I set my bag down in the middle of the floor and dumped out the food. The guys copied me. Bits of bacon and half-chewed bread slices rolled in the dust. I stood back to admire the pile, and behind it, the blackboard and stack of chalk we’d nicked from one of the abandoned classrooms.
Scritch-scritch-scritch. The rats circled overhead, their curiosity piqued by the scent of food.
I peered up at the ceiling. “You can come out. I’ve brought you a treat.”
There was a rumble and a clatter, and the scritch of claws grew louder, more insistent. The rumble became a chorus as more rats poured in from around the school, joining their brothers and sisters in a rapturous dance. One of the pipes crossing the ceiling jolted free, and an avalanche of rats toppled out. They fell upon the stack, tearing the napkins with their teeth to drag out the goodies inside, tiny brown bodies leaping and crawling over each other as they struggled for dominance.
Quinn backed toward the door. I didn’t blame him – encountering all those rats in that tiny spacewasa bit disconcerting. But they’d been my friends and guardians ever since I arrived at school. I knew them. I knew their names. They wouldn’t hurt me.
One of the rats stopped in front of me, its cheeks stuffed with cake. It clutched a piece of bacon between its claws and rose up on its haunches to present me with its treat.
I laughed and patted its head. “That’s okay, I’ve had some already. I smuggled this out for you.”
The rat king bowed graciously and nibbled on the meat.
I held up a stick of chalk. “I got this for you, too. And a blackboard over there on the wall. I thought you might like to write something for me. But first, I’m going to tell you a story, and you can tell me if you think it’s any good.”
The rat nodded, its little jaw working frantically at its bacon-y treat.
“Okay, so a long long time ago, in a place called Salem, there were many innocent women and some men who were accused of being witches. It started with some young women desperate to avoid the wrath of their sanctimonious parents, and the fires of persecution, hysteria, and fanaticism turned their accusations into a travesty of justice. Nineteen were executed by hanging, all innocent, and their wretched souls were so angry they lingered on earth, terrifying the man who signed their death warrants. When the Reverend Parris succumbed to their torment and died, they moved on to punish his son for the sins of his father. They followed Parris from Salem to his new house on top of a wild peninsula, only instead of sending him quaking in terror, they ended up as sacrifices to his god.”
The king rat stopped chewing. The bacon slid from its paws, clattering on the ground. Other rats turned toward me, ears and noses twitching. It was odd to see them reacting to my words, understanding English.
They were never just rats.
I continued. “When a witch named Rebecca cast her spell and killed Parris, the spirits became trapped here, unable to cross over and unable to leave the grounds. The sleeping god had no need of their energy, and so they lingered still, growing fainter and more sorrowful with every passing year. Parris’ home became a school, and after many more years, a young headmistress found the spirits lurking in the halls. Hungry for power and scientific discovery, she tried to turn these spirits into the god’s children. She sliced their souls into pieces and placed them inside the bodies of rats, thinking the rodents would go forth and multiply in great numbers, quickly overwhelming the earth with the god’s seed. But something happened when she tried to give the rats the final piece of the god’s soul. It didn’t work, because the god needed a certain type of vessel – a creature that related to his malevolence, and the rats knew nothing of this. So she found some other children, and left the spirits of the Salem witches trapped inside a colony of rats. And they’ve seen everything that’s gone on in this school. They’ve lived in the pipes and walls and watched as countless scholarship students cried themselves to sleep in this very room as the god’s children competed over who would break them first.
“One day, a new girl comes along – she’s not like the others. She’s already broken, but she won’t give up. The rats think, ‘she’s our chance. If we can protect her, she might be able to free us.’ How’s the story so far?”
The king rat held out his empty paws. I dropped a piece of chalk into them. He wrapped his arms around it and scrambled to the blackboard, where rats had already stacked themselves into a small tower. The king rat clambered over the bodies of his friends to stand in front of the blackboard. The chalk scratched as he dragged it over the surface, creating a message in shaky letters.
YES
WE ARE NOT RIGHT
NOT REAL RATS
BUT CAN’T PASS OVER
SOULS BROKEN
“Holy cosmic god,” Quinn whispered. “The souls of the Salem witches have been living in the walls of our school this whole time.”
“You’re too clever for your own good, Ms. Valedictorian,” Ayaz added.
The king rat’s nose twitched, begging me to continue.
I knelt down beside the blackboard, so we were practically nose-to-nose. “We’re going to send the god back to his home. This will free the students of Miskatonic Prep, and I have an idea that I believe will free you, too. Your souls could cross over. But it’s not a guarantee. I’m not an expert at all this soul stuff. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I want your consent. Do you understand?”
The king rat nodded. Behind him, the rest of the rats copied the movement.
Quinn giggled. “It looks like they’re all headbanging. Hey, Ayaz, put on your metal—”
“Shhhh.” I extended a finger to the king rat. He placed his paw on top, a promise of his loyalty. “The senior Eldritch Club will show up at our graduation ceremony, and they’re planning to kill us all. If they succeed… well, let’s just say it’ll suck real bad. But we’ve got a plan. They’re expecting a fight, but they’re not expecting you.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Pass that comb, would you?” Quinn elbowed Trey in the ribs as he struggled in the mirror.
