The room was trashed, everything out of its specified and certain place: a smashed vase holding the deadly Belladonna, emitting an intoxicating aroma resembling vanilla and death; red and blue solo cups littered the sorority's bland rug, a patriotic tribute. The only thing that remained was the certainty of incident, like the shrapnel’s of glass that had broken away from the bottle of Chardonnay. The cork soaked up the large pool of drying blood, smelling of rust rather than the fruity grape scent of the wine.

The freshman, only a day older than her nineteenth year paced across the stained rug, fingers shaking from anxiety. Questions raced through her mind, all of which covered up the illness with an air of innocence. Paranoia crept in like an animal cornering its prey: her. She was scared of them, the lifeless bodies. Their fathomless eyes stared at her, forever mocking her naïve and underdeveloped mind with taunts that resembled the cackling of a hyenas.
The flashing of red and blue lights seemed to embed the date into her mind; December 31st, 1998. Only minutes remained of the year, issuing a sort of peace for the souls surrounding her in the palpable spectrum. Their whining grew to a deafening roar, making the Pledge hold her ears, eyes growing as the dead rose, approaching with a threatening shuffle.

New beginnings were close, only seconds away now as she huddled into a corner, wishing for it all to end; wishing for peace.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

On the final second of the count, the doors of the sorority house were thrown back, an impediment to the introverts. Armed men with guns raised their weapons, speaking noiseless words that meant nothing to her. The only reassuring symbol was the badge, surrounded by the golden letters, N.O.P.D.

As they took in the disheveled appearance of the young woman – blood-matted auburn hair and a pale face, painted hands – they saw the sickness that was obvious in her wild eyes. She was an animal that desperately needed to be put down; a nuisance. A rifle was pointed at her chest, protecting the other officers, as identified by the mass of red dots from all directions that wavered with every breath. She was dangerous, a killer taking as many as a dozen students down with her.

The Pledge spoke incoherently, ordering the men to turn their guns and shoot the living dead now only steps away from her. Frustration overcame her as she lifted her hand to her forehead and began to scream. Desperation was apparent, as was the threat.

A single step was all it took for a dozen bullets to take flight, their end destination varying by only inches. The defeating scream was cut off by –

My body awakened with a creak, my lung with a gasp as the darkness of the room made the nightmare seem just as real as it had been on the inside. The Pledge’s, with a sickeningly sweet grin plastered on her blood-covered face, lurked in the darkness of the ajar closet of the old Victorian.

The blanket around me seemed to get tighter until it was difficult for me to breath. Fear coursed through my veins like adrenaline, flight response kicking in, but I was frozen. In a dark light, the illusion approached me as well, the eyeless cavities just as wild as before.

Only one question remained: why me? That question remained as I let out my own scream of a Banshee, cutting the air and delaying the illness if not only for seconds. And the grin, along with host fled as the door opened, revealing my mother and a strained expression. In her hands: medication, a water pitcher, and a red solo cup.