41 The first day it occurred, Harper was in the bathroom of a crumbling building on hercampus. She was washing her hands, searching the reflection of her skin for blemishes when the lights flickered. Harper had class in this building every day, and knew that the lights did this occasionally, but this time it lasted for longer than the usual few seconds. The buzz of the bulbs rose as the light in the room flickered in and out ofexistence. Harper reached to cut off the flow of water as she frowned at the failing fluorescents above her. Her wet hands fumbled with the handle, and when she looked down to correct it, her eyes were drawn back to the mirror. Bile rose in her throat when they landed on the reflection. A figure was there, directly behind her, breaking through the unsteady darkness that plagued the room. She closed her eyes, waiting for it all to disappear. But instead of relief, all she felt was warm breath hitting the back of her neck. Harper’s skin turned to ice. Her body knew what was occurring before her mind could piece it together. She felt her breath rattling in her chest, rising and falling more quickly with each second. This is not happening. This is not real. 1, 2, 3 . . . But it came again. Another round of foreign breath. She flinched away from the touch of it, and before she could stop herself, her eyes shot open. The mirror revealed the truth. Flickering in and out of view—traveling only through the occasional cloud of darkness—was the same shadowy figure. It stood directly behind her. The void where its face should be was angled, looking at Harper’s. Although she could not make out any eyes on the being, she could feel the burn of its gaze against her skin. She stood frozen at the bathroom sink for a few moments before the door flung open. A girl entered, and the lights returned to normal. Harper let out a breath that sounded more like a sob and braced herself against the sink. The girl’s quick steps stopped when she saw Harper. “Are you okay?” Harper looked back into the mirror and wiped off the sweat that had formed on her forehead. She turned to leave, having to step around the girl to reach the door. “Thank you,” was all she could manage to mutter. It wasn’t long after the incident in the bathroom that Harper had bought her flashlight. The memory compelled her gaze to turn to the ceiling of her room, and she found ease in the sting of the steady lightbulbs. Still wrapped in her towel from the shower, Harper pulled the blinds of the window closed so that she could change. She threw on a pair of yoga pants that had been a prominent member of her wardrobe since middle school. There was a tear on the back of the right knee, but Harper didn’t mind. She pulled a hoodie over her head, threading her flashlight through the arm of the fabric. She combed her hair back into a ponytail, using her fingers to
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