I hurry to the window, pressing my face to the glass. The cold shocks my skin, stealing my breath for a moment. Condensation fogs most of the view, but I wipe a small circle clear with my sleeve, gaze straining.
There. In the trees.
A faint amber glow, bobbing through the dark like a will-o’-the-wisp. A torch, or lantern. Moving. Slowly. Steadily.
I glance at the clock.
2:04 AM.
Too late for a student.
Too early for a groundskeeper.
I shift my gaze left, to the caretakers' lodge tucked near the edge of the property. It's dark. Empty. Not a single light on inside.
I turn back to the forest, staring down from my high perch in the turret.
And then I freeze.
It’s gone.
There’s nothing.
No light dancing around between the trees. Just a dark forest that goes on for as far as I can see.
I pull back and cross my arms over my chest.
Maybe this is all a bad dream. I decide to give myself a little nip and immediately feel the pinch.
Ouch.
Okay, I’m awake.
I make my way back to bed with unhurried steps, going over the past hour in my head.
I pull the covers up to my chin as I sit with my back against the headboard, an uneasy feeling sitting low in my gut.
I am lost in my thoughts until the sun rises and the sound of birds chirping has me finally coming back to reality. My alarm starts to scream at me from its perch on the bedside table and with a tired groan I hit it off.
Without waiting around for more creepy shit to happen, I hop from the bed and quickly get ready.
I glance at my timetable pinned to the chalkboard near the door before I leave and roll my eyes when I see what I have first.
Chapman.
Fucking great.
At least seeing Asher will brighten my day though. He might have a girlfriend or at least a friend with benefits already, but that doesn’t stop me from enjoying his attention. And if today goes the same as the past couple, then I will have his attention.A lot.
I smile as I pull my bag over my shoulder and quietly make my way to the dining hall before anyone else steals the fresh coffee.
Today I am going to search the walls with sporting pictures and trophies on. Marlowe was a great gymnast, one that did competitions. Surely there will be some sign of her somewhere, she attended here for three years for Christ’s sake.
The more I search for hints of her and come up short, the more I am sure the faculty has something to do with this. They know more than they pretend to.
How much they are involved; I am not sure. But I will find out.
SEVEN
