The moon hung heavy over the town, pale and watchful. Inside the cold, echoing church archives, Jack sat hunched over a table cluttered with old books, brittle files, and faded photographs. The smell of must and dust clogged the air. He sighed, running a hand through his messy black hair as he turned another page in frustration.
"This is useless," Jack muttered, his voice echoing faintly through the high-vaulted chamber. "Serpent pendant… cult of Shanda… There's nothing here but parish records and stories about bake sales and sermons."
He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling, as if divine intervention might drop some answers into his lap. His fingers drummed anxiously on the tabletop.
"How can something so horrifying be so well hidden?" he said aloud. "Who the hell were these people?"
He flipped to another aged document, one labeled Special Rites of Passage: 1967. His eyes scanned the pages, heart quickening at the mention of symbols matching the serpent pendant.
Jack leaned in. "There you are… 'Those chosen to bear the mark of Shanda must offer their will and body to the flame of awakening.'" He squinted. "This isn't a church ritual. This is… this is a damn initiation."
He grabbed a notepad and scribbled frantic notes, then paused as a sudden thought occurred to him.
"If the church buried this so deeply… what else did they hide at that time?"
Meanwhile, across town, Ryner escorted Shimoya to her aunt's place, ensuring she reached the front door safely. The older woman thanked him with a weary smile.
"Thanks for walking her, young man. It's late," she said.
"No problem," Ryner replied. "Just wanted to be sure she was okay."
Shimoya looked over her shoulder and smiled faintly. "Goodnight, Ryner."
He nodded and walked off, but a heaviness lingered in his chest. Despite the warmth of the streetlamps and the quiet calm of the neighborhood, something didn't sit right.
When he returned home, Thomas floated lazily through the living room wall.
Inside the bedroom, Rita sat on the windowsill, staring at the night. The photo of the pendant rested in her ghostly hand, though she couldn't physically hold it—only mimic the act. Her expression was unreadable.
She whispered to herself, "Why can't I remember? Why does this pendant make my heart twist like I've swallowed something alive?"
Her gaze hardened, and she turned from the window.
"I'm done waiting. I need to know what exactly took place—what happened to me," she said quietly. "No more fog. No more fear."
Without alerting anyone, Rita phased through the wall and drifted into the dark night, her translucent form slicing through shadows.
She returned to Martin's Technical High School. The old building loomed ahead, its windows like empty eyes. Rita hesitated at the rusting gate. Her spirit flickered faintly, unstable, as if protesting the decision.
"I don't care," she murmured. "I have to go back. If this place is where I died—then maybe it's where I'll remember."
She floated through the crumbling entrance. The hallways echoed with silence, lockers long forgotten, doors warped and crooked. As she passed the art room, a wave of dizziness hit her.
She clutched her head, gasping soundlessly.
Chanting… flames… the sting of something cold wrapping around my wrist… screaming—mine? Someone else's?
She pressed onward, moving faster, chasing the phantom pull toward the old theater department. Her eyes widened when she saw the door to the sub-basement already open.
"No one's been in this school building for decades," she whispered. "So this door shouldn't be open, right?"
Despite the trembling in her limbs, she descended the creaking stairs.
Back at the house, Ryner frowned as he shut the front door behind him. The silence felt off. He stepped into the living room, glancing around.
"Rita?" he called.
No answer.
He checked the kitchen. Nothing. Then hurried to the bedroom—empty.
"Thomas," he called.
The ghost drifted down through the ceiling. "What's up?"
"Have you seen Rita?"
Thomas blinked. "She was here a second ago... Wait, I don't sense her now."
Ryner's heart skipped a beat. "You're sure?"
"I just swept the whole house. Nothing."
"Dammit," Ryner muttered, pacing. "The pendant photo. She wouldn't— No. She would. She went back to the school."
He dashed to his room and grabbed his hoodie.
As he raced down the stairs, Amelia appeared in the hallway, arms crossed and worried.
"Ryner? Where are you going? It's almost midnight."
He slowed, forcing a smile. "Just... going for a run. Clear my head."
She frowned. "You sure?"
"Yeah. I won't be long."
Without another word, he slipped out the door.
While he was running, his phone buzzed. He checked the screen: Charlotte.
He answered. "Hey."
"Ryner," she whispered. Her voice was low, nervous.
"Charlotte? What's wrong?"
"I… I always thought my cousin Charles was strange. Weird little habits, staring at things that weren't there. But I thought he was just eccentric. Maybe lonely." She took a breath. "But I found something tonight."
Ryner slowed his pace, heart thudding.
"I'm in his office. Right now. I found employment records. He worked at Martin's. Three years ago. Under a fake name."
Ryner blinked. "Wait, what?"
"I double-checked. I even called the school's front office. They told me there's no such record. But I'm looking at the paperwork right now. Someone's been erasing his tracks."
A chill ran down Ryner's spine.
Charlotte continued, voice shaky. "It might be connected to those suicides. The ones before Rita's disappearance. What if he was part of it? What if—?"
She stopped suddenly.
"What? Charlotte, what's wrong?" Ryner asked.
There was silence. Then her voice came back, tight and fearful.
"The door. The doorknob's turning. Ryner… I think someone's here. I think I was followed."
"Charlotte, get out of there!"
"I'll call you back," she whispered. "I—"
The line went dead.
"Charlotte?! Dammit!"
Ryner stuffed the phone back in his pocket and sprinted harder through the dark streets.
Deep underground, Rita hovered inside the old sub-basement, surrounded by stone walls and cold air thick with ancient dread. Her breath caught.
The room was circular, and the remains of burned wax, broken chalk symbols, and rusted chains littered the floor. Faint traces of blood stained the stone.
She clutched her head as the visions returned—stronger now, unavoidable.
She saw herself—five years ago—being dragged into this room.
"No! Let me go!" she had screamed.
Figures in robes. Chants in a tongue she didn't know but understood. A pendant held aloft. Pain slicing through her chest.
Rita cried out in the present, falling to her knees. "They... they did something to me. They bound me. They took my soul…"
She looked around the room, trembling. "I died here. Didn't I?"
Then she heard it—a faint whisper in the back of her mind.
Her ghostly eyes widened in horror at what she saw next.
And above ground, Ryner ran through the opened school gates, heart pounding, unaware of what waited for him in the dark below.