The grating sound of metal dragging against stone echoed through the air as the massive iron gate creaked open.
Shannon said nothing. Her expression remained blank, unreadable. She just watched.
"Oh… well," Claire muttered, forcing a small laugh. She was clearly surprised by the gate's movement—there wasn't a single person in sight to operate it.
Claire drove forward, the car eating up the long, winding path that led toward the towering building ahead.
Shannon's eyes drifted over the structure, tracing its eerie details. It looked like something out of a vampire show.
Dark stone walls, intricately carved pillars, spires stabbing into the sky. It resembled the ruins of an old castle—restored and repurposed into something even more haunting.
There was no way this place was a school.
And definitely no way her mother thought it was suitable for recovery.
She glanced sideways at Claire, trying to gauge her reaction—only to find her mother staring too, eyes scanning the surroundings.
Shannon was convinced. Claire had never seen this place before either.
"Have you even heard about this place?" she asked, voicing her suspicion.
Still looking around, brows slightly furrowed, Claire tilted her head toward her.
"Don't think I have. I looked it up last night. There are records, but no real information—just the basics," she said casually.
"You what?" Shannon's eyes widened. "Last night?"
Meaning her mother was just as clueless as she was.
"Honey, it's a prestigious institution. I heard it's filled with people like you."
'People like me'. Shannon didn't bother responding to that.
"And who exactly told you that? You don't know anything about this place." She already knew the answer—but she needed to hear it.
"Mrs. Meyers recommended—"
The sharp sound of a slap echoed in the car as Shannon smacked her thigh. "Fucking bitch," she muttered.
"Language! Watch it," her mother snapped, glancing between Shannon and the road.
"Just because some old woman says so, you follow her blindly?"
"She's our only hope and you know it," Claire said, her voice tight.
Shannon sighed and looked away, turning her gaze to the trees and shrubs lining the narrow road.
Finally, they arrived.
Shannon stepped out first. Up close, the building loomed even larger, more foreboding.
Her eyes roamed every inch, her heart pounding in her chest.
Awe flickered in her gaze, and something stirred within her—a pull, like a whisper calling out from the stone.
This is where you belong.
She heard it. Clear. Loud. In her mind, but not from her mind.
"Wow!" Claire exclaimed beside her. Shannon turned to see her smiling—that familiar, fond smile.
"It's magnificent," Claire said. "I bet you'll love your new school, honey."
'I bet I won't,' Shannon thought.
She bet it would be just another place she didn't belong. Another place where people stared, whispered, and judged.
The list was endless.
Her enemy was life itself—and she didn't know who would win.
The sharp click of heels on stone snapped her from her thoughts.
A woman descended the front steps—slim, dressed in a black suit and knee-length skirt, hair pulled into a high ponytail, red lips, and spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose.
"Good noon. You must be Mrs. Tyre?" the woman said, her voice crisp.
Claire forced a laugh, glancing at Shannon. "Yes, I am."
"Perfect. I'm Morgana. Sarah Meyers informed me of your arrival."
Her eyes drifted to Shannon, who stood quietly at Claire's side.
The woman's gaze made Shannon stand a little straighter, spine rigid.
"And this is your daughter? The one being enrolled?" Morgana asked.
"Yes," Claire replied with a strained smile.
Shannon could tell. Her mother sensed something strange about this woman too.
"Great. Come in," Morgana said, turning smoothly on her heels and leading the way.
Claire took Shannon's hand and followed her inside.
The interior oozed with old, brooding energy.
Dark stone pillars. Gray walls. Ceilings high and arched, adorned with wrought iron chandeliers lit by candles.
No switches. No bulbs. Just torches and candelabras flickering with firelight.
Morgana led them up a long flight of stairs—seemingly endless.
As if reading their unspoken question, she called over her shoulder, "We're heading to the dormitory desk."
"Oh. Okay," Claire murmured, hurrying to keep pace.
"I heard this school stopped accepting students," Claire added. Grateful as she was, she wanted to know why Shannon had been admitted so suddenly.
"Oh, have you now?" Morgana glanced back, her smile tight and oddly slick. The red lipstick made it look more sinister.
"We had," she admitted, turning forward again. "But we make exceptions for bright students."
They reached the top of the stairs.
"And your Shannon has an impressive academic profile."
'Lie.'
Shannon knew it. She could feel it. That wasn't the reason she was here.
How did she know? She couldn't explain. But it was the same instinct that made people call her weird.
Claire chuckled with pride, though she said nothing more.
They turned a corner into a new hallway, dimmer than the last. The flames in the wall-mounted torches flickered unnaturally—too slow, as if burning in some otherworldly rhythm.
Then Shannon stopped.
Something seized her chest.
A chill rippled across her spine, crawling like fingers made of ice. Her heart skipped a beat, then raced, pounding against her ribs like it wanted to escape.
A presence.
It was here.
She couldn't see it, but she could feel it—ancient and watchful, curled in the corners of the hall like shadow waiting to pounce. It pressed against her mind, whispering, coiling.
Familiar.
Yet completely wrong.
Her throat dried. Her hands clenched at her sides.
She knew that feeling. The one that lingered in her dreams. That cold that touched her in the dead of night. That whisper that never had a voice… until now.
It's here too, she realized. It followed me.
As if summoned by her thoughts, a low creak echoed behind her—like a door opening somewhere deep in the school's bones. She turned sharply, but the hallway was empty. Silent.
Even the air seemed to hold its breath.
Her vision tunneled, and for a moment, it felt like the stone walls were watching. Not the people—the walls themselves.
Whatever haunted her had made it through the gates.
And maybe that was the scariest part.
This place, with its promises of help, of healing—it hadn't saved her from the nightmares.
It had welcomed them in.