The Audience

I ran.

Breathing hard, I turned a sharp corner in the woods, hoping I would lose them. I knew these woods better than my own house, even in the dark. Short, stumpy tree there. Turn right. Huge oak tree carved with my initials. Turn left and a sharp right. If I could just get to the creek and cross the water…

I had to stop. Ducking behind the nearest tree, I leaned over and grabbed my knees. The stabbing pains in my side came sharp and quick. I knew I needed to move again but my legs wouldn’t budge. I sank to the ground, back resting against the base of the tree. A twig cracked, maybe twenty feet away. Close. Too close. I covered my mouth, trying to conceal my heavy ragged breath. They knew where I was though. They always knew. I was so stupid. I could get on a plane and fly to Timbuktu and they would know where I was. Running home hadn't helped.

Why? Why me? What had I done? Why wouldn’t they leave me alone?!

I pulled out my phone and stared down at the screen, the light shining bright in the dark woods like a beacon, begging them to come and find me. Tears brimmed in my eyes and I didn’t stop them from flowing down my cheeks.

But then I got angry.

I stood up from the base of the tree. One last look at my phone and I chucked it as hard as I could through the trees.

“What are you waiting for?? Go ahead, come and find me!” I screamed at them.

And then I ran again.

3 days earlier

Ophelia Parish, the fine arts building on campus, was quiet and dark as I entered with my saxophone case in hand. It was close to 10:00 p.m. but I knew the building would be unlocked until midnight. I was tired from working at the restaurant, smelling of pizza and covered in grease, but I needed the practice. Working on my piece at home tonight was a no-go. Jess had a 7:30 a.m. Calculus class that demanded that she go to bed at a decent time and she didn’t appreciate music quite as much during her sleepy time.

Jess was my roommate and my best friend from high school, and a certifiable genius. A triple major in linguistics, psychology, and criminal justice sounded like lunacy to me but I would support her in whatever she wanted to do. She appreciated all the sleep she could get, and I respected that.

I passed Mr. Chris, the night time janitor for OP.

“Working hard tonight, Mr. Chris?” I asked with a smile on my face. Mr. Chris Johnson was probably the nicest man you'll ever meet. He was a Truman graduate himself with several degrees under his belt. At least, that was the rumor. He never talked about it

The older gentleman smiled as he pushed his cart past. “Probably not as hard as you, Miss Rachel. How’s the piece coming along?” he asked, his southern accent slipping through.

I smiled back. “Recital is a month away. I’ve got work to do.”

“Well, better get after it then. Can’t wait to hear how it sounds.”

“Thanks. Have a good night.”

“You too, sis. And be careful walking back to the dorms. Some of them frat boys been at it again this week, I hear.”

"I will." I rolled my eyes as I turned to head toward the practice rooms. The Sig Taus were notorious for trying to scare freshmen after hours, hiding in the trees along the sidewalks and wearing creepy masks, trying to jump out at unsuspecting victims. The RA’s were on to them, but these guys had been hard to catch.

I walked up the stairs to the second floor to where the old practice rooms were. The new part of the building had been built just a few years ago complete with brand-spanking new music pods, but they had left the old rooms too, mostly for us seniors. We lovingly referred to them as “the fridges,” as the tall white boxes with clear doors looked much like over-sized refrigerators. I’d been practicing in the same one since freshman year and didn’t plan on that changing anytime soon. It was like having a good luck charm. I had survived nearly four years of college as a music education major, so I'd say it was working.

I yawned and set my case up on the chair, pulling out the parts to put my alto saxophone together. Thinking about the senior recital coming up next month made my stomach turn. I wasn’t a performance major, but all music majors (both performance and education) had to do a senior recital in front of the entire music faculty and any students and families who wanted to attend. My case of stage fright was a real thing. I’d been trying to work my way through it, remembering all the tricks my peers had passed along. Nothing was working. Every time I passed the auditorium, looked at my piece, or picked up my instrument, the nausea hit like a tidal wave.

A knock on the glass fridge door made me gasp and jump, practically dropping the heavy bell to my sax. Jackson, a percussionist I’d known since we survived Music Theory I together freshman year, pressed his nose to the glass and shifted his eyes back and forth, being a goofball and attempting to make me laugh. I threw an empty reed case at him as he opened the door.

“Why in the world are you here this late?” he asks, dodging the case and popping his head in. His mallet sticks were in his left hand, so I assumed he’d been practicing as well.

“Baking a chocolate cake,” I replied sarcastically.

“Yum." He eyeballed my music stand, "Still working through the butterflies?”

My smirk disappeared, “Not butterflies…exactly.”

“Then what do you call it when you’re actively trying not to vomit while playing in front of an audience?”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, listen Rach, I'm glad you're here. I've got something that might help,” Jackson said, in a serious voice this time. “Another percussionist showed me this app you can download.” He sat down on the small ledge leading up into the practice room, using his backpack to prop the door open. He pulled out his Android and swiped the screen to unlock it.

I flopped down in the practice chair, slumping back. “Jackson, I’m tired. What does an app have to do with me being a nervous wreck?”

“Let me show you,” he replied, “I even downloaded it to try myself.”

I shook my head, “You? Mr. Extrovert?”

Jackson held his phone up for me to see. “It’s called the ‘Audience’ app. Somehow it works with your camera. Some of the guys in the Computer Science wing developed it. It projects an image of an audience onto a wall. It recognizes sounds, so the audience even knows when to be quiet and when to applaud. It’s pretty neat.” He tapped on the icon, and sat his phone down onto the practice chair. A light shone from his camera lens and cast a hologram of people onto the wall of the fridge. They were smiling, standing politely. An audience.

“Wow,” I said back, honestly impressed. I pulled out my own Android and quickly found the app in the store. It was even a free download.

“Thanks,” I said earnestly. I really was a nervous wreck about this recital. Any and all help was welcome at this point.

Jackson grinned back, “Anytime. Now, get some practice in. We’ve got Music History in the morning. Quiz.”

I groaned, “I totally forgot about that.”

Jackson threw up a peace sign before grabbing his backpack, and he left. The practice fridge was once again silent. I looked back down to my phone and hit the download button on the audience app. It was finished within a minute. I sighed audibly.

“Whatever works, I guess.”

I opened the app and stared down at a black screen. For a minute I thought it wasn’t going to work. I disconnected my WiFi, then reconnected it hoping that would fix my internet issues. Still a black screen. I sighed again and put my phone down. The guys in CS needed to work on their bugs.

I went to work on putting my sax together when I noticed a light shining under my phone where I had laid it down in the chair. I picked it up and noticed my flashlight seemed to be on. Wait, no. It was projecting. A small image of people shone onto the practice chair. I waved it for a second, watching the people move around on the wall near me.

“Huh, it worked.” I said out loud, to no one. I propped my phone onto its side so that the hologram would project onto the wall instead. I had to say, it was pretty realistic. I counted eight standing people, four women and four men, dressed fairly generically, but pleasant looks on their faces. They looked like they were attending a concert.

“Well, I don’t want to disappoint you all. Here we go,” I said as I slipped on my saxophone neck strap. I had already set up my music stand, my solo piece ready to go. I attached the reed to my mouthpiece and began to play, letting my fingers glide over the keys easily and expertly. I practically had my piece memorized already, so I closed my eyes and just played, feeling the rhythms, the notes. I opened my eyes and was startled to see the hologram of people still watching, quietly. It was a little disturbing, I'll admit, but it seemed to be helping my nerves to play in front of them. When I got through to the end (I even hit the crescendo in the right place), I was pleasantly surprised at how well I had done. A slow clapping sound came from my phone’s speaker and I looked up to see my “audience” applauding me.

“Cool,” I said, an excited feeling spreading through my chest.

The next night I headed over to the practice building after work. I was excited to try the Audience app again, especially after how much I felt like it had helped me the night before. Earlier today, during my private saxophone lessons, Dr. Smith had even commented on how much more confident I seemed when I played. He wasn’t the kind of professor to hand out many compliments.

I unlocked my phone and noticed a text message from Jess. “Where are u?” she asked. It hit me that I hadn’t seen her much today. That wasn’t unusual; we were both super busy, especially right now with finals and graduation next month. But we tried to make time to hang out. I typed back a quick response, “sorry, getting in a quick practice at OP. Be there soon.”

I opened the Audience app and once again got that weird black screen. I waited just a second and noticed my flashlight came on again. I propped my phone up on the practice chair, as I did the night before, and the image projected once again onto the empty wall. Seven people stood, awaiting a performance.

Wait. Seven? Is that right?

I looked again. Four men. Three women. Wasn’t it an even number last night?

I should run over to the Computer Science wing tomorrow. See if I can track down whoever made the app to let them know how buggy it is. Then again, maybe the app is designed to change each time. What do I know?

I carried on with my practice, accepting the applause the Audience offered me when I was finished. I packed up my stuff and hustled back to the dorms. Ten minutes later I was entering Dobson Hall. It was quiet, unusually quiet tonight. I looked down at my phone. 11:35 p.m. Quiet hours had already begun. I climbed the two sets of stairs to the second floor and turned right to head for my dorm room. Something stopped me. For one thing, the hallway was dark. Must be a power outage, I thought.

For another, I stared down the empty dorm hallway at the strange figure, only illuminated by the emergency lights. The figure wasn't moving, just standing at the opposite end of the hall facing me. I made a face, squinted. This person was kind of being a creeper. Surely the Sig Taus wouldn't be stupid enough to try their tricks inside the dorms. But maybe that wasn't what this was. Maybe this person needed help.

“Hello? Are you okay?” I asked.

No answer. I was sure it was a woman. She tilted her head and continued to stare at me, hair falling to the side. She almost seemed to stare through me. It was unsettling. I spoke again, “Can I help you find something? Or someone?” I took a few steps forward, cautiously.

Again, no answer.

We stood there for a moment, eyes locked. Then she moved, took a step towards me, her face suddenly in the light. Her movements were not smooth, almost jerky. She was smiling, not blinking. My eyes narrowed and tightened. This was incredibly weird.

"Okay. Look, you seem like you might be lost. I'm going to find an RA to help you."

I turned to do just that but then I noticed her face, really noticed her face. It wasn't normal. Not just the eerie smiling, the head cocked to one side, the jerky movements. She had...streaks running through her skin. Purple streaks, like lightning. They ran from her forward, down her face, onto her neck, and down under the collar of the shirt she wore.

My breath caught in my throat. I didn't think, I just turned and ran around to the other side of the hallway, desperate to get away. Each floor in Dobson Hall, much like the other dorms, was built into the shape of a square so if you got lost you just walked around until you found your way again. I knew if I ran the other way, I could still get around to my room and call campus security.

I got to my door, 258, and scrambled for my room key. Dropped it. As I reached down for it, my bag fell off my shoulder, slamming into our door. It suddenly swung open, and there stood Jess, looking annoyed. The panic in my face softened the grouch in her and she was suddenly concerned. "What happened?" Jess questioned as she reached down to grab my backpack for me. I snatched my key up and the rest of my things and practically shoved her into the room.

As I explained what I had seen, Jess's expression changed from "let's call the police" to worry for my mental health.

"Rachel, we're both exhausted. We have finals coming up and I know you are stressing the senior recital. You've also been picking up too many shifts at Tony's." Jess stood and held her hands out to me. "You need to go brush your teeth and go to bed. Come on, get up. You'll feel better after you sleep. I promise."

I sighed, "You're probably right. Sleep sounds like the best idea I've heard all day."

A satisfied Jess smiled and hugged me, then went back to her own side of our double room and laid back down in her bed. She was quickly snoring softly again.

I went to the community bathroom we shared with the room next door. After I got ready for bed, I quietly climbed into my own bed and laid down. My heart was still racing but I felt better. She's right, I'm just tired. It was probably a drunk freshman.

The following morning I woke up to my alarm blaring Journey (the only music I'll happily wake up to). I gathered my school stuff into my backpack, saxophone case in the other hand, and prepared to spend my entire Friday in OP Hall. I left the dorm and turned left to walk down the sidewalk. With it being before 8:00 a.m., the sidewalk was pretty empty.

Except for the two people standing in the middle of it, about twenty feet ahead of me.

I stopped and just stared for a minute. The people stared back. This time a man and a woman. They weren't moving, much like the person I'd seen in the hallway last night. Just stood next to each other, blocking the pathway. And stared.

At me.

They smiled. I squinted my eyes, then widened them.

Streaks. Purple, lightning bolt streaks ran through both of their faces. It was the strangest thing I'd ever seen.

My breath started to quicken. What was wrong with these people??

Someone bumped into my shoulder from behind and I jumped like I'd been shot. A girl passed me, obviously in a hurry and throwing a quick "Sorry!" back at me as she adjusted her backpack and scurried off. When I looked back down the sidewalk, the man and woman were gone. I closed my eyes and put a hand to my head.

They were there. I know they were. Am I losing it?

I sat in class twenty minutes later, trying to listen to Dr. Jones' Romantic Period lecture. I couldn't. My mind was elsewhere entirely. Who are those strange people? Why do they stare like that? Why am I the only one who seems to notice them?

I turned to stare out the window, people watching instead of taking notes. Some were taking their time, laughing in groups and meandering to class. Some were obviously late. Some carried gym bags, probably heading to Rec. A small group of guys threw a Frisbee around in the open court. Pretty normal.

Wait.

I sat up a little straighter. There. Beside that tree.

Three people, standing absolutely still. Staring straight ahead, heads tilted at odd angles.

At me. They were staring at me. Through the classroom window.

They see me.

My breath caught in my throat. Before I thought, I gathered my notebook and pen, my backpack, and I walked out of class. Several students watched me go and I even heard Dr. Jones get quiet. I let the door slam shut behind me and I bolted down the hall to the bathroom, passing several people I knew who were calling my name.

What was happening?? Are those people following me now?

Slumping down to the bathroom floor, I pulled out my cell and called the first person I thought wouldn't think I was absolutely crazy: my mom.

She answered on the second ring. Since it was Friday, my mom insisted I call in sick to work and come home for the weekend. "I'll make your favorite," she said.

I packed my bag and drove the two hours home. I didn't stop for anything.

I didn't see any strange people on the way either. It made me wonder if it was a campus prank. The Sig Taus had upped their game. But why me?

It was dumb of me to drive all the way home and miss work and my extra practice sessions. Because I got freaked out over some people in weird masks. So stupid.

I was brushing my teeth that night in my old bathroom, about to go to bed. It had been a fun day, just hanging out with Mom. She's an author, so taking the day had been easy for her to arrange. We watched movies, ate too much ice cream, and talked. She did make my favorite meal, spaghetti. It was delicious as always. She agreed that I'd been under too much stress lately and just needed the weekend to recharge.

I turned the bathroom light off and walked into my old room. Mom had left it the way I had left it before I went to college. My favorite stuffed animals still in order along my headboard, just the way they should be. I fell into them and felt relaxed for the first time in a long time. I pulled out my phone to check my messages before calling it a night. Jess had texted, just checking in. I checked the usual social media, then turned to plug my phone in. The light shone on something. Something in the corner of my room.

No...

Three figures of people.

No...

I shook my head, closed my eyes, convinced I was seeing things in the dark.

Still there. Still staring at me. Still smiling in the dim light. A man and two women, I thought. In my house.

THEY HAD FOLLOWED ME.

I screamed and threw my bedroom door open, running as fast as I could to my mom's room. I scared her to death, I know. I pleaded for her to come with me, to come and see. I felt like a child with the monster hiding under the bed. But this was real, I KNEW IT WAS REAL. And someone besides me had to see them.

My mom followed me back to my room. But there was nothing there. I moaned in frustration, and fear.

I slept in my mom's room that night, with her bathroom light on. I say "slept," but I laid awake for hours. I watched for them. I didn't know what they wanted, or why I was the only one who seemed to notice them, or see them. But I was scared out of my mind.

Why? Why me? It was a question I found myself asking a lot here lately. Ever since I downloaded…

I must have dozed off because a scraping sound startled me. I looked at my phone. 3:15 a.m. I looked over at my mom, who was sleeping soundly, her back to me. What was that? Mom didn't have any pets, except for her Beta fish she kept in her office. I thought my heart would beat out of my chest. I eyeballed every corner of the bedroom and saw nothing. Cautiously I got up, the bed squeaking softly. I turned my phone flashlight on. I would have checked under the bed, but it was a platform so I knew that was okay.

Scraping sound again. It sounded almost like metal. But it was coming from another room.

The kitchen, maybe?

My mom's house wasn't that big, so hearing sounds from room to room wasn't unusual. I tiptoed out of the bedroom and turned left to go down the hallway toward the kitchen. A soft light glowed from the kitchen. Mom had always left the kitchen sink light on for me as a kid and the habit had stayed. I turned the corner to step into the small kitchen--

Two people stood at my mom's kitchen sink. Two of those people with the purple lightning steaks through their faces. And one was holding a kitchen knife. They stared at the doorway, at me, like they'd been expecting me, those permanent smiles plastered on their faces. All of the air left my body and I did the only thing I could think to do.

I ran. I ran right out the kitchen door and into the woods surrounding my mom's property.

Saturday morning, 8:30 a.m.

“She just left, right in the middle of the night?” the deputy asked, leaning against his police car, notebook in hand.

“Yes, when I woke up she was gone. She had been scared, a bad dream I think, so she had slept with me in my room. I never even noticed she had gotten up.”

“You’re sure she didn’t go back up to school? Maybe decided it was better to head back?”

“Her car hasn’t moved, Deputy. It’s still here.”

Deputy Stewart nodded solemnly and closed his notepad. “We’ll go out and look for her. Does she sleepwalk?”

“No, not that I know of.”

The officer nodded once more before returning to his car.

Three days later…

Jackson entered the empty auditorium where his bells were set up. He was meeting a few of the other percussionists here to work on the recital piece. He had arrived super early.

Maybe I can get some extra solo time in before they get here, he thought to himself. Jackson pulled his phone out of his back pocket to check his messages for the hundredth time. He was really worried about Rachel. Jess said she’d freaked out last Friday and hadn’t come back from her mom’s house yet. It wasn’t like her to not answer his texts or calls, even from home.

He swiped his phone, looking at social media notifications and noticed his Audience app.

I haven’t used this in a while…I wonder if there have been any updates. He didn’t really need to use it. He mostly wanted to show it to Rach to try to help her.

He tapped the app to open it. It crashed. Jackson grimaced and tried again.

“Stupid bugs,” he muttered.

The app opened that time, his flashlight came on, and an image projected onto the floor.

Nine people. Nine generic people stared back at him, pleasant smiles on their faces. Awaiting a performance.