Cyrus crossed the threshold of St. Grey's Academy, the familiar scent of damp decay and ash instantly filling his lungs. His flashlight's beam swept across the hallways, illuminating warped floorboards and shattered glass, casting jagged shadows on the crumbling walls. The whispers of the past seemed to follow his every step, urging him deeper into the belly of the forgotten school.
The headmaster's office was his goal tonight. He had searched much of the academy already, but tonight felt different—more urgent, as if the academy itself wanted him to find something. The old man's warnings at the diner echoed in his head, but Cyrus pushed the fear aside. He needed answers, and if they were to be found anywhere, it would be in the office of the one person who might have known what truly transpired: the headmaster.
He approached the large double doors at the end of the hallway, their once grandiose design now marred by the passage of time and flames. The brass nameplate, barely legible under years of grime, read Headmaster R. Finch. Cyrus grasped the door handle and pulled, but the heavy doors refused to budge. His brow furrowed in frustration. Of course, it wouldn't be easy.
The lock was old and rusted, and after some effort and careful maneuvering with a set of tools he had brought, the mechanism finally gave way with a metallic clunk. He pushed the doors open with a creak, revealing the darkened interior of the headmaster's office.
The room smelled of dust and rot, and the charred remnants of furniture lay scattered across the floor. Shelves lined the walls, their books long since turned to ash, and a large, imposing desk stood near the far wall, somehow untouched by the fire that had ravaged the rest of the academy. Behind it, the remnants of stained glass windows let in faint moonlight, casting muted colors across the room.
Cyrus stepped inside, his footsteps echoing in the silence. His flashlight passed over a large portrait of the headmaster himself, glaring down from the wall above the desk—his eyes cold and lifeless, even in paint. Cyrus's gaze shifted to the desk, and his heart skipped a beat when he spotted something unusual: a large leather-bound book lying in the center. It looked pristine compared to the rest of the room.
Cyrus approached cautiously, his fingers brushing against the smooth, worn cover of the book. He could feel the weight of the secrets it held, as if the diary itself was somehow alive, thrumming with the dark energy that permeated the school.
He opened it, flipping past the first few pages filled with mundane administrative notes. Then, as he reached the entries near the date of the massacre, the tone of the writing shifted—growing darker, more personal. The headmaster wrote of increasing tensions at the school, of a pervasive sense of unease among the students and staff. But it wasn't just the school's decline that concerned the headmaster.
One name appeared again and again: Samuel Higgins.
Cyrus's breath caught as he read on. Samuel had been a student at St. Grey's, a quiet, withdrawn boy. The headmaster, along with many teachers and students, had singled him out. The diary detailed cruel reprimands, mockery, and outright bullying, all sanctioned by the headmaster himself. Samuel had become a scapegoat, a target for all the frustrations and darkness that had crept into the school.
The headmaster wrote with a chilling lack of remorse, as if justifying his actions. Samuel, according to the diary, was "unnatural"—different in a way the headmaster couldn't explain. The teachers followed his lead, and soon, the students joined in. Samuel had become an outcast, tormented daily by the very people meant to protect and educate him.
And then the final entry, written the night before the massacre, sent a chill down Cyrus's spine:
"I no longer see him as a boy. Samuel has become something else, something far darker. His eyes… I see the hatred in them. He knows what we've done. I fear what he might be capable of. Tomorrow, I will confront him. If he is the source of this darkness, he must be dealt with, for the sake of St. Grey's."
Cyrus stared at the page, his heart racing. The massacre… had Samuel Higgins been behind it? Or was he simply the catalyst, the victim of something far worse? The headmaster's arrogance, his cruelty toward Samuel, had unleashed something terrifying—whether in the boy or in the school itself.
Suddenly, a gust of wind blew through the broken windows, flipping the diary shut with a thud. Cyrus's hands trembled as he gripped the book, his mind spinning with the revelations. St. Grey's Academy had been a breeding ground for cruelty, and the consequences had been unimaginable.
But the truth was clear: Samuel Higgins had been more than just a bullied student. Something had awakened in him—something that had consumed everyone in its path. And now, that same darkness lingered, waiting for someone else to uncover its secrets.
Cyrus felt the weight of the diary in his hands. He knew this was only the beginning.