The Burning

It was more than good. Her initial impressions had been correct-there was definitely a hippieish vibe to the place, and she thought that was wonderful. The competitiveness of Los Angeles, the fractious tribalism with which she'd grown up, was nowhere in evidence, and instead the mood was mellow, casual, live-and-let-live, an attitude and lifestyle that immediately made her feel comfortable.

Oh, she had a few minor quibbles. Sports seemed to be far too big a deal here, particularly for a university with no nationally ranked team, but as Chrissie had said, the winters were harsh, and since NAU had a domed stadium, attending sporting events was one of the few social options open for students during the cold months. Although Angela swore otherwise, Chrissie promised her that by the first week in December, she, too, would be gratefully attending a football game.

But she just loved her fellow Babbitt House residents. And the homesickness she'd been expecting had never materialized. She and Chrissie had bonded instantly and despite their divergent backgrounds had become, in a matter of weeks, the closest of friends. While Angela still regularly called and e-mailed her friends back home, lately it had been more out of obligation than necessity because she was as happy here as she'd ever been back in L.A. Winston and Brock were great, like her own Queer Eye team navigating the world of college and Arizona for her. She didn't know Drew and Lisa that well, a married couple who were both grad students and lived at the end of the upstairs hall-they pretty much kept to themselves- but Randy, who lived alone in the apartment next to theirs, and Kelli and Yurica, who had the other downstairs apartment, were all nice and were quickly becoming friends.

She'd even met someone.

His name was Brian Oakland, he was from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and he was a junior majoring in forestry. He wasn't exactly what she thought of as her type-not that she had a type-but he was interesting and attractive, and the two of them had hit it off instantly. They'd been on only one date, nothing hot and heavy, so it was too early to call what they had a relationship, but the date had gone well, they'd already scheduled another, and they were spending an awful lot of time on the phone. She hadn't told her parents yet, figuring it was better to be safe than sorry. She planned to go home for Thanksgiving, and if she and Brian were still seeing each other by then, she'd tell them about him. But if they weren't... well, then it was better for her parents not to know anything had happened at all.

Besides, he wasn't even Catholic.

She was still trying to think of a way to break that to them.

Of course, they'd be shocked if they heard some of the discussions she and her new friends had about religion. Just last night, Winston and Brock had invited her and Chrissie over for a potluck dinner. She'd made a salad, Chrissie a Mississippi mud pie, and Winston and Brock had come up with a spectacular seafood pasta dish. Afterward, they lounged around on the overstuffed living room furniture, and Angela asked Chrissie why she thought some people made religion the bedrock of their lives while other people had no need of religion at all, why her parents, for example, thought about God constantly while Chrissie didn't even believe he existed. She always felt more comfortable talking about this subject with other people around, although she wasn't sure why. Maybe it kept things from getting too personal, gave her an asy out if the talk turned uncomfortable.

Chrissie shrugged. 'Well, I think a lot of people are like children. They can't control themselves or behave 'in a rational, civilized manner, so they have to be threatened with punishment from Daddy in order to bring them in line. It's why so many screwups and alcoholics and drug addicts become religious. They need to think that they'll be punished after they die or else they'll just keep on doing what they're doing. They have to be ordered to behave.'

Every time Chrissie said something like that, Angela was shocked anew. Part of her completely understood what her friend was saying and even agreed with some of it. But part of her recoiled, expecting a bolt of lightning to strike Chrissie dead at any second.

'Maybe those people really are saved. Maybe God helps them turn their lives around.'

'Then why's there so much recidivism? How come God can't save all of them all the time?'

'Religion does help a lot of people,' Angela said. 'It gives them faith, gives them hope... .'

'Yeah, but I just don't believe there's an invisible man in the sky monitoring your every move and taking notes so he can punish or reward you after you die, an invisible man so petty and vain that if you don't kiss his ass every Sunday, he'll let you burn in hell for all eternity.'

'Leave her alone,' Winston said.

'She brought it up,' Chrissie pointed out.

'I did,' Angela admitted, 'although I wasn't trying to start an argument or convert anyone or anything. I was just curious.'

'I came from a religious family, too,' Winston confided. 'So I know where you're coming from.'

'He just ran like hell from it when he found out that God hated him and he was going to burn forever because he loved men,' Brock said, grinning.

Winston pushed him. 'Infidel.'

It was time to change the subject.

'So,' Angela said, 'tell me about the ghost.'

Winston and Brock looked at each other.

'Come on! Chrissie told me this house was haunted, and she said you guys're the experts. You're the ones who've had a close encounter.'

'Encounters,' Brock said quietly.

Winston sighed. 'I know this sounds ridiculous. Believe me, I'm not some hippie-dippie, fuzzy-headed New Age touchy-feely guy-'

Brock raised an eyebrow.

'Okay, I am. But I never believed in ghosts before moving here. Didn't even have an open mind. As far as I was concerned, they were figments of gullible, overactive imaginations.'

'But you believe now,' Chrissie said in a low spooky voice.

'Laugh all you want, but yes, I do.' He glanced at Brock. 'We both do.'

Brock nodded.

'The first time we heard it, we were sitting right here, in this room. Dan Hamlyn, who used to live in Kelli and Yurica's place a few semesters back, was with us. We'd just finished watching a movie. And, no, not a scary one. A comedy. Mother, I think, the Albert Brooks movie. I was gathering up the glasses and the popcorn bowls, Dan was getting ready to leave, and we heard moaning from the kitchen.'

Brock's nodding became more emphatic. 'Like someone was in pain, like he'd been hit in the head or something.'

'Although we weren't sure it was a he. It could've been a she. It was impossible to tell.'

'Scared the hell out of us, though, and all three of us hurried into the kitchen to see what it was.'

Angela glanced toward the closed kitchen door. She wanted to feel frightened, but she didn't. She liked a good ghost story as well as the next person, but there was something about the telling of this tale that was too pat, that made her think it had been concocted for her benefit.

'Of course there was nothing there,' Winston said. 'The room was empty, and the window was closed. We searched the whole apartment, but there was no one here except us.

'The next time it happened was morning, I believe. Last winter. It was still dark out, but it wasn't that early. Six o'clock or something. I remember I was already up and eating a bagel because I had an early class.'

'This time it came from the linen closet,' Brock said. 'And we knew no one could be hiding in there because it's barely big enough for a couple of sheets and our towels.'

Winston chimed in. 'It was like mumbling or muttering but really fast and really high-pitched. Gibberish. We couldn't make out a word of it. The creepy thing was that it didn't stop. We opened the closet door, tossed everything out on the floor, and it was still there. It wasn't coming from behind the closet, or above it or below it or anything. It was right there in front of us, like the ghost who was doing it was right in front of us and we couldn't see it. Scared the hell out of me, let me tell you.'

'And that's it?' Angela asked.

'It's happened a couple of times since, but, yeah, that's pretty much it. I know it doesn't sound like much, and you probably think it's sound seeping in from another apartment or something, but I'm telling you, it's eerie.