Page 11 of They're Watching You

I’ve never stayed out past curfew before. It never seemed worth the risk, considering everything my parents have done to get me into this place. Supposedly, the front door is locked from both sides. Last year, a girl complained about trying to meet her boyfriend, only to be thwarted by that lock.

But Polly got in and out tons of times. There has to be a way. I ease my room door open, shutting my eyes as it buzzes. Then I peek out into the dark corridor.

The coast is clear, so I grab Polly’s cheap, faux leather handbag packed with my phone, my room key card, the invitation, and the glass stones. I tiptoe down the hall, my heart thumping and my lids half-shut. My hall proctor is a horrible Form IV named Mary Elizabeth Sweeney. If she catches me dressed like this, I can hardly use the bathroom as an excuse.

But I pass her room, and the door remains shut. Hunching my shoulders, I take the stairway down to the dormitory’s main floor. At the entry of the building is a large room with a brick fireplace, a front desk only manned during the day, and a looming set of double doors.

Doors the school claims are electronically locked at night.

I scan the walls and ceiling for cameras, and sure enough, one blinks red light down on the room. It’s all over. As soon as I step in front of that camera, security will catch me trying to escape. The school will call my parents in the morning.

But suddenly, the camera crackles, its red light dying.

My eyes fall shut in relief. It malfunctioned.

I approach the door, my legs shakier than they are at the end of two forty-five-minute soccer halves. When I reach for the handle, I’m holding my breath. I turn it, waiting for some sort of alarm to go off and wake up the entire building. Waiting for the lever to resist my hand.

But it turns.

I breathe again, checking over my shoulder one last time before I push and skitter out into the night.

A half-moon sits above, spilling soft light over campus. The air has a bite to it, so I button Polly’s coat as high as it will go. Beneath me, my black kitten heels clomp along the path unnervingly, past the lanterns that line it. I keep scanning ahead and behind, even off the path into the grass. I’m actually out here past curfew. The lock on the doors was nothing but an academy legend.

As soon as my heel touches the grass, a beam of light swings in front of me, cutting just short of my toe. I back up, searching frantically for somewhere to hide as the light draws a wide oval around the lawn. There’s a statue a few yards away on the cement, but my clackety heels would give me away in an instant. Ducking low, I slide them off and tiptoe behind the base of the statue.

My heart’s thumping is soon echoed by the sound of footsteps along the path. Whistling. The light swerves and bounces on the cement, and sweat breaks out on my forehead, despite the cold. What’s my excuse if I’m spotted? I just happen to be sleepwalking in a semi-nice dress and heels?

The footsteps approach, and I shuffle around to the back of the statue. The whistling nears. After a moment, my leg muscles ache from the strain of crouching. And this security guard decided to camp out right next to the fountain. I try to adjust my position, but my foot slides. I topple, my thigh smacking the cement.

My nerves singe. The clomping gets closer, the whistling seemingly over my head. When his light slings by again, it illuminates a rock beside my foot. I reach out, grab it, and windmill chuck it off to the side. It clatters over the cement, and the guard’s light flicks off in that direction.

His footsteps follow, the light slings by for a final time, and the whistling soon fades.

Letting out a breath, I slide my dirty feet back into Polly’s heels and scurry through the grass with my head down. Then I stalk along the path between the Stanley Health Center and the Hamilton Fitness Center, stopping to scan the Commons before racing across it along the tree line.

On the banks of Mills Pond, a hedge rustles and my heart lunges. Stopping, I squint into the dark, regretting ever coming out here. But the noise dies. Must’ve been an animal. I continue past Harrington Dormitory, the building’s hulking shadow my only cover.

The old cathedral looms ahead now, a monstrous, gray, brick establishment with a spired bell tower, flying buttresses, and stained glass windows. Of course, it’s condemned. During that fire back in the seventies, the windows burst and the brick was charred. Eventually, the bell was stolen. The building still stands, merely as a monument to the academy’s long history. The cathedral we actually use is a replica on the other side of campus.

The last time I got anywhere near this place, the doors and windows on the ground floor were boarded shut. We must be meeting outside the cathedral and heading elsewhere. I spot the door, which is still boarded, but there aren’t any society members huddled around, awaiting my arrival.

A thread of terror spins through me. Was this a setup? Did Annabelle only invite me here to humiliate me? Or worse. Is a pack of drunken society members about to rush out from behind that copse of trees and jump me?

My chest tightens. I want to turn on my phone’s light to get a better view of my surroundings, but I can’t risk getting caught by security.

I reach the door, hoping for a note instructing me where to go from here.

Nothing.

Five minutes. I will wait exactly five minutes for someone to show up. If no one does, I’ll head back to my warm bed.

I stand with my back to the door, so I can see whoever—or whatever—is coming. The campus is eerily silent at this hour. Crickets chirp in the distance, and occasionally, an owl hoots off in the woods that border the school. I cup my hands, blowing in them for warmth and ducking my head as far down into my coat as it will go.

When I start to pull out my phone to check the time, a grating sound slices through the night. I freeze. It sounded close. I force myself to breathe, and the tendrils of air swirl visibly before me. Another grate comes, like metal against concrete, followed by a clack.

I keep my head ducked low and step around the front of the building. Leaning slightly around the corner, I glimpse the place where the noises are coming from.

Propped against the side of the tower is an industrial-sized ladder. A dark figure stands on the cobblestone path, holding the base of the ladder while another figure climbs up, his feet banging on the rungs. From my concealed position, I watch this person reach the top and slide in through the tower’s empty window frame, just below the space for the bell.

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