Grimmstead Academy: Defiant Rebellion

by Candace Wondrak

No, no, no.

  This couldn’t be happening. I wouldn’t let it get the better of us, the best of me.

  My heart set into stone, and I left the room, left my body, moving with a purpose down the hall. I went past the stairs, right into Lucien’s room, where the man still lay, frozen as stone. He hadn’t moved an inch, his arms still crossed over his chest and his eyelids shut.

  Surely that was a good sign, right? The others were gone, but he was here. It couldn’t be too bad.

  There was still hope.

  My will hardened, and I left Lucien, returning to the room with my corpse. The air dropped at least fifteen degrees inside it, and I moved toward the table, pulling down the sheet and exposing my body. The rate of decay had stopped, though everything that had decomposed in the basement hadn’t reversed itself.

  This might not work, but there really were no other options, especially with me being closed-off from the guys.

  My eyes roamed along my corpse, taking in the hollow cheeks, the shriveled eyes, the sunken in lips. How the body seemed to curl into itself, hugging the knees to the chest. There was no way my corpse weighed much, but still, I wasn’t overly strong. I’d probably have to drag it.

  Oh, well. It was what it was and there would be no changing it.

  I went to grab her shoulder, to pull her to my chest and carry her—my intention to cradle her like a baby for a better grip—but she weighed too much. I practically collapsed, my corpse falling on top of me as I fell to the floor.

  Let me just say, having your own dead body on top of you was not a fun thing. In fact, I wanted to be violently sick.

  Groaning, I rolled her off me, though it wasn’t so much of a roll as it was a push, since the way her body was it was impossible to actually roll her. I got to my feet, feeling some kind of way—a whole host of heebie-jeebies. Felt like a thousand bugs were crawling on me, spiders, the works.

  At least there were no flies around. One good thing about all of this. The only good thing, really.

  “This really sucks,” I muttered to myself, reaching down to grab my corpse’s shoulder. I hooked my hands under the armpits and began to pull, tugging her out of the cool room and down the hall. She was stiff as a rock, though I was a bit worried about the stairs. I didn’t want to lose any parts of me. Her joints weren’t exactly moveable, but seeing as how the skin was decaying and the blood in her veins had long run out, there was hardly anything keeping the bones together.

  Really didn’t want to see myself literally fall apart. I didn’t think I would ever recover.

  That being said—or thought—I also did not know how else to bring my corpse downstairs, to the Desire Room. So down the stairs we went. I was as careful as I could be with my body, picking her up as much as my arm muscles would allow as I helped her to slide down the stairs. By the time I reached the stairs between the second and first floors, I had the routine down pat.

  The very moment my foot touched the floor on the ground level of the building, everything around me changed. I had to release my corpse and throw a look around, worry racing through my veins and threatening to overpower the hope I felt in my heart.

  Grimmstead…looked different, suddenly. With the new light flooding in the old, single-paned windows, everything looked too dark. Too dim. The lights on the walls were off, and everything smelled old.

  Was this how it always smelled, and I’d been too oblivious to it? I couldn’t say.

  Regardless, I had to get my body into that room, and then hope that my prayers would be answered.

  I resumed my pace, dragging my body down the hall, to the Desire Room, which sat, partly ajar, the key still in the lock. Cobwebs actually hung between the open door and its wooden frame, which gave me pause—and a case of the jitters as I walked through it. I left the door wide open, knowing I’d go back and close it once everything was situated inside.

  The room was dark, though beside that, unchanged. No lights on, and with no windows, once the door was shut, it’d be pitch black in here. I found there was no switch on the walls, no lights on the ceiling either. Unlike how I remembered the room mere minutes ago, when I’d separated from my guys and stepped in.

  I brought my body to the red velvet chair, though its color looked more dirty and maroon than bright and vibrantly ruby right now, and I hoisted her up. With the arms on the chair, I was able to angle her backward, her knees toward the backrest, nothing but a mop of brown hair and a curved spine facing me.

  Okay, made it down here. That was step one. Step two—

  My thoughts were immediately interrupted by someone who stood in the hall, someone who said nothing as they reached for the door and pulled it shut. By the time I shouted “No” and got to my feet, by the time I ran to the closed door through the darkness and tried the knob, it was too late. Whoever it was had shut me in, turned the key in the lock and took it out before I could reach the door.

  I pounded on it, saying, “Hello?” I wanted to ask who it was, who was there, but in my heart of hearts, I knew.

  The house. It wouldn’t let me win. I was doomed to fail from the beginning; the game was rigged from the start. I, Felice Fairday, would wither and die here, over and over again, locked in this room with both my soul and my body—the latter of which would continue to rot over time.

  Where were my guys? Where was everyone else? Those questions and more raced through my head as I stumbled back through the darkness, tripping on my own feet and landing hard on my backside.

  I crawled back to the door, getting to my knees. I pounded on it. I cried out. I banged and banged, tried the doorknob and the hinges, until my knuckles were sore and probably bloody. Bloody with blood that didn’t even technically run through my veins, blood that no longer belonged to me but this place.

  No. I couldn’t…

  This couldn’t be the end.

  Could it?

  Time was a strange thing when you were locked in the darkness, when you could not depend on anyone but yourself. I wasn’t proud of it, but I did lose my mind for a bit. It was hard not to, when I was trapped and alone, locked away and forgotten about.

  But then, after a long while, I slowly came back into myself. No, this wasn’t the end. It might be dark, it might not be exactly how I wanted it, but this could still work. This was still the Desire Room, and right now it had a job to do.

  Fumbling in the darkness, I turned and crawled back to the chair, my hands splaying on the hard ground as I found the base of the chair legs. My fingers traveled up the cushion, finding my corpse remained with me.

  She smelled rotten to the core, and I had to gag as I moved to sit on the edge of the chair with her, holding myself to her as my eyes closed.

  No heat, no fire. Those were not what I desired most right now.

  I wanted to hope. I needed to beat this house and the evilness that coated every wall. I longed to see the outside world again, to be better prepared. What did I desire most? My guys, safe and sound. My heart, full of love. A future doing whatever the heck I wanted.

  But…I wouldn’t get that here, not without sacrifice.

  It was time.

  Time to say goodbye to the woman I was.

  Maybe this room had always been my end. My ending, my beginning, my fate and my destiny. Perhaps time was twisted here, and as I breathed my last breath, trapped in a room with my corpse, I would forever haunt it. What came first: me or the room?

  The answer?

  It didn’t matter.

  Chapter Seventeen – Lucien

  My eyes opened easily. They did not weigh a thousand pounds, nor did my body feel rusty when I sat up and stretched my arms. When I cracked my neck, I felt my body easily come back to me.

  Alas, I did suppose it was not my body to begin with, since I was not Lucien.

  In theory, I could become him, but where would the fun be in that? He was never a real man, anyways. The face he wore was a twisted version of Victor’s, the body he had, strong in the way every man desired to be. A man scu
lpted from stone and clay, given life with blood and my sheer willpower.

  I did not agree with Victor—in fact, I was rather aggravated with him right now, which was why they were all gone—but he was right. Grimmstead did need a guardian, a watchdog, so to speak. The cat was never enough, though it was fun to watch everyone walk in circles and try to live while burdened with their truths.

  I swung my legs off the bed, standing. The lights were off—as they were now in the entire place—the only light flooding in was from the sun outside. The world began another day, so we would start anew here.

  Felice thought she could outsmart me? She believed she could outwit me and outrun me by using this place’s power against me? What a spoiled, bratty fool. I would make sure to give her what she wanted, but not in the way she hoped.

  I left the bedroom and headed down the hall, the house quiet as I went down the stairs to the first floor, step by step. I took my time, for I had all the time in the world. They were always right when they said time mattered not in Grimmstead. A second, a minute, a year—eternity was a strange thing indeed.

  Oh, I knew what Felice wanted. Of course, I did. She wanted to be reborn anew, wanted to become whole with herself.

  To insert herself into a decomposing body was not something I would ever suggest, but she was vehement against giving the rest of herself to me. Felice would soon learn that I was not to be trifled with.

  I made it to the door, having not made a peep. Through the darkness, I saw Felice was inside, arranging her body on the chair. I could not stop the smirk that grew upon my lips, could not fight the rising smugness from taking root in my chest when I reached inside, grabbed the door handle, and flung it closed, locking it soon after.

  It wasn’t long before she pounded on the door, calling out, “Hello?” I didn’t answer; I didn’t need to.

  The only thing I did, in fact, was take the key out of the lock and twirl it around my fingers. Her pounds of frantic shock were music to my ears, and for a while, I let myself listen. Felice was an idiot for thinking she could get the better of me. They all were.

  I shoved the key into my pocket, slowly moving to the office Lucien had called his own for the longest time. Everything looked old, each book on his shelves covered in dust, but I didn’t let that bother me. I sat in his tall leather chair, reclining back, a grin forming on my face. It felt good to have power again, to feel alive. Until Felice, until she’d finally stumbled upon this place, I’d felt so weak.

  I would have her, and once I did, I could close the chapter of Victor Grimmstead forever. Then this place could become something else, something new.

  Felice Fairday thought she knew hell? I’d give her hell. I’d give her a whole new world of it.

  But that would have to wait a few years, for she would soon find out that just because you got away did not mean you escaped your fate. Hers was tied here, to Victor, to the others—and because of that, to me.

  This was both the end and a new beginning. Submission, rebellion; neither mattered. In the end, it was all the same. Through sheer persistence and insurmountable willpower, the darkness would win, just as it always did.

  Chapter Eighteen - Epilogue - Hannah Beck

  The weather outside was not very permitting, but that was fine. Joe and mine’s umbrellas were near our feet, as were our backpacks full of equipment. Our other stuff was at the hotel. I couldn’t help but lean towards the window, watching as the raindrops pelted the taxi cab we drove in.

  I was quiet, staring at my reflection in the glass. My blonde hair was pulled back, my blue eyes ready for anything. A ring sat on my left hand, something new and exciting. Joe and I were always into the same stuff, so when he suggested touring the States and going to all the haunted places we could, how the hell was I supposed to say no?

  Joe, meanwhile, ever the talkative one, spoke to the driver, an older gentleman who looked as confused at our presence as he could possibly be. “Have you ever seen the show Ghost Hunters?” he was busy saying, trying to explain to the driver what it was we did.

  Our hobby, really, since ghost hunting didn’t pay the bills.

  Besides, this was our honeymoon, technically. You didn’t get more awesome than this.

  “No,” the driver harrumphed, and Joe tossed a look at me, his dark eyes fraught with concern.

  I held in a chuckle.

  “There ain’t no ghosts in Grimmstead,” the driver said. “The locals know enough to stay away from it, but somehow, someone always winds up interested in it. Trust me, there ain’t no good to find there. Take your ghost hunting and go someplace else.”

  Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. That was as much of a horror movie welcome as Joe and I could hope to get.

  “Have you ever heard of anyone going missing there?” Joe asked, trying to get the whole picture. Before planning our trip and deciding to make Grimmstead one of our stops, we’d done research. Tried to, really. Turned out, there wasn’t much on Grimmstead at all.

  Weird, right? Almost begged for us to go to it, to see it for ourselves.

  “I…” It sounded as if the driver was about to give us the affirmative, but he quickly said, “No, no. I…I could’ve sworn I took someone up there some years ago, but now I can’t rightly remember. Still, a warning’s a warning. I’d choose another place to visit, if I were you.”

  Joe gave him one of his million-dollar smiles. “And we appreciate that, but our honeymoon won’t be complete without Grimmstead.” His hand found mine, squeezing gently.

  I adored him, really. His personality, his looks. He was exactly the kind of man I always imagined myself marrying: kind and generous, funny and dorky. The kind of man who’d make a great father one day far, far in the future.

  The driver mumbled to himself, but he kept any other comments close to his chest. Within another ten minutes, we pulled in front of a dilapidated gate, its iron bars having fallen over, allowing anyone entrance onto its property. Weirdly enough, you’d think the city would’ve condemned the place, but it didn’t.

  The best local legends were built from places that looked centuries old, transplanted by time itself.

  I grew up listening to ghost stories, to urban legends and local superstitions. My grandma fed me story after story, and I eagerly gobbled each and every one up, much to my parents’ chagrin. This honeymoon of ours was literally a dream come true.

  The rain, luckily, stopped by the time we arrived at Grimmstead’s gates, and as Joe paid the driver, I got out of the car, clutching my bag and my umbrella as I gazed past the crumpled gates and to the gothic structure sitting within. It had a sign that read Grimmstead Academy, but it was barely legible and mostly faded. Who in their right mind would want to go to an academy that looked like this, I’d never know.

  People did weird things in the past.

  “Well,” Joe muttered as he got out of the car, lugging his bag and his umbrella, the car driving away and leaving us at Grimmstead. “Wasn’t he just a charmer?”

  I laughed, and together we stepped over the property lines. As far as we could tell, no one owned this place. It wasn’t on the county’s website. We might be trespassing, but by the look of it, no one cared much.

  “Fixed up,” I mused as we walked the broken, overgrown pavement that led from the street to the front door, “this place could be beautiful.” Three stories tall, dark stone, tall, elegant windows that screamed eighteen hundreds. Oh, yeah. Give this property to a flipper, and I was certain they could restore it to its former glory.

  As we neared the front door, the sky thundered above us. If the front door wasn’t open, we’d try to find another way in—and if there were no ways in, then we’d record some video around the property and leave. Some old places were like that.

  Thank God though, the front door pushed right in when Joe grabbed the handle. Its hinges creaked something fierce, loud metal grinding against other metal that hadn’t seen use in ages. Both Joe and I cringed as we stepped inside, my ears ringing long aft
er the sound had stopped.

  The inside was dark, so we each dug through our bags and got our flashlights out, flicking them on. We leaned our umbrellas near the door, starting to investigate. Joe got out his phone, turning its recorder on. He’d record our walkthrough first, and then edit later. We didn’t have much of a following, but our YouTube channel was growing.

  It was a hobby we both hoped would eventually become something more. Wasn’t that always the dream?

  “This place is amazing,” Joe muttered as we walked into what looked like a dining hall. A grand table, over a dozen chairs, a place for a feast, certainly. The kitchen looked to be totally untouched, though I did notice how everything wasn’t exactly old.

  It was as if the kitchen had been updated recently, which I found odd.

  “Yeah,” I said, trailing after Joe as we went down the opposite hall on the first floor, finding an office of sorts, tons of old books on the walls. A big, grand wooden desk sat, an old leather chair behind it. “But something definitely isn’t right about it.”

  That was an understatement. I could feel it in my bones. This place, it went beyond wrong; it was as if something was in the air, a rank, musty smell that filled my lungs with decay.

  We exited the office, going for the grand tour in the beginning. Then we’d set up our other equipment and really get the show going. We passed a door that was closed, and when Joe tried the knob, he found it was locked, so with a shrug, he kept going. I followed him—but not before I could’ve sworn I heard a sound nestled deep within that locked room.

  Somehow we ended up in the basement, walking down creaky old stairs. Out of the gothic mini-mansion we went and into a cellar that screamed possessed we came. The basement was a pretty straight-forward thing: no offshoots or rooms, just a single path that eventually dead-ended. Nothing too out of the ordinary, though we did notice a drop in the temperature towards the end, where it looked like someone had started to tear down one of the stone walls.

  I was peering over the half-collapsed stone, finding a small hideaway that someone could easily fit a body in—seen too many horror movies, I knew—when Joe said, “Get a look at this.” I turned, finding what he referred to.