After parading around the large campus, Arielle almost wished to go back to school. The atmosphere of knowledge, of wanting to learn, of drowning oneself in piles and piles of books—the nerd in her woke and screamed for attention. If she'd had the option, she would have pursued her history degree, adding in some languages, some studies of the occult.

But her bank account screeched at her to erase that idea.

The guide eventually allowed them to roam around. Their first stop was the Everett Library, a two-story building with beautiful murals and large white pillars and a circular fountain in front. Tranquil and quiet, it inspired a certain peace in Arielle's overworked, overwhelmed soul.

Inside, they found a Starbucks Coffee... and both girls yearned for a jolt of java.

"Dude... that chick loves this school," said Stella, laughing as she blew the steam from her mochaccino. "She wouldn't stop going on and on about it. The classes, the teachers... does she have a life?"

Arielle shrugged. "Well... it is a pleasant place, you have to admit. And the appeal... I mean, to me, at least, this is all appealing." She sipped on her cappuccino and smacked her lips. They'd made it to perfection, and the ratio of foam and coffee pleased her. It reminded her of a coffee joint she and Jade had once gone to, and Jade had been ready to write poetry about the drink she'd ordered. "Jade—"

"—gosh, she would have called every single person here a snob and snorted in their faces." Stella squinted. "Come on, are you forgetting how anti-rich-people she was? This place is swimming with all the pretty boys with trust-funds and the over-perfumed, over-dressed chicks she turned her nose up at."

She wasn't wrong, Arielle had to concede. Though Jade had money and dressed with class, she hated other wealthy folk.

Yet the atmosphere here still triggered a powerful need to read, a yearning to write and create. "I guess." Arielle winced as her lower abdomen pinched; that same sensation as the day before, when she worried her period might have started. "I... will be right back. Better go to the bathroom before we explore, who knows if we'll find any other restrooms we're allowed in."

The bathrooms weren't typical Starbucks stalls, since they serviced both the coffee place and the Library. The light tawny walls and granite counters and bright spotlights made Arielle a bit nervous, but she was happy to find the area empty.

Sitting behind one of the marble door stalls, she tried to relax, to inhale and exhale, to unwind; but she couldn't.

Besides making her want to study, the campus also brought a heavy dread in her abdomen. During the tour, Stella led the conversation to the girl who supposedly killed herself, tricking their guide into talking about her, divulge more details. So the girl, unaware of Stella's ruse, disclosed that the incident might have happened in Albright Hall—which Stella insisted that would be their next stop—in the eighteen-hundreds. And the lover's name was Julie. Students claimed to hear bumping and banging in the dorm, and often spotted a girl wandering down the hall, blood dripping from her wrists.

Snatching a few pieces of toilet paper, Arielle froze when she heard whispers. Distant, as if coming from a few stalls away.

"Hello?" She waded up the paper but immobilized. She didn't remember the bathroom door creaking open or footsteps announcing someone else's presence. And she'd checked under each stall when she arrived, unwilling to share the area with someone else while her nerves were on edge and she expected she might start crying.

Can't embarrass myself like that!

No one replied, so she wiped and stood to pull her pants up. As she adjusted the waistband of her pants, the whispers happened again. They were feeble, but croaking. "Clean... clean..."

She stopped breathing, her skin tingling as she pulled the hem of her top down to her upper thighs, covering her leggings. "Hello? Is anyone there?" Maybe a janitor had snuck in; one who enjoyed whispering to him or herself while working.

She flushed the toilet, and as the water swirled, the mumbling occurred again, but much closer. As if someone stood outside her door and tried to speak to her. But she noticed no shadows, no protruding shoes, not a hint of someone hovering there. Nothing was there... yet the whispering continued.

"Clean... come... clean..."

"Okay, Stel, this isn't funny." She kicked the door open, expecting to find Stella perched on the sink counter, mouth covered as she hissed the words, hoping to scare her.

But no one sat on the counter. No one loitered near the sink, the hand-dryer, the door. And upon checking once more, Arielle found no one in the other stalls.

"What the fuck?" She shrugged as she tiptoed to the sink. "This campus is haunted, even in the freaking bathrooms."

She turned on the faucet, letting the warm water drizzle over her trembling hands. As she neared the soap dispenser, she looked up, curious to see if her fear showed—

She squealed. Someone lurked behind her; a blob. Obscure, distorted, its features and figure hard to discern.

"Hey!" She yanked her wet hands from the sink and flipped around, ready to scream some choice insults at this person who thought sneaking up on people was entertaining—

But no one was there. The spot where the shadow-like individual had been, seconds before, was deserted.

"Okay... no, this is ridiculous." She slid her damp fingers through her curls and blew out her cheeks as she swung to her reflection. "What the actual fuck? Am I losing my mind or something?" Her eyes were wide and alert, her skin drained of color, her movements tense. "Too many investigations in the past few days. I'm seeing shit. I'm seeing shit."

She switched the water to cold and cupped her hands underneath the flow, gathering liquid to splash it under her chin. The cooling substance trickled down her spine and soothed her; but she hesitated to peek into the mirror again.

Do it... do it, Ari, and you'll see nothing, because you're insane.

She lifted her gaze, and sure enough, no one towered behind her.

"Oof, I'm checking myself into rehab after this trip." She finished rinsing and trudged to the fancy hand-dryer, shaking her head at her idiocy. Too many creepy places in so little time had affected her more than she wanted to.

Needing one last glimpse at herself, to ensure she didn't freak Stella out, she crept over to the mirror—and almost slipped. "Huh?" Emitting a squeak as she grabbed the edge of the counter to avoid falling, she realized the floor was wet. "What the heck? Did I spill that much water?"

Her hands were dripping when she swerved around to observe the being she thought was behind her—but this growing puddle on the tiled floor was huge. As if she'd poured several glasses of water on it, with the malicious idea of making someone trip.

She hauled herself up straight and peered at the mirror. "What's going on? What the fuck is going on?" She racked her brain for legends or stories about bathrooms at Queen's University; but she recalled nothing of the sort. No ghosts haunting mirrors and sinks and spreading liquid all over the floors. "I need to get out of here."

As she stepped backward, avoiding the puddle, she noticed something on her face, beneath her lower lash-line. Smeared crayon, crumbling mascara, smudging eye-shadow, maybe? But she hadn't put anything on her eyelids today. She'd only dabbed on some powder and a light lipstick on her lips; her eyes had been too puffy and bloodshot for makeup.

She approached the mirror, leaned over the sink, and dabbed her fingers onto the area. Her fingertips came back stained in a slippery scarlet hue.

"Blood?" Had she somehow poked below her eye when she almost fell? She touched it again, and more blood blemished her fingers. Yet she sensed no wound, no scratch, no bump or bruise. No pain.

Another peep at her reflection showed the blood she had felt came from inside her eyes. It streamed from her lash-line; only a slither at first, then thick rivers, gushing, pouring.

"Holy... what the... fuck!" Her palms shook as she scowled at them, coated in a sleek blood-red orange. A coppery stench permeated the air and she gagged. "How... how is this possible?" The same smearing red left traces on her cheeks, too; like scratch lines, deep and gnarly. The liquid coursed down her neck, lodging into her sweater, so heavy it drenched through and stuck to her breastbone, her shoulders, her belly.

"Clean... clean..." The whispers—louder, frightening, so close they echoed in her ears.

Overcome with shudders, Arielle reached for a few paper towels to wipe the mess on her face. She felt no ache there and had no idea how she might have caused her eyes to bleed tears. Her heart hammered in her chest and her lungs tightened, weighty and weak.

"Yeah, I... do need to clean!"

The blood came off, though it left discolored stripes that stopped at her jawline. As she washed her hands for the second time, she glowered into the mirror, focusing on the area where she'd imagined a person standing. "Is someone... here?" She sniffled, worried blood would whisk out her nose, next. "Someone... dead? Something... that wants to talk to me?"

Something warped to life behind her. The blob—like someone's silhouette going in and out of focus, quicker than a camera flash.

"Hey!" She whirled around, adamant on figuring out who or what it was, and why or how it had made her eyes bleed. "Don't go! Come back! Talk to me!" Her voice thundered, more confident than she felt on the inside. "Come back!"

She stared at the spot for ages, yet nothing flurried there again.

Reassured—but oddly dejected—she spun to the mirror. And froze.

There. Floating behind her, flourishing in and out, shoulders slouched, was her.

The girl from the Cemetery!

Or was it? She had the same lengthy locks of raven hair, the same pallid skin, but wore something different. Something... periodic. Seventeenth century-style, or so Arielle thought at first glance. A white gown with ruffles, ink splotches soaking through it in various locations. Arielle peeked at her hands, swaying at her sides; they appeared splattered with something, too, but she couldn't tell with what.

She's stuck in black and white...

"Hello?" Arielle didn't turn around this time, wondering if the being could only be seen in a reflection. She gulped and an acidic saliva burned down her throat.

This was it—her chance to communicate, to ask questions, to get proof. She had to keep calm, to steady her nerves despite her chills. If she screamed, the girl might disappear and that would be it, she'd have blown her shot.

I'll have time to freak out later.

With a deep breath, she watched the being hovering an inch or two over the floor, keeping her chin down. "Hello? Are... are you the one talking? Clean? You want to... to clean? Who are you?"

The thing's neck whipped sideways, her gaze impossible to see. A growl, scratchy and chill-inducing, broke from her lips. "Clean..."

Arielle's fingers pressed hard onto the counter's surface, fighting to keep her balance. Everything in her skull, in her gut, yelled at her to run, to escape, to get away before whatever this thing was devoured her. Those inky spots had to be blood, they had to be.

And yet, Arielle stayed put, stubborn as ever, somehow sensing this creature, creepy as she was, didn't want to hurt her. She wanted to talk, communicate, warn.

"O-okay... clean what? What do you want?"

The girl's chin tipped up, revealing her eyes were closed. Her lips were chapped and her cheeks were so white they were almost transparent. "Come... clean... you... come clean..."

"C-come clean... me? Or you want me to... come clean?" Arielle's breaths sped up, her heart yammering on against her rib-cage and begging to come out. "As in... confess? Confess something?"

The girl nodded—slow, distorted, twitchy.

"Who are you? The... the girl who slit her wrists?" Arielle noticed oozy black streaks near the girl's lower forearms, also caking her fingers. This couldn't be the same chick from the Cemetery. "Did you... commit suicide?"

"Come... clean..." she repeated, raspier, rougher. She twitched back and forth, her image buzzing in and out.

"About what? I'm not hiding anything! I have nothing to confess, because—" Arielle's eyes widened and she almost lost her balance. "Oh. Oh, no way."

Is she aware... of my feelings towards Jade?

"How would you... you know?" The girl paused, slid her neck from side to side... and nodded again. "But how? I only found out a few days ago! Can you... do you read minds? Whoa, okay, stop."

This time, Arielle braced her legs for a sprint. She couldn't stay in here. The situation had gone too far, taken a far too serious turn. A former suicide victim popping up and dripping blood and water everywhere and warning Arielle to admit her feelings? How? Why?

She rolled her shoulders and cracked her knuckles. "Are you... trying to... help me?" She was breathless, her heart hurting. She released the counter to press her palms to the left side of her chest as she panted.

The girl straightened and allowed her eyelids to burst open. Her pupils were black, rimmed with red, and something drizzled from them, pouring down her cheeks. Dark, rich—

Blood... in black and white? Why is she in black and white?

She bled from the eyes, like Arielle had moments ago when staring at herself. Did the girl provoke that? Or was it pure coincidence?

"Death..." said the specter, not batting a lash or blinking or breathing. She floated, her focus on Arielle. "Come clean... death..."

"Oh!" Arielle nearly yelped as she lowered her palms to the counter again, adrenaline pumping inside her. "I've been asking about... what happens... after death! You... you know that?"

Do spirits have some way of communicating amongst themselves? Creepy... cool.

"Is that it? Can you tell me w-what..." Arielle suppressed a chill as her vision blurred and goosebumps prickled up her arms, "what happens after death?"

The lights winked, buzzed, threatened to shut off. The temperature dropped, as if Arielle had stepped into a butcher's meat freezer. She shivered, rubbing her upper arms, and her breath fogged the glass. Tiny icicles formed a circle around where the air had hit the reflective surface, and the aura in the room became gloomy and glacial.

"What are you doing? A-answer me!"

The girl unleashed a roaring snarl and craned her neck back as she glared at the ceiling... and howled. "Cleeeeeaaaaan..."

Arielle covered her ears and hunched, her legs too weak to hold her up. "Stop, stop!" She wanted to crawl out, but she was frozen, unable to move, to run for her life. "Stop!"

"Cleeeeeeaaaaaan! Come cleeeeean!"

She'd been so brave facing the black mass, but so embarrassed by her fear at the Cemetery. Arielle's brain fought between cowardice and sheer insanity; torn between wanting to escape or confront this being, once and for all. If she ran... she'd never get answers. If she stayed... she might not be alive to tell the tale. But she'd know, right? She'd figure out the truth?

Gathering the meager remnants of whatever courage she'd mustered before, at the prison, she swallowed. She had to interrogate this spirit, this monster. Arielle sucked in a shaky breath and seized the counter to heave herself up. She wouldn't let this thing terrify her, not now, not so close to the truth.

No ghost would bully her.

"Tell me! Stop h-howling and answer me!"

The creature replaced her neck and sealed her lips, glowering at Arielle hungrily.

"Oh... shit."

She launched herself into Arielle with a whoosh, and flew through her, crashing through the mirror. The glass rattled, the water turned on by itself, and the lights returned to their original brightness. The fog dissipated, and the puddles under Arielle's feet disappeared, like someone had slurped them up with a giant straw.

"How... the fuck..."

The streaks of blood once tattooed on her cheeks were gone, and her hands were pristine clean.

The restroom doors swished open, and a girl waltzed in, holding a phone up to her ear. "... but yeah, I told him, dude... I can't turn the paper in yet!"

Arielle ogled her a moment too long, confused by reality, unsure what had happened. Had she imagined it all? Or had it only happened in the bathroom, affecting no one on the outside?

"Hun, you all right?" The student came up to her, brows rising in concern. "You look pale. Did you see a ghost?" She chuckled, not waiting for Arielle to answer. "Yeah, it's true, they're everywhere. Not uncommon for them to whisper in here, I've heard them a few times." She gave Arielle a weak smile; one full of pity. "It'll be okay, go get some air. You'll get used to it."

As she entered a stall and slammed the door, the girl resumed her conversation.

Arielle shifted her weight and gaped at the mirror, unsure she'd ever get used to something so powerful and intense.

Black masses, levitating rocks, ghosts of girls, imaginary blood. Hallucinations?

This trip will be the death of me.