Prompt: Question, Cliffhanger, Adversity

"I can see you. Can you see me?"

Ben stared at the two sentences scrawled in chicken scratch on his desk. The words weighed in his stomach, knotting his insides. There was a power behind him that left his skin crawling.

"What the hell?" He knew this was a psychology class, but this was a bit much for mind games. Ben ran his finger over the words, finding them almost engraved in the wood. His frown deepened.

I'll never hear the end of it from the school.

It was bad enough the teachers were a nag, always stopping students for something or another. The smallest inconvenience could happen and they'd be shouting it from the rooftops. He clicks his tongue, and he glances at the five other students scattered about the room.

"Hey, who did this?"

Bridgett, a girl with fiery locks of hair and striking emerald eyes sat in the front row, her feet propped up on her desk. An iPad was perched against her exposed thighs. Dark freckles peppered her cheeks and the bridge of her nose; they stood out in stunning contrast against her pasty features. She looks away from her tablet, meeting Ben's eyes.

"What?" Her tone held little care for what he was asking about. She glanced back to her tablet, her attention split between him and whatever she had opened on it.

"Care to be a little more specific? We're studying psychology, not telepathy." Carlisle sneered. He sat a few seats back from Ben. Black curls were slicked back, exposing his tanned features. One bushy brow was raised above a light brown eye. The two hardly shared words throughout the semester, but Ben had shared a few other classes with the guy. He knew Carlisle well enough to always get a nasty feeling around him.

"Someone screwed with the desk."

Was it you?

The unvoiced question hangs in the air between them. Carlisle's brow twitches and he leaned forward in his seat. His brows knit together as he studied the writing, brown gaze only darting to Ben's for a moment before relaxing back in his seat.

"What a shame." Sarcasm dripped on every word. "I'm sure the fifty it'll cost to replace it'll bankrupt the university. Chill out, man."

The brush off coiled Ben's muscles; he darts his gaze to the other students scattered about. They kept their eyes down on their phones, but their bodies were too stiff, their breathing too structured. None of them were focusing on whatever they had opened.

"How am I supposed to chill out when they'll blame me for this? This is my desk, Carlisle." He said.

"It's called surveillance." Bridgett spoke up, drawing Ben's attention. She doesn't bother looking at him as she speaks, her fingers tapping away on the tablet. "They've got camera's everywhere. I'm sure they'll be more than happy finding the actual culprit."

"Take your seats, please." The professor droned, stepping into the room and ceasing anymore conversation. Ben scowls before slumping into his seat. Other students filter into the classroom, filling the rest of the desks. He sinks into his seat, arms crossed over his chest and eyes darting about the room, searching every one of his classmates' faces, putting his knowledge of reading body language to the test.

His phone vibrates in his back pocket. He slips it out, body stilling at the message.

"Handsome, handsome boy. So smart in his major, but so stupid with riddles."

He jerks in his seat, spine straightening as his gaze sweeps the room. A few classmates glance at his abrupt movement, but they're all just as startled as he is.

"Something you'd like to share, Ben?" the professor asked, drawing the boys gaze towards him. He blinks and glances down at the message, his Adam's apple bobbing. Was someone just screwing with him to screw with him? Was this something else? "Ben?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "Yeah, I'm fine." His gaze shifted to the scrawled words on the desk. Tingles rose at the base of his neck and the air took on a chill, his body shuddering.

***

The rest of the day similar messages followed. Some were scraps of paper that fell loose when he'd open the notebook they lodged in it, others were minor notes on the whiteboard, but only in the classes he always arrived first in. At lunch, someone had placed a note at his usual seat, hidden away under the chair with not a corner peeking out. How the person knew he'd find it was beyond him.

"Are you serious?" He questioned, finding another note scrawled on the whiteboard that hung on the door to his dorm room. There was no escape. Even the words said as much.

"I hope you enjoyed my notes. I'm sure you'll dream of them tonight."

He ran his fist against the sleek board, erasing the words. A scowl had become a permanent feature of his face today and, if these messages continued, he feared it may just stay with him for the rest of his days. His head whipped back and forth, studying the empty hallway. Soft sounds from the next door rooms could be heard, but aside from that everything else was quiet. Eerily so.

His stomach knotted as he looked back to his room door. The messages had gotten progressively weirder throughout the day. With every one he received, he'd felt another pair of eyes following him. It didn't seem right, but he wasn't sure how to explain it. All he'd wanted to do was return to his room. Now that he was here, the last thing he wanted to do was go in; at least during the day, others had surrounded him. In his room, he didn't have anyone.

"Jesus," he breathed, running a hand through his hair. "Get your shit together, Ben. Someone's playing a prank on you." He grabbed the door hand, twisting it and entering the room, realizing a moment too late that it had already been unlocked. His heart sped up as the door was yanked open from the other side, pulling him off balance. Before he can reach for the light switch, the door swings closed, covering him in darkness. A vague shadow appears over him, and the person cackles,

"Can you see me now, handsome?"