamie looked thoughtful for a moment. "Have you ever been inside Parrish House?"

"No, of course not. The house in my dreams just kind of...transitions to my parents' place when I go inside."

"Well, maybe you ought to go take a look." Jamie paused, seeing the look that fell over Elliot's face. "I'm not saying you should shack up there overnight and hold a seance or anything. Just drop by, take a look around, and then leave. Who knows, maybe you'll shake something up, rattle something out of the bucket."

"That's stupid." But suddenly his heart was pounding.

"Why's that stupid? You're the one dreaming about a house you've never stepped foot in. I know it's old and it's spooky and it looks like it's haunted by, like, everything, but you know..." he shrugged. "We're not seven. If this might help, why not do it?"

Elliot stared at him and struggled to find the right words. The idea had occurred to him as well, but he had resisted the notion of visiting Parrish House until now. It hadn't really even seemed like a possibility, and it wasn't until Jamie verbalized the idea that he realized why. The thought of going into Parrish House terrified him.

"I don't want to go because it creeps me out," he said finally. "You don't know what it's like. Every time I dream about it, there's something in there chasing me. Something I can't really see, something I can't describe, except how it makes me feel. And it's like it's telling me to come home. It's..." his words trailed off as he realized Jamie was giving him a long-suffering look.

"You know, enough sleep deprivation can cause all sorts of nasty problems," Jamie said blandly. "Anxiety, hallucinations, and oh yeah, psychosis. That sounds like a lot of fun. Yeah, I bet Alex'll have a great time when you move in with him next week. I wouldn't bother emptying the boxes if I were you."

Elliot glared at him. "You're such a prick sometimes."

"I'm a prick all the time. I just cover well." Jamie crossed his arms. "Dude, seriously. Are you actually going to just sit on your ass when there's a potential solution staring you in the face?"

They glared at each other for a moment. Elliot broke his gaze away first and looked uneasily in the direction of Duck Pond.

"Yeah, you're right," he said quietly.

"Of course I'm right," Jamie said in a huff. "I'm always right. I don't know why you keep arguing with me when you know I'm always right. So when are we going?"

"We?" Elliot looked up.

"Well, yeah. You, me, Alex. I'm pretty sure he'll want to be there for moral support, and I've been wanting to check the place out for ages."

"So why didn't you?"

"You're kidding, right? Have you seen the place? There's no way I'd go in there by myself."

And Jamie gave him a grin that split his face from ear to ear.

***************

"You know, the longer I look at this place, the less brilliant this idea seems to get," Jamie was saying, squinting at Parrish House from underneath the bill of his Yankees cap. The three of them were standing on the front lawn of the House, staring up at it with some apprehension as they waited for their university escort. The light of the morning sun streamed through gaps in the nearby tree branches, splashing golden spots onto Parrish House's peeling gray walls. The brightness should have made the house less sinister, but instead it only seemed to deepen the vivid black shadows inside the building's broken windows, and did nothing to dispel the gloom hiding underneath the front porch awning.

"This was your idea!" Elliot protested, his breath frosting in the icy morning air.

"So? That doesn't necessarily make it less stupid!" Jamie retorted, pulling the bill of his hat back to the base of his neck.

"I-what kind of retarded argument is that? You were all gung ho for this yesterday! Do you want to leave?"

"No!" Jamie shoved his arms into his armpits as a particularly biting wind gusted around them, and looked sullen. "Why, do you want to leave?"

"This isn't very productive, guys," Alex interceded, although he looked amused. "I feel like I'm watching Abbott and Costello."

"Well it's not like we're trying to be productive right now anyway. We can't do anything until the university rep arrives." Jamie glared off into the direction of the Quad. "You'd think a history major would be more punctual."

"Your anal-retentiveness is showing," Alex said blandly. "Relax, Jamie. We just got here."

"I just hate waiting for people," Jamie replied, doing a little hop to keep warm. "Especially when it's fucking freezing outside."

Elliot let the two of them bicker. He turned his attention to Parrish House, let his eyes trace over its flaking gray walls. In his dream, the walls of Parrish House had been freshly painted, gleaming bone white under the pale light of the moon, and there had been tall trees surrounding the house in addition to the ragged circle of unkempt bushes. There had been a patio in the back as well, although he saw nothing of the sort in their brief survey of the house. The windows were too caked in dust to allow much of a view into the interior, but...

Elliot started as shadows shifted inside the house. A hand suddenly appeared at the upstairs window, moving behind the glass in rapid circles, followed by a pale, ghostly face. There was a rough, grinding noise as the window shifted a couple of inches upward, a brief silence, then a female voice cursing in a distinctly unfeminine manner. Then:

"Hey guys! I'm sorry - I didn't realize you were here already. Hang on a second, I'll be right down!"

Less than a minute later, the front door opened and a tall, cheerful-looking girl of about twenty came jogging out. She had straight black hair that fell down to her waist, framing her pale, rather pretty face. Her eyes were a startling blue, enhanced by the slender, gold-rimmed glasses that she wore, and her sunny smile revealed two rows of slightly uneven, perfectly white teeth. She was wearing an over-sized gray Tweety Bird sweatshirt, a pair of neatly pressed dark blue jeans, and black boots lined with synthetic gray fur at the top.

"Hi there, I'm Emily," she said, extending her hand with a smile. "I got here early, thought I'd tidy up a bit. Nobody ever asks to see this place, so it's a bit of a mess."

Elliot took her hand and shook.

"I'm Elliot. This is my boyfriend, Alex, and my friend Jamie."

Alex waved. Jamie edged past him and extended a hand, flashing an enormous grin at Emily as he did so.

"Jamie...is that Jeremy Scott-Lee?" Emily shook his hand, then fished a folded sheet of paper out of her pocket. "You were the one who placed the request."

"Yeah, that's me." Jamie's grin broadened slightly.

"Okay, could you sign this?" Emily gave him the paper and an apologetic smile. "We're supposed to keep track of who comes in. Elliot, Alex - I'll need your signatures as well."

They signed. Emily retrieved the slip of paper, then smiled and bounded up onto the porch.

"Great. Come on in, guys. I promise there aren't any boogeymen," she said before disappearing back into the house.

Jamie looked after her for a moment, then turned to Elliot with a grin and a thumbs-up gesture. Elliot rolled his eyes and followed Emily over the threshold.

Parrish House had a considerably better preserved interior than it looked from the outside. The front door opened into a small foyer, with a wooden staircase leading to the second floor at the opposite wall. A doorway to the left opened into a large, empty room that looked like the living room, while a doorway to the right revealed what once might have been a dining room or study. Simple curtains had been drawn in the windows of both rooms, leaving the house in a grayish pall. A floral wallpaper covered all the walls, and although it was faded, there were no signs of peeling, wear, or water damage. The hardwood floor was scuffed and dull, but neither cracked nor warped.

An intense feeling of déjà vu, mingled with steadily growing unease, filled Elliot as he swept his gaze over the rooms. He managed to suppress a shudder, but took Alex's hand and gave it a hard squeeze. Alex turned to him with a concerned, almost frightened look in his eyes. At the same time, Jamie leaned in and whispered, "Dude. This place looks just like your parents' house."

Emily was looking at them with a wry, half-apologetic expression.

"I know. It's not much to look at," she said, looking around the foyer. "Duck Pond would be prettier without it, but there are always other projects that need attention, so nobody ever gets around to actually tearing the place down."

"That's a weird position for a history major to take," Jamie replied.

Emily shrugged. "This place doesn't have that much historical significance, to be honest. After Jeremiah Parrish died - he was the last owner of the house - his extended family in Chicago stripped the place of everything worth anything. Then they donated it to the university and washed their hands of it. As a result, there's really just not much here."

"Well...it is kind of spooky," Jamie offered.

Emily smiled. "We have to tidy the inside every month, so you get used to it. There are plenty of scary houses around town, though, if you're looking for that sort of thing."

"Is it alright if we look around a bit?" Alex asked.

"I figured that was the idea. I can give you the grand tour if you'd like."

"We can probably figure it out," Alex replied, smiling. "This isn't exactly the house of a thousand corridors."

"Well, if you have any questions, just ask. I'm also supposed to tell you that if you damage the house in any way, we're empowered to take your firstborn child."

Alex grinned at that and glanced at Elliot, who rolled his eyes and punched him on the arm.

Alex and Elliot wandered around the first floor, with Emily and Jamie trailing closely behind. The two of them were conversing quietly about topics that Elliot suspected had nothing to do with Parrish House, but he was too distracted to pay them much attention. Jamie had been right - the home of his childhood and Parrish House were almost identical in their layouts. There were small differences here and there - the house had no patio, so there was no door in the living room leading to one, and his own home had no foyer - but as a whole the two houses were eerily similar.

They wandered into the kitchen. Sunlight, diffused by heavy curtains hung over the rear window, cast a yellowish pall over the room. Although the room was now empty, Elliot could see areas of the floor, places still shiny and clean, where cabinets and other furniture once stood. Several places in the wallpaper, as well as spots on the floor, ran discolored with brown streaks - signs of water damage in an otherwise well-preserved room.

A spot on the floor caught Elliot's eye. A discolored ring, like water damage, sat near the corner of the room on what was otherwise nearly pristine floor. A chill washed over Elliot as he slowly walked over to stand in front of the ring. He could almost see the cabinets that lined the kitchen in his dream, and the counter that he would have been standing in front of, were he at home. He glanced down, then back up; the water mark sat in the precise spot where he had seen the viscous black goo dribbling down in his dream.

A creaking noise came from above, like weight settling on ancient floorboards. Everyone except Emily jumped. There was a moment of silence as all four pairs of eyes searched the ceiling, and then the noise came again, more distantly this time, as though from farther down the hall.

"What the hell was that?" Jamie asked.

"Probably just the house settling," Emily replied. "It's kind of windy outside, and that makes all sorts of weird noises in a place as old as this. Still, I'd better go check it out."

Jamie made a face. "Wow, am I the only one who thinks that's, like, the worst idea ever?"

Emily laughed. "I come here all the time, Jamie. I've even been here alone after sundown. Nothing freaky has shown up to chew my face off, and I'm pretty sure we don't have any axe-wielding maniacs on campus. Even if we did, there are much better hunting grounds than Parrish House."

"Well, I'd better come with you," Jamie struck a heroic pose. "You know, just in case an axe-wielding maniac does try to chew your face off. You might need some extra studliness."

Emily rolled her eyes, but smiled as she walked out of the room. Jamie threw Elliot another thumbs up, then jogged out after her. Alex moved as if to follow.

"Alex, wait."

Alex turned. Elliot knelt down by the corner and ran his finger across the floorboard, feeling for seams or cracks along the edges of the room. The floorboard shifted slightly under his probing.

"There's a seam at the edge of this wall here, and I think the floorboard is loose. Can you help me pry it up?"

"Ah...no. I think tearing up historic property falls under the 'Bad Idea' category, Elliot."

"Really, Alex, I..." Elliot leaned his face into the crack in the floor. "I think there's something underneath the floorboard. I can't quite make it out. And...I think there's some kind of secret compartment over here, or something. Can you give me a hand?"

"I have a better idea. Why don't I go get Emily and she can make the executive decision? That way no firstborn children are put at risk."

"Alright," Elliot paused. "Ummm...but don't go too far?"

Alex smiled, leaned over, and kissed him on the forehead. "I'll just call her from the bottom of the stairs."

He turned and walked out of the room. Elliot looked after him for a moment, then went back to the floorboard. He traced his hands along the wooden plank to where it sank underneath the wall, then stopped. The wallpaper felt flimsy here, as though it wasn't covering anything solid. He heard Alex calling for Emily from the dining room and, thinking quickly, peeled the wallpaper aside. A hole had been carved into the wall underneath the floral pattern, right where the plank extended into the wall. About an inch inside, Elliot could see the metallic glint of a small latch. He reached in, flipped the latch, and found that the floorboard could slide nearly six inches into the wall. Elliot turned and leaned down, gazing into the small, dark compartment he had just unearthed.

"Elliot!" Alex admonished from behind him. "I thought we agreed to wait for Emily."

Elliot turned to see the three of them standing just inside the doorway. Emily had an eyebrow raised, while Jamie and Alex both looked embarrassed and were glaring at him.

"I haven't damaged anything," Elliot protested. "Look, the wallpaper was hiding a little recess. The floorboard slides right in. I swear I didn't break anything."

"Can I see?" Emily knelt down at the floorboard and examined the wall. "That's clever. This entire area was probably hidden underneath the cabinets. I wonder when it was installed."

"So it's okay?" Jamie asked.

"Like Elliot said - it doesn't look like he damaged anything unearthing this." Emily turned and looked into the alcove the floorboard had been hiding. "Huh, how about that?"

"What's in it?" Jamie crowded in next to Elliot and Emily.

Emily reached into the alcove and pulled out what looked like a bundle of objects wrapped inside a piece of gray cloth. Motioning Jamie aside, she slowly unrolled the bundle on the floor, unveiling a small, leather-bound book, a plain box made of a dark brown wood, and what looked like a series of cloth dolls tied together with a string. Emily looked at the objects for a moment, then carefully undid the string tying the dolls together. They fell in a scattered pile on the cloth. The dolls were each only about two inches high and looked crudely made, with simple faces sewn in a coarse, black thread and clothing made from scraps gray linen.

"Yeah, that's not creepy at all," Jamie remarked, poking one of the dolls. "What's in the box?"

"It's locked," Emily replied, turning the box over in her hand. A rattling sound came from inside, like pieces of glass clacking against each other. Emily frowned, then looked inside the alcove again. "Hmmm...no key. Guess we'll have to leave that for later."

"What about the book?"

"I can't risk damaging the pages." Emily put the box back onto the cloth, then carefully folded the cloth around all of the objects. "I'm going to take these back to the department to be cataloged."

"Do you have to turn those into the Parrish family?" Alex asked.

"Well, after the Parrish family cleaned the place out, they donated the house and everything in it to the university." Emily shot them a mischievous grin. "Without requesting control of any future discoveries, interestingly enough. So this belongs to the university now."

"So...will we get to know what you find out about them?" Elliot asked.

"Don't worry - I doubt we'd ever have found this stuff without you. You have some sharp eyes, Elliot. I'll credit you in my report, and I'll keep you updated on what we find out, if you're interested."

"Hey, nice, dude!" Jamie clapped Elliot on the back. "Your nosiness and total disregard for public property finally pays off!"

"You are such an ass, you know that?" Elliot replied, glaring at him.

"So people keep telling me. What now?"

"What'd you find upstairs?"

"Nothing," Jamie shrugged. "One of the bedroom windows was open. Why, do you want to go upstairs and rummage around there too?"

"Actually, I'd like to get these back to Prince Hall," Emily interrupted before Elliot could retort. "I'm not supposed to leave you guys here alone, but you can wait on the porch if you'd like. I'll be back in ten minutes, tops."

"What do you think, Elliot?" Alex asked.

Elliot looked around for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I'm okay. We can go."

They followed Emily out of the house and waited while she locked up. Elliot rubbed his arms in the cool winter air and gazed up at Parrish House. He didn't feel much in the way of resolution, but having been inside he was willing to admit that Parrish House now seemed much less sinister. He tilted his head to one side and let his eyes drift over the windows on the second floor. The sun had moved higher into the sky and, curiously, the shift in the light gave the place a sad, even lonely air. The place must have been beautiful, once.

Elliot sighed, took Alex's hand, and led the four of them back across the Quad.

***************

"Wow, I'm stuffed," Jamie said, leaning back against his chair so that it balanced precariously on its two back legs. He raised his feet onto the dining table and intertwined his fingers behind his head. "I gotta say, the man can cook."

"I take it the meal met with your approval?" Alex said, smiling as he dropped a casserole dish into the sink. "And feet off the table, if you'd be so kind."

"Hell yeah! For lasagna that good, I'd move in with you. I might even be willing to negotiate the whole sex up the ass thing."

Elliot laughed. "Wow...I never thought I'd hear that coming out of your mouth."

"You know what they say about a man and his stomach," Jamie grinned. "Besides, you keep talking about how great it is - I figure, it can't possibly be that bad, right?"

Elliot made a scandalized noise and slapped Jamie upside the head. He jabbed a finger into Jamie's shoulder and announced into the kitchen, "Don't listen to him, Alex. I have said nothing of the sort."

Alex smiled and rolled his eyes, and continued scrubbing the casserole dish. "Seriously, though. Thanks for helping us move Elliot's things, Jamie."

"Of course. I'd do it again if you make some more of that lasagna."

"I'm might just hold you to that."

"Then I might just hold you to making dinner again." Jamie glanced at his watch, then jumped out of his chair. "Holy shit it's late! I've gotta get going."

"But you just finished dinner."

"I know, but..." Jamie grinned. "I told Emily I'd pick her up after I got done here. We're going to go see Saw IV. Would you believe the girl likes horror movies?"

"Sounds like a winner," Elliot leaned over and gave his friend a hug. "Alright, cool. Call me and tell me how it goes. Thanks a lot for helping out, Jamie. It would've sucked trying to move all this by ourselves."

Alex quickly dried off his hands, walked over, and gave Jamie a hug as well. "Yeah, no kidding. I'd never have believed Elliot could have that many boxes of comic books."

Jamie smiled as Elliot slapped Alex across the shoulder. "No problem, dude. You know I'm always here for you guys." He pulled his sneakers on and made his way to the front door. "Oh, and was I right, or was I right? Almost a week without any nightmares."

Elliot rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay, you were right."

"Told you. When have I ever been wrong?" Jamie tugged at the bill of his baseball cap and jogged down the front steps of the building. "Alright, dude. I'll catch you tomorrow. Don't stay up all night having sex, we've got a huge lab in materials."

"Pot, meet kettle!" Elliot retorted, then closed the door. "Well, saw that coming a mile away."

"Yeah?" Alex said as he walked back toward the kitchen.

"You kidding? Emily is exactly his type. I hope it works out between them," Elliot replied as he wound his way to the piles of cardboard boxes stacked in the living room. He sighed. "I so don't want to do this right now."

Alex laughed. "Then don't."

Elliot made a face. "Well, I at least need my toothbrush, right? Where'd we put those?"

"Ahhh...that one on the coffee table."

Elliot sighed again, grabbed a pair of scissors, and knelt down beside a long, flat box sitting on the coffee table. He slit the tape open, shoved the cardboard flaps aside, and rummaged through the piles of zip-loc bags, neatly folded hand towels, and other bathroom paraphernalia. His hand closed around something small and soft. Elliot froze, then slowly drew his hand out of the box and looked at what he was holding.

It was a tiny cloth doll, crudely made, with coarse black stitching for its face. The doll was empty, just two pieces of cut fabric loosely sewn together, with an opening at its bottom as though it were ready to be stuffed.

"Alex...what is this?" Elliot asked, feeling breathless. The room suddenly spun, and he had to grab the arm of the couch to steady himself.

Alex didn't reply, but continued washing the dishes.

"Alex, did you hear me? Where did you get this?"

"I've always had it," Alex replied, not looking up.

"You-what the hell does that mean?"

"It means that you're still here," Alex replied, still scrubbing the dishes. "Parrish House. You never left."

He looked up. His eyes were a pair of ebony holes in his head, and something was squirming in the shadows deep inside. The skin of his face writhed, as though worms were crawling just underneath the surface. Alex, or the thing that looked like Alex, smiled then, a grin that stretched far too wide around his face, and which prominently displayed rows and rows of jagged black teeth. The room suddenly filled with the stench of rotting fish.

"Welcome home..."

And the lights went out.

End Part One.