Chapter Text
Phoenix Drop had always been the kind of town where secrets whispered louder than words. Where the shadows of the past lingered doggedly in the cracks of crooked sidewalks and the walls of the school building held more than just peeling paint. Where truth was harder to find than a needle in a haystack. And for those who payed close attention, those whispers weren't metaphorical—they were very, very real.
The lines between fiction and reality were murky; murkier than they were in other cities, other towns.
Then again, no one normal decided to pick a small town in practically the middle of nowhere, surrounded by large woods, where the only inhabitants are wild werewolves, meifwas and witches all thrown into a huge mix and living alongside humans.
Unfortunately for Andromeda, her eyes could pierce that veil.
Now, she sat in the back of the art room, fingers permanently stained with paint and charcoal, as her pencil moved of almost its own accord. From afar, she looked as any art student who was utterly focused and devoted on their artwork—baggy clothing, eye bags like they hadn't slept in years, and covered in paint stains almost head to toe.
Her eyes were silver, focused on the corner where the boy stood. His beanie sagged over his sallow face and greasy, limp hair as if he was tragically starring in some sort of teen heartthrob movie where he was the second male lead and the girl was absolutely heads-over-heels for the hot jock. At least he would have.
Had it not been for the large gaping wound in his side and the fact his eyeball was dangling out of its socket, looking like rats had decided to nibble on it. Other than that, he was none the worse. He looked quite at ease despite the stab wound in his side, especially when most other people would start screaming in agony or at the very least go to hospital.
Then again, he was dead.
He was a former student, given how he had just appeared in the corner of the classroom and was rudely dripping water onto the desk and giving the janitors more work to inevitably do. Anyways, the boy was murdered as one usually is.
Murders weren't that rare in Phoenix Drop, which just proved that someone would have to be insane to consider moving to such a dangerous place—and most people were to even consider that but then again, once you tell someone not to do something they'll do it anyways just to spite you.
They happened every few years, and the police always tried to solve them. Again, they failed. The media gained interest in these mysterious cases that police were unable to solve and decided to try doing it themselves because that's what people do when they hear something macabre and dangerous. Instead of taking the sensible option and running away, they instead run towards the very thing that would kill them. Most of these amateurs tried to solve the Phoenix Drop Murders and gave up within a week. Some, if persistent, vanished entirely within the month's end. Not even the spirits knew where those poor fools went.
And in her freshman year, Andromeda was determine to solve them. Even if it killed her. Because she had something that most of them didn't. She was a medium, meaning she could communicate with the spirits.
Well...not exactly. It was more ghosts than it was spirits.
Her fingers sketched a figure crumpled behind the bleachers, the lines darkening around the boy's outline, and blood pooling around his head in charcoal streaks, seeping into his clothes and turning them crimson. A blade glinted beside him.
The ghost, annoyingly, did not look like the boy in the sketch.
Andromeda glanced at the ghost again. The ghost stared back, a water droplet rolling down his face from the socket of his eye. How had he died? Drowning?
But ghosts only haunted the places where they died. Phoenix Drop High didn't have any wells. No bodies of water on the blueprints.
Why was a drowned ghost haunting the halls of a high school?
Andromeda flipped back to the front page of her sketchbook, the one with the blueprint she'd copied down while in the principal's office. What year was it issued in?
2000.
Fairly recent. Maybe older blueprints would reveal other, hidden passages hidden within the school...and maybe explain why there was a drowned ghost wandering these halls
Her sketchbook moved of its own volition, flipping pages until it landed onto the sketch of the murdered boy behind the bleachers. And then she heard a voice.
Raspy. As if it hadn't spoken in a long time.
"They killed me. Stabbed me with a knife. Buried my body beneath the field...bones sealed beneath the cement of the new gym..." It hissed, and Andromeda's hands sketched out another scene: a body askew and lying in a ditch, dirt piling onto its lifeless eyes.
And then—
Her head jerked up. Eyes glowing violet now, her hand freezing mid-stroke as the spirit spoke through her.
"They buried it. Behind the gym...the secret...their idea of a messed up trophy...."
It sent her down through its memory. Its
d
e
a
t
h
.
It was past midnight when the field went silent.
Cicadas did not dare to chirp, and no animal ventured outside that night.
The bleachers, flecks of cheap blue paint chipping off the sides, groaned as weight shifted above them. A pair of sneakers scuffed the wood, followed by the metallic scrape of a blade unsheathing. The only light was a dull, flickering lamplight surrounding the soccer field.
"Please...please don't do this," the boy whispered, backing up. "I-I didn't tell anyone. I swear."
The shadow moved closer.
"You saw something you weren't supposed to." It tiled its head at a strange angle, "I liked you."
"I won't say anything, I promise!"
"That's what the last one said too."
Thud.
The body hit the ground, his head colliding with the metal bar before meeting the ground. A heartbeat passed, then another. A dark stain began to spread beneath him.
The figure stood over the corpse, shaking its head in disappointment. "I told you not to follow me."
-
Her eyes dimmed back to brown, her body slumping heavily over the desk, pale and shaking. Her breath came in harsh pants. The ghost was angry...it had to be to take this much out of her during the possession. From their voice, they sounded to be a teenager...likely a jock given the fact they had died near the old fields.
But where were the old fields? Phoenix Drop High's layout changed almost every year, so nothing remained the same. Old buildings were torn down and replaced with other things. For all she could know, this guy could be buried underneath the pool.
Thankfully, two sketches lay in front of her: one of the dead boy, and the other a map of the school from the 1990s. Helpful ghost at least, no matter how angry it was.
She peered down at the map. The sketching was crude (clearly the ghost was not a very good artist) and the writing was absolutely atrocious, but she could make out a few details.
“An underground lake? Is that where you drowned?” Andromeda looked up at the other ghost (the one who was now rudely dripping water onto her desk and nearly soaking her sketchbook), pointing at the cavern on the map.
The ghost nodded helpfully.
“Ok…uh…” she narrowed her eyes down at the map, “Wait. How’d you even get in there? There’s no entrance marked on it…”
The ghost shrugged.
“Thank you.” Andromeda deadpanned. “That’s helpful.”
The boy looked at her.
"He's watching you now, you know. You interest him."
Andromeda froze. "Who's 'he'? Why am I only learning this now? Also, that's like sort of creepy? Like who watches girls innocently? He sounds like a creep—"
"He likes you." the boy tilted his head to side, water dripping down his cheeks and falling into the hollow socket of his left eye. "A lot. But he knows you can see us. That you listen."
"Definitely a creep. Thank you for confirming that—but I kind of need more information than that—" she said, trying to coax the ghost into elaborating. The boy, frustratingly, did not comply,
He just stared at her. "Stop meddling, he says," the ghost paused, tilting his head to the side as if hearing some voice from far away (given Andromeda's track record, she wouldn't doubt that possibility. Ghosts were weird). "Or else..."
The ghost's brow furrowed, "Or else...something threatening will happen. He hasn't decided yet."
"So, uh, is that the end of the message from my mysterious stalker?" Andromeda arched an eyebrow.
"Oh!" the boy beamed, "Or else, you're next!"
"...that's nice. Glad you enjoy the thought of my imminent death so gladdening." she said dryly. A chill ran down her spine as the ghost faded away into the shadows with that slightly concerning bright smile, the connection breaking as her eyes finally faded back to a somewhat natural eye color. Brown.
Very brown. Like caffeine that one might need after staying up for an entire day plus five hours because of schoolwork and other such activities.
Andromeda's sketchbook, unfortunately had not updated with any new information. She took a breath, because apparently she hadn't taken a breath through the entire encounter with the ghost, and her lungs just remembered that oxygen is a vital element for life. Then she blinked. Once. Her eyes hurt, as she didn't blink once during her exchange with the slightly creepy, soggy ghost. Finally, Andromeda glanced down at her sketchbook, looking over the previous sketches with a satisfied nod.
Perfect.
"You okay, Ghostie?"
The voice startled her, low and familiar. Aaron Lycan stood by the doorway, dark eyes furrowed with concern (?). He always had a quiet presence, which he utilized to sneak up on innocents on purpose (the innocents mostly being Andromeda). He knew something was off. He always did. Which was infuriating.
Incredibly infuriating.
"Nooooooo," she groaned immediately, "Get me an espresso?"
He snorted. "No."
"Mean."
"Shut up." he rolled his eyes, "You're not still hung up on the kid who died last week, are you?"
"...uh. No?"
Aaron gave her an unimpressed look. Her incredible lyings skills never seemed to work on him. Also incredibly annoying. "You went to theater again, didn't you? To 'investigate' the crime scene?"
"...maybe."
"Why do I even try with you anymore—"
"Because I'm lovely!"
Aaron nodded in a way that made Andromeda narrow her eyes at him suspiciously. "It's true! I'm absolutely brilliant—"
"Sure, Ghostie. Sure," he pulled out a folded note from his hoodie pocket. "On a more serious matter," he dangled the paper in front of Andromeda's nose, "I found this lying in my locker this morning. Care to guess?"
"Detention slip." Andromeda said, nodding. "Obviously, since you're such a big trouble maker, you got into detention yet again. Should I call your sister and tell on you, oh great Alp—"
"No!" Aaron said, exasperated, "It's a clue—Put that phone down right now—" he swatted Andromeda's hand away from her phone, "Do you want it or not?!?"
"But...it's so fun to get you into trouble," she replied, holding her phone out of reach from Aaron.
"Do you want the note or not?"
"Fineeeee..." Andromeda grumbled, taking the folded note, and placing her phone onto the desk next to her.
The paper was worn, the handwriting messy and almost illegible. It looked like it had been hastily torn out of a notebook.
'He didn't fall. He was pushed. Don't trust the ones who smile too wide. Beware of whispers.'
"What kind of cryptic bullshit is this? I expected at least a little more help than this."
"Beggers can't be choosers."