Golden Lake University whose mere existence arrested the attention of werewolf packs, vampire clans, and witch—and wizard covens, was highly sought after like a kid in a fervent quest for pack of delectable candies or a band of ravenous dogs for a fleshy chunk of meat.
After the war ended, werewolves; in their packs, witches; in their covens, and vampires; in their clans, through preconceived thoughts and competitive zeals felt that having the highest number of students that made up Golden Lake University, automatically made them superior to the others—at least, till when the population numeration was overthrown. And although no one said it—like a secret rule which no one spoke about but everyone knew of, there was a feud—that'd brewed over the centuries, which was beginning to unfurl to every part of the school like few drops of a Black Poison dropped into an untarnished, spotless body of water.
That was when the idea of the dormitories in the students' residence being compulsorily alloted to two undergraduates of different affinities had been suggested like a seed being buried into the fertile, chocolaty soil—to foster peace. Unfortunately, the seed didn't germinate into what was expected and that was why on the first day of lectures, there was chaos. Lots of it.
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Tony P. Morrison's ‘Exploring our Blue World’, and Susanna E. Carrere's ‘Sightseeing in Space’ books, slipped off Harold Girard's sweaty hands as he jogged down an unfamiliar hallway whilst releasing hot breath like a steam train.
The heavy, hundred-paged textbooks slapped against the cold, white tiles, sending out a quick-but-loud noise that spasmed through the lonely hallway and as Harold bent to pick them up, curses slipped out through his lips, fusing with his warm, inconsistent breath.
He stood up straight with the books secured under his sweaty armpits and spread a crumpled, extra large map that looked like it had been picked out of a waste bin, as he bent his head over, with eyes searching for where his Geography class was being held.
“Having trouble?”
Harold's breath ceased, his throats went drier than the Sahara in less than three seconds, and he felt his stomach squeeze gently on one side as he turned round to see who had spoken.
A girl, with hair darker than a squid's ink, skin as uncouth as decaying cheese and thick-rimmed spectacles hugging her thin face, stood on the left side of the hallway comfortable in her skin with a feeling of content swelling from her.
A thin hand traced with veins like naked electric wires running along a pipe coursed from her long fingernails that curled inwards like an hawk's—which were slapped against a light yellowish pillar, upwards and into her black clothes making them obscure.
Harold had no issues with her appearance or who she was at all. No. He had problem with the fact that he had to interact with someone, again, but that wasn't the time to disclose his displeasure as he needed as much help as he could get.
“Yes. I have quite an issue to deal with and...”
The girl who had retracted her hand from the sturdy pillar that dug into the ground, like a fowl who'd clawed the earth in search of worms but found none, folded her arms in one another and walked towards Harold with her head tilted like a zombie.
She rudely snatched the map from his hand, used a finger to push her thick glasses from her well lubricated, oily nose up her face to cage her eyes, then she stared at the map for a full ten seconds.
“Citadel H. That is where your class is being held. Our class, I mean.” The duo stared at each other and Harold noticed that her pupils were oceanic blue. Other than that, the silence was awkward and discomforting.
“I offer Geography, too, and just so you know,” her blue eyes shifted to the books under Harold's arms then back to his face, “Your ‘Sightseeing in Space’ is two editions late and hence, skips a lot of vital informations. Get a new one if you can or...” she stopped as if trying to keep an crucial piece of information to herself. She shut her eyelids tight which caused a few creases to appear at the edge of her face like little wrinkles then breath in noisily, “Come with me, if you want,” Harold heard her mutter as she opened her blue eyes that seemed to glow, before walking away from Harold and down the hallway then winding into another corridor that forked furthermore into two.
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“Trisha McLeod, witch,” the queer girl said in a whisper that held a lot of power, and self-assurance, and confidence, as she and Harold stood in a secluded part with one large florescent light shining down on them like they were on an elevated stage, acting for audiences. They settled on the other side of a chestnut-coloured door that had ‘CITADEL H’ printed on it in scintillating black.
“Harold Girard, werewolf.”
Trisha—the unusual witch, gasped then swallowed her surprise like she had crossed a line and ‘over-expressed’ herself.
“I didn't know you're the Alpha's pup!”
Harold felt like a ladybug under a microscope, and he clutched his books which were lazily resting on his fingers tight. Trisha noticed the change in his comportment and her countenance changed, too, responding to Harold's.
“Soft spot? Sore side? I'm very sorry for bringing it up,” and with that she pushed CITADEL H's tanned door open which let out a mild squeal, and walked in, leaving Harold alone on the outside.
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Citadel H was theatre-like—descending semi-arcs of chairs that hugged the lectern, dim and faint luminescence looming all around but brightening up on the podium, chilling Air Conditioners that made the room as cold as the Ice Age, silence—perfect, utter and absolute silence—but for the lecturer's voice that boomed from speakers attached to designated seats.
Harold walked into the lecture room cautiously, not wanting either the notice of the lecturer or the centre of attention, or both. He bowed his head against his palms and released hot breath that warmed his fingers as he hugged the book to his chest and walked, scouting for an empty seat at the far back of the class.
“Yet, someone decided to show up to his first class late!”
Harold spotted an empty seat next to a flaxen-haired girl in a lot of pink attires—pink high heels that glistened and screamed ‘Notice me!’ silently, pink blush; on both cheeks, that smeared the girl's face like a permanent stain, pink fingernails, too, that reminded Harold of an Eagle's tallons, and pink lipgloss that was almost like food stain.
He walked past a couple of students who had their eyes trailing him and that was when he realized that the lecturer was referring to him.
He stopped and turned to the lecturer with a heart pounding.
“Why were you late?” the lecturer questioned, instinctively dropping a marker on his pulpit.
There was something about the man's voice. It sounded familiar.
“I... I didn't find here on... time.”
The man stared at him long enough to make him self conscious then he sniffed!
Harold instantly knew. It was the lecturer— the mean, hardened one he'd overheard, perhaps, planning a murder the previous day, with another lecturer of the institution.
The man recognized Harold's scent, too, and his face moulded into a vile, evil and intimidating grimace all too suddenly.
Luckily, the man was almost powerless with the hundreds of students watching him and that was when a sound came out of a small, white public address system that hung from the wall.
“There is a bloody brawl amongst two Level Three Undergraduates—A Vampire and a Wizard along Underpass Alley. Lecturers close should please exit their classrooms and do all they can to bring back stillness.”
Harold's Geography lecturer's eyes shifted, then like a possessed fellow, he headed towards the exit, hitting Harold hard by his shoulder along the way.
He stopped and whispered into Harold's ears, “See me at my office before the day ends.” His breath was minty with a subdued taste of onions, and with that, he walked away.
It seemed like all the doors in Golden Lake University—no matter what they kept away or welcomed the students into, were either chestnut-coloured and tawny—a shade affiliated to brown, or had a strikingly and almost indistinguishable hue resembling sallow orange. Harold had noticed that.He stood, facing the lecturer's door which was sealed shut—or appeared so. The reddish-brown door—obviously of excellent quality, was tall, too; lanky and sturdy, like a mammoth preventing Harold from access to the other side.Harold's neck revolved left and right, and his eyeballs shifted in their chambers as he watched the now-familiar hallway for any shadows and whispers; signs of the presence of people—students. There were no reasons in particular but he felt like being imperceptible and out of sight of anyone, like a pilferer.He ousted his hands from the searing heat of his pockets and tapped the stalwart door a few times—in quick
Harold Girard's right foot collided against a large stone in the shadowy blackness of the cavern and he went sprawling on the ground as excruciating agony stung and bit and crunched on his toes intensely like a stray dog was gnawing at them.He sat alone, in the mysteriously dark cave, nursing his toes which he knew must be bleeding hard through his sneakers. His nose twitched uneasily at the unusual whiff of the cave that seemed to have been heightened considerably over the minutes. It was as though the pong was overhanging from the high walls like ghosts floating around.What was the university holding back from the thousands of undergraduates that was so important it had to be stashed far away underground in a cave?Harold Girard couldn't push the hundreds of thoughts that flooded his subconscious per nanosecond out of his head as he sat on the earth, so he stood up to continue his journey.A ne
Harold Girard; through lies, managed to abscond from the queer-looking midget who came into the pedantic office of his lecturer, a minute after he crawled out of the benighted cavern.If he had been as much as three minutes later than he was, he would have been seen at the very moment of his writhing out of the opening like a worm, and even worse, he'd have been expelled-or killed-and his blood fed to the brutes in the cavern, solely because of the information that was now microfilmed in his memory and etched in his heart.On the outside of the mysterious office, Harold saw students going about their businesses-which was making most gaiety of the winsome sundown, in troops and 'gangs' and dressed in fancy garbs and distinct attires, after a long day of erudition.His hazelnut-coloured eyeballs chaperoned a group of four that bantered and quipped as they sauntered down the hallway; not minding the large quota their voices added to the forthcoming ca
Trisha McLeod's stein slipped out of her shaky fingers at the sudden realization that a student's life was coming to an end—in a matter of minutes—or seconds!Driblets of the liquor; that glowed of crimson—due to the sunset's filter—which doused every physical objects within reach, lubricated the limpid surface of the cup and the ‘greased’ beer mug which still had an ample quantity of booze in it, skidded from her grip before ramming into the cold tiles and splitting into hundreds of tiny fragments with a strident noise.Regrettably, the bump of Trisha's wine's glass on the inured ground brought a lot of attention their way; that of their Geography professor included, and that was when another chain of problems began.Harold and Trisha crouched into the indistinct shadows of the deftly pared gorse bush that separated them from the rest of the swimming tract like a fort breaking up a warzone from the territory of impoverished locales. Unf
Hastening away from the uninhabited natatorium and towards a small cabin—built with bricks and sturdy planks of wood; for the pool's paperworks, was a waitress. Her small, well carved palms which were ornamented with silvery beads that simulated the sunset's beauty, held a salver that had a couple of steins in it, and with each step she took, the glass cups clanked into the serene atmosphere like the death bells of undertakers; which was what attracted Harold and Trisha's attentions like bees to honey.Trisha, who was the first to pick up the orderly sedating tolls with her acute sense of hearing, ran in its direction, leaving Harold to the still blue body of water on which the empty bottle water floated and danced with the miniscule waves the howling wind caused.The waitress who was golden-haired looked like she was dressed for a summer vacation. A skimpy crop top hugged the upper part of her well enriched frame and her long, beautiful
*THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO THE NIGERIAN ?? YOUTHS WHO HAVE IN ONE WAY OR THE OTHER, STOOD AGAINST THE GOVERNMENT AND BRAVELY AIRED THEIR VIEWS AND OPINIONS FOR (POSITIVE) CHANGES DESPITE THE MASSACRES AND HOLOCAUST CARRIED OUT ON HUNDREDS OF YOUTHS AT LEKKI TOLL GATE ON THE 20TH OF OCTOBER, 2020.*Trisha McLeon knelt hurriedly and with a thud, her knees touched the coarse ground—over Catherine's motionless body. She looked behind her, hoping to see Harold or anyone that'll be of help but they were both alone. The environ was as deserted; and noiselessless, as an eerie catacomb. She plucked her eyeglasses from her face and placed them on the ground, beside the waitress' numb frame. Her mum although was a witch—like her, had been a top-ranked nurse in the human world. Hence, she was lucky enough to have seen some acts her mother carried out on her patients on countless occasions. Trisha pl
The vampire, Wilkes Milton, was partially carried—in the middle, with one of his arms around Harold's sweaty neck, and the other wrapped the way an anaconda will encircle a prey before devouring, around Trisha, who was greatly disturbed with thoughts of Catherine who had ‘disappeared into thin air’ and left no clues or trails or hints that she'd ever existed.They hobbled and staggered out of the swimming vicinity like soldiers who had just fought—and won a war for their motherland and were returning back to their families bruised and in dire need of medical attention.The trio were tired. Exhausted, to be precise. And dazed, too. They'd each had more than their fair share of mind boggling ‘adventures’.After ten long minutes which was made more difficult by the dimness that had cloaked Golden Lake University, they got to the fountain the ‘tour guide’ had shown to them on their first day. The fountain which attracted the attention
Harold put one feet on a wooden cabinet that wasn't more than two metres tall and tied his sneakers' shoelace. He dropped the leg, put the other on the same cabinet and repeated the same action as he'd done the first time.As he stood up with a sigh escaping his pink lips, he smartened out his shirt which was crisscrossed with diverse dyes, by tugging it downwards on its hem for the umpteenth time. That was when Wilkes came out of the bathroom with a white towel round his waist and shampoo and water matting down his long, jet black hair.“Still meeting at the cafeteria at 12 PM, yeah?” Wilkes asked to ascertain what they'd arranged before he went into the bathroom. His abdominal muscle glistened as droplets of water skidded down his frame before being soaked by the towel.“Yeah. Trisha will be there, too. I know you barely remember what she looks like but she helped you, still, and deserves to hear what I have to say. I got her num’er la