Page 24 of Dig Your Grave

He replied almost instantly:

Be careful.I’m at the event now.Will call you at midnight.

The time read 7:46 p.m.I had a few hours to kill before his call.My entire being buzzed with leftover adrenaline.Maybe I should head straight to my dorm, lock myself in, and bury my nose in the caretaker’s ledger notes I’d scribbled.But the restless energy in my veins wouldn’t let me just hide.

I decided to walk to the Journalism building, see if I could catch Harry.If I told him about Sophie’s approach, omitting certain specifics like the caretaker’s cottage, maybe he’d have advice on how to spin this.

It was well past standard club meeting hours, so the hallway outside the Howler’s office was deserted, the overhead fluorescent lights buzzing softly.I peered inside the glass door.A lone figure hunched over a laptop.Kate, one of the staffers.She glanced up, surprised to see me.

“Hey,” she said, waving me in.“Thought you’d left for the night.”

“Just stopping by,” I explained.“Is Harry around?”

Kate shook her head.“He’s out covering that big donor event.Supposedly there’s a rumor that Dean Mence might announce a new project.The Howler’s trying to get the scoop.”

Of course.That made sense.The same event Sophie mentioned, the same one Anubis was forced to attend.“Right, okay.Thanks.”I rubbed my arms, feeling a sudden chill.“I’ll swing by tomorrow.”

Kate studied me with mild concern.“You okay?You look pale.”

I forced a smile.“Just a lot on my mind.It’s been a rough week.”

She nodded sympathetically.“Tell me about it.Half the staff is either sleep-deprived or paranoid.We keep hearing weird rumors about that skull you found in the library—”

“It was a sheep,” I corrected quickly.“A dead sheep.Not a human skull.”I suppressed a shudder at the memory.

She shrugged.“Right, but still weird.Anyway, try to get some rest, Suede.”

I thanked her and turned to leave, but paused at the office door.“Wait, do you have the keys to the archives room?I might do a little reading.”

She raised an eyebrow.“Knock yourself out.”She rummaged in a drawer, retrieving a small set of keys, and handed them over.“Just remember to lock up.And if you see a ghost, try to get a quote, so we have an exclusive.”

I let out a soft laugh, grateful for a moment of levity.“Will do.”

The Howler’s archives room was basically a converted supply closet in the same building.After unlocking it, I flicked on the single overhead light, illuminating rows of musty file boxes stacked on rickety metal shelves.On a desk in the corner sat a battered microfiche viewer, the same type the official campus archives used, but older.

I navigated around, scanning labeled boxes until I found one marked“Obituaries & Incidents: 1970–Present.”If Toccara’s death joined the list of “student suicides,” that might be where the editorial staff would store it once it became public record.Maybe I could find patterns linking older cases to the Skulls.

I plucked the box off the shelf, set it on the desk, and opened the flaps.Dust wafted into my face, making me cough.Inside lay thick manila folders, each bearing the name of a student or staff member.For a moment, I was struck by how many there were.This was just since 1970?

I started flipping through: accidents, heart conditions, even a few overdoses.One folder I opened revealed a well-known name, an Edenvane daughter rumored to have drowned at the Boathouse docks in the 1990s.The official story was an accidental fall.But scrawled on a sticky note was a half-legible reference to “Skull Soc.speculation?”

My pulse quickened.I found more suspicious drownings or “fall from tower” incidents.Each time, there was at least one note from a staffer: “Family settled quickly,” “Campus hush money rumored.”

Finally, near the back, I found a handful of articles referencing “riverside suicides.”The oldest dated to the early 70s, the most recent about three years ago.Each one bore a near-identical headline:“Tragic Loss of Promising Edenvane Scholar.”Phrases like “pressure,” “mental health,” “sudden downturn in academic performance” repeated.

Fear and sorrow coiled in my stomach.This was Toccara’s story all over again, only it spanned decades.I swallowed hard, removing my phone to snap pictures of a few key lines.Although I was exhausted, I forced myself to read, searching for any direct mention of clandestine societies.I found only speculation or coded references.No one named the Skulls.

Still, a pattern jumped out at me.Every official obituary echoed the Dean’s line of “no foul play,” “signs of depression,” “the student showed a drastic change in behavior.”Or “the student left a note referencing heartbreak or family issues.”And always a note.It was too consistent, too neat.

I set down the last folder, heart pounding.Toccara’s official file probably wasn’t compiled yet.But I was certain it’d mirror these.Another “suicide.”

A wave of frustration welled in me.If the Skulls had orchestrated these tragedies or at least abetted them, how was I supposed to fight something so embedded in Edenvane’s foundation?

My phone vibrated in my pocket.I jerked, nearly dropping the folder.Checking the screen, I saw it was a text from Anubis.

Where are you?

Brief, urgent.

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