Chapter 12: Rabbit Hole
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After our encounter behind the school, I started to view the tarot girl differently. We met again in the art studio for our Traditional Media class. She acted the same as always, isolating herself in the corner.
She was an entirely different person in public. Gone was that mischievous troublemaker that liked to mess with others and act the part of a mysterious soothsayer. In her place, there was a focused and disciplined artist dedicated to her craft.
If there was any change in her behavior at all, it was simply that she stopped drawing in her sketchbook and switched instead to an easel and canvas, beginning work on a new project: an oil painting. I was curious about what she might create, but I chose to let her be and instead focus on my own work.
The rest of my day continued as normal. In Photography class, we were assigned a portfolio project to complete before the end of the term. I decided I’d start carrying my camera with me whenever possible. This was the suggestion of the teacher and some of my classmates were already doing the same.
The purpose was supposed to be to always have your camera close at hand when inspiration struck, but my intentions were a little bit different. I wanted to capture evidence if my stalker showed themself.
My phone could take pictures, but this way I literally had a camera dangling from my neck on a strap, ready at all times. Plus, the fancy DSLR they gave me doubled up, using both a memory card and negative film. If I managed to snap a photo of the person, I’d have both digital and physical proof of their existence.
I continued with my routine until later that night, where I once again found myself up late in the library. Though, rather than studying in the main hall, this time I was doing more research in the computer lab. I really should get myself a laptop or something, but public computers would suffice for now.
The lab was a small room in the back of the library past the bookshelves and reading areas. There were only a dozen or so PCs lined up in neat rows, all identical outdated machines. They looked like they belonged in the 90s with their cream-colored towers and rounded edges. The one I was using even had an old CRT monitor that hummed with white noise.
Rosemont obviously had better computers available. In fact, they had multiple other labs. I’d seen one in the main building with brand new iMacs specialized for graphics and design work.
Even so, I still preferred this forgotten little corner of campus. It was out of the way and always deserted, meaning I had it all to myself. Plus, I was coming to the library every evening anyway, so I might as well use this place. I turned the overhead lights off and had a take-away coffee beside me, settling in for a long night.
As for what I was researching? Well, it started out as another attempt to find clues towards the hanged girl’s identity. But it had since spiraled into all kinds of nonsensical tangents.
Honestly, I was ready to give up on the quest. There was seriously not a single trace of this person. It was no wonder her disappearance didn’t garner any attention when, as far as Rosemont was concerned, she didn’t exist.
I’d long since exhausted every conceivable angle to search from. It had reached the point where I was resorting to skimming blog posts and the school’s forum. Truly scraping the bottom of the barrel.
Several hours into my hopeless journey, I stumbled across a link to a random article on an external site, titled ‘Urban Legends of Rosemont’. Normally, I would have scrolled right past something like this, but for some reason it caught my eye. Maybe my brain was desperate for entertainment after hours of coming up dry.
The article detailed a few unexplained events and “real” supernatural phenomena that happened in the academy or the surrounding area. Some had sources listed, but it was difficult to take seriously. Those sources were often amateur websites filled with the ramblings of conspiracy theorists. It read more like an anthology of horror stories, than a rigorously verified academic piece.
Most of the legends mentioned were nothing more than the usual tall tales that get passed around in a school. A student claimed to have found a finger in the cafeteria food. The third stall in the upstairs boys’ restroom was haunted. Those sorts of things.
But then, as I continued reading, I came across something that gave me pause.
> The Raven-haired Wraith of Rosemont. That is the name colloquially given to a mysterious entity believed by many to roam the academy after dark. With her existence collaborated by multiple first-hand accounts, she stands as one of the oldest and most widely-circulated legends on campus.
>
> The ‘Wraith’ is usually said to take the form of a girl with long raven-black hair and abnormally pale skin. Scattered sightings have been recorded dating back as far as 1991, with the most recent from just a year ago. Yet despite the long gaps between appearances, witnesses have always described her as being either a teenager or young adult.
That description sounded uncomfortably familiar. I thought back to the night I saw the hanged girl and the creepy way she seemed to look at me, almost like she was still alive. Intellectually, I knew it was just the breeze that made the body sway, but I still felt the hair on my arms stand on end.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
> Some accounts include the witness attempting to make contact with the girl, only for her to remain entirely unresponsive, muttering to herself as if talking to another unseen individual. Skeptics have pointed out that this could simply be the behavior of a person with a mental irregularity such as schizophrenia. However, this fails to explain the numerous other peculiarities surrounding her appearance.
>
> Given her apparent unaging nature, most speculations regarding the girl involve her being some variation of ghost, spirit, or spectre. One popular theory is that she suffered a terrible accident which resulted in her death. Others claim the girl took her own life and was cursed to remain in the mortal realm.
>
> It is often said that those who die under tragic circumstances may leave behind something like a fragment or ‘afterimage’ of their soul in our world. Other variations of the belief require the deceased to carry lingering regrets or a strong resentment towards the living. If such theories are-
The monitor’s already fuzzy and unfocused picture worsened. It became difficult to read with the way the text wobbled and the edges of the screen blurred. At some point, I had unknowingly leaned in so close that my nose nearly touched the glass, squinting as I struggled to decipher places that were illegible.
Frustrated with the way the ancient relic was glitching out, I gave the monitor a smack and cursed under my breath. For a moment, the image scrambled even further. Then miraculously, it cleared up again. I clicked my tongue and continued where I left off.
> If such theories are to be believed, then is it possible the Wraith was once an academy student?
>
> Rosemont has had no shortage of fatal incidents over the years. There are a number of events that can serve as possible origins for the entity. Perhaps she died in the tragic dormitory fire of June, 1979 in which several first-year students lost their lives. Or maybe she has some relation to the string of disappearances from 1986. (See link attached). There are countless ways her soul may have been bound to the academy.
>
> Popular science often disputes the existence of the soul or an afterlife, instead claiming that sentience results purely as an emergent behavior derived from the firing of neurons and synapses in the brain. However, studies by the world's foremost experts in paranormal research have shown clear evidence, time and again, that such a simplistic mechanism is wholly insufficient to explain the complexity of human consciousness.
>
> Given that we clearly have much left to learn about our own bodies and minds, who can say whether there is more after death? Who can say that entities like the Wraith are not the remnants of a soul left behind? Unfortunately, we will likely never know for certain how or why such things occur. She will forever remain one of many unexplained phenomena giving us a small glimpse into the unknown.
I clicked on the source attached, but it was a dead link. It simply navigated to a 404 page on a local news site. If there really had been a related story, it was gone now, either lost during a site update over the years or deleted for whatever reason.
Going back to the urban legends article, I instead scrolled up to find the author. There weren't any names listed, but it was published by a group calling themselves the ‘Truth Seekers Society’. Apparently, they were a student organization here at Rosemont. Maybe I could go to them for more information.
I turned my head away from the screen and let out a sigh. What was I doing? Was I seriously considering this? Whether I had seen a ghost? What was wrong with me?
This wasn’t like me. I was a rational person. I had never believed in any superstitions or the paranormal. In fact, I used to think people who fell for such pseudoscience were idiots. But then again, I didn’t believe in transmigration either until it happened.
An uncomfortable feeling crawled up my spine and refused to go away. It had been there for a while now, I just didn’t want to acknowledge it. Ever since I woke up that morning and found the dorm’s door repaired like magic, a question had been haunting me, gnawing at the back of my mind.
What if this wasn’t a normal world after all?
I didn’t want it to be true, but the idea was becoming harder and harder to push away. What if there was no killer or murder victim? What if the hanged girl, the intruder, and my stalker were all one and the same?
As I grappled with these thoughts, something caught my attention. The monitor fluctuated. The computer once again struggled to maintain a clear picture, the screen tearing and distorting with visual glitches. I turned my eyes towards it.
The unsettling sensation I had been trying to ignore solidified in my mind. I suddenly realized that I was cold. Very cold. As I exhaled, my breath condensed into vapor.
“...bzzt…I…bzz…”
Barely audible under crackling static, something came through the speakers. The longer I listened, the more it sounded vaguely like a feminine voice speaking to me.
“...Is…aac…”
I stared straight ahead, transfixed on the screen, afraid to make a sound. My pulse quickened along with my breathing. No. This wasn’t happening. It’s in my head. I was just tired and stressed.
“...Is..aac…Isaac…”
Ghosts aren’t real. My mind was playing tricks on me. There were still other ways to explain everything. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t–
“...Why? ...Why...won’t…you...answer?”
The static grew more intense as the voice became increasingly distressed.
“...Why? …Why? …Why? …WHY?”
The monitor’s glass cracked, forming a spider web of sharp splinters as if it had been smashed with a hammer from the inside. There was the sound of something shattering as the bulbs spontaneously blew out. The speakers fizzled for a second, before they fried as well. Then, the entire computer sputtered and whirred to a stop.
The voice was gone.
Without the screen’s light, I was plunged into pitch darkness. A scent like solder and burnt plastic hung in the air from the ruined electronics. Yet all I could do was sit there trying to process what I’d just seen.
I slowly swallowed my saliva... That’s enough research for one night.