creative writing again
It was Saturday morning, but just barely. I didn't wear a watch, but Julia did, and she kept looking at it like it would tell her the next winning lotto numbers. It was a gaudy thing, all garish colours and cheap plastic with a picture of Rainbow Brite pasted on the face. It was meant for a child.
"1:16," she said in the stillness of the stairwell. Her voice echoed up the whole height of it. "He's late."
We sat on the flight of stairs that led from the first floor down to the back exit, Julia with her elbows on her knees and me leaning back against the step behind me. We were waiting for Jeremy, who had told us to meet him there by the door at one o'clock because he wanted to show us some brilliant thing he'd discovered. He said it was the creepiest thing he'd ever found on campus.
Julia had asked him why, then, we weren't going at midnight, to which Jeremy had replied it was too stereotypical. Not only that, but midnight wasn't as scary as one in the morning.
"Midnight is definitely night," he'd said. "You've got it right there in the name. But one o'clock is something different, you know? Still feels a lot like night, but it isn't. It's confused, see, and real still. Some crazy shit goes down at one in the morning."
I thought it was all a bit silly. We weren't in grade school anymore, or even high school. We were college students, and fairy stories and ghost tales didn't grab me like they used to, but Jeremy wouldn't let them go. He was our own personal Tom Sawyer, always making things up and dragging us off on "adventures" that never turned out to be anything more exciting than a short hike or a flat tire.
I tipped my head back onto my shoulders and stared up the center of the stairwell. Everything was a grimy sort of cream colour, like old lace, except for bits where the paint had flaked off to show an older, bright red colour. The places looked like wounds.
I heard Julia sigh, but even with the echo, the sound seemed dwarfed by the quiet. There was a lot more of it, and I found myself thinking that Jeremy was right. One o'clock was awfully still, but I blamed that on the fact that it was, in most people's minds, Friday night, which meant everyone was still out carousing around or had gone home for the weekend.
"Maybe he forgot," I ventured.
Julia turned to me with her face resting in her hand so that it mashed up her cheek. She looked doubtful.
"Not this. He was really gung-ho about this."
She was right, and a moment later Jeremy's face appeared against the glass of the exit door. He took care to fog up the whole window making faces before he pulled the door open and came inside, arms wide open and face split with a wide grin.
"Hello, ladies!" he said loudly, putting an end to that almost palpable quiet. "Ready to get scared?"
Jeremy's mother used to say that Jeremy had a birthmark across his ass that spelled out trouble. I'd never seen Jeremy's ass, but I was inclined to believe it.
"1:16," she said in the stillness of the stairwell. Her voice echoed up the whole height of it. "He's late."
We sat on the flight of stairs that led from the first floor down to the back exit, Julia with her elbows on her knees and me leaning back against the step behind me. We were waiting for Jeremy, who had told us to meet him there by the door at one o'clock because he wanted to show us some brilliant thing he'd discovered. He said it was the creepiest thing he'd ever found on campus.
Julia had asked him why, then, we weren't going at midnight, to which Jeremy had replied it was too stereotypical. Not only that, but midnight wasn't as scary as one in the morning.
"Midnight is definitely night," he'd said. "You've got it right there in the name. But one o'clock is something different, you know? Still feels a lot like night, but it isn't. It's confused, see, and real still. Some crazy shit goes down at one in the morning."
I thought it was all a bit silly. We weren't in grade school anymore, or even high school. We were college students, and fairy stories and ghost tales didn't grab me like they used to, but Jeremy wouldn't let them go. He was our own personal Tom Sawyer, always making things up and dragging us off on "adventures" that never turned out to be anything more exciting than a short hike or a flat tire.
I tipped my head back onto my shoulders and stared up the center of the stairwell. Everything was a grimy sort of cream colour, like old lace, except for bits where the paint had flaked off to show an older, bright red colour. The places looked like wounds.
I heard Julia sigh, but even with the echo, the sound seemed dwarfed by the quiet. There was a lot more of it, and I found myself thinking that Jeremy was right. One o'clock was awfully still, but I blamed that on the fact that it was, in most people's minds, Friday night, which meant everyone was still out carousing around or had gone home for the weekend.
"Maybe he forgot," I ventured.
Julia turned to me with her face resting in her hand so that it mashed up her cheek. She looked doubtful.
"Not this. He was really gung-ho about this."
She was right, and a moment later Jeremy's face appeared against the glass of the exit door. He took care to fog up the whole window making faces before he pulled the door open and came inside, arms wide open and face split with a wide grin.
"Hello, ladies!" he said loudly, putting an end to that almost palpable quiet. "Ready to get scared?"
Jeremy's mother used to say that Jeremy had a birthmark across his ass that spelled out trouble. I'd never seen Jeremy's ass, but I was inclined to believe it.