Voices in the Theater - Chapter 1

Reasons

There were fewer students today.

I didn’t expect the university to be this empty. But I liked it.

There was less noise. Less whispering. Fewer stares.

Of course, it most likely had to do with the fact that it was a Saturday. And that it was only 6:54 AM.

I stepped out from under the white concrete arch, out into the open hallway that overlooked the tree-shaded main quad.

Yes. I liked it.

Not the fact that I had to wake up early to go to school on a Saturday. Especially when I don’t even have a Saturday class. But being in the university, with its open spaces and grass and trees, so early in the morning with fewer students…

It was… relaxing.

I could hear the rustling of the leaves. Feel the soft breeze and sunlight on my face. If I closed my eyes, I knew I would even hear the birds.

I breathed in the morning quiet one more time, then turned around and went back into the building’s main corridor. A few steps later, there was the sign on the wall. I followed the arrow, turned right, and made my way up the stairs.

I took a bite of the cheeseburger in my right hand. Chewed. Took a sip of coffee from the Styrofoam cup in my left. My book bag bumped dully against my right hip as I reached the second floor landing, which opened into a hallway.

The floor here was shiny. The tiles reflected the yellow rectangles of light coming from the open balcony at the other end. But despite the sunlight, the whole floor felt musty; it was more of a feeling in the air than an actual scent. A feeling of age, and history.

There was a small sign over the third door, which was slightly ajar: LS204.

As I pushed the old wooden door in, a sudden thought flashed in my mind.

There are five people here.

The door creaked softly, and by the time I’d gotten it fully open five different faces were turned my way.

“Hi there,” said a guy in a white shirt and faded jeans. He was sitting on one of the chairs that had been arranged in a circle in the middle of the room. He’s the leader, I thought. There was the hint of muscles on his chest and arms, outlined under his shirt. He was slightly taller than most of the guys I’d met so far. His deep-set eyes were intelligent and analyzing; his smile reminded me of an excited little boy.

“Hi.” I smiled politely. “This is the ghost hunting club, right?”

A small laugh came from the girl seated three chairs to his right. She looked familiar, but I wasn’t sure why. Slightly chinky eyes, straight hair cut into a bob that nicely framed her face. It made her look pretty and pixie-like. Even though she was wearing a black shirt, denim miniskirt, and calf-length leather boots, she still looked… sweet.

She’s in Psych, too. Block 8. Lana Chan.

The thoughts came out of nowhere.

“You’re Samantha, right?” she asked me. Her smile was sincere and friendly. “The girl from the U.S.? New Jersey, right?”

“Yes. Ex-pat girl, that’s me. Samantha Davidson.” I gave everyone in the room a nod, then took the seat next to the smiling girl. “You’re Lana Chan.”

A look of pure surprise mixed with her smile. “Wow. You must have a gift for remembering names.”

I shrugged.

“Richard,” said the guy to Lana’s right, leaning over slightly and nonchalantly waving a hand at me. His long legs were taking up a lot of space in front of him as he sat; he had that relaxed look of someone who owned the world.

The girl next to him rested her head on Richard’s shoulder, her arrow-straight hair spilling over his sleeve and arm. She looked bored. “Chynna,” she said. “I’m not part of the group.”

“Okay.”

“My name’s Migs,” said the guy in the white shirt. He’d actually left his chair, and it took him only two strides to stand in front of me. He looked rather intense and formal as he extended his hand.

This made me feel slightly nervous. The boys here behaved differently from the guys back home. And sometimes it seemed like they meant different things with the same gestures. Still, I shook Migs’ hand.

He’s in Physics, Second Year. The guy in the seat next to him is his best friend.

“I'm Aris,” Migs’ best friend called out to me by way of an introduction, although he remained in his seat. His smile was as friendly as Lana’s. Everything about Aris was a slightly darkened version of Migs: darker skin tone, thicker—therefore darker—eyebrows, a thick head of black hair. He was even wearing a black shirt with something written on it in silver; only his jeans were light and faded.

“Hi.”

Migs returned to his seat, but was still looking at me. “We’re just waiting for our club adviser, and then we can start.”

“Man, I still can’t believe you got this approved,” Richard told Migs, smiling. “How’d you get a professor to sign on as a ghost club adviser?”

“It’s not a ghost club, it’s a paranormal research group. There’s a difference.”

“And that difference is why I signed on.”

We all turned towards the door. This time, I actually knew the person standing there.

“Good morning everyone,” said Sir Julius, my professor in General Psychology.

He moved to sit behind the teacher’s table, and looked at us one by one. Those intelligent eyes behind the glasses seemed to rest on me when he declared: “Why don’t we start by finding out why we’re here?”