The Deer by Elise J. Geither

Author:Elise J. Geither [, Elise J. Geither]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Rose Writing
Published: 2016-03-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Now we were in late July. We thought it would be hot, a solid sun staring down at us all day, but that day it was cool. A fall breeze swept my hair around my face, and I could smell water in the air. I was on campus visiting my dad. My mom had dropped me off and drove slowly away with her shoulders hunched and her head down, barely seeing over the steering wheel. Business, she said.

I had two sandwiches in a brown bag and a can of coke and two books. The campus was small and I dragged my feet as I walked, enjoying the sun and the quiet of a summer campus. Soon it would be full of busy students, tired and laden with books, some high on caffeine and tobacco, all with loads of books. My hand gently touched the corner of one of my books. As I passed the student union, I saw the remnants of signs protesting the killing of deer. There were photos of deer on poster board with sayings like “Why would you kill Bambi?” There were three students sitting on the steps holding signs and eating burgers, but Van was not there. They were the only ones left from the protest. The deer season was scheduled to open in four short weeks. The hunters were to take 60 head of deer, no more. This would leave the herd small enough to survive a suburban winter. As I passed, a girl with thick blond bangs and hippie clothes shouted at me, “Don’t let the deer die!”

I responded automatically, “I won’t.”

“Good,” she nodded, “That’s cool.”

I walked past and into the Math building. My father’s office was on the first floor and I heard voices from his office. When he saw me, they stopped. A tall woman looked down at me from a towering six feet. Her hair was black and her suit was black and her shoes were polished, shiny black.

“Minna,” my father said, “You remember Dean Carl.”

“Yes,” I said, “Hello. How are you?”

“Fine, fine,” the dean replied, “How is your new house? New friends?”

“It’s fine. Yes, new friends.”

“Good, good.” She turned back to my father, “You know, I could never live there. Those ghost stories are too much for me. Did you read about that in the school paper? I’d never sleep a wink!”

“Do you know anything about the ghost?” I said, “I saw her!”

The dean looked at my dad, who shrugged his shoulders.

“I have heard stories. But you know, Minna, there’s really no ghost. It is just stories.”

“No,” I said, “I saw her. It’s a girl.”

My father and the dean exchanged glances. The dean sighed and took a seat.

“Well, I’m sure it is a story because this is what I heard.”

I sat too, handed my father the bag and rested my chin in my palm.

“Well,” she said, “I heard it was a girl who died in a factory accident.

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