The power went out at 3:47 a.m.
Not a flicker. Not a warning. Just silence....thick, brutal, and sudden. The fans stopped humming. The digital clocks froze mid-glow. Even the hallway emergency lights surrendered, one after another, until Queen's Crest Academy, the fortress of future leaders was swallowed whole by darkness.
It wasn't the kind of blackout you complain about. It was the kind that made you listen for breathing that wasn't yours.
In Dorm Block C, panic hit before logic did. Doors locked with a sharp metallic click, trapping fifty girls in glass-walled rooms that suddenly felt too small to breathe in.
"We're locked in!" a voice shrieked from Room 2C.
The keypad beside the door flashed once, then went dead. The screen turned black, as if ashamed of itself.
Girls started pounding on the doors, yelling names, shaking metal handles that refused to move. Fear spread like perfume
It was sharp, choking, impossible to ignore.
Adrian jolted awake in his dorm on the north side. His phone was dead. His backup torch was gone. For a kid who could rebuild a school server in under an hour, the helplessness burned. He pressed his palm against the door's panel. Nothing. Not even the faint red blink of standby mode.
He tried the window next. Reinforced glass. Unbreakable, by design.
That's when he heard it....dogs. Not the disciplined guard dogs of Queen's Crest, but something wild, raw. Their howls cut through the night like sirens from another world.
And somewhere far off, something metallic groaned.
---
In the administrative block, Headmistress Nwachukwu moved like a general mid-war. Her expression unreadable. Her voice cold.
"Activate Blackout Protocol," she said.
The Vice Principal froze. "Madam, that hasn't been used in-"
"Do it."
He obeyed. Moments later, a mechanical wail blared through the academy which was initially low but then rumbling, then piercing. It was followed by a calm, robotic voice from unseen speakers:
"Attention all students. Remain in your current rooms. Emergency personnel will arrive shortly. Do not panic. Do not attempt to open doors. Any violation will result in expulsion. This is not a drill."
The words "not a drill" echoed long after the voice faded.
It was the first time in 110 years that the Blackout Protocol had been activated.
It didn't stop the chaos.
---
In the dark, rules meant nothing. Friendships dissolved fast. Secrets came loose.
Girls cried in corners. Some prayed to gods they didn't believe in. Others sharpened hairpins into makeshift blades. The dorms, once safe, now pulsed like cages filled with whispers.
Amara Okonkwo, the student body vice president, rumored successor to the Crest's elite council stood at the center of Dorm A1.
She didn't scream neither did she didn't flinch.
Her girls gathered around her, trembling, waiting for orders.
"We're not prey," she said softly. "We're predators who got bored. Remember that."
The calm in her voice was unnatural, surgical. She'd learned it from her mother, the kind of woman who ran boardrooms, not bake sales.
Then, without warning, a crash echoed from the east wing.
Followed by another.
The glass of Dorm A5 shattered inward.
A scream tore through the air, short and sharp. Then came nothing.
By the time security reached the hallway, the floor was slick with something sticky and dark.
And the girl from A5? Gone.
---
Back in Admin, parents were already arriving, summoned through emergency channels. Most were angry. Some were terrified.
Adrian's father sat apart from them all calm, expressionless, studying the holographic map projected onto the wall.
He tapped one blinking section with a finger.
"Why is the art studio red?" he asked.
Headmistress Nwachukwu stiffened. "It shouldn't be. No one should be there."
---
Adrian was already there.
He'd crawled through the vent system, scraping his arms raw. Every metal edge cut a new line across his skin. His breath echoed in the narrow shaft.
When he finally dropped down, it was into darkness that smelled like dust and paint thinner.
The art studio.
Easels overturned. Canvases ripped. A row of headless plaster busts stared blankly from the counter.
He noticed the red trail thick streaks across the tiles leading to the far wall. Paint, maybe. Or blood. He didn't check which.
He followed it.
It stopped at a cracked frame, an old landscape painting half-hanging, half-ripped. Behind it, he saw the edge of metal. A panel.
Footsteps behind him.
Adrian ducked behind a mannequin.
The door creaked.
Then, Toni Wuraola.
Her face pale, her uniform torn. Her hands trembling, but her eyes were focused.
"Adrian?" she whispered.
He stayed hidden, breath caught.
She crossed the room and pressed her hand against the old fire extinguisher mount.
Click.
A mechanical sound.
The bookshelf beside her slid open, revealing a narrow doorway.
A hidden room.
Adrian stepped out from his hiding spot. "Toni!"
She flinched but didn't scream. "You shouldn't be here."
"Neither should you."
Behind her, the darkness of the passage stretched downward like a throat.
Something moved inside it.
A wet sound. Then there came a scream. Wasn't humanly.
The lights flashed back for exactly three seconds.
Just enough to see the wall smeared in red.
Just enough to see Toni crying.
And just enough for Adrian to realize they weren't alone.
Someone or something had been watching them the whole time.
---
Outside, the lockdown deepened.
Every exit sealed. Every hallway guarded by men in tactical black, faces hidden behind visors.
Students huddled in silence, clutching their phones even though none worked. Someone whispered that a teacher had collapsed. Someone else said the headmistress was negotiating with the government.
Rumors spread faster than logic.
By dawn, two more girls were missing.
---
In her office, Headmistress Nwachukwu replayed a video feed on her tablet. Night vision. Static-heavy.
It showed Toni and Adrian entering the art studio. Then glitching out completely.
When the image returned, only Toni remained. Alone. Crying.
And behind her, faint but visible, a metal door sliding shut.
The Headmistress exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. "So it begins again," she murmured.
---
Meanwhile, in the sublevels beneath the school, gears turned.
Mechanical. Human-made. Decades old.
Pipes rattled. Lights flickered. And somewhere far below, something hissed to life.
---
By morning, the media had caught the scent. Helicopters hovered over the campus. Reporters camped outside the gates.
The official story?
"A temporary systems malfunction. All students safe. No casualties."
The truth?
Three missing. One unaccounted for.
And something stirring beneath the foundations of Queen's Crest Academy.
---
AUTHOR'S NOTE: BLACKOUTS & CONSEQUENCES
If you made it this far, congratulations you've officially survived the school night from hell.
This chapter was always meant to change the tempo. It's not about spirits or curses anymore, it's about control. Systems. Secrets engineered into walls that were never supposed to be touched.
I wanted to strip away every supernatural excuse and leave the horror bare, mechanical, designed. Because isn't that scarier? When monsters aren't made by magic, but by policy?
When I wrote the Blackout, I wanted it to feel like a test one that every character fails differently. Amara clings to dominance. Adrian searches for logic in chaos. Toni… well, Toni starts remembering things no student should.
And Headmistress Nwachukwu? She knows exactly what she's protecting.
To those asking what "The Experiments" were let's just say the Queen's Crest legacy didn't start as a school. It started as a facility. The classrooms were added later.
The next chapter will finally show you why.
And if you think Adrian's the hero of this story, think again.
He's just the spark.
The fire's coming next.
Hide your mirrors. Charge your flashlights. Don't blink.
Queen's Crest is wide awake now.
#EndOfChapterThirteen