Chapter 2.1

I was groggy the next morning, having tossed and turned almost all night with odd dreams about going into the woods where I had thought I saw something last night. Over and over, I dreamt I walked into the woods, the light fading as night fell in earnest, following something I couldn’t see but that was pulling me along, deeper and deeper into the trees. I would wake up before I could find out where I was going or what I was following, but as soon as I fell back asleep, I would be there again.

“Cam?” I heard Amy’s voice through my closed bedroom door as she lightly rapped her knuckles against it. “Cam, are you up yet?”

“I’m up, come in,” I answered, pushing myself to a sitting position and rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Amy entered the room. She was wearing magenta scrubs, her hair pulled up in a neat bun at the top of her head.

“I’m just about to leave for the clinic, but I wanted to make sure you didn’t oversleep.” I looked at Amy confused. I didn’t have work that afternoon or any classes. Why did it matter if I was awake at a certain time. “Didn’t you agree to help Dr. Segall with a project at the library this week?” She asked, seeing the confusion on my face.

“Oh, crap! I forgot!” I said, whipping the blankets off myself and jumping out of bed. “You’re the best, Ames. What will I ever do without you?” I said, gratefully as I hustled towards the bathroom to get ready.

“You’d be lost and confused!” Amy joked, “Have fun, I’ll see you tonight!” she called over her shoulder as she left the apartment.

I had myself mostly together within fifteen minutes. I was going to be unpacking and cataloguing old, dusty books all morning, so I didn’t need to dress my best. I poured coffee into a thermos, grabbed a wild berry PopTart as a poor excuse for breakfast, and headed to the door. I bent to put my shoes on and something stopped me; a funny feeling crawling up the back of my neck. I shrugged it off and tied my shoes. As I started to pull on my coat, my mind flashed back to the dream I had last night. I froze, feeling a curl of fear in my chest, thinking about standing at the edge of the woods and what could be lurking in them. For a quick moment, I contemplated blowing off the library job and staying locked inside.

Realizing the absurdity of that idea snapped be back to myself. “What is wrong with you today, weird-o?” I muttered to myself as I zipped up my jacket. I pushed the thoughts of the woods, the flash of movement I could have sworn I saw walking home last night, and the eerie dream from my mind and left the apartment, double checking that the door was locked tight as I did.

The library was on the opposite side of the school campus from where the apartment was, but I shouldn’t be too late if I walked at a brisk pace. The mornings were still chilly, but the sun felt warm on my face and offered a glimmer of hope that spring would soon arrive.

Before I turned down the sidewalk towards campus, I stopped and couldn’t help myself from looking the other way towards the woods. It seemed so innocuous in the morning sunlight. The evergreens mixing with branches of the still-winter bare deciduous trees. Their fallen leaves were peeking through the remnants of snow that hid in the shadows, cowering from the melting sun.

The woods were dense in that area, sloping fairly steeply down to the path of a small stream that babbled lightly in spring and autumn and all but dried up in the dog days of summer. I had always enjoyed nature and loved that our apartment had an unobstructed view of the trees. But since last night, something about the woods felt dark and foreboding.

The thought of locking myself away in the house crept into my mind again. I straightened my shoulders, mentally shook of the feeling, and forced myself to turn and walk toward campus.

That dream had just thrown me, it was just a nightmare, that’s all, I told myself as I strode with purpose. I couldn’t believe I had thought about blowing off the library job; I never blew off a commitment and especially not one that paid.

I had earned a full-ride scholarship for tuition, based on my grades, family situation, and some luck, but I was still very much the quintessential broke college student and often picked up odd jobs around school for extra cash to cover rent, food, and a bit of fun now and again.

I actually had a lot of jobs. Monday and Wednesday evenings and on holidays I worked at Georgio’s, Thursday through Saturday I bartended at one of the local college bars, Sidney’s, I tutored at least two afternoons a week, two Saturdays a month I gave campus tours to perspective students, and I was known by a lot of the faculty and staff as a reliable person who would often pick up odd jobs when needed, like this library project.

One of my former literature professors, Dr. Segall, asked if I was available to help with a special project. Some alum had passed away and left the literature department his collection of folklore. Dr. Segall needed help unpacking and cataloguing the collection, which was being housed in the library’s basement. Dr. Segall had told me there weren’t many students he would trust with the task, but he knew I would be able to help identify potentially important or valuable books within the collection and properly document what all was there.

I looked up at the large, ornate clock face adorning the front of the library building, cringing to see it was five past nine. I had agreed to arrive at the library at nine and, although I would be working alone and there would be absolutely no one there to know I was late, my intrinsic sense of responsibility hated to be late.

I shoved the now empty PopTart wrapper into the trash can at the library entrance and made my way to the reference desk. I recognized the girl sitting at the reference desk, diligently filing books onto a return cart. She had short white-blonde curls held back from her face with a chunky headband that matched her pale pink sweater. I had seen her many times there and always thought she looked like she was born to be a librarian. The job suited her shy, bookish demeanor; she looked like someone who would jump out of her skin from too loud a noise.

Smiling as I approached the desk, unconsciously moving a hand up to the hair I had thrown into a terrible mess of a bun in my hast to make it out the door that morning. Next to her iron creased pants and perfectly fitted sweater I felt like a walking laundry pile.

“Hi, I am helping Dr. Segall with the new folklore collection today,” I explained in a hushed, library voice, “he told me to get the key to the storage room here.”

The girl nodded curtly, not saying a word, and reached into a drawer under the reference desk. She pulled out a singe key labeled with a paper tag. Double-checking the name on the tag, she gently placed the key on the desk in front of me.