Chapter 1: What Goes Bump In The Night

Vortemar Academy slumbered under a heavy, storm-thick sky, its stone towers wrapped in the low howl of the wind. Alaric lay awake in bed, sheets twisted around his legs as he watched the wall above him. Flickers of black darted at the edge of his vision, and just beyond, something dark and silent moved like a creature pacing outside his room.

Alaric had seen shadows in the corners of his room before. They've been ever-present since he started his first night at this blasted Academy. He'd long since learned to not stare for too long. The feeling of many pairs of eyes gazing back at him making him shudder bodily. A quiver deep from the soul, as the shadows gaze constantly devour his very being.

Rowan's voice broke the silence as he leaned over from the bed beside him. "You see it too, don't you?"

Alaric shivered. He hadn't known Rowan was still awake. He hadn't even noticed his friend's eyes gleaming in the moonlight, watching the same strange shadows glide along the wall. He forced himself to look away, down into the deep blue darkness of the room. "Just the wind playing tricks," he muttered, though he felt the lie like a weight in his chest laboring his breath almost as much as the fear.

Rowan didn't respond. He simply stared back at the wall, brow furrowed, lips parted slightly as if on the verge of speaking. It was moments like this that Alaric saw the crack in Rowan's mask—the crack that revealed a young man as vulnerable as the rest of them, desperate for a truth that couldn't be explained away.

"Don't," Alaric whispered sharply. The drapes fluttered softly in the night, "Don't stare at it for too long."

Finally, Rowan whispered, "Seraphine saw it too."

The name hung in the air, like the start of a curse. Seraphine was the third in their tightly woven trio, a quiet girl who seemed to understand the strange and unsettling in a way Alaric couldn't. She hadn't said much about it, only murmured to Rowan that she could feel something whenever she passed the eastern wing of the academy—an area long closed off to students, walled off and sealed with heavy iron locks. But that had been days ago, and Alaric had brushed it off, preferring to believe it was another one of Seraphine's eerie instincts.

A sharp knock on the door jolted them both.

"Open it, Alaric," Rowan hissed, a hint of urgency in his voice.

Alaric pushed himself from his tangled sheets, his heartbeat a relentless throb in his ears. He could feel the icy grip of dread slithering up his spine as he reached for the door. When he opened it, Seraphine stood on the other side, her hair loose and wild around her face, a dark, frightened look in her eyes.

"Did you hear it?" she asked, voice barely a whisper. Her fingers twisted around a thin, worn cord around her neck—a small crystal pendant that pulsed faintly with a soft, unnatural light.

"Hear what?" Alaric's voice was steadier than he felt.

"The chanting. It's coming from beneath the floors."

Rowan's face went pale as he glanced down at the wooden floorboards, his breath hitching. "You mean… the tunnels?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. The Maw, as the forbidden tunnels beneath Vortemar were known, was strictly off-limits. Students rarely spoke of it in anything but hushed tones, and even then, only to share rumors that bordered on fairy tales.

But the longer Alaric looked at Seraphine, the more he felt that this wasn't some made-up story. Her eyes were too wide, too haunted, as though she'd been touched by something that had pulled her too close to the edge.

Rowan cleared his throat, and his voice came out a low, determined murmur. "We should go. We need to see for ourselves."

Alaric wanted to say no, to tell Rowan to stop acting so reckless—but when he looked back at Seraphine, he could see a shared determination there. It was as if something dark and ancient had reached up and whispered their names, and now it had them ensnared.

The three crept from the dormitory, their footsteps soft against the cold stone floor. Outside, the storm had settled into a suffocating quiet, the thick clouds blocking any sliver of moonlight. Shadows pooled around them as they made their way down the eastern wing, past darkened classrooms and abandoned halls. They reached the end of the corridor, where a heavy door loomed, reinforced with thick iron bolts. Alaric took a shaky breath, then pressed his palm to the door.

It opened without a sound, swinging into pitch-black darkness.

They paused at the threshold, each casting a nervous glance at one another. Alaric felt the sharp prick of dread in his chest as he took the lead, stepping into the darkness. The air in the tunnels was thick, stale, tinged with a metallic scent that reminded him of old blood. The floor sloped downward, each step echoing in the silent void.

Seraphine's pendant pulsed in the dark, throwing fractured shards of light along the damp walls. They walked for what felt like ages, the silence closing in, until they heard it—a faint, rhythmic chanting, a whispering voice that rose and fell like the drone of a dark incantation.

Rowan stopped short, his face pale, eyes wide. "You hear that too?"

Alaric could only nod. The chanting grew louder, and with it, a feeling—a profound wrongness that settled deep in his bones. It was as if the walls themselves were breathing, pressing in around them, ready to swallow them whole.

They reached the end of the tunnel, where a figure stood, shrouded in shadow, unmoving.

In the eerie glow of Seraphine's pendant, they could make out the figure's face—pale, twisted in terror. Alaric's heart sank as he realized it was one of the missing students, eyes wide and glassy, mouth stretched in a silent scream.

And then, the figure opened its mouth. A jaw stretching wide, splitting and tearing its flesh. A gravelly croak echoed as it attempted to speak until finally a distorted word warbled out.

.

.

.

"Run."