Part I: Prelude
“Hehe.” A giggle. I froze for a moment, the sound, not at first, registering. Slowly, I turned my head in the direction. My head and chest pounding.
After this there is no going back. On the other side of this blinking text cursor is a reality where it will be impossible to remain invisible. I will no longer be the kid hiding in his dorm typing novels through the night. The inconspicuous tourist who feigns attention in lectures or compacted into the corner at the arts center.
I had been asked by my agent to post a message about my signing on Facebook. His son was attending GVSU with me and had told him about this new website where kids were talking about all the parties going on. Something about ‘organic reach,’ and ‘great visibility for the book.’
What my agent failed to account for is the singularity that would form from within me, bending the fabric of anything I found comfortable. An anxiety finding its place in the void, folding me on top of myself.
This was it. This was my break. Honestly this was a moment that seemed so far away when I had first started writing fiction. I remember submitting my first short, for a regional high school publication. Seeing that story down on a page, had propelled me forward to this point. Now, I finally have a book going into the world.
One the cracked display of my Razr phone were instructions from my agent on what to post.
“Hey Zach, I know public endorsements are not really your thing so I prepared something for you to post to your account.”
“I am so incredibly excited to announce, I will be at the Calder Arts Center on November 4th for my first ever book signing, ‘Call to Nothing.’ See you there between 6:00 - 8:00 PM.
His message was typed word for word, now staring back at me from the laptop screen. It was mocking me, ‘what a prick,’ it said. Sweaty hands, pressed through the reservation and tapped the touchpad. The post was live. Immediately following was the ‘click’ of a closed and secured laptop, and the sigh of overcome anxiety. My jacket hung from the post of my lofted bed. I grabbed it and headed down from the third floor, to go for a walk to clear my mind.
Outside the campus lights illuminated the toothpaste shaped, brick dorms and concrete paths. I took a few calming breaths, and the exhausted CO2 hung in the air. I rubbed my hands together, slipped them into the sleeve of my jacket, and pulled up the hood. Encroaching just around the edges of the entire campus, was a dark forest swamp. Some of the kids from my dorm liked to sneak down the hill, that the back door opened up to, and smoke pot. Fear of what was to come held me in place for a moment, but the worry of a staring eye prevailed as I moved forward.
There was a hidden path behind the dorm across the way. I crept on the edges of some kids being booked by campus security, probably an MIP. These were the freshman, party dorms. Athletes and future academic probation recipients. Should I have stayed in the art dorms? Probably, but it did seem a little pretentious, and my dorm was co-ed at least. Though, I had not made much of it. So far the only girl that I had even talked to already had a boyfriend. She was cute, the relationship rocky, and me. A fool. She was; however, good company when my roommate was having too much sex for me to come home at night.
By now I had traveled most of the way across campus, and was in front of the famed ‘haunted’ bridge. It was concrete, with blue metal bars protecting the side. The bridge was wide enough for a golf cart to pass and it crossed a shallow, running river. Along the river was dense, choking vegetation and cricket auditorium. It was lit at night, but often the lights would go out or flicker as you crossed.
Rumor is that just a few years ago a girl took her own life jumping from the bridge. It wasn’t particularly high, but it was very cold the night she jumped. She splashed into the river, wearing only her underwear. Her clothes were later found, folded over the railing. Her boyfriend, who was still in high school at the time, had cheated on her and recently sent a ‘dear Jane’ letter.
She had jumped in the lingerie he had sent her. The tag on the gift bag had read a different girl’s name. So she ate the chocolate, put on the lace underwear, and jumped without intention of surviving the night. Her boyfriend had alerted security but it was too late. They found her frozen corpse in a pond down stream.
Now, her ghost is said to haunt the bridge. It is said she tries to lure couples to the railing to admire the view, and push them off. Many have felt a ‘nudge’ or a gust of wind pick up when they are standing with their lover by the railing. Also clothing will continually show up hanging from the railings, but that is most certainly a prank by those familiar with the legend.
Not much for me to worry about. Girls hardly looked at me, but I still disliked crossing the bridge all the same. Maybe she would mistake me for the boy who cheated on her, and toss me off the edge. A few times I had thought I heard or felt something and even tried talking to her after untying a bra from the railing but didn’t see much of anything.
Tonight, the tale was wearing on me particularly enthusiastically. “I am sorry you were treated like that. You must have deserved better. I know what it’s like, you know. To be cheated on. It sucks. I hope you can find some peace.” A small rustling of leaves responded to my message, but nothing more. I stood for a few moments before starting the trek across.
“Hehe.” A giggle. I froze for a moment, the sound, not at first, registering. Slowly, I turned my head in the direction. My head and chest pounding.
“He- hello?” I asked everywhere around me. Something brushed my shoulder. “NOPE!” I yelled and ran the rest of the way to Calder.
Who was she? Is any of it real?
