Vo'ke

Twelve

It was two weeks before I even considered the journal. It sat at the bottom of a stack of textbooks, overshadowed by advanced accounting and notebooks filled with scribbles that resembled notes well enough that I'd maybe be able to glean something in time for the exam. I was spending more time in the library and rec center, and less time sleeping. Eventually, I visited the on campus clinic for sleeping pills, but they took too long to take hold and I woke in a haze the next day. It was during these pill-induced hangovers that the visions were most prominent.

At first, it was easy to ignore; things like fast moving shadows in the courtyard or the sound of a howl could be dismissed as tricks of light or street dogs, which weren't too uncommon near our campus. Slowly, it began to evolve into ghosted breaths along the nape of my neck or extreme reactions to sudden noises. Now it wasn't unusual to space during a class and imagine Scarlett's destroyed body slumped in one of the vacant seats in the lecture hall, her skin flayed apart in long tears like claw marks. I'd stare until my eyes watered, blink, and she would be gone.

This didn't go unnoticed by Niall or Zayn, who had both been making attempts to normalize me again by inviting me to a weekend show at the local pub or various house parties. I declined easily by hiding behind my coursework, but they knew I wasn't all there. It must have been a topic of discussion, because following my three-hour lecture on business law, Louis stood with his arms crossed just outside the exit.

"You look like you could use a drink, mate," he said. "But you have more classes tonight, so we'll have to settle for a tea."

I didn't mention that I'd cut off caffeine completely due to my sleep struggles. Instead, I dutifully followed him to the commons where I noticeably ordered nothing. Louis eyed me with a frown, but made no comment as he led us to a spot in the half-crowded café.

When we sat, my eyes drifted to a table where a singular person waited, clouded eyes staring straight at me. Henry had been following me for a few days, and it was easy to shift my attention back to Louis in an attempt to ignore the dead boy sitting at the table nearby. By the time I looked again, I was hoping he would be gone.

I knew Louis was there for a reason, but I let him take his time working up to it. He grumbled about his classes and Lisa Richards' total disinterest in him and what rubbish the weather was that day. He talked and talked, then finally fell into a silence the prefaced something more. Still, ever resilient, he led with a joke.

"But enough about me," Louis said before taking a long drag of his hot tea. "Let's talk about your paranoia." He paused, half-smiling before adding, "It's the thing everyone's talking about."

Before, maybe, I would have laughed. I would have called him a wanker and punched him playfully on the arm. But all I had left was to rub my fingers over my eyes and wish my migraine away.

"What happened with you and Scarlett?" he asked.

"Nothing. It doesn't matter."

"You're not the only one affected by this, Harry," he told me. "I live in those woods when I sleep. It's in my nightmares all the time."

I glanced behind him to the place where Henry still sat, staring blankly over at me. There was a clean slice across his throat, blood slowly trickling from the cut in his skin. It was dark, mixed with dirt and rain. His eyes were unseeing, white with cataracts, and they veiled the blue beneath. In my nightmares, sometimes he smiled this slow, dead smile that stretched further up on his face than any real grin could achieve. When I was awake, he looked the same as he did the night I killed him. Expressionless. Stoic.

"Harry," Louis snapped, and I sighed.

"It's different for me. This thing... It haunts me. It follows me around and I can't tell what's real and what isn't anymore."