Chapter Two: Whispers in the Halls

Evelyn Carter couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just stepped into something far bigger than herself. As she left the library that night, manuscript safely tucked away in her satchel, the words Adrian Hale had spoken to her echoed in her mind.

Blackwood isn’t fond of people who ask too many questions.

She wasn’t sure if he was trying to scare her or if he was genuinely concerned, but either way, her curiosity was now fully awakened. The manuscript, the mention of Professor Whitmore—it was all too coincidental to ignore. The only question now was: where did she start?

The campus was eerily quiet as she made her way back to her dormitory. The lamps lining the cobblestone paths flickered, casting long shadows that stretched and twisted with the night’s breeze. There was something about Blackwood that made the air feel heavier after dark, as if the very walls were absorbing every secret ever whispered within them.

Her dormitory, Willow Hall, was one of the oldest buildings on campus. Unlike the more modern accommodations provided to first-year students, Willow Hall was steeped in history, its corridors lined with oil paintings of former deans and benefactors. As she stepped inside, the silence pressed in around her. Most of the other students had long since retired for the night, but Evelyn had never been one to sleep early.

She climbed the creaky staircase to her room, unlocked the door, and slipped inside. The moment she shut the door behind her, she exhaled sharply, dropping her satchel onto the desk. Her heart was still racing from the library encounter, but now that she was alone, she could finally examine what she had found.

With careful hands, she pulled out the leather-bound manuscript and placed it on the desk beneath her reading lamp. The sigil on the cover remained unreadable to her, but the ink on the pages inside was still crisp despite its apparent age. She flipped to the first few pages, scanning the words carefully.

December 4th, 1923—The experiment has yielded unexpected results. We must proceed with caution.

December 12th, 1923—Something is wrong. The voices do not belong to the living.

A chill ran down her spine. This wasn’t just a manuscript—it was a record, a personal journal. And if the dates were accurate, this had been written nearly a hundred years ago.

Professor Whitmore’s name was scrawled in several places throughout the text, and the more Evelyn read, the more she felt like she was peering into something she wasn’t meant to see. The professor had been involved in some kind of research, something that had gone horribly wrong.

She turned another page, her eyes widening at the inked sketch in the margin. It was a crude drawing, but the details were unmistakable—a circle of robed figures surrounding a darkened doorway, something unnatural emerging from within. Beneath the sketch, a single line was written in bold strokes:

The gateway should never have been opened.

Evelyn swallowed hard. What had Whitmore done?

Before she could continue reading, a sudden knock at her door made her jump. She snapped the book shut, her pulse hammering. Who would be visiting her at this hour?

She hesitated before moving to the door, her fingers hovering over the handle. “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” a voice called softly.

Adrian.

Evelyn hesitated before unlocking the door and opening it just enough to see him standing there, arms crossed. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by something more serious.

“We need to talk,” he said, glancing down the hall before stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

Evelyn closed the door behind him, frowning. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t normally make house calls?”

Adrian ignored the jab, his sharp gaze landing on the desk where the manuscript sat. “You found something, didn’t you?”

Evelyn crossed her arms. “Why do you care?”

“Because,” he said, turning to face her fully, “I’ve been looking for that book for a long time.”

A heavy silence settled between them.

Evelyn narrowed her eyes. “What do you know about it?”

Adrian exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “More than I probably should. But if you’ve read even a little bit, then you already understand that this isn’t just some old journal. It’s a piece of a much larger puzzle.”

Evelyn motioned to the book. “It belonged to Professor Whitmore. He was researching something—something dangerous.”

Adrian nodded. “And he wasn’t the only one.”

Her brows knitted together. “What do you mean?”

Adrian leaned against the desk, his expression unreadable. “There’s a society at Blackwood, one that’s been around for over a century. They operate in the shadows, pulling strings, controlling what knowledge is allowed to be passed down.”

Evelyn’s breath caught. “You’re talking about a secret society?”

He nodded. “They call themselves The Keepers. Their goal has always been to safeguard knowledge—at least, that’s what they claim. But some knowledge is too dangerous to be left in the hands of just anyone.”

Evelyn stared at him, her mind reeling. “And you think they had something to do with Whitmore’s disappearance?”

“I don’t think,” Adrian said, his voice low. “I know.”

A shiver ran down Evelyn’s spine. This was bigger than she had imagined. She had thought she was uncovering an old academic mystery, but now it was clear—this was something far more sinister.

She met Adrian’s gaze, determination hardening her resolve. “Then I guess we need to find out what really happened.”

Adrian studied her for a long moment before nodding. “Then we better move fast. Because if The Keepers know you have that manuscript… you won’t be safe for long.”

Outside, the wind howled against the windowpane, as if the very walls of Blackwood were warning them to turn back.

But Evelyn had never been one to walk away from a mystery.

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