THE OUIJIERS
By Matthew Wayne
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Copyright 2012 by Matthew Wayne
Published by MWB Entertainment
Smashwords Edition
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events depicted in this book are fictional and any resemblances to real people or events are purely coincidental.
Smashword Edition Licensing Notes
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To Deanna, so she, too, can have something to read.
* * * *
Introduction
Mankind has tried to delve into the mysteries of death for millennia. They have tried various ways to do this. Ouija type devices have been used for ages to try to contact entities on the "other side," but automatic writing tools involving flat boards with lettering and planchettes were not invented until the 1800s. Even their origins are controversial.
Whether or not Ouija boards actually work, there is a plethora of bizarre stories to be told by those who have used them. I've had my own experiences with Ouija boards and the consequences of using them. They seem to open gateways to the spiritual world, but how can we know the nature of these other worlds? In many ways, if one contacts "spirits" through a Ouija board, one can only take its word about the nature of its existence. In this novel, the characters discover that when a doorway is open, it is not always a one way door. The spirit world, so to speak, does not contain only spirits, just as our world does not contain only humans.
You will notice that I use the word ouiji rather than Ouija. This is because Ouija is a trademark. Years ago I contacted the Hasbro company about sponsoring my work, trying to convince them that sales of the board would increase if the book became successful. They wrote me back assuring me that they would protect their trademark vigorously. I decided to use the word ouiji, which I made up, because that's how most people pronounce it. It is meant to be a generic representation of one of the many brands of boards which can be used for automatic writing purposes or for contacting other dimensions of existence.
"The Ouijiers" is a work of fiction which suggests only one possibility as to the real nature of the dimensions coming through. While it is fiction, some aspects of this story represent actual experiences that I have had. It might be fun to try to determine what events could have happened in my life. Perhaps some of you may have had similar experiences. In any case, I hope you find "The Ouijiers" an entertaining read.
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Chapter 1: Arise
Death.
Its shadow followed Paul.
Its hot breath had flowed across the back of his neck.
Its cold fingers had caressed his throat.
Not the patient, friendly death which ends years of suffering and leads those it takes to a better place, but the unexpected, frightening death which snubs young life at its best. The sudden death. The tragic death.
Paul had fought death, and he had won. At least, he felt that way now. But death waited for Paul in the recesses of his mind, lingering in his thoughts, wearing a scowl. Angry. Bitter. Paul knew he would have to give into him someday, but not today. It was too sunny today, too bright and warm.
Paul worried that he thought about death too much. It was a glorious day. He should be concentrating more on life, on the beauty of the present. He should be able to put death in the past and let it fade away with the rest of his memories. After all, nature had its own workings. It had made him a gift of this day. He had gotten another chance. Summer was quickly slipping away. He needed to enjoy what was left of it. He needed to get on with life.
He slid along with the rest of the crowd headed for the quad. Once he reached it, he found he couldn't continue to hurry along with the other students. The throng began to push past him. They slipped by him in their rush to make it to their classes, leaving him alone, invisible.
Time was no longer that important to him. He stopped to take the day into his soul. He examined the green of the manicured lawn, studied the bends and twists of the tree branches as they reached for the blue sky. Their leaves stretched to absorb as much of the sun as they could, like hundreds of fingers grasping for food. Paul forgot about time. He stared at the trees and watched. They consumed as much of the light as possible. Autumn was near. Winter would follow shortly. Paul deserved a few minutes to himself, to commune. He could afford it.
The crowd had left him alone. A straggler nearly ran into him and tore his attention away from the trees. Paul's fellow student stopped and looked at him for a second. Paul stared back. He could see surprise in the man's eyes. The pair said nothing. The other student quickly stepped to the side and rushed past Paul. Paul watched him head off to the north. Time was growing short. Bells resounded across the quad from many buildings at once. Paul sighed heavily. He needed to get on with life. That meant going to class.
Dozens of windows looked upon him as Paul leisurely strolled toward the red brick building. The heads they framed showed no faces. They all looked toward their professors or busily jotted down notes. Paul remained unhurried. He felt no urgency to arrive at class. After all, he had already missed two weeks of class time. What did it matter if he was a few minutes late today? He didn't even have to show up at all. The doctors had told him to relax, but he had felt cooped up and useless in his apartment, so he decided to go to class. He was showing up, and that was enough.
The door creaked only slightly as Paul opened it. He had been using that door all semester, and this was the first time he had noticed it creak. He wondered how much he had missed by allowing himself to be dragged along with the crowd, always pushing, never paying attention. He allowed the building to pull him into its welcoming embrace. The door closed behind him with a soft click.
He quietly ascended the staircase which moments before had been crammed with students. He climbed up to the first landing and followed it around, taking the next set of stairs still unrushed. He took another flight of stairs, and another, until he finally reached the top. He stepped into the third floor corridor.
He walked through the lonely hallway almost cautiously and let it direct him to the left. These were the arteries of the building. Moments earlier, they had bustled with activity, flowing with young minds, steering their bodies to their proper cells where they could soak up as much knowledge as they could hold. Now, they guided Paul, alone, toward a lonely corner of the building, where his class was held. His footsteps echoed back hollowly as he moved through the too silent corridor. The only other sounds he could hear were the low murmurs coming from behind the closed doors which lined the hall. He moved a little faster now. Somehow, the sounds reminded him of death.
He took a right he knew well. The hall led him to a short stairway rising to the highest room, a corner of the building. There was only a small landing in front of the door to the classroom. A strangely appropriate room to hold this class in, Paul thought. He entered room 401.
Professor Dolinger stood at the front of the class. He had cut his oratory short as Paul entered. His eyes stared sternly at this interruption in the doorway. Paul's classmates turned to check out the disturbance. Fourteen new pairs of eyes studied him. Paul looked at the faces. Apprehension and embarrassment ran amuck in his head. Professor Dolinger's look softened and eased Paul's tensions.
"Mr. Asenci," the professor announced. "I wasn't expecting to see you until next week. Are you sure you're well enough to handle class today?"
"I don't feel too bad. A lot better than I was two weeks ago," Paul said. "I was getting rather bored sitting alone in my apartment, doing nothing, so I decided I'd be better off here."
"Well, I'm glad you decided to join us today," Dolinger said. "I think you'll be interested in the lecture I've prepared. Please, have a seat."
The class watched Paul stride to a desk across from the cute blonde. She smiled at him as he sat. He smiled back. He remembered her name. Linda, he had heard her called. He had often thought about her, but they had never spoken. He had to look away to dig out his notepad and pen from his backpack. When he looked up again, she was staring at Professor Dolinger.
"I was talking about the persecution of witches during the dark ages," Dolinger began his lecture again. "To start at the beginning, I would like to first speak of the rise of witches, just after the fall of the Roman Empire. It is said that, upon the birth of Christ, a voice was heard over the Aegean Sea proclaiming 'Pan is dead.' If you have read the Mitchel text, you will understand the meaning of this.
"He interprets the myth to mean that not only the god of nature had died, but nature itself was maligned as well. He goes on to say, however, that Pan never really died. He points out that the god was kept alive by the simple peasant women of Europe, which is, in my opinion, an accurate assessment. I believe the early leaders of the church made up this myth to help them gain control of a wild populace seeking structure and stability in a world filled with violence and death.
"What we need to keep in mind here is the geopolitical atmosphere of Europe during the last years, and after the fall of, the Roman Empire. These people had no real structured society. Small villages and hamlets were easy targets for bands of marauders roaming the countryside. The common man, the farmers and peasants of the day, really had nowhere to turn for justice. It was into this environment that the Christians, or, more accurately, the church, brought its own brand of conversion."
Paul was already finding the lecture boring. He had already read the text and Professor Dolinger added nothing new to it. Paul let his mind wander. He found himself paying attention to Linda. Something about her intrigued him. It was more than the perfect proportions carved into her face. It was more than her well developed figure. He found many women physically attractive. Paul stared at her profile. She had a certain twinkle in her eye. There was an air about her. Something he couldn't exactly put his finger on.
He daydreamed.
"The things I could do with you if we were alone," he thought.
In his mind, he was undressing her. Slowly. Savoring her beauty. She looked up and caught him staring as he was imagining her blouse open. She smiled. Embarrassed, Paul quickly looked away. He began furiously taking notes. Professor Dolinger continued his lecture.
"And so these poor, common women were forced to keep their idols, the gods and deities they had worshipped for ages, hidden from the eyes of anyone who might report them to the church," he was saying. "Fear is a powerful weapon, and the church wielded it well. It was more than the fear of God these priests instilled into the populace, it was the fear of man. It was the fear of being ostracized from society, of being forced to live a lonely existence outside of the little protection and structure medieval society offered. It was the fear of torture and painful death. But, despite the risks, pagan practices continued in Europe. It was the church, having gained a foothold in these peoples' lives and the blessings of the ruling class, that mutated these practices into what is today called witchcraft.
"Mitchel tells us a story of one particular woman who, through a series of unfortunate circumstances, is forced from her town into the woods of the countryside. Now, in those times, this was tantamount to a death sentence. The countryside of Europe back then was still wild, and a very dangerous place. The woman Mitchel talks of, however, manages to find a cave to live in and, in essence, sets up shop.
"This woman, having been bestowed with the knowledge of her foremothers, is well versed in the herbalist arts. She knows of cures and potions no one else can duplicate, especially since the new church has declared nature unholy. The townspeople, therefore, afflicted with the ailments of the day, have nowhere else to turn for help with these maladies and must go to her often. So this unfortunate woman, cast out of her own village and forced to live this lonely existence, becomes a very powerful figure in the day to day lives of the very people who rebuked her.
"The story Mitchel tells, although fictitious, is a poignant one, indeed. Because it happened in the time it did, there are no case histories, no writings by actual people this kind of thing might have happened to. One must remember that the common medieval serf woman had no education, no knowledge of reading or writing. It was the church and the priests who had the education. At that time, they were the ones entrusted to record history for posterity.
"And there is evidence that this type of thing did happen. Given their beliefs and their limited knowledge of how the world works, it is easy to see how they might believe that these women were practicing black magic. Perhaps, in their own misguided ways, some of these priests sincerely thought these women were servants of the devil. They truly believed these women to be witches, as we know them in the modern sense, and they thought they were doing the world a service by ridding it of them."
A strange feeling crept into Paul's gut. He glanced over at Linda and caught her staring at him. He smiled. It was her turn to look away, embarrassed. Paul smiled to himself.
"God, she's beautiful," he thought.
Professor Dolinger went on, expounding on the spread of witchcraft in the middle ages and the attempts of the church to stop it. He explained how the church outlawed all festivals during this time and forced the common people to celebrate at night. He explained how the witches of the day were elected by the villagers to become the priestesses of these proceedings and presided over the festivals.
"Hence," he said, "the church, in a way, perpetuated the very thing they were trying to put an end to. By being so strict and unyielding, the church drove many of the common people to turn their backs on it. They took their pagan gods and turned them all into the all powerful Satan, just to give the church a slap in the face. This was the birth of the black mass and Satan worship, a chance for the common people of the time to forget about the harshness of their world and simply go wild. Are there any questions?"
Before any student could voice a query, bells resounded through the building and across the entire campus.
"Well, I'm sorry," Dolinger said. "We seem to have run out of time. I didn't mean to take up the entire class period lecturing. Why don't you read the rest of Mitchel for next time and we'll start the class with any questions you might have."
The students, in concert, gathered their books and papers and stampeded toward the door in their mad rush to make it to their next class. Paul was gathering his nerve to ask Linda for her number.
"Mr. Asenci, I need to see you before you leave," Dolinger called.
Paul turned, then looked back. Linda was two steps by him and headed away quickly. He shook his head and kicked himself for missing his chance. Oh, well, he thought, there was always next Monday. He walked to Professor Dolinger's desk.
"So, how are you feeling, Paul?" the professor asked. "Are you completely well?"
"I'm much better than I was two weeks ago," Paul said. "But I still don't think I'm a hundred percent."
"Spinal meningitis, wasn't it?" Dolinger asked.
"That's what they tell me," Paul said.
"Did you know you were in the paper?" Dolinger asked.
"No," Paul said. "Why?"
"The school gets very upset when a student comes down with such a serious illness. It's big news," Dolinger explained.
"Really?" Paul asked.
"I'm surprised you didn't know," Dolinger said. "With all the time you had off, I'm surprised you didn't read about yourself."
"I haven't been paying that much attention over the last couple of weeks," Paul said. "I nearly died."
"Meningitis is extremely serious," Dolinger said. "You're lucky to be alive."
"Don't I know it," Paul said. "It hit me real sudden. If Tom hadn't come in when he did, I certainly would have died. The doctors told me they caught it just in time. They said if I'd been untreated any longer, I wouldn't have had a chance."
"Who's Tom? You're roommate?" Dolinger asked.
"No, he's a friend," Paul said. "I live alone."
"Is that so?" Dolinger asked as he looked up to see a new set of students entering for the next class. "You don't see that very often in a college town. Well, I'd love to talk to you about it more, but we haven't the time. I just needed to know if you had come up with an idea for your term paper yet."
"I thought I'd do a paper on ouiji boards," Paul said.
"Ah yes, ouijis," Dolinger said. "Planchettes and cards. Looking into the spirit world. That ought to be most interesting. I look forward to reading it."
"I look forward to writing it," Paul said. "See you next week."
"Next week," Dolinger said as he made a note in his book and closed it.
Paul was heading out the door. Dolinger wasn't far behind.
The day was still warm and sunny as Paul stepped out of the building. The sky was clear and bright. Not even the wisp of a cloud threatened to sully it. A calm wind blew over Paul's face. Still, there was a hint of haze over the bright sunshine. A ghost's shadow maintained its residence in the back of Paul's mind. Waiting. Lurking. He didn't let it bother him. It was glorious to be alive. He took a deep breath and made his way through the throbbing mass of students, toward home.
* * * *
Chapter 2: Home
Phinius greeted Paul at the door. The black long haired Persian meowed as it opened. Paul closed the door. Phinius meowed again as she slinked around his legs, caressing them with her head. Tehern, the calico, sat up on the arm of the couch and seemed to watch Paul. She didn't exactly look at him, but stared somewhat to his side, as if she spotted something intriguing behind him. Paul quivered slightly.
"It's just an effect of the recent illness," he thought.
He ignored Tehern and bent down to pet Phinius. She purred.
"How ya doin', girl?" he asked. "Are you hungry?"
Paul stepped into the hallway, took a quick right, took seven more steps, and was in his kitchen. He threw his mail on the counter, went to the cupboard, and brought down a can of cat food. As the sound of the electric can opener whirred through the apartment, Tehern came trotting in from the living room. Both cats stuck their faces in the bowl and began eating as he emptied the food into it. He filled up their water dish, took his mail into the living room, and began going through it.
"Junk," he said to himself. "Phone bill. Junk."
He threw his mail down on the coffee table as if disgusted, leaned back, and closed his eyes for a second. He needed to do something, but he didn't know what. Recuperating had taken too much out of him. He had lost touch with his world. He opened his eyes and stared at the blank screen of his television. He thought about turning it on, but he couldn't bring himself to move. Phinius jumped up next to him and rubbed her head against his leg.
"What is it girl?" Paul said as he scratched the black Persian behind the ear. "Need some attention?"
Phinius curled up on Paul's lap, laid there, and purred. Tehern crept in from the kitchen, sat upon the arm of the couch, and stared at the two. Paul looked toward the calico. The cat did not meet his stare, but looked past him intensely, as if something stood motionless behind him. Silent. Lurking.
Paul slowly scanned his surroundings. He took stock of everything he had. To his left, only a couple of feet from his end table, a large window looked out across the athletic field. A brass lamp and the telephone sat on the end table, waiting to be used. Across from him, in the corner, a small spiral staircase ran up to the bedrooms. One he slept in, the other he used for his computer. The TV sat a little to the right of the stairway. Next to it was his stereo system. Behind him hung the only picture he owned. It was a painting of a girl in a light dress standing next to a bridge across a river in the middle of a field of golden grain. He was fond of that picture. There was a little dining area in front of the kitchen which was occupied by a table and four chairs. All his furniture was fairly new. He was proud of his possessions.
He thought for a moment about the things he owned. His possessions. His cats. His apartment. He had more than most kids his age, in his position, but he had far less. He sighed and shook his head. What would have happened to his things if he hadn't made it? Where would they have ended up? He didn't know. It was too quiet.
Paul gently lifted Phinius off his lap and laid her back down on the couch. The cat rolled over and began to lick herself. Paul walked to his stereo and looked through his CDs. He chose a CD by The Church and put it in the player. A ghostly melody filled the room. The airy, haunting sounds cascaded around his head. He looked out the window. Sunshine blared through it. He wanted the warmth and fresh air of the day. He began a slow climb up the spiral staircase.
He stood on his balcony and gazed across the athletic fields. East of them, to his left, stood a large field house. Inside were tennis courts, racquetball courts, basketball courts, running tracks, weight rooms, a swimming pool, all the necessities for the students and faculty of the university to keep fit. He watched a group of students playing a pick up game of ultimate Frisbee. They darted around each other, crashing into one another furiously as they threw, dived and scampered for the flying disc. Teamwork. Group activities. Paul knew neither. He was a loner. He felt a swim might be nice.
"Paul?" a voice bellowed inside his apartment. "Paul!"
"I'm out here," Paul yelled back.
Moments later, a young, good looking man with sandy brown hair wandered out onto the balcony.
"Hi Tom," Paul said.
"Hi. Whatcha doin'?" Tom asked.
"Just watching," Paul said. "It's a nice day. I was thinking about going for a swim."
"So, you're feeling better?" Tom asked.
"Much," Paul said.
"Are ya up for goin' out tonight?" Tom asked.
"Where?"
"I thought we could hit The Library," Tom said. "They got a two for one special after six tonight."
"I don't know," Paul said. "The doctors told me I shouldn't drink for a while."
"C'mon, Paul," Tom said. "You've been laid up for two weeks. It's Friday night. How long do they expect you to be a saint?"
"Yeah. I suppose you're right," Paul said. "I could use a couple of beers."
"Great," Tom said. "Got anything to eat?"
"What's the matter? Did your meal ticket expire?" Paul asked.
"Dorm food? Yech! You don't expect me to eat that, do ya? Not when I can get real food here."
Paul exhaled hard.
"Well, I don't have much," he said. "But, I'll see what I can whip up. Let's go downstairs."
The pair went inside. Paul felt almost relieved to have Tom with him. Perhaps he had been too alone these past few weeks. Maybe he needed more friends. He felt as if Tom chased away the ghosts that were haunting him. They faded away with the golden sunlight as he moved deeper into the darkness of his apartment. Death was a long way behind him now, or too far in his future.
Paul hardly noticed the sunshine streaming into his living room as he came down the stairs. Tom made it easier for him to clear his mind of the strange thoughts that had been going through it. The presence of another human life helped. He headed for the kitchen. Tom flopped down on the couch and made himself at home.
"Mind if I see what's on the tube?" Tom asked.
"Not at all," Paul said as he opened the freezer.
Paul heard the music stop as Tom turned off the stereo. The steady drone of some mindless sitcom took its place. He found some frozen hamburger and corn. In the refrigerator, he had some hamburger buns left, some ketchup, mustard, and half an onion wrapped in cellophane. He made a note of the fact that he needed to buy groceries. He had cleaned out all his spoiled food the day before, but hadn't felt like going to the store. He heard Tom talking to his cats. Paul put the hamburger in the microwave to thaw.
"All I got is hamburger and corn," Paul told Tom as he walked out of the kitchen.
"Beats chipped beef," Tom said, completely engrossed by the TV.
Paul flopped down next to Tom. He watched the television for a moment, but found he couldn't get involved with the inane characters fumbling around inside it. Its motions and sounds, its inadequate representations of life, held no interest for him anymore. He wondered how he could have seen so much in it earlier, before his illness. He looked over at Tom. His friend's fingers scratched mindlessly behind Phinius's ear as his eyes remained transfixed on the flickering phosphorus screen. Tom didn't even seem to notice that he had a tiny life in his lap. Phinius didn't seem to mind, though. The cat sat perfectly still with its eyes closed and purred loudly enough for Paul to hear it.
"Phinius seems to have taken a liking to you," Paul commented.
"Huh? What?" Tom asked as he tore his attention from the TV.
"You know, Phinius," Paul repeated. "She sure seems to like you now."
"Yeah? Well, I fed her, ya know, and we spent some time together," Tom said.
"Yeah," Paul hesitated a moment.
"Listen. I want to thank you for taking care of my cats when I was sick," he said.
"Hey, no sweat," Tom said. "I enjoyed it. I hope you don't mind that I used this place while you were in the hospital."
"Not at all," Paul said. "In fact, I'm glad someone was looking after my place. I have a lot of stuff here. I'd hate to have anything happen to it."
"I was meaning to ask you," Tom said as he looked down at the cat he was petting. "Where did you get those stupid names?"
"What stupid names?"
"For your cats," Tom said. "You know, Phinius and Tehern."
"Oh," Paul said, then thought for a moment. "Phinius is from Phinius J. Boggs. He was a time traveler on a show on PBS. Tehern is from a John Wayne movie I saw years ago. There was a character named Theodore Bedouin Tehern. The Tehern part was the part I liked. Tehern is a tough cat."
"He's a weird cat, that's what he is," Tom said. "Look at him now. What the hell do you think he's staring at?"
Paul looked over his shoulder. Tehern sat on the arm of the couch and gazed intensely at a spot behind Tom.
"I don't know," he said. "God only knows what she sees with those eyes."
"He gave me the creeps a couple of times," Tom said. "He'd dart out of nowhere and shoot past me when I came in to feed him."
"I know, she's done that to me too," he emphasized the word she.
"You know though," Tom said, "it was the weirdest thing. When I came in that day and found you sick, it was that cat that led me to you. I noticed that the door was open and, when I walked in, she," he emphasized the word she to show he had gotten the hint, "was meowing nonstop. I thought maybe she had hurt herself and I had to go upstairs to check it out. She was sitting up there at your feet, meowing away. It was like she was calling for help, ya know? I tried to wake you, and you wouldn't move. You scared the shit out of me, man. Like, I didn't know if you were still alive or what. I didn't know what to do, so I called the ambulance. That cat meowed the whole time. I think she was scared."
Paul had watched Tom with interest and listened carefully as he spoke. He had never heard such emotion in his voice. Tom had never been so real, so alive, as he had just now been.
"Or," Paul thought, "I'd just never noticed before, how alive he is."
Everything seemed clearer these last few days. Better defined. Fuller. Richer. Paul continued to stare at Tom for a long moment after he had finished, then bobbed his head up and down slightly.
"Yeah, I guess maybe she was," Paul said. "You're right, that is weird. If anything, I'd figure Phinius would be the one to get upset. She's the one that likes people."
"Oh, she was at the door when I came in," Tom said. "She nearly tripped me when I tried to go upstairs, she was so tangled in my feet."
"Well," Paul said as he looked at Tehern, who still stared at the nothingness behind Tom. "I don't know what goes on inside that little head of yours, but thank you."
He reached out to pet the cat's head. It jumped and darted into the kitchen.
"I guess I'm just lucky to have her around," he said to Tom.
"You know," Tom said thoughtfully, "maybe you should consider getting a roommate."
"I have," Paul said. "A few weeks ago, I would have said I preferred being alone, but now I don't know. But, I also don't know if I'm ready to take on a roommate."
He paused and thought for a second.
"Remember how you said I scared the shit out of you when you found me?" he asked after a moment. "Well, there's nothing more frightening than dying alone. I was by myself up there, and I knew I was dying. I knew there was nothing I could do about it. Strange things go through your head when death is so near."
He paused again.
"Anyway, I don't want to think about it. I don't want a roommate, per se, but you can crash here anytime you want," he said
"Cool," Tom said as he turned his head back toward the TV.
The pair fell into a comfortable silence as the television droned on. They let it take them into a state of mindlessness. Numbness. Disassociation. For Paul, death seemed a million miles away. So did life. As dusk began to fall, he got up only because his belly told him it was time to eat.
* * * *
Chapter 3: Out
The Library was a good sized bar. It was famous on campus for its specialty drinks like Gone With the Wind, The Sun also Rises, The Turn of a Screwdriver, and the most popular Moby Dick. During the week, the place was seldom crowded. Paul knew because he would stop by every once in a while after classes.
There were a group of regulars at the bar who were there nearly every night. Paul knew them fairly well, he knew their names and faces, but he didn't know much more about them. And they didn't know much about him. Though he was a semi regular at the bar, he didn't talk much to the other patrons. He had preferred to sit by himself in a lonely booth and watch.
But this was a Friday night. The bar was hopping. Student patrons crammed themselves into the bar until it was filled well past capacity. They brushed and pushed past each other as they looked for a place to settle themselves and take root for a few minutes.
Beer and liquor flowed from spigots and bottles like the blood flowing from the neck of a sacrificial animal, and the bar patrons consumed it with great delight. The jukebox blurted out its music viciously, but it could not kill the buzz of conversation which lived in the tiny pockets of space between bodies. Paul found he didn't mind the crowd. This was life. He wanted to partake in it. He no longer wished to remain alone.
Paul and Tom had been lucky. They had managed to arrive early enough to find a booth. They sat across from each other and watched the coeds as they jostled by. Around themselves, they maintained one of the largest areas of empty space in the bar. Most of the other booths had six to eight people squeezed into them. Though he was with Tom, Paul still felt alone. He was part of the crowd, yet he remained apart from it. He looked into his beer. It was nearly empty.
"Oh man, look at her," Tom said as a lanky girl with long, dark hair walked by. "What a nice butt."
"She's alright," Paul said as he eyed the beauty.
"Alright? She's fine," Tom commented.
"You think everything with tits is fine. There's a hundred better looking women in here tonight," Paul said.
"I don't know about that. She had a perfect ass," Tom said.
"It wasn't that great, Tom," Paul said. "You just liked her because she looked at you as she went by."
"Well, you know what they say," Tom paused as he took a big swig of his beer. "Beggars can't be choosers. Need another beer? I'm buying."
Paul looked down into his beer.
"Yeah, sure," he said, then he drained his glass and handed it to Tom.
"Back in a sec," Tom said as he stood and melded into the crowd.
Paul watched his friend shoulder his way toward the bar for a moment, then twisted his head around and looked behind himself. The booth behind his was crammed with people. Three men and three women played a game of quarters at it. Paul watched one of the men roll a quarter off his nose. It bounced over the glass in the middle of the table. The girl next to him reached out and grabbed it. She held it between her thumb and index finger and measured her shot. The quarter bounced off the table and clinked into the glass. She made her boyfriend, who sat across from her, drink. He drained the glass and set it back in the middle of the table. They refilled it with beer and the girl took her next shot. She made it again.
Paul's attention wandered past them and he watched the people playing darts in the back. The Library had a bank of ten electronic boards. Groups of students played at each of the boards. They joked and laughed as darts flew through the air and thudded into the boards, causing them to beep or buzz. A small television monitor kept score on each of the boards. The more Paul watched, the more his desire to play grew. He became entranced with the games and turned off his mind to the rest of the world around him.
"Mind if we sit here?" a feminine voice right next to him suddenly said.
Paul let out a yelp as he quickly jerked his head around. Two dark haired girls sat at his booth, one next to him, one across from him, taking Tom's place. They giggled as the surprised look warped Paul's facial features. His hand planted itself over his heart.
"You shouldn't sneak up on people like that," Paul exclaimed mildly.
"I'm sorry. I couldn't resist," the girl sitting next to Paul said. "You were so wrapped up watching what was behind you, you made it easy. Besides, we needed a place to sit."
"That's okay," Paul breathed a little easier. "I was watching them play darts.".
"Was it that interesting?" the girl across from Paul asked.
"I don't know," Paul said. "I guess I was just spacing out. I'm Paul, by the way."
"I'm Tanya," the girl next to Paul said.
"I'm Kelly," the girl across from him introduced herself.
"What are you doing here by yourself?" Tanya asked.
"I'm not really alone," Paul said. "I'm with a friend. He went to get us another beer."
"Yeah? Is he good looking?" Kelly asked.
"I don't know," Paul said. "I suppose so. I don't know how to judge another guy's looks."
"It's easy," Kelly said. "You just look at his butt."
"Kelly!" Tanya scolded. "You're terrible. Don't you ever think of anything else?"
"Well, it's the truth," Kelly said. "As long as a guy has a nice butt, he usually has a good bod and a decent face."
"Well, I don't make a habit of looking at other guys' butts," Paul said. "Now girls' butts, that's another story. I can tell you if a girl has a nice butt, but I couldn't tell the difference between a good butt and an ugly butt on a guy."
"I like 'em nice and tight, know what I mean?" Kelly said. "I like them small and perky, but muscular, with a lot of power. Does your friend have that kind of butt?"
"Kelly!" Tanya exclaimed. "You're embarrassing me. And I'm sure Paul doesn't like being asked about his friend's butt. Can't you ask about something not so personal? Like maybe his hair?"
"It's okay," Paul said. "I don't mind."
"Well I do," Tanya said. "Here we just met you, and Kelly has to talk about people's butts."
"There's nothing wrong with talking about really important things," Kelly said. "I don't care that much about a guy's hair, as long as it's kept nice. I can get over bad hair, as long as the guy has a nice butt. At least I didn't ask him about his friend's package."
"Now that's something I really try to avoid noticing," Paul said.
"Stop it, Kelly," Tanya said. "All you ever think about is guys' butts. I think you need your hormone levels checked."
"Anyway, here comes Tom now," Paul said. "You can judge for yourself how his butt looks."
Kelly looked over her shoulder. Tom's gymnast physique moved toward them, gracefully avoiding bodies in the crowd as his hands each carried a glass of beer without spilling a drop. His brown eyes sparkled spritely under his slightly wind blown hair. The smile under his Romanesque nose grew as he saw the girls sitting with Paul and creased his face at the corners of his mouth.
"Oh, he's cute," Kelly said as she turned her face back toward Tanya and Paul.
"And you can't even see his butt from this angle," Tanya said.
"I don't have to," Kelly said. "He looks just fine from this angle."
"Hi," Tom said as he arrived at the table. "I'm Tom. I take it you already met Paul."
"Tom, this is Kelly and Tanya," Paul introduced the girls quickly.
"Hi," both girls said in unison.
"Well, I'm rather surprised," Tom said as he sat and handed Paul a beer. "Paul usually frightens the girls away."
"Now why would anyone be scared of such a nice guy," Tanya said. "He seems friendly enough. Besides, he looked so lonely and cute sitting here by himself."
"Well," Tom started to say something.
"Would you girls like a drink," Paul asked before Tom could finish his thought, "I'm sure Tom will be happy to get it. I'm buying."
"Since you're buying, I'll get it," Tom said.
"I'd like a rum and coke," Tanya said.
"I'd really like a Moby Dick," Kelly said as she eyed Tom.
"I bet you would," Tom said as he returned her glance.
"Here," Paul handed Tom a ten dollar bill. "Hurry back."
"You bet," Tom said as he gave Kelly a long look, then turned and shuffled his way through the milling crowd.
"Wow, he's great," Kelly said when Tom was out of earshot.
"Kelly, you just met him," Tanya said. "How can you tell how great he is? You don't even know what he's like."
"I don't need to know what he's like, just how he looks," Kelly said. "I like what I see."
"You have no shame," Tanya said.
"How about you, Tanya?" Paul jumped into the conversation. "Are you more concerned with how a guy looks, or with what his personality is like?"
"Well," Tanya elongated the word and thought for a moment. "I'm not going to lie. Looks are important. But I think it's just as important to know someone well. A guy has to be nice. His personality has to be agreeable to me."
"So, what made you come over here when you saw me?" Paul asked.
Tanya shrugged.
"I don't know," she said. "I needed to sit down, and you were here alone. You looked nice enough, and I thought you could use some company."
"I looked nice?" Paul questioned.
"Don't let her fool you," Kelly interrupted. "She told me you looked cute."
"Kelly," Tanya exclaimed.
"It's the truth," Kelly defended.
"Really?" Paul asked.
"Well, I do think I did say something to that effect," Tanya said. "But she shouldn't have repeated it. I feel so embarrassed."
"You shouldn't," Paul said. "I think you're cute, too."
"Oh yeah?" Tanya said. "What do you like most about me?"
Paul looked hard into Tanya's face. She stared back into his. His vision passed across her bone structure. He glanced over the perfect sculpturing of her facial features and the way her dark brown hair, styled short and full, accentuated these features. He hardly noticed how well her small nose blended into her face. He didn't take in how Tanya's subtle make-up touches highlighted her strong points. He recognized only subconsciously that this was a very well kept face. His eyes locked with hers and tried to catch a glimpse of what was behind them. There was a long silence between the two as the drone of the tavern cascaded in the depths of their ears. Kelly watched them with interest.
"I'd have to say your eyes," Paul suddenly spoke without looking away from Tanya. "They're so dark and deep. They give you substance."
"Oh?" Tanya said as she leaned in a little closer to Paul. "Most guys notice my figure first."
"Well," Paul said as he turned his gaze away from Tanya and wrapped his hands around his beer. "You've been sitting this whole time. I haven't really had a chance to notice your body, yet."
Tanya smiled.
"That's a pleasant change, I suppose," she said. "Most guys have only one thing on their minds."
Paul sighed.
"I used to be like that," he said. "But I haven't thought about sex much, recently. I've had other things on my mind."
"Like what?" Tanya asked.
"Oh, just things," Paul said as he continued to stare into his beer. "You know. The meaning of life. What we're all doing here. Death. That kind of thing."
"Wow, you're deep," Kelly suddenly interjected. "You've got to stop being so serious or people will think you're disturbed. Learn to have fun."
"I know how to have fun," Paul said.
"You wouldn't know it by what you've just said and how you're acting," Kelly said. "You were sitting here all alone and depressed and now you're talking about death. That doesn't sound like much fun to me."
"Hey, lighten up, Kelly," Tanya said. "Maybe the poor guy has a reason to be depressed. Did you just break up with a girlfriend, or something?"
"No," Paul said. "No. Nothing like that. Kelly's right. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so depressing. Let's change the subject, okay? What do you girls study?"
"I'm a psychology major," Tanya said.
"I study boys," Kelly said.
"I hope my friend here hasn't been boring you two," Tom said as he returned with the girls' drinks. "One rum and coke," he handed Tanya her drink. "And one Moby Dick. That's a powerful drink. I hope you can handle it," he told Kelly.
"I don't have any problem handling Moby Dicks," Kelly said, then sucked hard on the cocktail straw in her drink. "They make me feel good."
Tom smiled.
"You better watch yourself," he said. "Those things have a hell of a kick later on."
"Don't worry about me. I can handle my liquor," Kelly said as she put down her drink. "If I was you, I'd worry more about what you can handle."
"Right about now, I think I can handle about anything thrown at me," Tom said as he looked over his beer with gleaming eyes.
"I don't know," Kelly said as her eyes gleamed back at him. "You look pretty out of shape to me."
"Hey, I'm in the best of shape," Tom responded vehemently. "I work out every day."
"I can believe that," Kelly said. "But you ain't never been prepared for the kind of work out I can give you."
"Kelly's such a tease," Paul had been enthralled with Kelly and Tom's conversation and now spun his attention toward Tanya as she spoke softly to him. "She really doesn't mean anything. She just loves to flirt. Seriously. I can't be like that."
"I sort of admire Tom for the way he handles her," Paul said. "I'd be too stunned to say anything back if a girl spoke to me like that. I'd probably look like an idiot."
"You know, Paul, I'd really like to get to know you a little better," Tanya hesitated for a moment. "I mean, you know, talk a little. Like, what kind of person are you? What do you like to do?"
"Well, I like darts," Paul said. "Tom and I used to play at least once a week. I haven't been out for a few weeks though. Do you like darts?"
"Sure," Tanya said.
"Wanna play?" Tom asked.
"Okay," Tanya said.
"How about Kelly?" Paul asked.
"Ask her yourself," Tanya said.
"Tom, Kelly," Paul interrupted the pair's conversation, "You guys wanna play darts?"
"Oooo, darts," Kelly said. "I love darts."
"I got my darts," Tom said as he reached into his front pocket and pulled out his own dart set. "Let's go play."
The foursome grabbed their drinks and rose from the table. Paul dug in his pocket and found a few quarters. He gave them to Tom to reserve a dart board.
"Here," he said as he gave his friend the coins. "I've got to go to the bar to get more quarters. I'll be right there."
"You got it," Tom said as he and the girls started toward the back.
Paul watched them for a moment before he turned to start toward the bar. The throng of inebriated bodies flowed across his vision and blocked his way. A river of faces pushed and shuffled by him. Talking. Laughing. Confused. They took no notice of him standing there. No eye turned his way as they passed.
With his friends away from him, Paul felt as if he had lost his form, become as a shadow on the floor. He shook himself as the feeling crept over his soul and fought to regain his physical self. The crowd broke and presented an opening to him. He scampered across the floor nervously, worried that the crowd would close in and pour over him, take him away to unexplored places in his mind. It was a strange paranoia, one he hadn't experienced before.
He nearly collapsed on the bar when he reached it. There was a mild dizziness spinning in his head. It was odd, he thought. He had never felt like that before his illness. He had always felt comfortable in crowds, like he belonged.
"Paul," a voice next to him knew his name. "Are you alright? You look awful."
Paul turned his head to the left and spotted a familiar face looking at him.
"Joe," he said with a gasp. "You scared me a little."
"Something wrong?" the large, round faced man said. "You look a little out of it, dude."
"I'm okay," Paul said. "I just spaced out for a second."
"I guess," Joe said. "Where've you been? I haven't seen you lately."
Paul cocked his head a little.
"Didn't you hear?" he said. "I was in the hospital. I nearly died."
"Wow. I didn't know," Joe said, then he took a long swallow of his beer. "How did it happen?"
Paul studied the man sitting next to him. He seemed to teeter in his seat, back and forth, back and forth. Joe was a regular at The Library. Paul realized he had probably been there since early in the afternoon. His brain was most likely swimming in alcohol. Paul hadn't ever talked to him much, except to say hi. He wondered if Joe would even remember this conversation in the morning.
"Meningitis," Paul said. "I had meningitis."
"Bummer," Joe said, then slammed the rest of his beer.
He caught the bartender's attention and waved him over.
"I'm glad to see you're better. Another beer," he said as the bartender arrived.
Paul waved a five dollar bill at the bartender, but he started to walk away without noticing.
"Excuse me," Paul said in an irritated tone. "Could I have five dollars in quarters please?"
"Yeah, sure," the bartender said a little cautiously.
He snatched Paul's money and scurried off to go about his business.
Paul glanced around himself as he waited. Joe sat staring at the bartender as he drew his beer. An alcoholic haze exuded from his body. He looked past the sodden man and over the crowd milling about. Something drew his eyes toward it. They stopped and met a pair staring at him from across the room. A blonde. Linda. She was at the bar, maybe ten, fifteen feet away. She smiled at him. Paul smiled back. She waved. Paul turned his head away as the bartender slapped down Joe's beer.
"Here you go," he said and handed Paul his quarters.
Paul pocketed the coins and turned to look back at Linda again. She was gone. Impossible. Where could she have disappeared to? He had only turned away for a second. Paul looked around, frantic. He had wanted to speak with her. This would have been the perfect chance.
Joe was tipping his beer. The bartender had gone on to the next customer. The crowd continued to shuffle by. Paul scanned the entire room. Linda had completely vanished. He stepped into the flowing crowd, twisting and turning his head, almost in a panic. Linda was nowhere to be seen. He had so wanted to talk to her. Now she was gone. The crowd shuttled him toward the dart boards in the back.
"What took you so long?" Tom's voice startled Paul.
"I.., I saw someone I knew at the bar," Paul said.
"C'mon, the girls are waiting," Tom said.
He paused for a moment and looked Paul over.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Paul said.
"Let's go, then," Tom said. "We have a dart board."
Paul looked up past Tom's face. His vision was obscured by a haze which hung back here. Life abounded around him. He focused on Kelly and Tanya. The vision of Linda was pushed to the back of his mind. The shadowy death that had been hanging back there vacated its spot for her. He approached the girls. He could use a good game of darts. He needed something to concentrate on.
* * * *
Chapter 4: Party
The bull’s-eye loomed large in Paul's vision. He held his dart out straight and measured his shot. He cocked his arm back and let the dart fly. It hit the bull. Beepers went off. Lights flashed. Another win. He and Tanya had teamed up for six in a row against Tom and Kelly after losing the first two.
"Yes," Paul exclaimed as he made a fist and thrust it back and forth through the air. Tanya gave him an enthusiastic hug.
"Welp, I've had enough," Tom slurred his speech and slugged down the rest of his beer. "I need another beer."
"Me too," Kelly's speech was also slurred. She slammed the rest of her beer.
"You've had enough," Tanya told her with authority. "Those three Moby Dicks you've had are catching up with you."
"I could've handled more if you hadn't stopped me," Kelly complained.
Paul took a look around the bar. The crowd had thinned out significantly. A number of people were watching them play. He recognized a couple of them. Regulars. The spectators helped keep him steady. Paul hadn't drunk half as much as Tom, yet he felt he had already drunk too much. The evening was getting late. He was ready to call it a night.
"I think we should leave," he said. "I'm a little tired."
"That's okay with me," Tanya said. "I don't need to close this bar."
"Here's an idea," Tom said. "Buy us a couple of six packs and take this party back home."
"I don't know," Paul said as he pulled out his wallet and checked his money.
"Ah, c'mon, Paul," Kelly staggered two steps, threw her arms over Paul's shoulders and leaned close to his face. "I never go to a strange guy's house unless he has something to offer me."
"Yeah, Paul, it's Friday night," Tom said. "I still wanna party."
Paul sighed heavily. In reality, he had wanted to be left alone, and yet, he wanted company. Deep inside, he was still a little confused. He felt he needed time to himself to sort things out, yet he was worried that if he didn't keep people around him he would fade away to nothing. Besides, forty dollars had already evaporated from his wallet. But, he especially didn't want to let Tom down. He felt he owed him.
"Okay, okay," Paul said with exasperation. "Let's get a twelve pack to go and get outta here."
He handed Tom a ten dollar bill.
"Thanks buddy," Tom said as he snagged the money and made a beeline for the bar.
"Well, I guess you do know how to have fun," Kelly said in a slurred voice as she ran her finger down Paul's chest.
"Kelly," Tanya said in a threatening tone.
"Don't worry," Kelly said as she broke her contact with Paul. "I'm just playing. I don't mean anything by it."
Tanya pulled herself next to Paul.
"Yeah, right," she said under her breath.
"Let's head for the door," Paul said to her.
The pair stepped out into a warm, starry night. The crowds on the street had shrunk considerably, congregating at various frat houses and buildings across campus town to continue their revelry. Their murmurings, the loud music and delirious shouts, floated through the air above their heads. The few people on the streets, the stragglers of the student body, migrated toward the parties. Rushing. Stumbling. Oblivious to other life.
They hurried toward the after hours parties as if all the alcohol would evaporate before they arrived, or the party would be a mirage and dissipate before their eyes should they take their time. Not one of these people stopped to realize the beauty of the night, or the perfection of the weather. Only Paul seemed contented to do this.
"C'mon, let's move it," Tom said as he appeared in the doorway. "Time's a wastin'."
"What's your hurry?" Paul asked. "We're not going anywhere special."
"This beer ain't getting any colder," Tom held up the bag in his hand and belched.
"Excuse me," he said, then added. "And I'm not getting any younger."
Paul sighed. He shook his head and began walking down the sidewalk. Tanya stayed at his side. Tom and Kelly remained behind the pair, Kelly hanging on Tom. Paul weaved an aura of solitude around himself. He let his mind and soul drift into the atmosphere above campus town.
Tonya felt the uneasy with the silence, so she broke it.
"So, you're a History major," she said. "What do you plan to do with that?"
"Huh? What?" Paul snapped his head back to the real world.
"I said," Tanya repeated herself in an agitated tone, "what do you plan to do with a History major? Are you deaf, or what?"
"I'm sorry," Paul said. "My mind was somewhere else."
"Is something wrong with you?" Tanya asked. "Do I bore you or something?"
"No," Paul said. "God no. I didn't mean to ignore you. I've just been spacing out a lot lately. What is it you wanted to know?"
"I asked you what you were planning to do with a History major," Tanya repeated again.
"I don't know," Paul said. "Teach, I guess. I could become an historian. I really don't know. I only know history fascinates me."
"What's so fascinating about history?" Tanya asked. "It's just a bunch of names and dates. Pretty boring stuff, if you ask me."