Chapter 7: I'm Here
My grandmother's voice rose from downstairs, her words trying to pierce the closed door, inviting me to dinner. I wasn't hungry at all. Any bite of food would instantly be thrown up. My stomach was still churning. I couldn't stop thinking about my father's body, lying in the middle of the street, blood pooling on the pavement. The contrast between the dirty snow and that deep red formed an image I couldn't erase.
There was an emptiness inside me that I couldn't seem to fill, no matter how hard I tried. I still couldn't believe it was real. My father had died before my eyes, and to make things worse… It was all my fault. My curiosity, my inability to leave things alone, had cost my father his life.
My grandmother found me the night before, crying in the middle of the street. My father's lifeless body, his eyes glazed over and his face spattered with his own blood, lay before me as I knelt on the frozen pavement, unable to comprehend what I was seeing. It must have been about ten minutes before my grandmother arrived. Plenty of time for the murderer to escape without me even seeing them. Several neighbors came closer. I heard some of them murmuring about the curse of Notreville.
Notreville… Everything had only gotten worse since we moved here. My father insisted we come after my mother's death, convinced it would help us move on. Lies. He couldn't stop dwelling on what had happened. He couldn't leave things unresolved. He needed to unravel the mystery behind the village's many deaths.
Why did we have to come to this cursed place? Why couldn't we have stayed in Xavina? We could have stayed there; I would still have my group of friends, and… my father would still be alive.
No.
No, I couldn't blame my father entirely for bringing us here. The real reason he was dead was me. For poking my nose where it didn't belong. I'd always had a habit of doing that, but this time it hadn't gone as I expected. I don't know why I didn't think it through. We were facing something capable of tearing us apart in an instant. It was obvious there would be casualties. The fact that Tom only ended up hospitalized was sheer luck. It could have been so much worse. Like what happened to my father.
Trying to attend school that morning felt impossible. The thought of my classmates showing pity was unbearable. They'd all look at me with sympathy, murmuring condolences and saying they "understood how hard it must be." No, they didn't. They didn't understand what it was like to lose two people so important to you in such a short time.
Lost in thought, I heard the door creak behind me. My grandmother entered cautiously, as if even her steps might disturb me. The moonlight filtering through the window outlined her figure. I remained seated on the cold floor, my back against the wall, absorbed in the stars' flickering in the sky. My reflection in the glass showed a hollow face, devoid of tears.
I glanced at her sideways, not bothering to turn fully. She had done everything she could to comfort me, yet it still didn't make me feel any better. I doubted anyone could manage that right now.
She approached the table where the plate of chicken and potatoes rested, all covered in peas. The food was cold. It had been cold for hours.
"Shana, dear. You haven't eaten all day. If you keep this up, you're going to get sick."
The last thing I wanted was to make my grandmother feel bad. She was already doing so much to try and console me. It hadn't been long since she'd lost her own daughter. This had to be incredibly hard for her.
I slowly turned to face her, meeting her sad expression, which was on the verge of tears. I couldn't cry anymore. My throat burned with the memory of my earlier sobbing, already spent.
"I'm sorry," I murmured, my voice hoarse from lack of water. "My stomach hurts a lot, so I haven't felt hungry."
A tremor ran through my legs as I tried to shift positions. My grandmother nodded, though concern remained evident in her eyes. She knew my words would only worry her more, but she didn't push me further.
"I'm going to buy a few things. Do you want me to bring you something?"
Her voice was laced with a desire to help as her hand reached for the plate, tracing its edge with trembling fingers. She wanted to ease my pain with small gestures, even if it was just by offering candy.
"No, thank you… I'm fine."
My dry, monotone voice didn't help. She nodded again, carefully picked up the plate, and stared at it for a moment. Then she left, attempting a smile, but my eyes had already returned to the window, to the moonlight illuminating the empty streets. The door closed slowly behind her, and the creak of the wood echoed my solitude.
I realized I still hadn't contacted my friends. I suppose they knew what had happened and thought it best to leave me alone. Deep down, I appreciated it. Right now, I didn't feel like talking to anyone.
Tom was still in the hospital, wounded by that creature lurking in the shadows—the same presence that had likely killed my father. If he didn't wake up, we'd never know what happened.
I guessed no one would want to continue the investigation after what had occurred. We'd already considered dropping it after Tom was hospitalized, but now it was clearer than ever. Things were becoming too dangerous, and it wasn't something a group of high school kids could handle. If we kept going, we'd all end up dead.
Anyone with common sense would abandon the idea of uncovering the mystery of Notreville, the disappearances of villagers, and my mother's death. My father had wanted to find the truth, and look where that had led him. If he had only told me what was going on, I would never have agreed to come with him.
I didn't know what to do now…
I struggled to my feet. My legs felt like leaden logs. My clothes clung to my skin, sticky with the invisible crust of cold sweat and dried tears. I hadn't changed since the night before.
I needed fresh air. If I stayed in the room another second, I would go crazy. My armpits reeked of stale sweat. The last time I had showered was yesterday morning, but I didn't have the energy to clean myself.
I grabbed a white jacket from the wardrobe without thinking and buttoned it with stiff hands. I headed for the door. With my grandmother out of the house, the silence was profound. I descended the stairs, running my fingers along the banister, numbed by the lack of feeling in them. Before stepping outside, I looked toward the living room.
Normally, I'd find my father there, reading the newspaper or taking his pre-dinner nap while my grandmother cooked. But I'd never see that scene again.
Stepping outside, the night air brushed against my face. The key turned in the lock with a click. I knew my grandmother always carried her keys, so she wouldn't find it strange that the door was locked.
I wandered through the empty streets of Notreville. The streetlights flickered, and faint lights glowed through curtains in some houses. Silence stretched out, broken only by the sound of my footsteps on the damp ground. Somewhere in the shadows lurked the monster that had taken my father's life.
No, forget it. I don't want to have anything to do with that anymore.
As if by fate, I found myself standing before a house. The house where it all began. Edward Graves' house.
My heart clenched as I stared at its broken windows, coated in grime and cobwebs. That house had been the reason my friends and I decided to investigate the mystery. It looked the same as the day we first entered it. We didn't even find anything, just a clue that led us to the forest. If it weren't for that house, none of this would be happening.
I kept walking, leaving the cursed dwelling behind. Each step brought me closer to the bridge I crossed daily on my way to the academy.
It was there that I met Mark. That first morning in Notreville, when he soaked me by accident. And then I was late, too. How ironic life is: an innocent encounter that plunged us into a nightmare.
I leaned on the railing, looking down at the water. The river appeared dark, reflecting the trembling glow of the moon. I wished all my pain could flow away with that current. Rain began to fall, soaking my face and disheveling my hair.
"What if I jumped…?"
The question escaped my lips unbidden. The echo sank into the night. The thought felt as absurd as it was tempting: to jump, disappear into the icy waters, to ignore a future now shapeless and hopeless. My heart beat unevenly, and the freezing air cut my face. Tears that had refused to fall earlier now welled up in my eyes. My throat muscles tensed. Memories of my mother, my father, Tom lying helpless in a hospital bed, and my grandmother… Could I let them go? Could I abandon the one person still waiting for me at home, the only family I had left?
A distant sound—a bird's call or a dog's howl—broke the silence. I kept staring at the river, my knuckles white as I gripped the railing. I began climbing it, my eyes fixed on the sky. Maybe this was for the best…
I wasn't thinking about anything…
I just jump...
Lucy paused mid-curve, the quill hovering tensely above the parchment. The words she had written felt foreign, even to her. The lingering scent of fresh ink enveloped her, while the dark, worn wood of her desk supported her notebook, marred with the faint scars of erasures. A half-empty inkwell hinted that she'd better purchase more later that afternoon—she'd only brought two extra bottles with her.
She reread the last few lines she had written, noting the harshness with which she had treated her protagonist. She couldn't understand why she had done it; it wasn't even what she'd originally planned. Lucy exhaled heavily, preparing to rewrite the page. Just as she was about to do so, her gaze flicked toward the clock on the table: 4:10.
Time had slipped away while she was writing. It always happened that way. There were about twenty minutes left before the afternoon practice sessions began. Even so, her hand itched to continue.
Her eyes turned to Pico, perched atop a pile of ink-stained papers. The guardian remained motionless, ears perked toward the halted quill. His black eyes didn't blink, fixed intently on the words Lucy's hand had left behind. Outside, the hurried footsteps of a student echoed down the hallway, tapping against the wooden floor.
"Shall we go, Pico?"
The small rodent tilted his head, then climbed nimbly up Lucy's arm, settling on her shoulder. She slid the notebook into her coarse fabric bag, along with her other class supplies. Carefully adjusting the straps, she exhaled, as though releasing into that last unfinished page all the thoughts she hadn't yet expressed.
A cluster of youthful voices filled the corridor. When Lucy opened the door, a breeze from the open windows brushed against her face. Suddenly, another door opened nearby, and when she turned, she found herself face-to-face with the dark-haired boy from the garden. His soft features twisted into surprise as he recognized her. This time, he was wearing the academy's black uniform. Beside him stood a serene-looking capybara, its front paws planted firmly on the ground as if waiting for a signal to move. Lucy hadn't noticed the creature earlier, but now she understood it must be the boy's guardian.
Neither of them spoke. The boy offered her a faint smile, a gesture of gentle warmth that peeked through his surprise. Lucy felt her heart leap into her throat, making it impossible to utter anything coherent.
"You're the girl from before... What a coincidence that we're…"
His tone was as surprised as it was amused. Instinctively, Lucy raised her hand and shut the door behind her with a sharp thud. Once inside, she leaned her back against the wood, Pico startled by the sudden movement. Her heart pounded in her chest. She couldn't fathom why she was so unsettled by something so trivial.
This can't be happening... she thought. She felt the rough texture of the bag against her palm, the pressure of the notebook inside, and the hammering of her heartbeat echoing in her ears. Among a thousand students, across five buildings, and dozens of rooms in each hallway? No matter how much she thought about it, it seemed almost impossible for something like this to happen.
She took a deep breath, listening to the footsteps of other students passing by in the hallway. Time was ticking, and she was still there, trapped behind the door. She had to calm down; she needed to get to class on time.
Lucy waited until the footsteps and whispers in the hallway faded, cautious. She peeked through the crack in the door, confirming the boy was no longer there. A rushed sense of relief swept over her, followed by the realization that she, too, would be late if she didn't hurry. Only ten minutes remained before class began.