Chapter 1
Ilian
The room was dingy and dusty. Dark like the rest of the house, and the smell was unbearable, though I should’ve been used to it, considering I've lived here all my life. But I didn’t mind, at least, not as much as 3 months ago. After all, everyone else here liked it, and they were all I had left.
The most precious thing in this room was lying on the worn-down table beside me, and I stared at it with equal parts trepidation and excitement, and as cliché as it sounds, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Not when I saw it on my dirty lawn, not when I opened it and saw the university the letter was from, and not now in the middle of the night with the moonlight illuminating the heading of the many papers.
“ASHBOURNE PRIVATE UNIVERSITY”
For the hundredth time that day, I pick up the letter and read.
″Ashbourne, New Hampshire
Office of the President
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mr. Ilian Sage Prescott
Dear Mr. Prescott,
It is a pleasure to write to you on behalf of Ashbourne Private University.
Following careful consideration of your academic awards and prize-winning artworks, we are pleased to offer you a place in the incoming class beginning in the Fall Semester of 2019 within the College of Arts and Humanities, where you may pursue a Bachelor of Arts beginning in the Fall Semester.″
I don’t bother with the middle part of the letter, as the ending was what gave me a thrill.
″Enclosed you will find the materials necessary to complete your enrolment, together with information concerning residence, orientation, and the beginning of the academic year.
Your admission and semester fees have already been covered, as an exception to other students, because we recognise your potential, so do not worry about it.
We would be delighted to welcome you to Ashbourne and hope that you will find the University a place in which you can learn, create, and grow.
Please accept our warmest congratulations.
With best wishes,
Eleanor V. Whitmore
President
Ashbourne Private University
Founded 1847″
I put the letter back down, and resist the urge to grab it again, hating myself for craving it.
Funny how fate will spend years trying to grind you into the earth, only to place a little ember in your hands afterward—as if that were its apology, and its way of saying that all that suffering was teaching you how to hold it.
But that didn't make up for the sufferings, did it?
I drag my mind back to the matter at hand, trying to think with logic.
Ashbourne University.
In my neighbourhood, it was spoken in the same sentence as Harvard and Cambridge. And they definitely weren’t known for taking in people like me, even to seem altruistic like so many other colleges.
Only thing is, Ashbourne was known for its unusual methods of student intake and record-breaking results. But not just anyone could apply for it. The admission process, to put it simply, was non-existent. It was invitation-only. The president of the university would send 200 letters per incoming class to students all over the country, and only they were qualified to apply.
Usually, the elite and wealthy were shortlisted. And apparently the poor but fairly talented too, because I was certainly unlike their usual candidates. Either that or the neighbours decided to prank the weird kid once more, which honestly, was feeling more and more likely by the second. The letter seemed legit enough though.
I pick up one of the papers regarding academic schedule and gloss over it. I had to be there by the start of August for admissions and shit, which meant I had around a week to get my act together.
I think about it until, eventually, the darkness gives way to morning. Sleep evaded me the whole night, every molecule in my body vibrating with excitement. My ass hurt from sitting in one place for too long, but I've grown accustomed to such pain long ago. My body was sticky with sweat and the woman at the far end of the room was staring at me with large milky white eyes, but other than that, the only thoughts running in my brain were related to Ashbourne.
I turn to the woman on the other end of my room, “I’ve decided; I’m going.”
She doesn’t reply, instead choosing to tilt her head, her long gleaming hair falls to the ground. I nod nonetheless, “It’s probably a dumbass prank by Owen and the others, but honestly?” I shake my head, feeling slightly giddy, “I don’t even care. This is the most active my brain’s been since......” I try to leave that trail of thought. There was nothing down that particular road but pain and suffering.
"Anyways, like I was saying, I feel lively, and if that’s not a surefire sign that I should try this out, I don’t know what is, ''I say, grinning for the first time in weeks.
The muscles around my mouth ached.
I spring up from my spot on the floor, and stumble out, deciding to take a bath for the first time in 20 days. The stink was unbearable. And I also needed to bulk up again. My muscles from my days as a swimmer were long gone, leaving pale skin and a bony figure. My hair was greasy and unkempt. Fuck, I didn’t even notice how much I let myself go, no wonder the woman wouldn’t leave me alone. I'm sure even her decaying body didn’t smell this much. She must’ve been so worried, the thought brings a smile to my face.
My affection for her and loathing for myself increase exponentially.
My body cracked as I stretched, and the sounds bounced off the too quiet walls. I wonder if the other ghosts were just as happy that I’m alive again. I bet they weren’t. I’m sure at least one of them resented me for every step I took forward. After everything I’ve done, I deserved nothing more than to rot away in this nondescript neighbourhood.
I try to avoid the morbid thoughts as I turn on the heater, pray I paid the electricity bill this month and shuffle to the kitchen. The smell was always the worst here, a vile rotting odour thick in the air. I could almost see it. Mother loved it, telling me it was from the spirits protecting us.
A small furry creature nuzzles against my feet, and I freeze for just a second before looking down. A Puka. Though mother always warned me to ignore them, for the first time, I pick it up and stare directly into its large boba eyes.
“I thought Pukas only came out during the night?” I ask. It lets out a cooing noise, little stout legs running in air. Despite its utterly adorable appearance, with soft brown fur and a cuddly body, the creature would kill me the second I appeared vulnerable to it. Such was the Otherworld: literally eat or be eaten.
"But you can’t eat my essence right now, can you, darling?” I croon, bringing it closer to my face, “Not when it’s so bitter and dead." It lets out an answering keen and I boop its nose before setting it down.
The kitchen had no eatables, which was not surprising, but definitely disappointing. I sigh before pouring myself a bowl of old cereal and choking it down with water.
I hear noises from somewhere down the hall, but I ignore it. The woman would warn me if the others ever crossed a line or tried damaging things...or people, which was more common than one might think.
Soon, I would be able to get away from them. And I bet that made my dear ghosts want to suffocate me to death.
