The room is still and heavy. No noxious fume permeates the air; it lays mellow and dumb. A chill slips past the collar of my long-sleeved shirt, and it runs down the hair on my neck, giving me goose bumps. It continues to run down the curvature of my spine and settles in the small of my back. The only noise in the room is the tapping of my fingers on the computer’s keyboard – I must turn in this essay tomorrow.

I studied for three tests until ten o’clock, finished a research report for my political science class, and I have been working on this creative writing paper ever since I finished that. I wrote a rough draft, and I've been through several others. In addition, I've gone though numerous “final copies” that ended up just being discarded. With every “final copy” I type and print out, I’m always hoping that it’ll be the final one, but with every new sheet coming out of the printer, it seems as though another abomination to the literary world has been born.

I subconsciously take my left foot out of its house slipper and place it flat on the hard wood floor. The floor is cold; almost as if it were frozen. Inspiration has yet to show me its generous side, and coffee has been my only companion ever since I began studying for those tests. Now I am completely caffeinated, sitting in front of the laptop in my dorm room, as my fingers dance slowly over the keyboard – almost as if they are ballet dancers dancing to a melancholy slow song in a minor key.

I begin to grow nervous as I realize more and more that the room is silent as death besides the sound of my fingers tapping on the keys. It’s the sound of a person walking through a graveyard, their shoes clip-clopping along the pavement. I need to get this paper finished soon. I have to finish before midnight; if an odd thing is to happen at all, more than likely it will happen then. Perhaps, if I am in bed by then, I will be safe. Perhaps....

It is now eleven o’clock.

Those odd, strange things – an alarm clock falling off a nightstand (when it’s not even placed on the edge) without anybody’s help, a quilt being removed from on top of you when your fan is not turned on, the moaning sounds of people as they’re dying after being killed, teary whisperings that circle and rise in a terrifying crescendo – all seem to happen at midnight. Why? I have no idea. They just do. And I hate being caught in the middle of them. I was never one to believe in any of that, but I cannot deny that the strange things that seem to happen do not make me anxious.

Ah, yes! I print out yet another prospective final copy of the paper, and I read it over. Finally, I have something worth turning in to my professor! I kiss the paper and sigh with relief before quickly stapling the five pages together and slipping them into a manila envelope. I push up the flattened brads so that they meet each other, then I pull down the flap over the two brads. After flattening out the silvery brads once more, I turn over the folder and write “Creative Writing” on the back with black indelible ink. I shut down my laptop, close the top, and place the pristine manila envelope on top of the computer. Finally, I am finished.

It is now eleven-thirty.

I quickly realize that I have stayed up all this time, and I still have yet to shower. I hurry to the bathroom and turn on the water, all the while cursing while waiting for the warm water to actually get warm. Finally, after it does, I carelessly rip off my clothes, jump into that shower, and get clean as quickly as I can. I mutter to myself the whole time as a vain attempt to keep myself calm. I can feel my heart racing with every water drop that falls onto my back. Each drop is like a shard of glass; each drop pierces my skin and falls.... slowly.... all the way down my back, slicing it. I look nervously down at the shower floor, almost expecting to see red water running down the drain instead of clear. However, to my great relief, I find that my expectations are false.

I step out of the shower, wrap a towel about me, and look at the clock in the dorm bathroom; it is eleven-forty.

After rushing back into the main room of the dorm, I make a mad dash over to my chest-of-drawers. I pull out a pair of long, plaid pajama pants and a plain black tee shirt. I tear the towel from around me and throw it across the room, not caring where it lands. I get dressed into my pajamas in a frenzy, cursing when my shirt tangles around my neck.

I look at the clock; it’s eleven-forty-five.

I throw back the covers on my bed, jump inside, and quickly pull them over my head. I try to relax and fall asleep. As I peek through my covers, I see that it’s eleven-forty-six. That’s the last thing I notice before I finally shut down.

       *******************************************************

But then, I hear a noise, and I shoot up in bed – much like a jack-in-the-box once you crank it up. I quickly recognize the noise as somebody knocking on the door. My mind begins to race at the speed of a hummingbird’s wings, and my heart seems to travel up until it gets caught in my throat; it pounds and pounds like a meatpacker tenderizing a slab of beef. I can feel bullets of sweat falling down my forehead and back, and my hands are wringing my bed sheets until they turn to nothing but sweaty, wrinkled messes. I am deciding whether or not to answer that door.

The knocking becomes more persistent. I finally decide to take my chances. I gingerly turn around in bed and put one bare foot on the cold floor, followed by the other. I walk cautiously toward the door. The knocking continues, and I wince. Finally, I reach the door. I open it.

There, standing before me, is a man whose skin is pale as a pearl. I’m shorter than he by more than a few inches. He is clad in a pea coat and jeans, and his eyes are an intense shade of hazel. I just stand there looking at him. After what seems like ten minutes of silence, he reaches out his hand to me, silently asking me to take his. I look down at his outstretched hand, then up at his face, then back down at his hand. I ponder whether I should comply or not. I have no idea where this man is planning to take me, and we have not exchanged any words at all so far. My conscience tells me that I’m doing something incredibly wrong as I shakily extend my hand to grasp his.

As he harshly yanks me out of my dorm room, I shoot my head around to get a quick glimpse of the clock on the wall. It reads twelve o’clock a.m. It’s midnight now. God only knows what will happen to me.

It’s freezing cold outside, and all I have on is a pair of pajama pants and a black tee shirt. He leads me through the snow and away from the university campus. All around us, it is dark, dismal, quiet, and cold. Inches of snow cover the ground, and stars are glittering with the brilliance of a thousand diamonds. There is an eerie silence between us that begins to make me uneasy. Finally, we stop at the edge of an iced-over lake. He lets go of my hand and steps out upon it.

The light of the moon strikes off the edge of the lake to bounce into the trees and the pale-bleached, icicle-covered cattails. The ice doesn’t give way beneath his weight. He stretches out his hand, just like back at the dorm, as a gesture to get me to take it. I hesitate, trying to refuse. However, He gracefully glides over to the edge of the lake where I'm standing and grasps my hand.

My foot cautiously ventures out and finds purchase on the frozen lake. An instant later, my other foot follows. My companion doesn't smile, but instead glides further, pulling me with him, as though leading me in a delicate waltz. One, two, three; one, two, thr-

All of a sudden, the intricate frozen framework – the ice that encrusts the lake beneath us – is no longer solid beneath my feet. His voice is neither delighted, nor unsurprised. My entire body is enclosed by the lake. The water is freezing. It’s as though thousands of the sharpest knives invented are stabbing me all over my body. I lie there softly bobbing, the weight of my fall transporting my body further across the pond and under the ice. My hair flares out until it is spread like a halo about my head. I lie there, caught beneath the lake’s icy coating.

In a moment, his face is directly over mine. It’s made softer by the iced patterns, but his eyes are still the same sharp hazel shade. He kneels down and lays one hand against the ice as if he were caressing my cheek. Then, he lowers his face with the tranquility of the midnight tide until his lips reach the part of the ice that is right above mine. A moment…. two moments…. we are met; his eyes wide and staring all the while. It is almost as if I can feel the pressure of his lips against mine. I watch as he then rises with solemnity and slowly walks away, his shadow mingling with the moonlight and eventually fading from my vision.

I shall continue to watch the scene splayed out before me, even after the morning’s frost has settled over the lake. Though the sky may eventually awaken to the soft kiss of sunrise, I will never awaken; I have fallen into true sleep. I shall continue to watch the days pass and the seasons change, for I am encrusted within the iced-over waters, and my eyes are forever frozen open.

                                                  ~The End~