Closing the door behind me, I stepped into the hallway—and immediately felt like I had just walked onto the set of a low-budget horror movie.
The lights had a dark hue and flickered randomly.
The walls were this depressing shade of off-yellow that couldn't decide if it used to be white or just gave up halfway through life.
There was a stain on the carpet.
A big one.
I didn't look too closely, but somebody probably needs to call a health inspector.
"…Nice," I muttered.
If a ghost popped out right now, I wouldn't even question it. I'd just apologize for being in its way and keep walking.
A door somewhere down the hall creaked open.
I froze.
Not out of fear.
More like… anticipation.
Like, "Alright, what cliché are we doing today?"
Nothing happened.
The door just… stayed slightly open.
Alright, I admit I was a little scared.
Just a little.
I walked a little faster too.
The elevator sat at the end of the hallway, looking like it had personally survived several lawsuits. The metal doors were scratched, dented, and just reflective enough to show me a warped version of myself.
Great.
Even my reflection looked disappointed.
I pressed the button.
It didn't light up.
I pressed it again.
Still nothing.
"…You're kidding."
I pressed it a third time.
Because clearly the first two lacked emotional commitment.
The light flickered on.
Victory.
A loud clunk echoed from somewhere deep inside the building, followed by a slow, painful grinding noise.
The elevator was waking up.
Reluctantly.
Like me.
I waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
At one point, I even considered taking the stairs.
Then I looked at the stairwell door.
It was slightly ajar.
Dark inside.
Completely silent.
"…Yeah, no."
I turned back to the elevator.
I had standards.
Low standards.
But still standards.
The doors finally slid open with a noise that sounded like a metal scream.
Inside—
Dim lighting.
Scratched walls.
Perfect.
I stepped in and hit the ground floor button.
The doors closed behind me with a soft thud.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then the elevator jerked.
Hard.
"…Cool."
It started descending, each movement accompanied by a concerning assortment of rattles, creaks, and noises that I was pretty sure weren't part of the original design.
Halfway down, the lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
I stared at the ceiling.
"If you drop," I said calmly, "I'm haunting this place."
The elevator did not respond.
Rude.
A few seconds later, it reached the ground floor with a dull thunk.
The doors slid open.
I stepped out.
Alive.
The lobby wasn't much better.
Same lighting. Same smell. Same general vibe of "something bad definitely happened here at some point."
The front door stood ahead, glass slightly smudged, sunlight leaking in from outside as if it was testing whether it was allowed in.
I walked toward it, pushing it open.
And just like that—
Fresh air.
Actual sunlight.
A normal, functioning world.
I stepped outside, squinting slightly as the brightness hit my eyes.
Behind me, the building loomed quietly.
Probably haunted.
I didn't look back.
I had enough problems.
The streets of Ashford stretched out ahead, clean and calm as if nothing in the world could possibly go wrong.
Yeah.
That felt like a lie.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and started walking.
Then—
"Adrian! Wait up!"
I sighed.
Of course.
I didn't even need to turn around to confirm who it was.
There was only one person in this city who could yell my name like it was a distress signal and still sound out of breath halfway through the word.
Heavy footsteps. Uneven breathing. The sound of someone actively losing a battle with basic cardio.
Victor Thron arrived beside me like a poorly timed natural disaster.
"Why are you walking so fast?!" he gasped, bending slightly forward like his spine had just filed a complaint.
"I'm not," I said. "You're just slow."
"That's not true," he wheezed. "You've got long legs or something."
I glanced at him.
Victor was my childhood best friend. He was not built for speed. Or endurance. Or any activity that involved sustained movement.
Dirty blond hair. Green eyes. Freckles scattered across his chubby cheeks like someone had shaken seasoning over him and called it a day.
And a body type best described as "round."
He once told me he had a six-pack.
Then proved it.
He lifted his shirt and revealed six folds.
Folds of muscle?
Definitely not.
Just six globs of fat that dangled from his belly.
I still think about it sometimes. Not by choice.
"Keep up," I said, starting forward again.
"I am keeping up," he said immediately, while the distance obviously grew between us.
Ashford looked the same as always.
Clean sidewalks. Uniform trees. Buildings spaced out with irritating precision. Everything was placed as if someone had double-checked it and then triple-checked due to their OCD.
Even the street signs were perfectly aligned.
And as much as I hated to admit it, the air was nice.
Spring air. Clean. Light.
Suspiciously clean.
Like it had been filtered.
Ahead, the school slowly came into view.
A stone structure sitting there like it had survived several centuries out of spite alone. Square layout. Courtyard in the middle. Three floors of academic trauma stacked neatly on top of each other.
I checked my phone.
"…We're not late."
Victor nearly stopped walking out of sheer disbelief. "We're not?"
I let out a short laugh. "Don't sound so betrayed. We should celebrate the occasion later."
We entered the building.
Inside, the noise level immediately jumped—students talking, lockers slamming, footsteps echoing down the halls like chaos.
We walked towards the lecture hall and opened the door.
Mr. Cross looked up.
He did not look surprised.
He rarely did.
But I could see a glint of it in his eyes.
"Take your seats," he said. "Before I change my mind about letting you slackers in."