Chapter 22: Die Before 8PM, Be Alive After 8PM

When Blair returned to Dormitory G after dinner, the sun was just beginning to set, casting long, eerie shadows across the faded wallpaper of Room 204.

She pushed the door open, her heart performing a hopeful little flutter, only for it to immediately crash into her stomach.

The room was empty.

Heather’s bed was exactly as Blair had left it. The makeup was still scattered across the desk. The pink gel pen lay abandoned next to her leather-bound planner.

"Okay. This isn’t right," Blair whispered to the empty room.

The hangover excuse had officially expired. Even if Heather had found the beastman of her dreams and was currently living in the lap of luxury in some VIP penthouse, she would have at least come back to change her clothes. Heather was meticulous about her appearance. She wouldn’t spend an entire day in a wrinkled party dress.

A cold, creeping dread began to wrap its icy fingers around Blair’s chest. What if Heather had approached the wrong noble? What if she had broken some unspoken rule?

Blair checked the small alarm clock on her desk. It was 7:15 PM. She had forty-five minutes before she had to be at the East Wing armory for her detention with Professor Feron.

It was enough time.

Blair grabbed her canvas bag, threw it over her shoulder, and bolted out the door. If Heather hadn’t come back, the only logical place to start looking was the last place Blair had seen her: the Senior Faction mansion.

The campus was taking on a much darker, menacing atmosphere as twilight settled over the grounds. The grand cobblestone paths were mostly empty, the beastmen having retreated to their faction houses for the evening.

By the time Blair crested the hill and saw the sprawling mansion, the sky had bruised into a deep, dark purple.

The front lawns, which had been packed with hundreds of roaring, partying predators just twenty-four hours ago, were now completely deserted. The neon lights were off. The massive glass doors were shut tight.

Blair swallowed hard, hugging her arms to her chest as she stepped onto the grass. She quietly skirted the edge of the property, her eyes scanning the ground for any sign of her roommate—a dropped lip gloss, a torn piece of what she was wearing, anything.

She followed the path around the side of the mansion, nearing the dense, overgrown woods that backed up against the VIP estate.

CRUNCH.

Blair froze.

The sound was wet. It came from the tree line just a few yards ahead, hidden by the deepening shadows.

Squish. Snap.

Blair’s breath hitched. She slowly backed up, intending to hide behind a large marble statue, but her heel clipped a stray, discarded plastic cup in the grass. It made a sharp crackle in the quiet night.

The wet crunching sound in the woods stopped instantly.

Blair peaked around the edge of the statue, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

Through the creeping fog, she saw them.

They weren’t humans. And they definitely weren’t beastmen. They were hunched over, their limbs too long and disjointed, bending at completely unnatural angles. Their skin was a sickly, ashen gray, and they moved with jerky, wrong movements that made Blair’s eyes ache to look at. They were gathered around something on the ground, something unidentifiable in the dark, gorging on it.

One of the creatures snapped its head toward the sound of the plastic cup.

There were no eyes on its face. Just a smooth expanse of gray skin and a massive, gaping maw filled with jagged, needle-like teeth.

It let out a high-pitched shriek that felt like nails on a chalkboard right inside Blair’s brain.

Blair didn’t think. She turned and ran.

She sprinted blindly away from the mansion, her feet pounding against the cobblestones. She heard the horrifying sound of skittering claws hitting the pavement right behind her. They were fast.

"Help!" Blair screamed, her lungs burning as she tore through the campus.

The shadows were closing in. She could hear the wet, clicking sounds of their jaws snapping just inches from her heels. She rounded the corner of the East Wing, her eyes widening as she saw the iron doors of the armory just a few yards away.

She threw her entire body forward, pushing off her back foot for a final, desperate sprint.

She crashed face-first into what felt like a solid wall of ice-cold granite.

The impact was so jarring it knocked the breath out of her. She bounced backward, her arms flailing, but a strong, gloved hand gripped her shoulder, keeping her on her feet.

Blair gasped, her eyes snapping up.

Professor Jack Feron was looking down at her. He was dressed in his immaculate black three-piece suit, his black wings folded tightly against his back. He didn’t even flinch at the collision.

"Professor!" Blair shrieked, hysteria fully taking over. She grabbed his lapels, pulling herself behind him and pointing frantically down the corridor she had just run from. "Monsters! There are monsters! They were in the woods, they’re right behind me, they’re going to kill us!"

Slowly, Jack turned his head and looked down the hallway.

Blair peeked out from behind his broad back, bracing herself for the horrific, eyeless creatures to come skittering around the corner.

The hallway was empty. It was silent. There were no shadows, no clicking jaws, no monsters. Just the quiet rustle of the wind blowing some leaves across the cobblestones.

Blair’s jaw dropped. "They... they were just there!" she babbled, looking around wildly. "I swear to you! They were gray and they had no eyes and they were eating something!"

Jack sighed.

He slowly reached into his vest pocket, pulling out a silver pocket watch attached to a chain. He popped it open, glancing at the face, and then snapped it shut.

"You are three minutes late, Miss Willows," Jack stated, his voice a flat drawl.

Blair stared at him, utterly flabbergasted. "Did you not hear me?! I was almost eaten by eldritch horrors in the woods!"

Jack looked down at her, his blood-red eyes devoid of sympathy. He easily peeled her trembling hands off his suit lapels.

"Your vivid, human imagination is not a valid excuse for tardiness," Jack said coldly. "And frankly, if monsters were truly going to eat you, Miss Willows, they should have had the decency to do it before eight o’clock."

Blair opened and closed her mouth a few times.

"For your attempt to deceive a professor with these absurd ghost stories, you will write a five-page essay on the importance of punctuality in an academic setting," Jack commanded, turning on his heel and pushing the doors of the armory open. "It is due tomorrow. Now, get inside and pick up your polish rag."

Jack walked into the armory, leaving Blair standing alone in the quiet hallway.

She looked back over her shoulder at the empty, dark path, her heart still racing. She knew what she saw. She knew she wasn’t crazy.