Inside the hidden space was an assortment of odd items.
Plain chalk, metal bowls, blades, mirrors, candles, coins, and unmarked bags of dried herbs.
Hesitantly, I reached out to pick up one of the bowls.
It had only been clumsily cleaned before being stored. There were still specks of dried, rust-brown liquid splattered on the insides.
My blood ran cold.
I recognized why someone would have all of this.
Even though I'd never believed in such things for most of my life, the last few months had seen me dabbling in the most obscure, most fantastical kinds of occult from all parts of the world.
I'd been desperate in my frantic search for something, anything, that might help make my wish come true.
The last remaining threads of rationality had held fast, screaming at me to stop being foolish. But even though I was aware of how absurd my actions were, I couldn't stop.
It was like I'd gone crazy from the pain of the loss I had experienced.
Loss…
Maybe like –
I stood up abruptly.
'Whoa, what's the matter?' Aron's voice whispered from a little farther away.
'Do we know who the grandson is?' I asked.
'What'd you mean?' Mason looked up from the drawers he'd been rummaging through.
He'd set his flashlight face-up on the desk. Its dull light reflected off the ceiling and washed over everything in the room, letting us all see what we were doing.
'I mean, do we know the identity of this bully?' I said. 'This so-called ringleader, whose actions led to the intern teacher being ostracized and, presumably, to Eli killing himself?'
Aron and Mason exchanged a look.
'No…'
'No,' I repeated. 'The students seem to think the curse is related to Eli. Hence all those notes praying for peace, or blaming him for taking his anger out on them. Right?'
'But since they know what happened, wouldn't you think there'd also be some backlash against the main bully? Even if the teachers are holding themselves back out of fear of some other death condition, do you really think a bunch of scared, angry teenagers would have such restraint?'
'The director's grandson isn't here anymore. It might be because they sent him away after everything that's happened. Or, it might be because he's also –'
'Dead.'
I turned to see Sheila walking towards us, waving a small square of paper.
It was an old-fashioned photograph, depicting an older-looking, smiling man hugging an adorable-looking infant in his arms. Their happy gazes were trained a little higher, at whoever had been holding the camera.
'Found it carefully tucked away in a journal. There's a note on the back. "Forgive me, my dearest daughter. After you left this world, Dad didn't do a good job of taking care of your son",' she read. '"But I'll bring him back. I promise. I'll bring him back no matter the cost." The writing's not too old, and the words are tear stained.'
'Shit,' Mason cursed. 'So we were wrong about the cause of this curse from the very beginning.'
'This isn't because of the bullied kid's grudges, or his ghost extracting some stupid revenge against the school that turned a blind eye to his situation,' I agreed. 'Poor Eli's involvement with all of this probably ended with his death.'
'And we have no idea who killed the grandson,' Mason frowned.
'The Director probably doesn't know either,' Sheila said. 'Or he'd be more focused on revenge. Looks like he's just trying to reanimate his dead grandson, though.'
I swallowed.
'These kinds of methods usually call for disproportionate payment…' I said, recalling the contents of some of the books I'd read. 'The summoner of otherworldly powers, or demons, or whatever these creatures are, must usually commit some horrible act, or inflict a large amount of pain and death, in return for their wishes.'
Mason nodded, his expression grave. 'Give and take, except what is taken will always be more than what is given. Horrible stuff.'
He looked at me and added, 'All the things that don't work, that seem unbelievable and foolish in the real world, are very much possible, and real, inside an instance. Remember that, newbie.'
'So, what. He's been holing himself in this building, using a creature to make the staff protect him and forcing the student body to carry on as normal while he sacrifices them one-by-one to bring his grandson back?' Aron asked.
He'd lowered himself by the wall, and was rummaging around inside the secret hole like it was a student locker.
I saw him fiddle around with one of the longer knives, weighing it in his hands, and checking the balance of the blade and hilt.
After a moment, he smoothly wrapped it up in a handkerchief and slipped it into one of his pockets.
'Good stuff,' he muttered.
Mason groaned and ran a hand through his hair. 'I knew we were being too ambitious, thinking we'd be able to solve this instance tonight. Turns out, we don't even know half the story yet.'
'You said there must be a conclusion,' I said. 'Wouldn't destroying the Director's occult paraphernalia help end the curse?'
I then blinked.
I suddenly though I'd heard some very, very faint noise from somewhere far away, outside the curtained window.
Some kind of bird, or -
'Maybe,' Mason said. He didn't seem to have noticed.
'But if we're wrong about something, or missing something else, we might end up making things even worse. Besides, the location of the portal is also related to the plot,' he groaned again. 'You can't have a conclusion without solving the main plot!'
'That's why we're here,' Sheila said soothingly.
Well, as soothingly as a teenage boy's voice can manage.
'What's in this box?' Aron asked, tapping his fingers lightly on the lid of the small trunk I'd seen earlier.
'We'll need a key to figure that out,' I shrugged.
'Well, there's none in, or around, the main desk. Mason and I already had a look,' he said. 'Never mind. We'll just ask that John kid to take care of it.'
He hefted it up, and carried it a little further away before setting it back down.
Before I could ask what he was doing, he'd returned to the now-empty side of the room.
He dug the soles of one of his shoes into the edge of the carpet underneath the hidden hole, and dragged away from the wall.
I watched, surprised, as the carpet bucked and folded to reveal the floor underneath. I'd assumed the wall-to-wall carpeting would've been glued down, as it usually was.
Apparently not.
The tiling underneath the carpet had been manually scuffed and roughened to provide more grit. On it were half-wiped chalk-drawn patterns, as well as scorch marks and some shockingly deep gashes.
'So he even did the rituals right here!' Sheila gasped.
As the three of them started examining the floor, I slowly walked over to the window.
For some reason, I couldn't get that sound I'd heard out of my head.
It couldn't have been John's whistle. That guy was waiting with the newbie right outside the building we were in.
No. That sound had come from much farther away…
Carefully, I pushed the drapes away, peering out into the pitch-black night.
Then, I gasped.