Lady Catherine

Nobody tells you how loud silence is. Not until you make your 2-liter water bottle fall on the cold, hard wooden floor. Then, not only do you get a warning in your name but a dozen dirty looks from the students around you. There’s no point in apologizing. You’re already a menace in the eyes of the librarian.

My brain is foggy at this time of the night. I glance at the clock and the time reads 9:09 pm. Only 9 pm? That has got to be a new low for me.

Around me, at least twenty students are on their way to get the Astronomy scholarship. And here I am, reading the same page for the fifth time, trying to squeeze out any meaning out of it. Don’t get me wrong, I love astronomy, stars and anything related to the sky. But that’s about it. I can’t get myself to study for some stupid test about matter and its properties. Like why is it that, only if I score an 8 out of 10, I can get a degree which will allow me to work at MIT? At the rate I’m going, I’ll be surprised if I manage to get a 5.

The Crown library is the biggest of the two libraries, here at Oakwood University. It houses hundreds of thousands of artefacts, reference books and manuscripts from all over the world. As soon as you step in, the scent of old artefacts engulfs you. The library is divided into two main sections. The first-which is open to all students and teachers, and the second- which not many know exist. It is present at the back, hidden by huge piles of cardboard boxes. Last year, there was a rumor among the students that the section is haunted. There were at least half a dozen ghosts made up by students in my two-year time as a student here. Out of all, my favorite was lady Catherine. I imagined her to be an old woman with grey matted hair carefully tucked into a neat bun with the layers of her skirt sweeping the dusty shelves as she glided through the air.

But why was the second section so well hidden? Only one who carefully observed the pile of boxes would realize that there was a door. Not once has the librarian ever answered my question on what is behind it. She once even threatened to send me to detention on the grounds of “being undisciplined”. Knowing that I wouldn’t get any answers from her, I quickly abandoned that route. What does the school have to hide? I pack my bag and exit the main door, passing through the doors of the restricted library. Cold air hits my face as soon as I step out into the chilly night.

Once I reach the dorm, I change into my grey sweatpants and get into bed with my notes. No matter how much I loathe this stupid test, I have to score an 8. I have to get the scholarship. A little part of me is still ready to do whatever it takes to work at MIT. But how much? I don’t have time to do that kind of introspection now. Tests, quizzes, essays, and lectures have fogged up my brain.

Now every day, I wake up with the same thought: of going back to bed.

“Steven! Guess who scored a 72 on the astrophysics paper?”

Jeffery storms into the dorm, clutching a piece of paper in his hands.

“Me! Look!” He shoves the paper in my face excitedly. There it is: a 72 in Dr. Hodges’s shaky handwriting. “Well done.” my voice croaks. He storms off, running to show rest of the boys in the dorm. Great. Even him. Even Jeffery out did me. At the beginning of the semester, he ranked the lowest in the class. Even if you failed a subject, there was always that comforting thought: “It’s okay. You at least did better than Jefferey” No offense to Jefferey, but he was very helpful in boosting our morale from time to time.

Earlier this week, I scored a 68 on my Quantum Mechanics paper. Not too good, but again, it was the hardest of all the subjects in the course. As I was walking back to my seat, Professor Ramamurthy exclaimed “I expected better than this Mr. Steven. I must say, I am disappointed.” I mustered the courage to utter a bleak apology and a promise to do better in the next exam. As I took my seat, all eyes were on me and at that moment, I wished to be anybody else on this planet. Each exam brought with it, huge loads of disappointment. At this point, doing anything feels useless. All those countless hours I spent in the library, the extra questions I practiced, all the skipped breaks, everything feels like a waste.

 It feels like I’m a broken machine in a room full of brand-new ones and no amount of oiling seems to be enough. I hate that I am this way. It takes an even greater effort to accept myself and bring myself to work harder.

I sink under the blankets while the sounds of clapping and cheering can be heard at a distance. Someone, maybe Jeffery starts sobbing, followed by more cheering and laughing.

The clock reads 2:57 AM. I lie on the stiff mattress in a pool of sweat. Jackie, Dylan and Robbie are all asleep around me. This is the third night in a row, when I’ve lied awake in bed, wishing for sleep. I grab my sweater and tip toe out of the room.

I need a walk. I’m not really sure where I’m going. Anywhere, where my feet take me, away from my classmates and away from the dorm. Away from this mad competition which has made me go crazy. Everything is a blur. With great effort, I drag my feet out of the common room. The hallways are dimly lit by small yellow bulbs which casts a mysterious glow on the floor. I'm faintly aware of my feet taking me down the stairs, into the crown library. The ceiling has an intricate carving which look like the signs of the zodiac. I don’t know why I never noticed this before. My eyes adjust to the darkness and the sight is strangely eerie. Something about the thought of rows and rows of empty tables in a library just doesn’t feel right.

My feet don’t stop until I’m standing in front of the restricted library, empty cardboard boxes just a few feet away from me. A small thought is forming itself in my mind: I’m not going back to bed without checking what’s on the other side of the door, no matter what it is. Without a second thought I get ready to break open the door but to my surprise, the door is ajar.

Huh.

This is weird.

I step into a similar library as the first, the only difference being that in here, it’s a lot dustier. Something about this room doesn’t fit right. There’s a single bulb, like the one in the hallway, illuminating the space. I muffle a scream when my eyes land on a woman’s. Her brown eyes are fixed on mine as I take a step back. Even though her hair is crisp white, there’s a certain elegance to her. She wears a red skirt, with her neck bedecked with emeralds and diamonds.

Am I imagining this?

Is a woman really standing in front of me?

 To my relief I make out the thick golden borders of a photo frame. So, this is what the university was hiding. The picture of an old woman?

That’s funny…

 My moments of relief are short lived because a shrill voice cuts through the silence.

“Steven, I didn’t expect you would resort to this.” the photograph speaks.

Suddenly, my is body being hammered with pain from every inch. Everything feels hazy. I’ve always had a fascination for the paranormal. But being confronted was a whole different story. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to flee but it seemed that my nerves had stopped coordinating with my brain and I stood there, with my feet stuck to the floor. Was this Lady Catherine’s ghost?

“There’s no need to look so surprised. I’ve been expecting you.” She speaks.

Whatever control my body had a second ago, is now gone and I feel my legs give way. “Please” comes out a hoarse voice very unlike mine. “Don’t kill me”.

“Just when I thought that you would be different.”

What does she mean by that.

“How weak are human kind? How weak can you be to let other people manipulate you?”

 What on earth? Well in this case…not.

“I knew the human mind was a weak pathetic thing. Always filling it with comparison and hate.” She speaks. “Steven. I’m telling you this before it’s too late. Stop comparing yourself with others. Don’t pay attention to where others are.”

Wait…she’s giving me a pep talk right now?

“Seriously, don’t let others get in your head, you’ve done enough.” Am I really listening to a ghost?

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, I manage to find my voice. “Who are you?”

“Never mind who I am. Keep this in your mind. You don’t need a non-human lecturing you about human traits.” She has a point.

The light bulb flickers and goes out. Without a single thought, I start running with tears streaming down my face, and don’t stop. I step on a paint brush on the floor just outside the entrance of the library. How could I forget that they were renovating the left wing which included the crown library? I set off towards the dorms, my heart racing. Did I just have a conversation with a ghost? Images flashed through my mind: The sparkle of the lady’s jewels in the light, her brown captivating eyes and the lone dusty bulb in the room. I crash into my bed kicking off my slippers, not caring if I created a ruckus. Sleep does come after a while but only because my body is physically exhausted even though my brain feels like it’s on fire.

I wake up in a start. My back is drenched with sweat and suddenly the events of the night dawn on me. Every single detail is crystal-clear in my mind. Somehow it all feels too realistic to pass off as a dream. But it can’t be anything else right? Nothing but a trick of the mind. Yet, as I get dressed and head for the dining hall, a small seed of doubt grows inside me. At first, I try to shake off the feeling, owing it to the effects of stress. But when I reach the library, a pair of white footprints are clearly visible.

It was obviously just a dream right?