From notes you hastily scrawled last week, the "l" looked more like an "i" and thus you walked right into an empty auditorium, dark and utterly silent save for the faint sound of a pen clicking. It's been following you ever since, that infuriatingly rhythmic sound that comes from nowhere and right beside you all at the same time.
You aren't the only one either. When you snapped at the person beside you for actually clicking their pen they froze and muttered that the more they did it, the further away it got. In that moment you knew it wasn't your imagination and you began to wonder if it was dangerous.
The person beside you refused to answer any of your questions, only warning you to never go back to that lecture hall again. Once gets its attention and twice seals your fate, according to them at least. When your next exam was actually scheduled there you found yourself waiting outside with the same person who told you to never go back.
They were arguing with the professor, slinging medical reason after bargain after plea until the professor physically dragged them into the hall to sign into the exam. The second their feet passed the threshold they collapsed, choking and writhing as if they were being strangled by unseen hands.
You were about the only person who didn't rush to see what was going on, lingering back and basking in the utter lack of clicking for the first time in months. After a few minutes they stopped struggling and went limp, everyone around them had either backed away or were on their phones to the emergency services.
In the brief spaces between their words, the clicking resumed only now it was muffled.
It was coming from inside their throat.
You aren't the only one either. When you snapped at the person beside you for actually clicking their pen they froze and muttered that the more they did it, the further away it got. In that moment you knew it wasn't your imagination and you began to wonder if it was dangerous.
The person beside you refused to answer any of your questions, only warning you to never go back to that lecture hall again. Once gets its attention and twice seals your fate, according to them at least. When your next exam was actually scheduled there you found yourself waiting outside with the same person who told you to never go back.
They were arguing with the professor, slinging medical reason after bargain after plea until the professor physically dragged them into the hall to sign into the exam. The second their feet passed the threshold they collapsed, choking and writhing as if they were being strangled by unseen hands.
You were about the only person who didn't rush to see what was going on, lingering back and basking in the utter lack of clicking for the first time in months. After a few minutes they stopped struggling and went limp, everyone around them had either backed away or were on their phones to the emergency services.
In the brief spaces between their words, the clicking resumed only now it was muffled.
It was coming from inside their throat.
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