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So, I do what any rational, not-at-all-obsessed hockey player would do. I trail him from a distance and try to blend in with the night. But let me tell you, that’s no easy feat when you’re six-foot-five and as big as a brick house.

Elliot turns down a side path, and I quicken my pace to close the gap between us without being too obvious. But because it’s me, disaster strikes.

I trip over a crack in the ground and nearly face-plant on theconcrete. I catch myself at the last second, but not before letting out a yelp that sounds suspiciously like a dying seagull.

A few people walking in the opposite direction glance at me, their eyebrows raised in a mix of concern and amusement—they probably think I’m drunk as a skunk.

My face flushes with embarrassment, and I quickly duck my head. I hope Elliot didn’t hear my less-than-graceful moment.

Risking a glance in his direction, I’m relieved to see he’s still walking ahead, completely unaware of my presence.

As we progress across campus, I pretend I’m a character in a movie. I dart behind trees and duck behind benches, doing my best to stay out of sight. It’s funny and ridiculous all at once, and I chuckle to myself, imagining what Elliot’s reaction would be if he caught me.

When we reach the center of the campus, Elliot stops and turns around to scan the area behind him. I duck behind a shrub, my heart pounding loudly when I think he’s spotted me.

I brace for the inevitable confrontation, the accusations of being a creep, and the potential loss of a budding friendship. But thankfully, Elliot doesn’t notice where I’m hiding and starts walking again.

Thank you, hockey gods, for the cover of darkness and my awesome stealth skills.

Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration. I’m about as stealthy as a mosquito buzzing in your ear, but I’ll take what I can get.

I count to thirty before emerging from my hiding spot and resume tailing Elliot.

It soon becomes apparent that we’re not headed toward the dorms; we’re walking to the library.Who in their right mind goes to the library at this hour?

I know he loves his books, but this is extreme. I guess he has a pressing assignment due at midnight. Or he just really needs to get his nerd on after spending hours dealing with pumpkin guts.

He walks up the steps of the library, but I hang back. While I’m tempted to follow him inside and discover what kind of late-night studying he’s getting up to, I know that would be crossing a line.

So, I settle for loitering outside like a total creeper, pretending to scroll through my messages while keeping one eye on the library entrance.

The minutes quickly turn into a half-hour. The half-hour soon turns into the length of the Titanic movie, and I grow worried.

What if he tripped on a loose floorboard and hit his head? What if a bookshelf toppled over and crushed him under an avalanche of dusty biographies? Or, oh God, what if the library is haunted and some vengeful spirit has dragged Elliot down to Hell, never to be seen again?

I know it sounds ridiculous, but stranger things have happened on college campuses—at least, according to the documentaries I may or may not have binged last Halloween.

Ugh, I can’t take it anymore.I have to go in there and make sure Elliot is okay. I’ll just poke my head in, do a quick sweep of the place, and if I don’t see him, I’ll leave. No harm, no foul, right?

I march up the stairs and push through the heavy glass doors. The lobby is empty, a far cry from the last time I was here.

As I meander through the stacks on the first floor, I appreciate how the carpeting muffles my footsteps. If there’s a serial killer here, he—or she!—won’t hear me coming.

I peer down each aisle, hoping to see Elliot’s familiar mop of dark hair. But there’s no sign of him. I make my way up the metal staircase to the second floor and try to ignore how wildly my heart beats.

It feels like I’m in one of those video games where you navigate a creepy mansion, unaware of what lurks around the next corner. Except, instead of zombies or ghosts, I’m searching for a cute boy with a love for snark.

The second floor is as deserted as the first, and I’m pretty sure I’m on a wild goose chase. Elliot’s probably back in his dormroom, laughing at me for being such a worrywart. And yet, something tells me to keep going.

Call it intuition. Call it stubbornness. Call it the fact that I don’t want to go back to the Hockey House and face the inevitable interrogation from Oliver about where I’ve been all night. Determined not to give up, I press on, climbing the stairs to the third floor. And then the fourth.

Each level is more deserted than the last, with the stacks appearing to close in on me as I navigate my way through the maze of books. When I reach the top floor, I’m convinced I’m in a horror movie.

The lights are even dimmer up here, casting eerie shadows on the walls. I half expect to round a corner and come face-to-face with Jason Voorhees, Michael Meyers, or—even worse—Ghostface. After all, this is a college, the setting forScream 2.

Oh, no. I’m about to be Cici Cooper’d.

When I turn the final corner in the library, I stumble upon something much worse.