Sleep Journal - 190110 - Fairge Anma

[kimurho]

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Sleep Journal
10 January 2019

The first few weeks of the class were fairly mundane.

Logical.

Scientific even.

Dr. Monaghan concentrated on statistical probability and analysis. An awful lot about statistical probability. I think a quarter of the class dropped during that. Not what they expected, I guess. It wasn't what I expected either, but I didn't mind. I found the focus on scientific method reassuring. Calming, even. I like Maths. It's about as far from who I used to be and what I once studied as is possible to be.

I thought Craig was one of those who dropped during this time; he missed a week of classes. I found out later that he was away, presenting a paper at some symposium or conference or some such, but I didn't know that then. I thought he was a student, like me.

So stupid.

When he showed up again, I expressed concern, even offered to share my notes with him on the classes he'd missed, that's how stupid I was.

He could have told me then. He should have told me then.

It would have been so simple. All he had to do was say 'That's not necessary; I'm the other teacher for this course.'

It would have been simplest of all, though, and more honest, if he'd just introduced himself as 'Dr. Craig Stevenson' at the very start. I would have been warned. I would have kept my proper distance.

But he didn’t tell me, neither time. Instead, he suggested that we go to coffee-shop not far from campus while he looked over my notes – his treat.

I considered accepting. I almost did accept, but at the last moment … I couldn’t.

Being alone with a man … with any man ... even one as harmless as Craig appeared … I couldn’t do it. I just couldn't.

I didn't turn and run away. I had that much control. I just made my excuses and walked away, leaving Craig holding my binder.

The unit on statistical analysis was connected with the topics of telepathy and precognition – what I would call divination. One of the requirements for the course is that students enrolled in the class had to participate in certain research projects. Some we could opt out of – as I immediately did with the ghost hunting expeditions – but the lab on these topics was not optional. Everyone had to participate in the card-turning trials.

I was a little startled to find Craig taking down names, dates, and times available for the lab. After I thought about, though, I realized I shouldn't be surprised. I knew that he was all gung-ho over the course topics. At the end of every lecture, while everyone else was streaming up and out of the hall, he was fighting the tide to go down – to talk to … or argue with … Dr. Monaghan about something or other that he’d said. To be honest, I only assumed that was what he was doing; I never followed him to find out exactly what it was that he found so important. I didn’t want to call attention to myself; I preferred that Doctors Monaghan and Stevenson remained in ignorance as to my appearance and identity. I just packed up my things and left with the rest.

I guessed he was trying to get one of the student internships that Dr. Monaghan had available for qualified ... and interested ... student. Craig had mentioned it to me a couple of times, urging me to apply for one.

The day Dr. Monaghan announced the schedule for the card-turning experiments ... that was the day the first body was found in the necropolis not too far from campus. The one I was sure contained a nest of ghouls.

Not that anyone called it 'the first'. Not then, that came later.

He was a jogger who had gone missing a week earlier. The body was in bad shape, according to the news reports. They said he must have been attacked by a pack of wild animals.

I immediately thought of the ghouls ... but that didn’t really fit with what they were saying.

Ghouls are carrion eaters – they can’t digest any meat that fresh and for their purposes, a week-old corpse is fresh. That’s not to say that they wouldn’t kill for food. Lore contains tales of nests coming together in massive packs that would attack and kill travelers but if that were the case in this instance, they would have hidden the body away, in a mausoleum or tomb perhaps, for a month or more until the corpse was ripe enough to eat.

Authorities were advising people to avoid the necropolis and nearby neighbourhoods especially in the early morning or evening hours, until animal control could locate and put down the animals assumed responsible for the attack. That was good advice but since I already avoided the necropolis at all hours, it wasn't really pertinent.

The parapsychology department is part of the school of psychology; they have a suite in the older part of the Psych Building – five offices opening into a shared front office - plus some other rooms ... labs ... along the main hall on the same floor. Parapsychology is not a huge department. In addition to Doctors Monaghan and Stevenson, there are two other professors, a few graduate students and some student interns. And the woman at the desk in the front office, guarding them all.

I approached the woman at the desk, told her my name, and the time of my appointment. Even before I finished speaking, the woman who assisted Dr. Monaghan with the class, a woman I thought was Dr. Stevenson, came out of one of the inner offices.

“Sarah Farris, right?” she asked, smiling broadly, as though she knew me. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

I started. “Dr. Stevenson …?” I began. She interrupted, saying something that sounded like ‘…just be a minute…’ Or maybe it was “Call me Justine” which was what she said when I asked her pardon for not hearing her properly.

She rushed me out the door, saying, “This way.”

We went down the hall a ways and as we walked, the woman … Justine … explained the set-up for the experiment.

There were two rooms, both sound-proofed, both enclosed. No one in either room could see or hear anyone outside the room nor could they see or hear the person in the other room. The only connection between the two rooms was a buzzer. When the person in the first room turned a card over, tey would press the buzzer, letting the person in the second room know to make a guess.

Both rooms were monitored by camera, recording whatever went on inside them.

That was it. No ritual, no ceremony, no preparation. No runes drawn or spoken, no intent declared. And no protections.

I was not much impressed. Not that I was planning to open myself up and actually try to read the cards on the other side of the wall, by any means, but it was the principal of the thing.

"We'll be testing for telepathy first ..." Justine was saying as one of the doors lining the hallway opened and Craig burst through it.

"Justine! There you are!" He sounded aggravated. "The computer's broken again - we'll have to use the cards." Then he saw me. His expression wiped clean and he blinked ... as though surprised.

"Sarah. You're here." Taking a deep breath, he recovered, gave a weak smile and shook his head. "Of course you're here. Ahh... right. Yes. Justine, I'll pitch this one."

I wasn't expecting to see him there. Granted ... Craig had been the one to write down the days and times I had free to do this thing, but that didn't mean he would know when my appointment was.

Unless he made the effort to find out.

As I understood it, Dr. Stevenson, whom I assumed was Justine, decided who would come in when. From the way he addressed her, they were on fairly close terms, so it was possible that she told him. And that he made the effort to be here now.

I didn't know how I felt about that thought.

For a panicked moment, I thought about leaving ... quickly. I don't like the thought of anyone ... any man especially ... paying that much attention to me.

On the other hand, this was Craig.

Some of what I was thinking must have shown. He gave me a crooked grin, looking both sheepish and awkward - disarmingly so.

"It's not as bad as it sounds. Honest. It just means that I'll be turning the cards for you to guess. Real easy. I promise."

In a very short time, I was shut inside a very small room. Closet really. Just a student desk on which an electronic keyboard displaying five symbols was resting and a hard chair. A camera eye over the door was trained on the desk top ... or rather on the keyboard.

And that was it. No runes. No charms. No signs or sigils. No preparation.

No protections at all.

If I understood them correctly under ordinary circumstances I wouldn't know who was turning the cards. Pitching.

Like cricket? Did that make me the batter?

How could work anyway. I asked if I could handle the cards; get a feel for them. Craig said that wasn't allowed; Justine explained that they couldn't risk anyone claiming that I had marked the cards for ease of identification - like card-sharking. I didn't really understand the concern; it wouldn be ... couldn't be an issue seeing that I wasn't going to be in the same room with the cards.

So, no personal connection with the ... the pitcher. No personal connection with the cards. How was this supposed to work?

I was not impressed.

I took my seat at the desk, feeling uneasy and bothered. Knowing that I was being observed. I wanted to draw a circle of protection around myself, but I didn't want ... I couldn't do that with the camera recording my every move.

He called me primitive ... because I had to say the words and chants or physically draw runes and sigils in the air or on the ground. He said that it was the sign of inferior magics to need such crutches; a true mage could manage simple works using the power of his mind alone.

He was quick enough with the rod if any of his elaborate pentagrams were not precisely executed, though.

I closed my eyes and murmured a quick prayer to Brigid, the patron saint of magics. Then I imagined encompassing myself and the desk with a circle of protection. I could feel heat building. My lungs laboured to draw in sufficient breath. Then, with a snap that almost dropped me out of the chair, the circle closed. I drew in a deep sigh of relief.

Then I heard a buzz. For a moment I thought it was lack of oxygen causing a buzzing in my ears, then I understood.

The experiment had begun.

I kept my eyes closed - it didn't matter if I was looking or not; there was nothing to see.

I pushed a key at random. After that, whenever I heard the buzzer sound, I just selected keys at random, careful not to touch any one of them that 'felt right'.

That was the first test. Because the computer program wasn't working properly ... because they had to use the symbol cards and they really did not want a student handling those, I didn't get to try to "send" anything to Craig. We went immediately into the pre-cog part of the test, which was exactly like the telepathy. So much the same that I wondered what they thought they'd get out of it that was any different.

Finally, I was finished. The trial was over, they had the data they wanted. The woman, Justine, was leading me out, talking about ... something, what happened next drove all memory of the converation out of my mind.

I addressed her as Dr. Stevenson.


She laughed. "I'm not Dr. Stevenson. My name is McManus. Justine McManus. I'm one of Dr. Monaghan's research assistants. Craig is Dr. Stevenson."

The bottom fell out of my stomach. I ... don't remember leaving. I don't know ... what I said or didn't say or ... or anything. I just knew I had to get out of there.