A Call from the Dead
“I’m back!” I call, as I swing open the dormitory door, and my roommate greets me warmly, too. It’s been a fine school day; I aced the class again - another A plus. The teacher’s branded me as the best student of the year - and oh, did I feel triumphant as the other kids’ envious eyes all fixed on me, jealousy evident on their disapproving, frowning faces. I heard a few murmuring about Rachel - but it didn’t matter; all that was in the past anyways. “How was your day?” I ask casually, trying to make conversation, although it was always my roommate who asked so first. “Pretty okay,” she replied thoughtfully, but her face’s got a queer look today. “Look, I’ve got to tell you something. It may be important, or it may just be a hoax. Somebody just called while you were gone. I couldn’t quite make out the name - the connection was really bad - but it was a Rachel, I think. Maybe you should call her back.” And I gape at her, frozen, unable to move, suffering her accusing and penetrating gaze. Maybe she was mocking me, playing her part to see how much longer I could endure, to see how much longer till the secret unrevealed, enjoying every moment I slip and fall into an endless pitch. But she couldn’t possibly know about that. She wasn’t even here then. Nobody knows anything. Nobody, except me. …show more content…
on 13th February. The exact cause of death is currently undergoing an investigation; however, it seems to have been cyanide that fatally poisoned her to death. This is the sixth death having occurred on campus this year, following the death of Rachel Brown, and our four former prefects Angelina Edwards, Charlotte Hart, Isabella Hamilton and Elizabeth Woodfield, all of whom died in bizarre and unrelated ways. For so many deaths to have taken place in such a short time, you’d expect some consistency in the least - yet there are none, I’m afraid, save for one rather disturbing thing our student body tells
“I’m back!” I call, as I swing open the dormitory door, and my roommate greets me warmly, too. It’s been a fine school day; I aced the class again - another A plus. The teacher’s branded me as the best student of the year - and oh, did I feel triumphant as the other kids’ envious eyes all fixed on me, jealousy evident on their disapproving, frowning faces. I heard a few murmuring about Rachel - but it didn’t matter; all that was in the past anyways. “How was your day?” I ask casually, trying to make conversation, although it was always my roommate who asked so first. “Pretty okay,” she replied thoughtfully, but her face’s got a queer look today. “Look, I’ve got to tell you something. It may be important, or it may just be a hoax. Somebody just called while you were gone. I couldn’t quite make out the name - the connection was really bad - but it was a Rachel, I think. Maybe you should call her back.” And I gape at her, frozen, unable to move, suffering her accusing and penetrating gaze. Maybe she was mocking me, playing her part to see how much longer I could endure, to see how much longer till the secret unrevealed, enjoying every moment I slip and fall into an endless pitch. But she couldn’t possibly know about that. She wasn’t even here then. Nobody knows anything. Nobody, except me. …show more content…
on 13th February. The exact cause of death is currently undergoing an investigation; however, it seems to have been cyanide that fatally poisoned her to death. This is the sixth death having occurred on campus this year, following the death of Rachel Brown, and our four former prefects Angelina Edwards, Charlotte Hart, Isabella Hamilton and Elizabeth Woodfield, all of whom died in bizarre and unrelated ways. For so many deaths to have taken place in such a short time, you’d expect some consistency in the least - yet there are none, I’m afraid, save for one rather disturbing thing our student body tells