Chapter One
The two-story restaurant taking up the space on the corner of 4th and Parker seemed charming – it was family-friendly and had a variety of events always being hosted. Georgia Peach was the name of this lucrative real estate space in the heart of Cosgrove, home to one of the state’s top universities. Cosgrove’s school attracted many people from around the country – coming to get college degrees while living, working, and playing in the state with the best weather in the country. Young adults begin the prime of their lives with new chances and roadblocks facing them all. A time for new friends and new starts. I was one of those people, one of the ones looking for a great place to start my adulthood, one of the ones who looked to Cosgrove for sanctuary and peace.
I was working at the Georgia Peach, or GP as many of the locals referred to it. I was a server, taking care of customers and making sure their food and conditions were held to the utmost care. The job wasn’t particularly complicated, but it required a lot of time on your feet and moving around. After many of my shifts, which often lasted over eight hours, I had sore feet and an exhausted mind and wanted nothing more than to go home and pass out on my couch, eager to continue my binge watch of whatever TV show I was obsessed with.
This shift in early September was no different, and I was walking to my car in the staff parking area in the garage across the street. Early September was part of our busy season and the Saturday morning brunch I had helped serve was especially busy and took a lot out of me. I got out of the parking garage elevator on the third floor and walked over to my gray Honda Civic which I got for a steal in the summer.
My body basically collapsed into the driver’s seat, and I twisted the key in the ignition, hearing the engine roar to life. I needed a quick silence break before starting my drive to my apartment, so I sat there listening to my engine and staring blankly through the windshield before something caught my eye –
A pink post-it note on the passenger’s side mirror.
My first feeling was curiosity – maybe it was some girl giving me her number or it could be someone complimenting my car. I got out of the car and walked my achy feet step by step around the trunk and to the mirror. My hand reached out and peeled the note off the glass. My heart skipped a beat after my eyes finished the quick read. A pang of anxiety rang in the pit of my stomach. What the fuck? I was confused and slightly scared. I reread it twice to make sure I wasn’t losing my mind. Was this one of my friends playing a joke on me? Who writes something like this? It wasn’t necessarily anything scary or threatening but it was damn ominous.
I walked back to my door and got in the seat – my feet and body no longer so achy due to the small rush of adrenaline I received. I was considering whether to follow the direction on the post-it and decided in favor of it, not wanting to upset whatever put it there. The situation made me uneasy, slight nausea crept its way through me. Who knew what just a small pink square could do to someone? I placed the note carefully on my dash and put the car in reverse and then drive, slowly leaving my parking spot. My mind was occupied with the words scrawled with a permanent marker – DO NOT TAKE MARENGO HOME!
Marengo Street was a busy roadway that cut through the middle of downtown Cosgrove. It was a mere two blocks away from Parker Street and was a part of the usual route I took home. Instead of going down 4th and turning on Marengo, I drove another block further and turned on that road. It would add a few minutes to my commute, but I was a cautious driver anyway.
When I was a few blocks down the road parallel to Marengo, focused on the traffic around me and the music coming through my radio, a large BOOM came from Marengo. My heart dropped to my feet and complete panic came through me. A million thoughts raced through my mind, most of them containing the words Holy Shit! I drove faster than normal home, but my commute time was still hindered, as I had to pull over a few times to make way for ambulances, fire trucks and police cars going the opposite direction. Commuting time wasn’t my concern at the time as I was no longer wanting to lay down and pass out on my couch; complete and utter terror and confusion filled me. I only wanted to get home, my safe space, to further separate myself from the chaos of outside.
When I finally arrived at my abode, I went straight to my floor-to-ceiling windows. My apartment overlooked downtown. I had a perfect view of the city’s quaint skyline. I threw open the closed window shades and saw a black pillar of smoke rising into the sky. HOLY FUCKFUCKFUCK!
I pulled out my phone and searched “Cosgrove”. What I saw destroyed me. “EXPLOSION REPORTED IN DOWNTOWN COSGROVE. POLICE WARN CITIZENS TO AVOID AREA.” “SMOKE AND FIRE IN COSGROVE AFTER EXPLOSION.” “CHAOS IN COSGROVE’S DOWNTOWN DISTRICT.”
I sat down quietly on my couch, looking out on the city, my mind filled with the words on that note.
An investigation into the explosion revealed it was caused by a previously unknown gas leak in a restaurant on Marengo Street. The tragedy made national headlines, as “Lina’s Leak” happened during rush hour. 35 dead and a hundred more injured. The deadliest event in Cosgrove since the Civil War. And I was saved from it by a post-it note.
The note obviously raised more questions than answers. How did someone know? Why did they warn me? Who wrote the note? My confusion and worry led me to keep the note to myself. It was just a weird thing that I believed might come off as arrogant or selfish to those I told, especially in the face of such a horrific accident. I didn’t throw the note away thankfully - I put it underneath a pile of used notebooks in a desk drawer.
It took me a while to fall asleep the next few nights, my mind being drawn to the note and the energy coming from my desk drawer. It radiated to me, as if it landed in the perfect place, its destiny had forced its way to me.
The next note came two weeks later. I was in a dive bar in a nicer neighborhood on the outskirts of town, enjoying some drinks and bar food with a small group of friends. The team had just beaten a huge rival in football earlier in the day and the bar and town overall had an electric atmosphere. The tragedy at Lina’s was still prevalent in the minds of Cosgrove and the university, and we all needed a reason to celebrate.
At some point after quite a few drinks I went to relieve my bladder in the gentlemen’s room. I walked in and went to an unoccupied urinal. I was the only one in the bathroom at the time, which made what I saw even more confusing and terrifying.
Another pink post-it note placed above the urinal next to mine at eye level. Words written in the same neat handwriting as the first. The drinks were certainly kicking in, giving me a momentary lapse in processing. The final drops were dribbling out of me when the primal fear kicked in, and I snapped my head back to the note. My heartbeat increased and dread seeped into every pore on my skin. Was this another warning for a tragedy? Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck.
I grabbed the note and read it. I was slightly relieved but still uneasy. There had never been anything more confusing in my life than these two notes.
DO NOT EAT THE NACHOS!
While I was thankful this note wasn’t insinuating another large disaster, I was still disturbed. A few minutes before I went for my pee break, my friends and I had ordered nachos from the bar. I put the note in my back pocket and observed my body. My knees felt weak, and my stomach started to build pressure. I knew what this meant and took it with grace, as I ran into the nearest stall, locked it, then emptied my stomach of its shitty bar food contents into the toilet.
I had never vomited from drinking, so this was a new occurrence. I inhaled and exhaled deep breaths to steady my body and mind. I flushed, unlocked the door, then went to the sink to wash up. My eyes looked to meet their reflections in the mirror, and they were scared. I looked like a nervous wreck, like one walking into an exam having not studied. My face was whiter than usual from puking and water was dripping from my chin. I wiped my hand on the front of my jeans and pulled out the note to reread it. I took another look at myself and put the note away again. My body went back to the bar, but my mind stayed in the gentlemen’s room; the pink note leaving no room in my brain for anything else. I didn’t even think to warn my friends of the incoming nacho issue.
My stressed condition must’ve been obvious to my friends as they asked what was wrong. I told them I yakked, and they got me a glass of water from the bartender. The rest of the night went by slowly for me – talking with my friends, sipping water, and watching whatever other football games were happening on the TVs. I didn’t even have the courage to look at the nachos that arrived during my absence.
The chips and dips came and went fast, with me making up the inconspicuous excuse that my stomach couldn’t handle them. The night ended with an Uber home and a quick shower before lying down in bed. The notes still conquered my thoughts. I retrieved the note from my jeans and held it in my hands looking it over again and again. It went under the pile of notebooks next to the first. The energy grew, emanating from the desk drawer.
The chicken in the nachos wasn’t cooked properly and my friends all stayed at home for the next few days vomiting and shitting. They told me I got lucky that night and I laughed that off. I didn’t really know if I agreed with that or not. Is there a secret savior looking after me or am I being stalked? Why do I keep getting warned about things that seem impossible to foresee? Why me? My mind could conjure no answers on its own, so I was forced to keep on living my life – studying, working, and playing on repeat. I still hadn’t told anyone about the notes. After all, I didn’t want to sound crazy. There was no proof that I wasn’t the one writing them.
I thought about investigating the origin of the notes further, but I decided against it. I never was the go-getter type and certainly no detective. The notes weren’t doing any harm to me. They were doing the opposite, keeping me safe. I chose to accept them as an inevitability. It seemed they were being drawn to me, nothing I could do to stop that.
The next notes got closer together, eventually it just being a few days between discovering them. There was no predicting exactly when they would come, just the knowledge that they could always be around the next corner. Just the hair on the back of my neck raising a few minutes before I found the next one. The third note found on the desk in the main library I went to study at, read “DO NOT GO HOME RIGHT AFTER CLASS”. I never truly figured out exactly what that one was telling me, but it may have had something to do with the faulty light fixture in my apartment that I found fallen from my bedroom ceiling. The fourth note I discovered on the trunk of a tree while walking between classes, read “WATCH THE ROAD”. This one involved the car that sped through an intersection a few seconds after the electric white walk man appeared across the street – a car that would’ve certainly hit me if I wasn’t looking. The fifth, found on my windshield wipers, “LEAVE EARLY FOR WORK TOMORROW”. A big car wreck blocking my new usual route (I now avoided Marengo Street no matter the occasion) would’ve made me significantly late for my early morning shift. They kept coming, appearing wherever and whenever they pleased. Always pink, always the same neat handwriting. The feeling of energy from the notes decreased over time, but the warm feelings – perhaps even a sense of pleasure, the same pleasure that a nicotine addict gets when smoking a cigarette – increased.
The pile grew to over a dozen, and comfort, rather than dread, filled me whenever I saw a small pink square waiting for me around a corner. There was some force keeping me safe and all I had to do was do what the notes told me. I didn’t question it or find it strange any longer. I felt calmer and calmer as the days went on. I still hadn’t told anyone about the notes, but I didn’t believe that was important. The notes were for me and only me. Why should anyone else get to know about them?
The same confusion and fear I felt when I saw the note in the dive bar came flooding back when I saw another note on my driver’s side front window. I had grown accustomed to the notes, yes, but there was a change. I had just finished up another brunch shift at the GP and was walking up to my Honda when I saw the blue note. Not pink. Blue. And was it bigger? Yes, it was. Or was I going insane? I honestly couldn’t tell until I had it in my hand. Yes, this one was different. Same handwriting, but different color and size. And the words. They were – What the fuck?
CONGRATULATIONS! YOU ARE INVITED TO THE ANNUAL COSGROVE MID-FALL CELEBRATION! PLEASE JOIN US AT THE RATCHER THEATRE ON NOVEMBER 2 AT 6PM. PLEASE REFRAIN FROM BEING LATE.
My hands were shaking as I read it again. I looked around the parking garage for any sign of another person. No one. Questions raced around my mind like NASCAR drivers from hell with no finish line in sight.
November 2nd was a Wednesday. Three days away. 6pm, I had class at 6pm. I guess I’ll skip. Where is Ratcher Theatre? It’s on the west side, I’ve driven past it plenty of times. Holy shit. This is special. I’ve been chosen. I’ll be there. I’ll be there. Two days 6pm Ratcher. I’ll be there.
I didn’t sleep the next three nights. My mind was consumed by the thoughts of the Mid-Fall Celebration, whatever it entailed. The notes being looked at like a single ballerina dancing in front of a sold-out crowd. I researched the Ratcher Theatre heavily the night of the 30th and again on the 31st. It was a decent sized building with an auditorium in its center. Located in a decent, but not great neighborhood in west Cosgrove. 105,000 square feet. 1,254 seating capacity. The perfect place for a mid-fall celebration.
My phone kept buzzing with calls. I was supposed to go to a Halloween party. My friends called me again and again. They got no response. I was perfectly content with myself and my notes. The real party was on November 2nd. Had my friends saved me from the horrific tragedy on Marengo? They were the ones to eat the nachos. They hadn’t warned me of oncoming cars or downed electrical poles. The notes did. My notes. The Ratcher. Mid-Fall. 6pm.
My notes made me feel happy. My notes made me feel calm. My notes made me feel safe. A safety net to catch me from leaving this Earth in some twist of fate. My notes were my fate now. And I was their fate. We were intertwined, one and the same. The Ratcher. Mid-Fall. 6pm.
I arrived 15 minutes early. The parking lot was nearly empty, just a scattering of cars near the front entrance of the building. My heart was beating rapidly at this point. Palms sweating and butterflies trying to migrate from my stomach to Mexico. The building wasn’t that beautiful in my opinion, but that wasn’t the point. My notes brought me here, and that was good enough for me. I looked over at the pile of notes in the passenger seat, the blue invitation on top, one last time. I ran my fingers over them and through their creases. Enticing. Intoxicating. Fulfilling.
I stepped out of the car, wearing semi-formal clothing. Clothes you would see worn by those attending a small house party with old friends. When I shut my door and locked it was when I noticed him. Standing just inside the glass front entrance doors, was a man. Average height and build dressed to the nines, decked out in a full black and white tuxedo. He smiled and waved when he saw me looking his way.
Is that him? The man behind the gun shooting out notes? The reason I’m here? I waved back and walked over, officially greeted by his opening of the door and a kind gesture of his hand inside. I stopped just outside the doors.
“We’ve been expecting you, sir,” the man said, still smiling his genuine grin that appeared to have not left his face since my first sight of him.
“Well, thank you, I’m certainly glad to be here. I love a good mid-fall celebration.” It was when I said this that confusion came over me. I had been at the bottom of a pool, holding my breath, then kicked my legs as fast as I could to the surface. My head broke the water tension, and I inhaled a deep breath like my lungs had never felt air. Did I just say that? What am I doing here? Where is everyone? Who is this?
“Yes, yes of course. We have a big night planned. This has been a long time in the making. Please, come inside,” he redid his hand gesture to beckon me further, one I made plenty of times when showing customers around the GP. I still felt confused. I walked inside.
Just behind the main front entrance were multiple doors, all closed, which all led to the auditorium. Large hallways wrapped around the auditorium space in a big circle which was only partially visible. The lights were all on in the hallway and multiple windows surrounding the walls let in plenty of the sun’s rays. The sounds of people talking could be heard down the hallway to the right. I had seen a detailed layout of the building in my research, of course – except for the voices down the hall, of course.
“Right this way, sir,” the man said as he walked from the front door, toward the voices. Fear tinged the outskirts of my body. Was I having doubts? Shut up, you pussy. The notes want you here. The confidence and optimism I had when I stepped out of my Honda Civic were nearly depleted, replaced my anxiety and fear of what lay ahead.
“What’s your name?” I asked. He stopped and turned back to face me, still shooting me his darndest attempt at a warm and inviting smile, although I could see there were less wrinkles in the corners of his eyes.
“That’s nothing to worry about. It will all be revealed to you shortly. Please follow me this way, sir. This event took a lot of planning.” He turned back to continue walking. I followed after pondering his statement for a few seconds. The notes want you here.
The voices were coming from an open door on the right side of the hallway opposite the auditorium. A warm yellow light spilled into the hallway. The man stopped in front of the doorway and faced me again, still giving me that damn smile. This smile was a no-teether; lips pulled tight to the ears.
“The celebration is right through here. We’re all very happy to have you join us.” I shot him a quick closed-mouth smile, walked toward the warm light, and stepped inside. The room was large, but I already knew that. However, my Ratcher research couldn’t have prepared me for what was in this room.
Multiple round tables without chairs were placed periodically throughout the middle area with people walking and talking and mingling about. A large crystal chandelier dangling graciously from the high ceiling gave off the warm yellow light that engulfed the meeting hall. In the back of the room, furthest from the door, there was a raised performance stage carved into the wall with only one microphone and stand set on it. There was a large bar with multiple well-dressed bartenders serving some patrons drinks along the wall to my left. In fact, everyone was well-dressed. This was a scene that wouldn’t be out of place at a wedding reception or a post-workday bar visit. That made me feel out of place in my khakis, button down Polo and Nike shoes, but that wasn’t my biggest concern. My biggest anxiety came from the amount of people gathered here. There were about seventy people in the room from what I could tell. Various ages, ethnicities, and sizes, ranging from gray thinning hair to college kids my age. When I entered, they all paused their conversations and looked at me.
They all started clapping and gave me brilliant, dazzling white smiles. I felt quite overcome by this newfound fame and started to blush and awkwardly stood in the front of the room. A few people near me walked up to me and shook my hand. They all said relatively the same things, “We’re happy to have you,” “Welcome to the celebration,” “You’ll have an amazing time tonight”. When I realized they all knew my name, a silent alarm pulsated in the back of my brain, a subconscious alert to get out. I paid it little attention; I was focused on greeting my new friends. Everyone was very friendly, and I quickly started to have fun. I walked about, greeting, and talking to the very excited room full of kind faces eager to meet me. It was like the Pope had stumbled into a Catholic Mass.
I got a few drinks in my system and started feeling even better. This was more of a party than a celebration but that didn’t bother me in the slightest. I drank and talked and introduced myself over and over again. About thirty minutes of this cordial chit-chat went by before a man somehow dressed better than everyone walked up on stage at tapped the microphone a few times. Everyone stopped talking impossibly fast and turned to face the man, a calm rested smile planted on their faces.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 31st annual Cosgrove Mid-Fall Celebration!” This garnered a small round of applause with a few hoots and hollers. “As we all know tonight is a very special night with very special people. Most special of all is our brand-new guest joining us for the first time this evening.” He then gestured in my direction, and everyone turned to look again, applauding.
He continued, not taking his eyes off me, “Let’s continue to show our new guest how much we appreciate him by having him officially kick off our celebrations this evening! Tonight, will be one to remember!” An excited murmur swept through the crowd. Quiet discussions of excitement sprung up around me. The man on the stage gestured to the center of the room on my right.
“New guest, please move to the center of the room and start the evening strong for us.” I was in what seemed like heaven. So much friendliness and joy all in one room. And I was chosen to be the centerpiece of the night! I walked toward the center, weaving through the friendly faces and tables full of empty martini glasses. What I saw in the center made my heart skip a beat. Unease flushed through my system as the silent alarm returned in the back of my cranium.
A beautiful woman in a sparkling blue dress with a deer mask covering her face was facing my direction. In her hands was a large golden goblet. I walked ever closer through the crowd, a small circle of emptiness forming around the woman and her goblet. There wasn’t a spotlight on me but it damn sure felt like it. I got face-to-face with the doe, her blue eyes gazing through the eyeholes, and then peered into the goblet. It was filled about halfway with a light blue liquid that sloshed slightly as she extended her arms, beckoning me to drink the goblet’s contents.
The man on the stage spoke again, “Rook, please drink from the sacred goblet and let the mid-fall celebrations officially commence!”
Another excited murmur stirred throughout the crowd. I was not feeling as excited as the ones around me, however. This new scenario felt too sketchy. Sketchier than the rest of the night so far. I looked around the crowd and saw the same face I’d seen all night – that damn smile. The silent alarm pounded my skull harder than ever.
A quiet chant began. “Drink, drink, drink…” The chant was increasing in volume along with the pressure I felt inside me. The pressure to fit in and make everyone around me happy. Did I even have a choice at this point? I had already come this far. I put myself here. The notes. Fuck it.
I took the goblet and drank. The liquid was slightly warm and tasted like bitter apple juice, not delicious but not too gross. As I was drinking the chanting got louder and louder and grew to a yell. “DRINK, DRINK, DRINK…” The words infected my mind, and I couldn’t stop, even when my body was telling me to. My head was achy, and my bones were feeling brittle. The last drops entered my mouth, and I took the goblet from my face. It fell from my hands and crashed to the ground making a large clatter that interrupted the chanting. The crowd broke out into cheers of glory, eternal glory to hang from the rafters. Legacy fulfilled. My body could no longer stay upright and I collapsed into the people behind me. They caught me and gently laid me to the floor. My vision went black. That was the last thing I remember from the night of November 2nd.
I was in my bed. I’d felt more hungover before, but this certainly wasn’t a pleasant feeling. The back of my head sent throbs of ache throughout my skull. I sat up and felt the morning sunshine strike my naked body. I thought over the events of last night and felt worried. What the fuck was in that goblet? What happened after I passed out? Was I drugged? I checked my nightstand. Phone, wallet, keys were all accounted for.
I got up out of bed with the graciousness of an octogenarian and walked across the hall to the bathroom. I turned on the light and stood in front of the mirror. What I saw shocked me. A large bruise covered my right breast and shoulder. Scars almost like claw marks dug into my back. I had two black eyes and busted lips. The rest of my body looked like I had been shaken up in a big bag of gravel and sent careening off the Empire State Building. What the fuck happened?
I went back into the bedroom to check my phone.
A text from an unknown number read, “Excellent work last night. Glad to have you in the group. I’ll be seeing you again soon.”
The other notifications hit me like a train.
From Mom – “Are you OK? Please tell me you weren’t downtown!!”
Dad – “Thinking of you and praying for Cosgrove.”
Steve – “Holy shit you OK? Where are you?”
There were over a dozen texts from different people along those same lines. Dread sunk in and I felt cold and hot at the same time. There was an alert from the police that I received at 10:33pm – “ACTIVE SHOOTER IN DOWNTOWN COSGROVE. STAY AWAY FROM AREA.” HOLY FUCK!!
I searched Cosgrove on my phone’s search engine and was left horrified by what I saw. “COSGROVE SHOOTING: WHAT WE KNOW SO FAR” “COSGROVE SHOOTER UNIDENTIFIED, POLICE STILL SEARCHING” “AT LEAST 8 KILLED IN COSGROVE RAMPAGE” “CHAOS IN COSGR-.”
There was a knock at the door. I stopped my scrolling and looked up from my phone, asking myself if that was real or not. The realization of the situation hit me as another knock pounded from the outside. I was in no condition to answer the door right now. Just leave me alone.
I quickly grabbed a shirt and boxers from the closet dresser and groaned as pain flashed up my limbs when I put them on. I walked out of the room, tormented with every step. I turned down the front hallway and stopped dead.
There was a blue note stuck on the door. On the inside only for me to see. Another knock, as loud and obnoxious as the first. I took a few steps forward. Getting closer, I saw the writing and stopped again. Suddenly, I felt great. My physical pains lessened, and my mental clarity increased.
Another knock.
I knew what I had to do. I stayed silent and went back to the bedroom, beginning to pack my essentials in a backpack. I know what I have to do!
Another knock.
Written on the blue post-it note in the same handwriting as always,
“DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR!”
There was yet another knock, pounding with the same intensity as the silent alarm in my head.
