Priest Brown also described himself as a New Testament disciple. Every 6 years on October 6th, he would find an individual, usually a student, and sacrifice them for the “greater good of the community” and to “establish holiness,” an anonymous source reported.
I suddenly slam into a body, dropping my phone in the process. I glance up to lock eyes with Priest Brown. My heart races to my throat as I rush to bend over and lock my phone. I hide it behind my back before he sees what I was just reading.
“Priest Brown, I–I apologize. I was caught up reading the New Testament. Gospel of Matthew and all.” I bullshit with greater ease than the last time.
He stares at me for another moment before offering a chilling smile. “No inconvenience at all, Grace. I am pleased to see that you are taking your studies seriously. But please be careful. It would be a shame if you got hurt.”
He steps aside and walks past me.What the fuck?I pick up my pace in the opposite direction, racing toward the library as goosebumps shiver across my skin.
I rub my hands up and down my arms as I climb up the steps to thedoors. I can’t help but wonder if the uneasiness around the priest is my own inner turmoil, or intuition that maybe something doesn’t add up about him, especially after reading something as eerie as that.
I pull open the big, heavy doors and head toward the cafe outside the library. It’s louder than it typically is during the week, and I wonder if the social hour happens here on Saturdays. The whispers aren’t as hushed as I hear some girl’s squeal and giggle as a guy grabs her purse and jogs across the room.
I lift a brow as I watch them flirt and chuckle to myself. I order a large cold brew and take my first sip. The caffeine is like lightning to my veins. I hum. Making my way back towards the library, I head to the corner that I have come to frequent. I kick my boots up against the other chair and lean back against the wall. I pull my phone out to resume reading the blog.
There has never been direct proof that Warren Brown brutally murdered countless students and members of society. The rumors across campus lend credence to the idea that spirits haunt the campus, waiting for their moment to exact their vengeance and release their trapped souls. Even though the reign of Warren Brown has passed, the title of Priest has been maintained in his direct bloodline, with his ancestors taking on the role of maintaining the college in both its academic and religious core values.
While the board of Hollowbrook consistently denies any truth to this ‘theory’, multiple students have left the elite college abruptly due to abnormal happenings, many of whom have never been seen again. This continues to lead the public outside the campus to speculate if the college is withholding further history besides the haunting lore. And perhaps other information about what truly happens behind those golden gates.
I place my phone down gently on the table and close my slightly dropped jaw. The chills I’ve felt with every encounter with Priest Brownbring an even heavier, uneasy sensation in my gut. How can you continue to preach to a massive college without acknowledging the whispering amongst the peers? Surely, I’m not the only one who has witnessed the strangeness of the campus, and it’s only been a handful of days.
I pick up my phone again and scroll, looking for pictures, when I come across one of Warren Brown. He looks nearly identical to the present-day priest. In fact, it looks as though it could be his identical twin. But how can that even be?
I leave my bag hanging over the chair as I climb the steps to the second level that holds history books. I wander through until I find the section on local histories. I snag a few books when I stumble upon the yearbook section.
I quickly place the books down on the ground as I trace my finger along the spines. My heart races as I look for the year that was written on the photograph of Milly and pull 1921 on top of the pile. I decided to snag some years prior and after, just in case, before making my way back down to my corner. I distribute the books across the table and immediately open up the 1921 yearbook. The date on the back of the photograph seemed like a good place to start.
I flip through, seeing that the style of the yearbook was more of a scrapbook with protective film around each page. I glance over all the faces, finding Warren Brown on at least every other page with an eerily identical smile to the priest I know today. His eyes hold a darkness in each photo, something I can’t put my finger on.
I rub my temple before eagerly looking through the remaining pages, when I quickly come across a photo of a girl with a rolling pin, laughing. She has an apron around her dress and flour on her hands and face. The long curls cascade down her sides and back as her button nose scrunches up in a laugh. My finger traces over the freckles, momentarily dreaming of connecting the constellations on her skin with my tongue. “Milly,” I whisper softly. I read the words written below the photo:
Mildred Jones: Class of ‘21 Bake Off
I smile to myself, imagining that melodic laugh as she bakes her favorite cinnamon confection.
I flip to the next page to find her leaning closely on the shoulder of a fellow student, with the original Priest Brown in the background, glaring. I pull the page closer to my face, noticing a vein bulging from his forehead, and his jaw clenching tightly as he stares at the two girls. He’s not smiling like he has been in every other picture, and I can’t help but hear the warning bells ring in my ears, observing the drastic change in his disposition as he stares at Milly. To add to the alarm, the student Milly is leaning against has their face scratched out of the photo. Chills cascade over my body.
It would be wrong for me to assume that the girl next to her was potentially Milly’s lover based on the affectionate pose, but the demeanor of the priest connects the dots in my mind that perhaps the blog post that I found was not truly an ancient tale, but rather a suppressed truth of dark and ugly family history of the campus. I have no right to be jealous of a photo, but my mind can’t help wondering if the girl next to her had been Milly’s lover. I can’t help but wonder what happened all those years ago, and if the current priest knows the truth. Part of me knows in my gut that Milly does.
I flip through the rest of that yearbook and see the priest smiling in every photo, except for that one with Milly. I try to find other information on the campus in the other textbooks, but come up dry. I draw a long breath as I lean back in the chair, frustrated that I can’t find anything outside of the stories of Hollowbrook’s endless devotion, exceptional education, and everything other than the dark secret I feel I am approaching.
I glance at my phone and see that I’ve been lost in these books for hours. I bring my shoulders back, cracking my spine and elbows from being in a stiff position for solong.
I peek around and find there are fewer students here studying, and quickly open the 1921 yearbook to the photo of Milly and the girl again. I look around one last time as I rip the photo from its protective layer and place it gently in my back pocket. I stand up, putting my bag on my back, snag all the books, and make my way back up to the level I found them.
I could easily place them on the reception table of the library to be put away by the staff, but I have a strong sense that anyone catching wind of what I’m trying to figure out would not be the right move.
I sneak up the staircases and around the corner when I overhear a stern voice. I freeze and swing my body behind one of the stacks, creeping slowly backwards into the shadows. I overhear Priest Brown slowly raise his voice to a harsh whisper.
“I don’t care what excuse you have. We must have her for the ritual next month. Befriend her for all I care; it’s not like she will be around afterwards. Let’s see you actually rise to the occasion and see to it that you find out. If not, then we need to find our next sin. I refuse to let the sins of this community taint what we have created here. Our Father is demanding our next offering.”
“Yes, sir,” I hear a soft, feminine voice respond with hesitation. “It’s just, there’s no proof that she’s actively sinning…in that way, Dad. I haven’t seen her once interact with anyone, let alone another girl in a sexual–”
“Damnit, Jocelyn,” he shouts as my eyes shoot open, and I press a hand to my mouth to silence my breathing. I finally recognize the feminine voice as my roommate.
He clears his throat, and I lean deeper into the shadows. “I know for a fact she is a homosexual.” He says the word with blatant distaste. “One of the greater sins a human can act upon. Her father has confided in me numerous times about her challenges with the same sex and expressed great hope that attending this campus will help open her relationship with God again. Unfortunately, her sin is one that is at too high a risk ofpolluting our susceptible community. You know how important it is that we maintain purity for Christ. I need unquestionable proof for the committee. Be sure to have it by next week. I will not ask you again. Do not be a disappointment like your mother was to me. She was a mistake to lie with, at least attempt to change my mind.”
I hear him shuffle away until all there is is a soft sniffle from Jocelyn. I hold my breath, waiting for her to step away. After what feels like forever, she leaves the area, and I sink against the wall and exhale a heavy breath.
