As Leo left the library, something caught his eye in the hallway. It was the statue of the phoenix near the entrance. It was wrong, somehow, but it took Leo a minute to realize what it was.
It had two wings.
Leo had first come to the college six years ago as a fresher. That same year, the statue had been broken, leaving one of its wings shattered on the floor. Dean Whittaker had been distraught, but no one came forward to take credit for the damage. It was all anyone talked about for the better part of a week.
Was it possible? Could he have gone back in time?
And if he had, where was everyone else?
He needed to take some measurements and record his observations quickly, but as his stomach growled even more, he knew he’d be better off if he ate while doing so.
He hurried down the corridor to the dining hall. The ‘lectrics flashed as he went by—another odd occurrence.
As Leo had somewhat suspected, the dining hall was not boarded up for the storm or filled with students. The doors were open as if it were an ordinary lunchtime, but there was no one in sight.
The tables were full of food on plates: some half-eaten, others untouched, and some just crumbs. It was as if everyone had vanished at exactly the same moment, leaving things exactly as they were.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Leo found an untouched plate with one of the college’s more palatable meals: creamy pasta with mushrooms in a wine-based sauce that suited his sophisticated Gallic tastes, still warm. It could have used more salt, but then, most things could. It was perfect fuel for research.
Leo opened the journal and flipped to his last entry, but as he turned the pages, he noticed something odd.
There were pages missing. Several of them. Crudely torn out, too.
Leo would never have torn pages in that manner. If he’d had to remove pages, he would have employed a ruler and a knife.
But the journal hadn’t left his sight. How could that possibly be?
A question for later. First, he must write.
Friday? Day 5? of Autumn Term
Entry 2
What has transpired since my last entry only hours ago is so bizarre that I cannot begin to describe it. Except, of course, that I must, as it is my duty as a researcher. I will record all occurrences, no matter how incongruous, as authentically as I can in the hopes that I may find some manner of explanation hidden between the lines, for none is likely to be apparent to me within them.
As I held the magimeter to the watch, I felt a strange thrum of ‘lectricity as if there was great potential between them, and I was serving as a conduit to bridge their divide. Unnerved by it, I placed the watch on the ground and hurried to record the reading in these pages before the rain soaked through them. Then, as had happened quite recently in the laboratory, a great bolt of ‘lectricity came, but this time, I was not directly struck. It happened too quickly for me to confirm, but based on the incredible sound and shockwave which sent me flying backwards, I believe it to have been a lightning bolt from the storm.
When I reopened my eyes, which to me felt as though it occurred the very next moment, I observed that it was daylight, with no signs of the storm at all. The objects were with me, as were the magimeter and the journal (obviously), but I was left without my ink pen.
I entered the library in search of a writing implement, but I did not receive my usual greeting. However, afterI located what I sought and prepared to write, the lights went out. While this is a common occurrence, the strange disturbances in ‘lectrical flow have been observed again in the corridor and even now in the dining hall—
The ‘lectrics had flashed twice more since he began writing. After he was done, he ought to go check the panel.
—but this is not the strangest thing that has happened.
No, the strangest thing would have to be the statue of the phoenix, which seems to have grown its wing back. Or the missing fence around the Norminster Yew. Or perhaps it is the peculiar absence of any other people, despite the seeming appearance of there having been people in this very dining room only moments before, judging by the state of the meals.
Or perhaps it is the state in which I’ve found this journal, with pages torn—
Leo’s eyes caught some sort of motion further down the page. It looked like the spreading of an inkblot, although it made little sense as the pen he held was not leaking.
No, not a blot. Letters.
Letters written in a different hand were appearing on the page.
Leo was so startled he nearly threw the journal across the room. His pulse raced as he read each word as it was written.
