The Burning

'Thanks anyway,' Angela said. 'For trying.'

'Thank you,' he told them. 'This is a real challenge. At the very least, I'll get a paper out of it.'

Once outside, Derek looked around at the stone buildings of the university. 'There are a lot of smart minds hard at work behind those walls. You'd think we could find one that could crack this for us or at least come up with a usable theory.'

'Right now, I just want to go back and get my stuff while everyone else is at school.' They'd both decided to skip classes and take off work for the day, and Derek had agreed to help her load up everything of hers from Babbitt House and temporarily store it in his garage until she could find a new place to live.

'All right, then,' he told her. 'Let's go.'

If, before, the ornate facade and rolling lawn of the Victorian residence had seemed charmingly bohemian for an apartment building, those features now seemed scary and threatening. The gingerbread on the structure gave it the appearance of a haunted house, and the vast lawn separated it from the rest of the street, keeping it isolated. Her clothes were in there, her PC, assorted books and CDs, but she was tempted to leave everything and give up her rights to it just to get away from this place. She did not want to go back in that building.

Derek had already started up the walk, however, and he turned around. 'Come on. Let's get this over with.'

He was right, and she hurried to catch up with him.

Stupid brown bitch.

She hoped Chrissie was not going to be here. Or Winston.

The front door was locked. Angela withdrew her key ring from her purse and was sorting through the keys to find the one for the front door when a water balloon burst on the cement of the walkway next to Derek's feet. The air was filled with the tart, sickening stench of urine. 'Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!' Randy yelled from above. Angela heard his window slam shut.

At precisely that instant, as though choreographed, Kelli and Yurica stuck their heads out of the window next to the front door-their living room window- and yelled in unison: 'Go back to Mexico, slut!' Giggling, they ducked back inside.

'This place is a goddamn loony bin,' Derek said.

'It's the mold,' Angela told him. She paused. 'At least I think it is.' She opened the front door.

Derek cringed, ready to duck at the first sign of anything coming at them, but there was nothing. 'Do you think this is happening to Dr. Welkes? And everyone else who went down in that tunnel?'

'I don't know,' Angela admitted, and they walked inside.

Ordinarily, at this time of day, Babbitt House was empty and quiet save for one or two residents who might be home studying and perhaps listening to music. Now, however, it seemed that everyone was home, and though she couldn't see them behind the closed doors or through the walls, she could sense them there, listening, watching, waiting.

And there was ...

Something else.

A noise.

It had started off as a low hum, barely audible as they walked through the front door. Within seconds, however, mumbling was coming not only from Winston and Brock's apartment but from all of the apartments, like surround sound. It was the same unintelligible chattering she'd heard before-the ghost- and it seemed to freak out even Derek.

'What the hell is that.' he .asked, his voice shaky.

'It's a ghost,' Angela admitted. 'This place is haunted.'

'Is that from the mold, too?'

'No. It's in addition to the mold.'

'Jesus Christ,' Derek breathed.

The babbling took on a more frantic tone.

'Let's hurry up,' Angela said, 'and get out of here.'

The two of them dashed up the stairs. She half expected blood or dark water to start oozing from the walls, the whole building to begin tumbling down, but they made it to the top without incident.

At the far end of the hallway stood Drew and Lisa, both of them dressed only in underwear, standing stock- still, like statues. That alien voice was still babbling, the sound issuing from all around them as though speakers were hidden in every wall, and what might have been a comic tableau under other circumstances was transformed into a disturbing scene of unfathomable horror.

They had to do this quickly.

Angela strode to the closed door of her apartment, trying the knob. It was locked. She knocked loudly. 'Chrissie?' She was hoping against hope that her roommate was not in, and the lack of an answer briefly let her think that she'd be able to remove her belongings unimpeded. But the moment she put her key in the lock, turned it and tried to open the door, she met resistance. Her fleeting sense of relief dissipated. She pushed harder, trying to force open the door, but Chrissie was leaning on it from the other side. 'Bitch!' Chrissie screamed. 'Brown fucking beaner bitch!'

Derek touched her arm. 'Come on,' he said. 'Let's go. Let's get out of here. Let the police handle it.'

'No!' Angela insisted, more angry now than scared. 'Those are my things, and I'm taking them with me.'

'Bitch!' Chrissie screamed.

'Fuck you!' Angela yelled back. She retreated a step, then shoved her shoulder against the door like she'd seen cops do in movies. Derek's hand closed over hers on the knob, and then the two of them were pressing their combined weight against the door. Gradually, it gave way before them, Chrissie's strength no match for theirs.

The door flew open.

Angela sucked in her breath. Next to her, Derek did the same. Mold had grown throughout the apartment, creeping over everything. The couch was completely black, as were the television and kitchen counter. Inky tendrils climbed up the walls like tree branches, exploding into a galaxy of jet stars on the ceiling. The floor was covered with a dark carpet of fungus.

And the smell ...

The two of them moved no farther than the doorway. Chrissie was naked and screaming at them, her skin milky and untouched by the terrible infestation, her eyes wild with rage, but it was not she that prevented them from going inside. It was the overwhelming transformation of the apartment itself. Angela barely recognized the place. It looked like a bat cave. And she knew with certainty that her bedroom had to be even worse. That was where the mold had started, and there was no way it had escaped unscathed. No doubt all of her belongings had succumbed to this creeping corpse-spawned blight.

She and Derek backed out and closed the door just as Chrissie rushed them, arms extended, hands clawed, shrieking. 'You ugly brown-' There was a hard thump as she hit the door.

'Let's get out of here,' Derek said.

Angela nodded. Down the hall, Drew and Lisa were still frozen like statues.

Although they were closer now.

She and Derek hurried down the stairs. Winston and Brock were in the entryway, standing before the now- open door of their apartment, from whence that crazy jabbering was issuing at earsplitting levels. The last time she'd been allowed a glimpse into their living quarters, she'd thought she'd seen a black spot on the couch. Now the black was everywhere, not as comprehensive or concentrated as it was upstairs ... but still bad.

She was afraid they might have problems with her two former friends, thought she and Derek might have to fight their way out of the house, but she'd obviously seen too many movies because no such confrontation occurred. Winston and Brock glared at them and called her names like 'beaner' and 'brown bitch' that echoed Chrissie's words exactly, but she and Derek made it outside without further incident and ran over the lawn toward the street and the safety of the car.

'Holy shit!' Derek exclaimed after they'd gotten in and locked the doors behind them. 'That was intense!'

Angela was too tired to do anything but nod. She felt drained and at the same time keyed up. Her knotted stomach was cramping, and she hoped she wouldn't vomit. Hazarding a glance back at Babbitt House, she saw