Lufe sat on a desk in his room, enveloped by incredible silence broken only by the scratch of pen on paper. He wrote notes from his biology class.
"What did she say?" Lufe mumbled, he forgot a name of an enzyme that assisted in neutralizing acidity. It was something that the biology teacher, Mrs. Luke had said it—perhaps a million times. He couldn't believe he actually forgot it—forgetting indeed does not have a cure.
He closed his eyes briefly—perhaps it would help him recall.
He opened them abruptly when he heard footsteps in the hallway: soft, measured steps that did not echo Jolof's heavier gait.
For a moment, he assumed it was Jolof returning from the basement renovation, but then realized the house was silent downstairs. He placed his pen carefully on his desk and listened: the footsteps were coming closer, pausing just outside his door.
"How strange!" Thought Lufe. It seemed like someone made their way to his room and disappeared upon reaching the doorstep.
Lufe's breath caught in his throat. He gripped the edge of his desk with white-knuckled fingers.
"Jolof?" he called softly, voice trembling.
No answer.
He rose cautiously, each movement deliberate as though afraid to disturb the stillness. He crept toward the door and, pressing his ear to the wood, strained to hear any further sound. All he could detect was the creaking of the rafters overhead as the wind shifted outside.
Heart pounding, Lufe opened the door and slipped into the hallway. The moonlight filtering through a narrow slit in the boarded window painted the corridor in pale silver. He stepped out, running a hand down the back of his neck, and searched left and right. The corridor stretched in both directions, empty of life. Dust motes drifted lazily in the beam of moonlight.
"Jolof?" he whispered again. No response. He shuffled forward, footfalls sounding louder than he expected. He saw nothing—no sign of footsteps on the dusty floorboards, no movement in the shadowed corners. He took a hesitant step, and the floor creaked beneath him.
The hallway now looked empty, and his heart thundered in his chest. "It's nothing, I got calm down."
He went back to his room and continued what he was doing.
The next morning, he rose to find Jolof in the grand hall. Jolof was already at work, sweeping away lumps of debris near the entrance. The kerosene lamp had burned low; its wick cast a weak, flickering glow. Jolof straightened when he heard footsteps overhead and paused, sweeping slower. When Lufe emerged from the staircase, Jolof set the broom aside and turned fully to face him.
"Morning," he said, voice hoarse from yesterday's exertions.
Lufe swallowed. "Jolof… last night, I think I heard footsteps outside my door." He spoke the words quickly, as though desperate to unburden himself.
Jolof's eyes hardened. He folded his arms and took a step closer. "Are you sure it wasn't the wind? Or maybe the boards shifting? This house creaks all the time. I told you, it's an old building."
Jolof exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not sure but..."
"Look, Lufe," he said, voice low. "You're already spooked because of those rumours. You see shadows where they aren't. You think you hear voices. I can't have you imagining things. We agreed, right? Anything strange we chalk up to an old house settling. Don't let fear overwhelm you."
He placed a heavy hand on Lufe's shoulder. "We'll figure this out together, okay? I promise I won't let anything harm you."
Lufe nodded, though uncertainty gnawed at him. "Okay," he whispered.
---
The weekend arrived, and with it, a thickening unease. Lufe had planned to watch the drama—the Terrifying Dragon Emperor that day. However, he decided to first complete the last four chapters of volume 2 of the novel.
He eased himself into a comfortable armchair and in the next 10 minutes he was completely immersed in the fascinating story.
Then, the now—familiar footsteps. Soft, measured.
He turned around and gazed at the door in an incredible abrupt. "Let's see what happens next"
He readied himself to rush to the door if the footsteps—once again stopped suddenly in attempt to see who or what was messing with him.
The footsteps padded across the corridor directly outside his room. The boards creaked in a rhythm that matched his pounding heart.
The footsteps approached. They halted right at his door.
"Again." he thought "time to catch the culprit."
However, before the message—to get up, was relayed to his legs and torso, slowly, the heavy wooden door creaked open—pushed inward by a force that Lufe could not see. His eyeballs threatened to burst from their sockets.
The opening happened so gradually that the hinges barely made a sound. In the next instant, he shivered!
A tall, gray smear of shadow slipped into the room, as though it were neither entirely solid nor fully gaseous. It formed a figure: head, shoulders, a torso that wavered like smoke.
Ghost?" Lufe could only think of it as a ghost at most. In that exact second, it disappeared but he sensed its presence right behind him.
Panic surged through Lufe. He bolted from his room, racing to find Jolof, but the figure pursued him, its form shifting and flickering like a ghostly flame. Lufe's screams echoed through the house, filled with terror as the apparition reached out, trying to touch him.
"Jolof! Help me!" Lufe screamed, his voice breaking with fear.
"Lufe?" he said, "Are you okay?"
Jolof rushed to Lufe's side, but to his horror, he saw nothing. Lufe, however, was staring wide-eyed at the empty space before him, his body trembling violently.
"It's right there!" Lufe cried, pointing at the invisible entity. "Can't you see it? It's trying to touch me!"
Jolog grabbed Lufe by the shoulders, trying to calm him. "There's nothing there, Lufe! There's nothing there!"
Lufe's shoulders shook with sobs. He clung to Jolof, as though the contact alone could banish the terror from his mind. Jolof's hand trembled as he patted Lufe's back, his own voice ragged with fear.
The encounter left Lufe shaken to his core. For those who hadn't witnessed the scene would have said it was all hallucinations. But for Jolof, he never doubted something paranormal was going on.
"Let's go," he said at last, pulling away enough to grab his coat from the chair.
"We're leaving. Now." He reached down and helped Lufe to stand, but Lufe's legs were unsteady. Jolof wrapped an arm around him, half-dragging, half-supporting him toward the door.
Lufe's heart hammered so loudly he thought Jolof might hear it. Each step they took out into the grand hall echoed like the final fracture of a mirror. The temperature plummeted as they passed by the dais, and Lufe felt his breath turn to mist. His gaze flicked to the shattered chandelier, which now hung at an angle as though it were craning to watch them leave.
They darted down the front stairway and into the foyer. Jolof swung wide the front door.
Jolof herded Lufe out and slammed the door behind them, bolting it with a rusty lock. They raced down the front steps, their boots echoing on the cracked stones.
Jolof's old pickup truck sat waiting at the end of the driveway, its tailgate down and curtains of ivy brushing against the bumper. Jolof fumbled for his keys, his breath coming in ragged bursts. Lufe stumbled into the passenger seat, wiping tears from his cheeks. He fumbled to buckle his seatbelt, still shaking.
Jolof slammed the driver's door and started the engine. The tires screeched as he reversed, then roared forward onto 23rd Street with a sudden burst of speed.