Intrinsical (4 page)

As soon as my plate was empty, Cherie stood up, eyes full of anticipation. “Alright, let’s go.”

I followed her out into the foyer, taking a left instead of the right that would have led us back to our dorm. We walked through the covered breezeways, then cut across the lush lawns and around the Spanish Revival-style buildings. Cherie navigated us through several paths and one very long steep set of stairs, which in turn led through a stand of fragrant eucalyptus trees. Our journey continued as we passed through a wall of ivy, a field of wildflower weeds so tall they almost stretched above my head, and on through a maze of denser trees that had grown so wild they created a thick barricade, almost impossible to get through.

Finally, hot and sweaty, we ended up in front of a rather dilapidated brick building. It was so worn down that piles of broken bricks and charred boards were strewn among the tall thorny weeds surrounding it.

The fact that the interior had been burned out was evident by the black fringes framing the broken windows. More recently, vandals and partiers had left it pretty much trashed. I could tell by the many cigarette butts littering the ground that Pendrell’s no smoking policy wasn’t enforced here.

I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Where are we, exactly?”

Cherie’s bottom lip protruded in a pout. “Didn’t you listen to me at all last week?” Not waiting for my reply she added, “This is the old sports house, more importantly, home of the original pool.”

“
Did you bring our swimsuits?”

She gestured toward the building, her nostrils flaring. “It happens to be the most haunted place on campus. The book says it’s basically been left undisturbed.” Cherie walked toward the crumbling building and looked through one of the cracked windows. I came up next to her and peered in as well.

The lobby looked to have originally been done in dark woods though they were now scarred black, burned and heat-blistered. Protruding into the foyer was the curved cylinder of a revolving door, wrapped in the same wood paneling that decorated the walls. The stainless steel moldings arched out sinuously into the room above the door, their dull metallic sheen now tinged blue. The fire had left behind only charred remains now littered with the trash and debris of decades of neglect.

Cherie grunted as she tried the door handle forcefully, but it was locked tight. “I figured it would be, but I thought I’d still give it a try,” she said as she eyed the window hopefully. I shuddered as I pictured one of us trying to shimmy through the pointed shards of glass glistening in the sun like cold, cruel sentinels. Cherie shook her head and stepped on an empty beer can, crushing it.

“
I think the pool’s closed today,” I joked. “Something about not having a lifeguard on duty.”

Cherie gave a polite laugh, her eyes still surveying the entry options. “They closed it about sixty years ago.”

“
I would have guessed it was longer than that,” I said, kicking away a pile of cigarette butts. “I’m surprised they left it here. It’s sort of a blemish on the beautiful grounds, don’t you think?”

“
Yeah, but it works out lucky for us.”

“
Okay, so what’s your plan to get inside?”

Cherie’s mouth turned up into a grin. “I just figured it out.” She hurried past me to the opposite side of the building.

I turned and followed her toward a tall tree that came within inches of a second story window.

I nodded in appreciation. “Great plan.”

Since elementary school, I had loved climbing trees, monkey bars, or anything else, and I prided myself with the fact I was good at it too. Cherie had found many uses for my ability over the years.

I was almost disappointed that the tree was such an easy climb thanks to all of the thick branches along the trunk. It only took a minute to climb my way up to the second floor, and as I peeked through the leafy covering, I knew that Cherie wasn’t the first one to think of using the tree to get inside. Unlike the window below us, this one was cleaned of any shards of glass.

Cherie stretched from the limb to the window, then made her way carefully inside. Broken glass crunched beneath her feet as she landed and started walking around.

I tried to avoid stepping on glass as I climbed in, but it was impossible; it was everywhere. The floor was absolutely disgusting, littered just like the ground outside, with old magazines, pizza boxes, aluminum cans, and cigarette butts.

The corners of Cherie’s mouth sagged as she led the way toward the pool, the passage growing continually darker. Upon entering the pool room, I was surprised to find the light just as dim. Even though there were plenty of windows, they were covered in a layer of grime that didn’t let in much light. The thick, tile-covered walls seemed impervious to the morning sun; the room felt positively freezing. Shivering, I rubbed my arms with my hands, trying to warm myself. Goosebumps surfaced along my skin.

I turned to look at Cherie who was standing with her arms stretched out in the air, head held triumphant, taking it all in. Then she turned and with a slight bow to me, her hands together in praying position, she said, “And that is how it is done, Grasshopper.”

I laughed at her excitement as I studied the room. We stood on the mezzanine level overlooking the room. Stairs led down to the head of the pool, where a dangerous-looking diving board still stood, protruding out over the empty basin of tiled cement.

“
Why haven’t they restored it?” I asked, more curious than I wanted to admit.

“
Not sure,” Cherie admitted, happy to see my interest piqued. “I think they were scared,” Cherie said as her voice dramatically dropped to a foreboding whisper.

I scratched my head. “Scared?”

“
Of the place being cursed or haunted.”

“
Oh.”

The musty air felt so palpable I could almost taste it. I worked my tongue across the roof of my mouth as if trying to get the moldy tang off my taste buds. I took a cleansing breath, only to find the air thick, old, and unsatisfying to my lungs, my inhalation ending in a dry cough.

Whatever history this room had, it made my skin crawl. It wasn’t just the poor lighting, dusty air and debris-littered floor. Something horrible had happened here, and had left its residue behind. It seemed to rise from the bottom of the tiled pool and leak from the ceiling, clinging to the walls and binding itself like some parasite into any host it could ensnare. I imagined its cold fingers rooting inside me, spreading throughout, and leaving traces of itself embedded in my soul.

Unconsciously, I dusted myself off in an attempt to loosen the imaginary grip as I walked carefully down the stairs to the main floor. Cherie had already made her way down and was now walking around the old-fashioned pool chairs and touching the once white tiles on the wall.

“
Amazing,” she muttered as she pulled her hand back and looked at it. I stretched my hand out and touched the wall, too, to see what was so amazing. It was wet, but otherwise seemed normal. Cherie smiled at me like we had just shared a momentous experience. I tried to hide how underwhelmed I was by a wet wall and plopped down on one of the ancient chairs, drying my hand on my uniform, watching while Cherie roamed around.

“
Come look at this!” She called out, and I dutifully joined her at the edge of the pool where she knelt, peering down over one of the sides.

“
Do you see that?” She asked, her voice full of satisfaction. “It’s wet, just like the wall.”

“
Uh-huh,” I replied, noncommittally. “And condensation is interesting because . . .”

“
It’s not just condensation!” She took a deep breath. “It’s interesting because I read about it, but it’s so much cooler to actually see it. No matter how hard they try or what they do, this whole level is always wet. I wish I could get down to the bottom of the pool. I want to feel it with my own hands,” she said peering back at the dark depths below us.

“
You want us to go down there?” I whined like a six year old. Since the pool had no shallow end, I wondered if she was expecting us to jump. I was also worried that even if we made it down unscathed that we wouldn’t find a way back out, expert climbing skills or not.

Cherie made a disappointed face at me. “Luckily for you, there doesn’t seem to be a way down,” she said, obviously disgruntled about it. “Would you like to know why it’s always wet here?” I shrugged my shoulders indifferently so she answered, “Because people died here. And it’s commonly believed that the moisture is drawn out and left behind by the presence of the wandering spirits.”

“
It does have an ominous vibe, doesn’t it?” I conceded trying to keep my goosebumps at bay.

Cherie was excited that she finally had my attention. “It does! The spirits still roam in this room,” she added dramatically gesturing around us.

“
So who died here?” I asked, slightly amused by her enthusiasm.

“
A couple of students, about sixty years ago.”

“
How many is a couple?” I questioned, folding my arms around my chest, feeling cold again.

“
The accounts vary. Some stories say there were two; others say three boys were here that night, but one survived. It’s hard to tell because the school tried to hush it up.”

“
Why?”

Cherie rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have any imagination?”

I shrugged to answer that I didn’t. Cherie gave me a look to let me know she pitied my closed-mindedness.

“
Obviously, they didn’t want to tarnish the name of the school, and they didn’t want to be blamed.”

“
Okay. But how did they die?”

“
They drowned rather tragically,” Cherie said as she continued examining the room.

“
Isn’t every death considered tragic?”

“
Yes, but a lot of this one was preventable.”

“
How?”

“
The school designed this room not only for a pool, but for a gym, too. So they had a retractable gym floor built over the pool.” Cherie walked around the pool and sat down on the edge of the diving board. She turned toward me and motioned me toward her.

I shook my head. “Uh . . . Cherie, I hardly think that’s safe. It could seriously give out at any minute.”

“
Scaredy-cat.”

“
Stick and stones,” I said, not budging an inch. I took a moment to inspect the ground with new interest but saw no evidence of the retracting floor. “So, where’s this floor now?”

Cherie pointed to a wide band of paneling against the opposite wall. “It slides out from over there. They had been having technical difficulties with the floor for over a month, and the building was closed for repairs the night of the fire. From what the investigators could tell, there was a group of friends here after hours who became trapped under the floor when it closed. They figured the same faulty wiring that was playing havoc with the floor started the fire. None of them made it out. And the weird thing: the only key was in the headmaster’s office. The official report declared it a tragic accident. But I’ll bet there was some foul play involved— murder, or maybe suicide.” Cherie seemed too pleased by the idea of intentional homicide.

My case of the creeps returned in full force. Was I standing where people had been murdered? I had been where people had died before, but never where someone had been murdered. “Why would do you think that?”

“
Because it’s haunted,” she answered simply.

A sickening image of students trapped in the water, pounding on the floor above them, flashed before my eyes. I could feel the blood drain from my face and a chill run down my spine. Ghost stories sounded fine at home, coming from my family, but standing here in this freezing, dark room it was terrifying.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have shown any interest whatsoever, because it only seemed to encourage Cherie more, and her voice raced to share her wealth of knowledge. “There are several accounts of people who have seen wet footprints all around the pool, even though the pool had been empty at the time. And here’s the best part; there have been accounts of the footprints even being seen in our room!”

Oh crap! Instantly the hair on the back of my neck stood up as images of the footprints on our dorm floor played in my mind. I broke out in a cold sweat. “Footprints?”

She nodded with a smile. “Yes.”

I gulped hard. Trying to be casual I confessed, “I saw some footprints after my shower last night.”

Cherie’s lips pouted and she straightened her shoulders. “That isn’t possible. I haven’t felt any ghostly activity in our room.”

It was hard to stifle the laugh forming inside me. Cherie had no paranormal radar whatsoever, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her. Not ready to delve into the awakening of my ghost-seeing abilities, I decided to calmly shift the conversation. “Cherie, why would the footprints be in our room?” In the back of my head I remembered how Cherie had specifically requested it.

Her smile vanished and she blinked at me with an all too-innocent blank face. “What was that?”