short story - the return

The Return
by
Lucyriver

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It is a gloomy afternoon. When I look outside, the windows frame scenery of predictable soon-to-be raining images. Dark cumulonimbus clouds are splashed across the sky by gushes of invisible wind. I cannot even tell that the wind is there if not for the swinging of the nearby palm trees.

The library is silent with only two students sitting at the corner of the room, near the shelves of the fiction books. One is obviously immersed in the book in his hands, big red letters on the cover, GHOSTS. The other student is jotting furiously in her notebook, perhaps rushing her eleventh hour work.

In an adjacent working room separated by a panel of glass wall, the librarian students are working while talking to each other occasionally. I have assigned them to stamp the newly-arrived books and paste book pockets and due date slips. They are my trusted sidekicks. Without them, this catwoman would have been crushed by the mountains of books.

Managing a library is not easy though it is not big, merely the size of two classrooms, including the working room. So here I am now, at the counter, monitoring the room.

Outside, it has started to rain. Within minutes, splatters of water are beating and lashing at the windows, blurring the whole painting. The temperature has dropped. I stand up to adjust the air-conditioner on the wall.

When I turn around, a girl is standing in front of me, a book in her hand. Her hair is drenched. Her yellow hostel t-shirt and her black pants are soaked and draped onto her skin. Drops of water are still dripping from her shoulder-length hair and strands of hair are plastered across her face. And the book in her hand, it is damp too.

“Sorry, teacher,” she opens her mouth, a weak, fading voice coming out as she holds out the book to me.

“What happened?” I ask as I take the book, trying to flip the wet pages but in no avail. They are clenched together by the moisture.

“It…it fell into the water, teacher. I’m sorry,” again she apologises. I am still toying with the book. It is still in a good condition. Just that it is wet.

“Do I have to pay for it, teacher?” she asks again, her eyes on her hands. She has not look at me since she comes in. Perhaps she feels guilty for ruining the book.

‘Just a minute,” I turn, looking for her library card. A few flips here and there, I find it.

I turn back. “All right, you…..,” my sentence is left hanging. She is not there anymore. I look around. The two students are still at the corner. The librarian students are still in the working room. Yet, the wet girl is nowhere in sight.

I look at the library card. Sylvia. Form 3A. I do not recognize her as she is not my student.

My eyes roam the room again. She cannot just disappear like that without me noticing her walking out the door. Just like I didn’t notice her walking in.

I rush out. Rain is still in rage. I scramble down the stairs. Nobody is in sight.

I return to the library and walk over to the two students sitting at the corner. They raise their heads as I approach them.

“Did you see the student, the girl, just now?" I ask.

“What girl, teacher?” Their eyes on me, puzzled.

“The girl at the counter just now,” I point to the counter. Again, the confused look on their faces.

“No one was there, teacher,” the girl says.

“No one?” I looked at them. “But, the girl…”

“There was nobody coming in here except us, teacher,” the boy looks weirdly at me.

I glance at the counter and the library card held tightly in my hand. “Sylvia. Form 3A. This girl, do you know her?” I hold the card in front of their faces for them to see. They look at the card and the photo. I notice that their faces are turning as white as a sheet of paper.

“Do you know her?” I ask again.

“Teacher, Sylvia…Sylvia…she…,” the girl stammers, a flash of fear cut across her pale face.

The boy looks at the girl and then turns to me and says in a low voice, almost like a whisper, “Teacher, Sylvia was in that boat.”

“What boat?” My turn to be puzzled.

“The boat that capsized last week, teacher.”

“The boat that capsized….” I stop at the sentence. Yes, one of the boats that ferry students across the river to their village capsized last week. All the passengers were overthrown into the water. Most of them managed to swim to safety except two. Two female students. One of them was found stuck at the roots of a mangrove after a few hours of the incident. Lifeless. And the other one is yet to be found.

“They haven’t found Sylvia yet,” the boy’s voice breaks my thought.

They have not found Sylvia yet. Until today. Until just now. I still can picture her in my mind. Wet, dripping water from her hair. Head down. Wet clothes. Holding up the book to me. I feel a cold shiver down my spine, numbing my whole body. It cannot be that I have encountered that ‘thing’. I have never been that ‘lucky’.

I remember when I was in secondary school. My good buddies were so obsessed with these things. Ghosts, spirits, vampires or whatever the world call it. The crazy bunch of maniacs was so fascinated with the eerie stuffs that they would try any method to encounter one.

One of the methods was playing Ouija board. I had no idea where the hell did Trisha pluck an Ouija board from. They set a night at her house. I was practically dragged by the three so called ‘ghostbuster’ maniacs to Trisha’ house to perform the daredevil act.

We gathered around the board with one of our forefingers pressed firmly on a pointer. Our faces were shrouded, partly visible from the moon beaming through the window panes into the dark room. I shifted restlessly.

“Stop fidgeting, Lucy,” Trisha hissed softly, “you’re disturbing the aura of concentration.”

“This is madness,” I hissed back, “Nobody is going to come.”

“You are right,” Yvone said, “Nobody is coming. But something is coming.”

I groaned. The rest muffled a stifled laugh. I hated it when Yvone said that. It was so creepy. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you girls when we ended up killed one by one.”

“That won’t happen if we follow the correct procedures,” Trisha acted as if she was a professional ghostbuster. “We invite him politely and then we send him away courteously.”

“How do you know that it is a HE? It could be a SHE,” remarked Kitty.

“Oh, I was just hoping that he would be as hot as Edward Cullen.”

“What if he doesn’t want to leave?” I asked worriedly.

“Oh, he will,’ Trisha said confidently. “ Or else, just like you said, Lucy, we’ll end up being his dinner.” I rolled my eyes. I really had no idea how I became friends with these three maniacs.

We sat silently for almost an hour. My patience was wearing. The three of them were motionless, as if lost in a trance. The room was quiet. I was getting tired. My finger was tired and numb. This is madness, I said to myself repeatedly. I could have enjoying myself watching a movie now or scaling a mall instead of being stuck here exploring the existence of the supernatural.

I almost opened my mouth to stop the madness when I felt the pointer moved.

“Whoa,” Trisha hissed softly. “Who did that?” We looked at each other, shaking our heads. I could see the dilated pupils in their wide-opened eyes. Realization dawned. It couldn’t be…oh hell.

All of us had our eyes fixed on the pointer as if waiting for another action. It moved slightly, slowly and ended up on the YES. I could sense excitement in the girls.

“Ask who he is,” whispered Yvone, “or she.”

“Who are you?” Trisha asked.

The pointer moved to the NO and stopped there. We waited. It didn’t move anymore. It was almost more than an hour since the pointer stopped at the NO.

Finally and relieved, me only, the girls relented from pursuing further. The first try came to nothing. Fruitless. Though Trisha, Yvone and Kitty insisted that a spirit did try to contact us. Maybe he was jammed halfway. Oh yeah, clever these girls were. I was still thinking that it was a prank pulled by one of them.

Years later, Trisha admitted that she was the one who moved the pointer after the long wait.

The next day, I tell Mrs. Nelly, the library assistant, to sun the book dry. She places it on the roof. The hot striking sun bakes the book like a pineapple tart in an oven.

Hot weather like this in the morning with thick fogs will surely bring a torrent in the late afternoon.

As predicted, the rain comes exactly the same time like the day before. The downpour has chased away the customers of the library. Only a couple of students come to return the book and do some reading.

I let the librarian students off early. The rain is reducing but I will still be wet walking back to the flat.

It is usual routine to go around making sure that all air-cons, fans and lights are turned off. I am getting my stuff and locking the working room, ready to flick off the last light when I see a figure standing at the counter.

My heart races. Is it her? I saunter slowly towards the figure. She turns. Her face is paler than yesterday. She is wet, from head to toes.

“Teacher,” she still does not look at me. Her gaze is on her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

“Sylvia,” I swear my voice shakes when I call out her name. I can even feel that my legs are going weak. And my heart is sprinting. I am surely lying if I say that right this moment I am not scared at all.

“Teacher, the book. I’m sorry,” she apologises again. “Do I have to pay for it?”

I drag my wobbly legs to the counter. The book. Mrs. Nelly has gotten it dried today. Thanks to the hot sun. I have told her to leave it at the counter. Now where is it? I rummage through the stacks of books in the tray. There it is.

“You see, the book…” Once again, she’s gone. The rain has ceased. I stare at the book that was in my hand. ‘The Return.’

The tragedy of the capsized boat has a great effect on the students especially the boarding students. A few has started to claim seeing ‘things’. Even the cooks have reported seeing two figures of the drowned girls sitting at the dining hall early morning. It creates quite a chaos at the hostel. The school wardens are like having ants all over their pants in handling the situation.

Trisha and the gang would be thrilled if they were here. They have always wanted to these ‘things’.

It was the month of All Souls Day or fondly known as the ghost month when Trisha came up with her balmy idea again. I had no idea where the heck did she learn that rubbing the tears of dog onto one’s eyes will enable one to see the ‘things’. Or cover oneself with the yellow peek-able gardening basket and sitting at the crossroads will earn one a meeting with the ‘good brothers.’

“Trisha, I don’t think this is a good idea,” I protested as soon as Trisha announced her great idea.

“Of course it is. I have it all planned out,” she said confidently. The rest nodded their heads in synchrony.

‘You don’t need me,” I tried to wriggle myself out before I got myself into trouble. “I … I have to complete my work tonight.”

“WE, the four ghostbusters must go together,” Trisha read the final sentence. I knew I would not be able to escape this. “We’ll pick you up at ten.”

Four hours later, we were drinking tea at the police station. Our crime? Terrorising the peace of the neighbourhood. Apparently, someone had called the police when seeing four girls crouching suspiciously at the roadside with baskets over their heads.

Our parents were certainly not pleased when they had to fetch us home from the police station. Well, at least it had halted the girls’ enthusiasm for quite a while.

I wonder if I call Trisha now and tell her about my encounter, would she believe me?

It is more than a week when I see Sylvia again. A heavily raining afternoon. Like usual, she is wet. And asking the same question again.

This time I am ready. I hold up the book for her to see. “Look, Sylvia. We have dried the book. It’s all dry now. And the good thing is it still can be read.” Though a bit fluffy.

“So, no need to pay for the damage?”

“No, Sylvia. You do not need to pay,” I assure her.

“Thank you teacher.” Slowly she makes her move. This time I really see her leaving the room.

The next day, I hear that they have found Sylvia’s body clinging onto the roots of a mangrove tree, not far from the site of the tragedy. She is put to rest following that.

I still keep her library card at the counter. Who knows, she might return to borrow books.