Nose to the Grindstone
The University of Virginia
Growing up, Simon Peters had never been what one might call a dedicated student. Causing havoc was more his vocation. But during his junior year at Northside High he turned things around and earned a place at the SEAS (School of Engineering and Applied Science) at the UVA. There he studied under some of the most dedicated professors doing cutting-edge research.
His mentor was Dr. Rolf Grosskopf, a German physicist who thought very highly of his young assistant. The good professor was instrumental in smoothing over a few difficulties Simon found himself accused of; like the time an unpopular teacher’s car tires were imbued with liquid hydrogen making them crumble into rubber rubble as soon as she tried to drive away; or the mysterious mass email from the Provost’s office which greeted all the coeds saying:
We Cavaliers all greet you,
Come join our happy throng,
So prove yourself a Wahoo,
Display with pride your thong!
Simon denied any involvement whatsoever with these or the dozen other pranks which had struck the campus in his first few weeks. Two freshmen from Roanoke
A few very public antics were the least of Simon’s worries however. College work was a tad more difficult than he had expected. He could rise to the task but it required greater effort than he had anticipated. After another two months he began to think perhaps he wasn’t quite ready mentally. He had begun hearing things, noises in his dorm when he knew he was alone. One night while reading a textbook the image of a molecule floated off the page and began to rotate in midair. He didn’t complain because it allowed him to get a really good look at the shape. Still, this wasn’t normal. Simon chalked it up to an over stimulated mind and two pots of coffee.
But the most odd, almost frightening, incident happened as he left the lab well past midnight on a very quiet Friday. A dense moist fog had rolled over the school. Most people had no desire to wander around in it when their rooms were far warmer and drier. Simon trotted quickly past the Rotunda and heard footsteps echoing inside. They seemed to be following him along the buildings. He wasn’t too surprised; though the great green quad stretched before him it was a trackless wilderness of white. Nobody would cross it and risk getting lost when they could just stick to the halls. It was longer but tonight, quicker.
Simon continued on his way but soon noticed that the footfalls were strangely heavy. “Almost clunky,” he thought, like two very solid objects banging into each other. They were certainly nothing like normal footsteps.
Trying to not look scared (he wasn’t really, just a bit spooked) he changed direction suddenly and moved under one of the tall light pillars. The clunking continued for a few steps and then halted. The thinnest film of sweat broke out on Simon’s forehead.
The mind can play wonderful games with a person; when you are all alone on a dark night in an unfamiliar place. None of the buildings looked familiar anymore. A screech owl wailed in the distance and caused his heart to skip a beat. Great masses of fog rolled about him, obscuring whatever might be out there.
“Oh knock it off!” he said firmly. The sound of his voice was startlingly loud in his own ears. But the little boy crying shrilly inside his head was not listening. Within the pale circle of light cast by the lamp all was well. Outside that protective cone…well, there there be monsters.
A minute passed and then another before he mastered his own jitters and stepped bravely into the darkness. Immediately the clunky footsteps began to mimic his own.
“This is ridiculous”, he thought. He turned abruptly to face whatever was creating the noise and stopped dead in his tracks. There, not ten feet away and only faintly visible was a statue of President Jefferson. He would not have seen it at all if the fog were not playing a trick on his eyes. There seemed to be a faint glow of purest white pouring from the figure which illuminated nothing around it. Simon couldn’t remember any statues being in this hall. But then he wasn’t completely sure which hall he was in.
He stepped up to the cold white stone and ran a finger along the jawline and over the large but shapely nose. “Nothing but marble”, Simon thought and turned away. Only then did recognition strike him. This was the Galt statue! It normally stood in the Rotunda’s upper entrance hall. What was it doing here? He turned and studied it closer. Sure enough, there were the high riding boots, heavy gloves and a ¾ length cloak. But the pose was all wrong. Alexander Galt had Thomas in a majestic stance, right arm across his chest. This likeness resembled more a man after a long and difficult day. The head was slightly bowed. His shoulders sagged as if under a great weight.
He moved closer to see if it were on wheels and left here by some forgetful maintenance worker. Just as Simon’s ear passed the marble face he heard just the echo of a whisper. The voice was that of a fine Southern Gentleman, cultured in manner and musical in tone, though deathly tired.
“A man should never invoke powers he does not understand.”
Simon jumped back several feet and stared at the immobile stone man.
“WHAT?!” His yell carried far over the campus and must have awakened several students. A few lights appeared in the far distance like tiny stars.
Again he approached the figure and leaned his head close to its own. There was merely a breath, nothing more than a remembered zephyr. The words seemed to appear directly in his mind rather than passing through the ears.
“A man should never invoke powers he does not understand.”
Many years had passed since the last time something this…bizarre had happened to Simon. But that had been nothing. A childish game about some piece of rock he had found. Over the years he’d convinced himself that all the odd happenings had been his imagination or easily explainable natural phenomena. As a child he pretended so often that the stone was, alive was the only word for it, that he started to believe it. Now he knew better and wasn’t going to be convinced that stones or statues could move about on their own. Surely he was hearing someone’s TV or radio. As for this bit of advice, Simon was utterly perplexed at what it might mean. He wasn’t invoking any powers except electricity and magnetism. Though he was not all-knowing, he prided himself that he understood a fair amount about both.
“Well thank you very much Tom. I’ll keep that in mind.” Doffing his Washington Nationals baseball cap and offering a courtly bow, Simon retreated at a brisk pace down the path towards his own dorm.
Scientists in general are very concerned with provable facts. As such, they often tend to dismiss the supernatural as either figments of someone’s imagination or hoaxes. Simon was comfortable with either explanation and did not give Mister Jefferson another thought. Indeed, his life became rather mundane for some time.
Nearly two months after that foggy Friday, Simon went down to an early breakfast in The Castle. He enjoyed the atmosphere at this café located on the ground floor of Bonnycastle Dorm. The staff was friendly and the food much better than at the regular cafeterias. Mostly he liked the way students came in looking tousled and bleary eyed. It felt like being at home.
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