"It attacked me!" the woman screeched, holding on to her right leg where a deep gash sliced along the skin, deep enough to see the glint of bone.
Khamene had seen her before, probably had shared a class or two with her, but he couldn't be too sure. Besides, he didn't really try to remember the fellow students in his classes. For the most part, Khamene had merely been drifting through college and through life, loneliness his constant companion.
Nevertheless, he tried to remember the young woman sitting on the grass with tears in her eyes, trembling lips, and a bleeding leg. He focused on her face: tan skin, heart-shaped, slightly slanted eyes. Khamene knew what he was doing; he was focusing on what didn't matter, focusing on anything to keep himself from looking at the slice on her leg.
"Holy shit," Ron whispered beside Khamene, closer to the windows now.
"Who attacked you?" one of the campus security asked her, kneeling down and inspecting her wound. It was about a foot and a half long, a straight red line that cut through from the bottom of her knee down to her ankle.
The woman shook her head, frenzied and quick, her hair bouncing and slapping her cheeks as she did so. "I-I don't know. It was big. . . I can't remember!" That was all she could coherently say before she burst into more tears, burying her face in her trembling hands.
The other security officer grabbed his walkie-talkie and spoke to it, requesting for paramedics.
"What happened, Annalee?" a middle-aged woman asked. She was kneeling on one foot by the injured student's side. It was a moment before Khamene realized that it was Professor Inrak, his Creative Writing 101 professor.
Annalee forced her hands down and looked at the professor. "I was just walking on my way to class when this, this. . . thing, ran past me and shoved me. It had very sharp claws and was able to do this--"
She cried some more then. Professor Inrak knelt closer to her and caressed her head, cooing her. Afterwards, she turned to the two burly men that were the members of campus security. "Is help on the way?"
They nodded.
"Must be a wild animal," a student somewhere on Khamene's left said.
"That must be a very large wild animal," another added.
A beat of silence, then another student said, "What if it was a Skullor?"
Khamene and Ron glanced at each other, much like the others around them whose interests had been piqued, curiosity and fear mixing within them like a bitter broth.
"Don't be silly, Darius," another student chimed in. "Skullors aren't allowed to cross the borders, and the sun hurts them."
"Skullors aren't exactly known for obeying the rules," Darius said.
The hair on the back of Khamene's neck stood up, a chill passing through his body like a rollercoaster falling from a steep drop. Then, once more, that feeling of being watched.
The idea of a Skullor crossing the borders and entering Wontaria, and then randomly attacking a student at Witcher Price University was unlikely, absurd even, but something in his mind told him that it made an inkling of sense.
That was what scared him, because he somehow believed it.
Everyone stood there, watching the commotion that was slowly dwindling from frightening excitement to wonder, until the paramedics came with a stretcher and carried Annalee to the clinic.
As Professor Inrak stood up, she faced the crowd in and outside of the cafeteria. "Don't worry, everyone. She will be alright. Now, go back to whatever you were doing. Eat, go to class, finish your homework."
Everyone dispersed, but slowly, as if they had all been hypnotized and were only now snapping out of their collective trance. Every movement was unsure, their eyes concerned, their shoulders tense as they exchanged stares with each other.
Khamene and Ron went back to their table.
"I think I'll just save these muffins for later," Ron said, putting the baked treats in the pockets of his trousers. He must be really shaken then, if he had lost his appetite. "Wanna go back to bed?"
Suddenly Khamene's shoulders and eyelids felt heavy. He nodded. In unison, they stood up, disposed of their trays, and walked back to their dormitory, the silence heavy above them.
=====
The day came and went with no more commotions and primal screams from injured students. For the most part, Khamene drifted through the day on autopilot, his body knowing what to do--taking down notes, reciting in class, urinating--but his mind heavy with unease.
He was able to get two more hours of sleep after breakfast, and thankfully he did not see the figure with red eyes and large wings behind his eyelids or in his dreams.
Now it was nearing ten in the evening, and he was studying for his midterms. Kally was out on a date with a girl he'd met, so the AC was on, cool and comfortable.
Khamene supposed that one of the perks of majoring in creative writing was that there was less math and science involved. There were, however, a lot of required readings, essays and studies and articles and stories by renowned authors and philosophers and every other thinker that was long dead.
Khamene was at his desk reading a hard copy of his required reading for his philosophy class. He highlighted sentences and paragraphs that seemed important, but he was not fully comprehending what the words meant.
He flipped to the next page when his mech-com rang. Looking at the screen, he was surprised to see that it was his father. King Heralla barely called him with how busy he was being. . . well, being the king, of course.
Khamene answered it, and a light blue seven-inch hologram of King Heralla appeared like a jack-in-the-box.
"My son!" the king said.
Khamene forced a small smile. "Dad."
"Just checking in."
Khamene shrugged. "I'm fine."
"Really?"
"Yes, Dad." Although, Khamene's voice was unsure, wobbly.
"You don't sound fine," King Heralla said. "Don't stress yourself out with your exams. You're gonna do great, I know it."
"Hmm." Khamene's knee began bouncing up and down.
Heralla's lips turned into a straight line, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "What is it, Son?"
A beat of silence, then: "Something happened this morning."
"What happened?"
"A student got attacked by. . .something." The image of Annalee's deep wound and the flash of bone entered Khamene's mind. He closed his eyes, shaking it off. "She looked badly injured."
Two questions from his father: "Attacked how? Is she alright?"
Because Khamene didn't know the definitive answer to either question, he shrugged, wincing as he thought of a response. "They took her to the clinic immediately, but I think a hospital would be better for her. She said it was large, maybe an animal, I don't know. We only saw the aftermath."
"An animal attack? On campus?" It looked like King Heralla was talking to himself.
Khamene opened his mouth, the world "Skullor" resting on the tip of his tongue, but decided against it. That was an impossibility; Skullors stayed in the Deadland where they belonged. It would not do any good to tell his father that the word was being thrown around as a theory.
Instead, Khamene settled for an unsatisfying conclusion. "The university is surrounded by trees. I mean, I saw a wild boar roaming around Loch Hall last year. An animal attack was bound to happen one of these days, I guess."
King Heralla brushed his hair back with one hand. "I guess so. . ."
An awkward silence fell upon the room as Khamene's father thought deeply, pondering.
"Uh, Dad? I have to get back to studying," Khamene said.
"Huh? Oh, right." King Heralla smiled. "Be safe, Son."
"I will. Good night."
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
The call ended, the hologram of the king disappearing. Khamene sighed, and continued reading, twirling his highlighter in his fingers.