Immerse yourself in the captivating and darkly humorous world inside the compelling novel Unnatural Circumstances. Embark on the journey of three unconventional individuals who willingly set out on an adventure only to become entangled in a disturbi...
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"Believe only half of what you see and nothing you hear."
- Edgar Allen Poe
April 25th, 1995
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
9:30 p.m.
Driving in the middle of the night is like doing a Physics test. You know you're going to bomb. It's stressful, and there is a fifty percent chance you might kill yourself over one dumb mistake.
Twenty-year-old Roman Darkhölme felt this when his teacher assigned him to write a four-page Monster Psychology thesis paper after class. She claims the assignment would replace the failing score Roman received on his last test. But instead of finishing his paper, Roman naps in his dorm room, listening to Metallica on his Sony Walkman.
Don't get him wrong; Roman wants to pass Monster Psychology, but he desires nothing more than to spend his last week of the spring semester in Hollingsworth curling under his thick, green covers.
Suppose you've never been to Pennsylvania. In that case, Hayworth Institute is an exceptional college dedicated to young witches, warlocks, or people with supernatural talents trained to defend the world from occult threats. Every student is accepted by race, gender, disability, class, or sexual orientation.
Though the college has courses ranging from Dark Arts to AP Greek Mythology, the college students could watch shows like Timon & Pumbaa in the breakroom, eat meals, and sign up for activities as long as they finish their assignments at the end of the day. But you're forced to do things you hate when you're a broke college kid with bills and student loans.
Roman wears a black Fishbone shirt and blue boxers.
His dark brown, coarse hair touches his thick, white pillows. Hazel green eyes stare at the black stitches running along his brown arms. Roman massages his black lip-piercing with his stitched thumb until he hears a knock on his door.
"Ugh, fuck off!" he yells.
The knock grows louder, prompting Roman to slam his head deep into his wrinkled pillows. He struggles to go to sleep until he hears someone twisting the bolted knob.
Roman swears under his breath. He scrambles out of bed, yanks a pair of brown, plaid pants off the floor, stumbles towards the pounding entrance, and unlocks the door to see a nineteen-year-old witch, Esme Sullivan, standing before him.
As Roman unlocks the door, the dim light filtering through the curtains casts a soft glow on Esme's soft features. Her eyes hold a glint of urgency, and Roman can't help but feel a pang of curiosity and irritation at the intrusion. The room feels charged with the weight of unspoken expectations, the air heavy with the scent of looming responsibilities.
The girl wears a green, cropped tank top and faded denim overalls. Her clunky, brown boots squish against the floor. An olive-brown bomber jacket conceals her sleek, brown arms. Dark dreadlocks run down her shoulders as Esme enters Roman's dorm room.
