It was a Monday morning about as mundane as they come. My alarm woke me up to tell me it’s time to start another day. As I scanned my dorm room, I noticed that my roommate’s side of the room appeared undisturbed. This is the third night in a row she hasn’t slept in her own bed. She was probably shacking up with her latest male exploit. Tiffany normally goes for the frat boys who don’t look like they belong in a fraternity, but reveal their “bro” nature exactly two weeks after the novelty of her personality wears off. It’s like clockwork. She’ll come back here by Wednesday - all dejected and pessimistic. By the time Friday rolls around, she will be at it again. Looking for her next suspect.

There was a lot of commotion going on in the hall this morning. It is the week after finals so everyone is ready to party all their anxieties away. Still, all of the grumblings before 9am is especially annoying. I get dressed for class anticipating all the useless conversations I’m about to have. I thought going to a university, I would be surrounded by like-minded individuals. High school was a nightmare. I felt invisible. Surely, I would make my mark here. Maybe even get a boyfriend. Turns out I was completely false. As sophomore year was drawing to a close, I considered the fact that maybe everyone else wasn’t the problem - maybe the problem is me?

As head out the door for my exams, the volume of voices I hear explodes - but barely anyone is actually moving there mouths. Samantha in the dorm next me thinks she’s pregnant. David is nervous that his Statistics Professor will discover that he had sex with the Teacher’s Assistant in exchange for the answers to the final. Sadness. Depression. Ego. Anger. Anxiety. All these thoughts with all of these feelings associated were too much for me to handle.

I wondered if I was imagining this whole thing. Am I going crazy? Has my loneliness and isolation subconsciously unlocked this sad defense mechanism? All the emotions and the thoughts were too much for me to handle sitting in my first class - funny enough it was Psychology. Even though the professor was the only one talking, I could still hear the voices. They nearly drowned out the lecture.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

I don’t know how I ended up standing with nearly 80 other students staring back at me. I don’t even remember how I got my voice to yell that out loud. The professor gave me a concerned look after her initial shock wore off.

The voices start to pour in, one over the other.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I was scared and I had no clue what this affliction meant. Naturally, I fled to my dorm room - adamant that I would never show my face in that class again. I submerge my whole body with my blanket and take cover. That’s when I hear another voice. Unlike the voices I’ve heard all day, this voice was weak…course. It’s sounded near death.

“Help me…”

I walked around in circles to find out where this ragged voice was coming from. Is it coming from the wall we share with Samantha or is it coming from the opposite side?

I go out into the hallway. Instantly, that voice goes silent amongst the others. When I step back inside my dorm room, the voice prevails. I ask myself what does it mean?

I open all the cabinets on my side of the dorm room but I don’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary. Just when I think the voice is fading away, I hear that decrepit tone whisper, “Find me. Help me. As I follow the voice, I am guided to the closet. It’s cracked open. I try to push it closed but it won’t budge. I add a little more force. All of a sudden a body falls out of the closet and onto the carpet.

I am at a loss for words. I attempt to give the unidentified man CPR, but he doesn’t respond. The young man is dead. Just as I start thinking about my next course of action, my roommate barrels into our room.

She sees the man’s lifeless body laying face down.

“What the fuck did you do to him?” Tiffany exclaims.