Yvessirae Pov
The moon was a jagged silver hook in the sky as the 8:00 PM bell finally stopped echoing. I stood in the middle of the empty hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it felt like it was trying to break free. I wasn't just Yvessirae, the student, anymore. Tonight, I was a ghost hunter. I was a survivor.
I had made a choice. I was going to get the items, and I was going to document the horror. I reached into my pocket and felt the cold, rectangular weight of my smartphone. My plan was simple: get the first item, capture proof of the monsters, and show the world that St. Jude's was a slaughterhouse.
I headed for the West Wing, toward the "Gallery of Founders." Maia had mentioned that the Cracked Lens—the first item on my list—was often kept in a velvet display case there. The air was thick and smelled like old ozone, the kind of scent that lingers after a lightning strike.
I pushed open the heavy oak doors of the Gallery. The moonlight hit the gold-framed portraits of dead deans, making their eyes look like they were following me. In the center of the room, resting on a marble pedestal, was the Lens. It pulsed with a faint, sickly green light.
I moved toward it, my sneakers squeaking on the polished floor. I was inches away when a cold draft swept through the room, slamming the doors shut behind me.
Clack. Drag.
I spun around, expecting the tall shadow of the Floor Guard. But what I saw made my blood turn to liquid ice.
Standing by the door was a girl. She wore my favorite oversized hoodie. She had my messy ponytail. She even had the same small scar on her chin from when I fell off my bike at ten years old. But her skin was the color of a wet sidewalk, and her eyes weren't eyes—they were swirling pits of gray static.
It was a version of me. A "Recruit" version of Yvessirae.
"You don't belong here," the Shadow-Me hissed. Her voice sounded like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together.
She lunged. I didn't have a weapon, so I grabbed a heavy bronze bust of a former Principal from a nearby shelf. We collided in the center of the room, a mess of limbs and desperation. It was a fight of blood, sweat, and tears. Every time I swung the bronze head, she dodged with an eerie, fluid grace.
She scratched at my arms, her nails like razors. I kicked out, my sneaker connecting with her ribs, but she didn't even grunt. She just kept coming, her static-eyes focused on my throat.
"I don't want to hurt you!" I screamed, tears blurring my vision. Looking at her was like looking at my own corpse. It felt wrong. It felt like a sin to strike my own face.
But I had to survive.
I waited for her to leap again. When she did, I stepped aside and used her own momentum to shove her into a heavy display case. The glass shattered with a deafening roar. While she was tangled in the shards, I scrambled to the pedestal, grabbed the Cracked Lens, and shoved it into my bag.
I had been fighting for over two hours. My body was covered in scrapes, and my hoodie was torn, but I had the first item.
Suddenly, the heavy dragging sound returned. This time, it was louder. It was coming from the hallway, and it didn't sound like the girl I had just fought. It sounded like something much, much bigger.
I dove behind a long velvet curtain just as the doors creaked open. I held my breath, pressing my hand over my mouth to stifle the sound of my sobbing. A massive, towering Seeker—the Librarian—stepped into the room. He was covered in tattered robes, and his long, spindly fingers twitching as if he were feeling the air for vibrations.
I remembered my phone.
This is it, I thought. This is the proof.
With trembling fingers, I pulled the phone from my pocket. I turned the brightness all the way down and disabled the flash. I leaned out just an inch from behind the curtain, aimed the camera at the hulking monster in the center of the room, and tapped the shutter button.
Click.
The sound was tiny, but in the silence of the Gallery, it sounded like a thunderclap. The Librarian's head snapped toward the curtain. I pulled back, my heart stopping. I stayed frozen for what felt like an eternity until the dragging sound faded into the distance.
I was safe. For now.
I looked around and noticed a small, dusty ventilation grate near the floor. It was just wide enough for me to crawl through. I remembered the map I had seen in my head—this vent led directly to the crawlspace above the Auditorium.
"The Valedictorian's Speech," I whispered. I didn't have much time left. The air was getting that "thin" feeling it gets right before a reset.
I crawled through the narrow, metal tunnel, the smell of dust filling my lungs. When I finally dropped out of the vent, I was in the darkened Auditorium. I remembered what Maia and Dvora said: Listen. Don't look.
I ran to the rows of seats. I pressed my ear to the first one. Nothing. The second. Nothing. I was moving like a madwoman, hopping from chair to chair, sweating and gasping for air.
Row F, Seat 12.
I leaned in. A faint, ghostly whisper began to drift from the velvet fabric.
"To the class of... we have survived... the gates are... help..."
It was a girl's voice, crying as she gave a speech that would never be heard. I reached out, closing my hand around the air right above the seat, feeling a spark of static electricity jump to my skin. I had it. I had the words.
But then, the world began to shake.
The shadows began to turn into white light. The "thin" feeling became a roar in my ears.
"No! Not yet! I have two!" I screamed.
But the Game didn't care about my efforts. The white light swallowed the Auditorium, the seats, and the ghost.
7:05 AM.
I sat up in my bed, my body jerking as if I had been electrocuted. I was drenched in sweat. I immediately checked my arms—the scratches from the Shadow-Me were gone. My hoodie was clean and folded on the chair.
I burst into tears. I put my face in my hands and sobbed until my throat was raw. "All for nothing," I choked out. "Every bit of it... just gone."
But then, I remembered. The phone.
The school could reset the world. It could reset my body. But surely it couldn't reset the data on my phone?
I scrambled to my nightstand and grabbed the device. My hands were shaking so hard I almost dropped it. I bypassed the lock screen and flew to the Gallery app.
"Please," I whispered, my heart racing. "Please let it be there. Let someone believe me."
I opened the folder for "Recent Photos."
My breath hitched. There was a thumbnail for a photo taken at 10:14 PM last night. I tapped it, ready to see the terrifying face of the Librarian. Ready to take this to the police and end the nightmare.
The image opened.
It wasn't a monster. It wasn't a dark hallway.
It was a photo of me, sleeping in my bed. The room was bright, the sun was shining through the window, and I looked perfectly peaceful. The timestamp said 10:14 PM, but the sun was up.
I swiped to the next photo. It was the same thing. Me, sleeping.
There was no trace of the Gallery of Founders. No trace of the Shadow-Me. No trace of the Librarian. The phone hadn't captured the nightmare; it had captured the lie the school wanted the world to see.
I dropped the phone on the rug, my eyes wide and hollow. I wasn't just trapped in a time loop. I was trapped in a world that refused to let the truth exist.
I sat on the floor, the morning sun mocking me, realizing that I was truly, utterly alone.
End of Chapter 6