Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Archive
The heavy iron door of the St. Jude basement groaned as Arthur pulled it open, the rusted hinges protesting in the damp, subterranean air. Clara walked closely behind him, clutching her ruined hair under the hood of her blue school sweatshirt, her eyes wide with lingering trauma.
"Dad, we shouldn't be down here," Clara whispered, her voice echoing in the concrete corridor lined with rows of identical grey filing cabinets. "Principal Vance said students aren't allowed in the lower levels."
"Principal Vance is hiding something," Arthur replied, his flashlight beam cutting through the thick, dust-laden darkness. "Mrs. Gable’s parting words weren't a random threat. She was warning us. Or daring us."
They walked past rows of obsolete computers, stacks of discarded textbooks, and cardboard boxes labeled with years dating back to the nineteen-nineties. Arthur stopped in front of a cabinet marked DISCIPLINARY INFRACTIONS - 2018-2022. The lock had been pried open with a screwdriver long ago, leaving the metal latch bent and jagged.
"Look at this," Arthur muttered, pulling out a thick manila folder stuffed with handwritten incident reports. He flipped through the pages quickly, his eyes scanning names of former students who had mysteriously transferred out mid-semester over the past five years.
"Dad, look at the bottom drawer," Clara said, pointing her small flashlight toward a corner where a heavy floor safe sat embedded in the concrete foundation. The door was slightly ajar, revealing the corner of a red leather-bound journal.
Arthur knelt down, pulling the journal completely into the light. He blew a thick layer of dust off the cover, revealing embossed gold lettering that read: St. Jude Academy - Confidential Student Welfare Logs.
"This is illegal," Arthur whispered, opening the cover to the first handwritten page. The entry detailed psychological evaluations, forced behavioral modifications, and financial payoffs made to parents who threatened legal action against the administration.
"Dad... someone is coming," Clara suddenly gasped, grabbing his sleeve and pointing toward the concrete stairs. Heavy, rhythmic footsteps were echoing down the corridor, accompanied by the distinct clicking heels of dress shoes.
May you like
Arthur quickly shoved the journal into his backpack, grabbing Clara’s hand just as the basement lights flickered off, plunging them into absolute darkness.
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