The sun had long tucked itself beneath the horizon, surrendering the sky to a moody ocean of darkness pierced only by flickering security lights. The bell for night prep had rung almost an hour ago, but in the alleys and corners of St. Hubert Seminary Senior High School, shadows refused to be still.
Michael waddled his way down the tiled pavement near the Administration Block, holding a polythene bag filled with bread and sardines, contraband from a daring dash outside campus. His shirt clung to his sweaty frame, and his chest rose and fell with every breath. Bishop Essuah House wasn't far, but for someone his size, each step felt like penance.
"You better not tell anyone about this, oh," he muttered under his breath, glancing around.
From somewhere behind him, laughter echoed. But it wasn't the jovial type; it was fragmented, broken, like a radio tuning itself between stations. He paused.
"Who's there?" he asked, voice trembling slightly, then chuckled nervously. "Probably the Form Ones joking around."
But he couldn't shake the chill that crawled up his spine like an invisible insect. The scent of ozone lingered in the air, sharp and unnatural, like that of an after-lightning strike. Yet the sky was calm.
Elsewhere, Pius sat by the Bishop Paulissen House, his eyes fixated on the moonlight casting streaks on the gravel. He'd skipped night prep again, no surprise, and leaned against the wall, arms folded, listening. The sound of a droplet hitting concrete repeated like a heartbeat. Tap... tap... tap...
He tilted his head.
Then smiled.
The scent of blood again. Sweet. Rich. Irresistible.
Pius's eyes flickered a dangerous red before fading back into brown. He licked his lips subconsciously.
"I smell you," he whispered to the night.
From inside his mind, a voice, not his own, chuckled darkly.
"Tonight, the seal will bleed. You were born for this, Pius. You are the crack in the veil."
Pius shut his eyes. The whispers had started last week, after he helped a senior carry a trunk into the Old Chapel, a place no one liked going. Not because it was off-limits. But because it was... wrong.
He could still hear the soft humming from beneath the altar, like a buried engine or the voice of something ancient and dreaming. And the strange thing was, no one knew of an Old Chapel. It never existed in the first place!
...
Back near the dining hall, Michael had just reached the small lawn that led to his dorm when his vision shimmered, like heat waves rippling through the air. He staggered, dropping his bag.
The world darkened. But not the way night darkens, it was deeper, like a blanket being pulled over his soul.
A presence had arrived.
The trees trembled without wind. A low hum echoed across campus, so low it bypassed the ears and rattled the bones.
Michael froze, too terrified to scream. And then...
A flash of red light erupted from the direction of the Chapel, and a chilling sound, like a thousand voices exhaling all at once, rushed through the school like a gust of cursed wind.
The security lights blew out in rapid sequence.
Pop.. Pop.. Pop.
Darkness.
Silence.
Then a whisper, very close to Michael's ear:
"Run."
He didn't question it. He just ran, his legs wobbling like jelly, his lungs burning, sweat and fear mixing in a sour cocktail across his skin.
...
In that moment, Pius stood upright, smiling widely.
He wasn't surprised. He knew it would happen. The pull was getting stronger.
From beneath the Old Chapel, something was waking. Something bound in salt, prayer, and blood.
Pius didn't know its name.
But it knew his.
And it had chosen him.
Behind him, a shape emerged from the gloom. Tall, shrouded in darkness, its limbs too long, its face shifting between human and beast. Pius turned, unafraid.
"You're late," he said to it.
The figure didn't speak.
Only stared.
And from the boy's eyes, the red glow returned, stronger, lasting longer this time.
...
Michael, now crouched inside his dorm, heard it again.
Not a voice.
A vibration. A call.
Like the earth beneath, St. Hubert was chanting.
He shivered, heart pounding, a primal knowledge sinking in: Something had changed tonight. Something had crossed over.
And though he had nothing to do with it, he was involved now.
Whether he liked it or not.
...
Kelvin turned the page of the storybook he was reading. The air in the classroom had grown strangely cold, almost unnatural for a night in Kumasi. Goosebumps rose on his arms, but he didn't pay them much attention. It had been a long day.
Without realizing it, his pupils dilated, glowing a faint but visible light blue. A small, rune-like mark emerged on the right side of his face, just above his brow. His breath hitched. A dull pressure mounted in his skull, right between the eyes, and he instinctively looked in the direction of the chapel through the window, though he could barely see anything past the fogged-up louvers.
The orientation had ended a week ago. SAHUSS had slowly begun to reveal its routine to the new first years: morning bells, endless announcements, compound work, and occasional bouts of random shouting from seniors. Kelvin had managed to fit in, sort of. He'd been placed in General Science 2, a class full of overly ambitious nerds and sleep-deprived athletes. He didn't mind. He had always preferred observing to participating anyway.
A lot had happened. He had confronted a senior, maybe recklessly, and yet, strangely, the senior hadn't retaliated. In fact, he'd gone out of his way to avoid Kelvin ever since. Weird.
And last Saturday, he'd led Music Practice for the Catholic mass. That should've made him friends. Instead, it seemed to create enemies. Apparently, taking the lead as a first-year was a silent declaration of war. He could hear the whispers and feel the glares, but he didn't really care. It was all part of the school experience, wasn't it?
Still... tonight felt different.
The book slipped from his hand as another sharp wave of pain ran through his skull. He hissed and clutched his head, the mark on his face glowing faintly before dimming again. He lay his head on the desk, trying to steady his breathing. The world began to drift as sleep tugged at his consciousness. And then...
He was out.