42 visualize and smooth down any stray hairs. The cramped dorm room had been purged of all mirrors long ago. Shoving a textbook into her tattered backpack, she released a breath and headed into the day. Even a haunted life goes on. Harper was accustomed to the whispers that followed her. She used to make an effort to hide the sleep deprivation from her face, or the flashlight attached to her wrist, but that had only lasted the first few months. People knew, and there was no stopping their talk. Besides, Harper could tell how many of them loved to have something to discuss: the freak girl on campus. She didn’t mind being that for them. Her last class of the day began at 4:00, just thirty minutes after the rain began to fall. Harper spent her time staring out the window, watching the drops of water swirl into designs against the glass. The lecture was nothing more than sounds strung together to fill the background—their rhythm encouraged the rain to fall faster. She surveyed the drops as they became a dizzying masterpiece, but just as she contemplated turning to focus on the lull of words, a bird came crashing into the window. Harper jumped, accompanied by the gasps of a handful of students. The masterpiece ran red. Despite the mash of blood, bones, and feathers that stuck to the glass, a few laughed. “Well—” their professor began, but she was cut off by more loud crashes. Three more birds followed the first, flying into the windows with such force that a tiny crack spread from their remains. The classroom went silent. “What the hell?” someone’s whisper filled the empty space. Harper looked around the room. Dozens of faces stared at the window, not one of them noticing that the lights had begun to flicker. They buzzed at a higher frequency than normal; Harper could feel it. She pulled her flashlight against her abdomen. A few students pulled down the blinds to help cover up the gruesome scene. A moment after they had shut out the faint gleam from outside, the lightbulbs buzzed higher, and then went out completely. Familiar pressure crept up her diaphragm. She quickly pressed the button of her flashlight, but it didn’t respond. Come on, she hit it against her desk and tried again. It flickered weakly, and disappeared. She didn’t bother to pick up her backpack before she started moving. It was only a four-minute run back to her room, but she made it in two. Her lungs fought against inhaled rain drops as she ripped open the door to her room. Once inside, she tried to turn on the lights, but they were out too. The entire campus had lost power. She jerked open her desk drawer and pulled out the tub of batteries she kept there. Harper sat on her bed and dumped the tub’s remains out before her. She had almost successfully changed the batteries when she heard the lock of her door turn. It wasn’t until then that she noticed the cast of shadows. Her heart dropped. The blinds.
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