The Haunting Of Blackwood Academy

The rain hit the car windows like whispered warnings, each drop a soft reminder that this wasn’t just another school, and Raven Blackthorn wasn’t just another girl being dropped off by a tired aunt who hadn’t said a word since they passed the last gas station an hour ago. The iron gates loomed ahead tall, black, ornate things tangled in ivy and rust. Beyond them, Blackwood Academy rose from the mist like something carved from shadow and storm, its spires clawing into the gray sky. The building was beautiful in a way that made your skin crawl too many windows, none of them lit. A cracked gargoyle perched over the main entrance like it was watching her. Raven tightened her grip on the leather satchel across her lap. She could feel it again that familiar crawl at the base of her spine. The static buzz of a vision threatening to take hold. Not now. Her aunt, Marla, didn’t look at her. “You’ll be fine here.” Raven blinked. “Is that supposed to be comforting?” Marla sighed and shoved open her door. The rain hit her umbrella with angry taps as she walked to the trunk. Raven stepped out slowly, black boots splashing in cold puddles. She pulled her coat tighter—long, wool, midnight black. She refused to shiver. Not here. Not anywhere. The gates groaned open on their own as she approached. Magic. Not the pretty kind. The kind that made the hair on her arms rise and whispered things you couldn’t quite hear. A figure was waiting just inside the courtyard. A woman, tall and lean, dressed in a velvet coat so dark it looked like moving ink. Her silver-streaked hair was braided in a perfect twist, her gloved hands clasped behind her back. “Miss Blackthorn,” she said, her voice low and smooth. “Welcome to Blackwood Academy. I am Professor Morrow. Headmistress.” Raven’s gaze swept over the woman, cataloguing her like a threat. “Thanks for the… ominous welcome.” Professor Morrow’s lips twitched. “You’ll find we specialize in the ominous here.” The entrance hall of the academy was colder than the storm outside. Raven’s boots echoed against the black-and-white checkered floor. High above, a chandelier of black crystal flickered with purple flame. The air smelled of old stone, wet parchment, and something faintly metallic. “You’ll find your schedule and map in your room. Room 313, North Tower. You’ll be sharing with Luna Graves. She’s… spirited.” “That sounds threatening.” Professor Morrow smiled with no teeth. “Not at all. Just don’t touch her collection of embalmed mice.” Of course. Raven turned slowly, eyes scanning every painting, every twist of stairwell, every old mirror with a frame that looked too much like bone. The academy was alive in a way that had nothing to do with its students. She could feel it watching. Waiting. Something brushed her shoulder not a hand, not air. A chill. The first tendrils of a vision. She clenched her jaw and forced it down. She wouldn’t pass out on her first day. She’d done that before. Once. The second school had asked her to leave the same week. “This place…” she murmured. “Yes?” Professor Morrow’s voice was soft. “It doesn’t want me here.” “It wants what it always wants,” Morrow said, eyes gleaming. “A secret.” The woman turned and vanished down a hall like a shadow dissolving in deeper dark. Room 313 was at the top of a tower staircase that spiraled so tightly Raven had to walk sideways by the time she reached the final landing. Her breath fogged as she opened the door. Inside, the room was…unexpected. Warm, cluttered, and scented with sage and lavender. Candles of all shapes burned on every surface. Hanging from the ceiling were paper stars, some glowing faintly on their own. On the far side of the room, perched on a chair like a queen on her throne, sat a girl with half-shaved hair dyed silver and black. She wore a long tulle skirt, a t-shirt that said “WITCH, PLEASE,” and had rings on every finger including one shaped like a snake curling up her entire hand. “You must be the new corpse,” she said cheerfully. “I'm Luna. Don’t touch the dead things without asking.” Raven dropped her bag on the floor. “I'm Raven. I don’t touch anything without good reason.” Luna grinned. “You’ll fit right in.” A raven not a metaphor, a literal raven croaked from its perch above Luna’s desk. It stared at Raven, tilted its head, and said, in a rasping, clear voice: “She sees. She bleeds. She breaks the seal.” Raven blinked. “Is that normal?” Luna frowned. “Mortimer doesn’t usually rhyme. Creepy.” The world tilted. Not physically. Inside her head. The vision slammed into Raven like a wave cold, blinding, electric. She was falling The hallway. The forest. Blood on the snow. A scream she couldn’t place. Someone running. A name...her name..called in terror. A flash of glowing eyes in the dark. And then nothing. She jerked awake on the floor. Luna was crouched beside her with a potion bottle and a mildly concerned expression. “Well,” Luna said. “Either you're epileptic, psychic, or allergic to my incense.” Raven sat up, dizzy. “Psychic. Unfortunately.” Luna grinned. “Awesome. You’re going to love it here.” She paused. “Also… what were you doing in the forest?” Raven stared at her. “I wasn’t.” “You are,” Luna said slowly, pointing to the window. Raven stood, stumbled, and looked. Out beyond the North Tower, down the slope of the academy grounds, past the tangled hedges and halfdead trees… something moved. Something large. Something watching. And then it was gone. Raven didn’t say anything. She kept staring out the window long after the shadow had disappeared, her breath ghosting on the glass. Whatever had been out there hadn’t been human. She knew the difference. You didn’t grow up with her kind of brain and not learn to distinguish between flesh and something... else. Luna was still watching her, more curious than worried. “So, question did that thing look like a wolf, or more like a person trying to be a wolf?” Raven glanced at her. “Neither. It looked like a shadow trying to remember it had a shape.” “Oooh,” Luna said with interest. “Ten points to Creepy Houseguest. Definitely not a regular forest cryptid.” Raven stepped back from the window, pulse still fast. “What do you mean ‘regular’?” “Well, Blackwood’s on ancient burial grounds, the forest’s full of forgotten things, and there’s a rumor the Morivyn feeds on new blood if it’s not properly introduced.” She paused. “You were properly introduced, right?” Raven blinked. “I met the headmistress.” “That doesn’t count.” Luna reached under her bed and pulled out what looked like a goat skull painted with symbols. “Here, hold this and say your full name.” Raven stared at her. “Trust me,” Luna said. “It’s for your protection.” “I don't usually introduce myself to dead things.” “Better dead than cursed.” With a sigh, Raven took the skull, ignoring how cold it felt in her hands. “Raven Elspeth Blackthorn.” The candles flickered. A low, soft hum passed through the room like a distant sigh. Luna clapped. “Congratulations. You’re officially less cursed than you were five minutes ago.” Raven handed the skull back. “Do you ever say things that aren’t disturbing?” “I’m sure I’ve said ‘pizza’ in a normal tone once.” There was a knock at the door. Loud, sharp. Not friendly. Luna raised an eyebrow and opened it without hesitation. A boy stood there, tall and angular, with ink-black hair that looked like he’d cut it himself and eyes so dark they swallowed light. He wore the standard Blackwood uniform—black jacket, silver trim but something about the way he filled the space made it feel colder. He looked at Raven like he already knew her. “You’re the new one,” he said. Not a question. “Is that what they’re calling me now?” Raven replied. “I’m Cassian. Your presence has already disrupted the wards on the west wing.” Raven frowned. “That sounds like your problem.” “It becomes everyone’s problem when the mirrors start whispering.” He turned to Luna. “Headmistress wants her in the main hall. Now.” “Why?” Raven asked. “Because something followed you here,” Cassian said. “And it already wants out.” He left without waiting for a reply. Luna shut the door gently behind him. “Well. That’s not ominous at all.” Raven grabbed her coat again. “Let’s get this over with.” The main hall was even darker at night, with moonlight pouring through tall arched windows like pale blood. Professors stood in a circle at the center of the floor, their robes fluttering slightly despite the stillness of the air. Raven felt it as soon as she stepped inside pressure, like the moment before a thunderclap. Her skin prickled. The chandelier above flickered violently. Professor Morrow stood in the middle, hands clasped. She turned as Raven approached. “You brought something with you, Miss Blackthorn.” “I didn’t mean to.” “Intent is irrelevant to magic. Especially old magic.” The professors murmured. A cold wind blew through the hall, though no doors were open. Professor Morrow gestured, and a mirror was brought forward an ancient, freestanding thing with a frame made of carved obsidian. Its surface rippled like water. “Look,” she said. Raven stepped forward. Her reflection stared back. And behind her, in the mirror only, stood a tall, hollow-eyed figure cloaked in smoke. Its hands were impossibly long. Its mouth moved, but no sound came. Raven took a step back. “It’s not real,” she said. “It is,” Professor Morrow replied. “It’s real enough to be hungry.” The figure reached out in the mirror ;one long finger tracing the shape of Raven’s cheek. And then the glass cracked. The sound was deafening in the silence;a single c***k racing through the mirror like lightning through still water. Raven jerked back instinctively, heart hammering against her ribs, but the c***k didn’t stop. It spread, jagged and deliberate, like the mirror was bleeding. The figure inside it tilted its head, unblinking. Professor Morrow raised a hand, and the mirror went black. A rush of cold swept through the hall, extinguishing half the candles. Shadows clung to the corners of the room like smoke, twisting and shifting. “Enough,” Morrow said quietly, and the silence returned. The other professors exchanged glances uncertain, wary. A few looked at Raven like she was radioactive. “What was that?” Raven demanded, trying to keep her voice steady. “The Morivyn,” Morrow said. “Or part of it. It has many faces. That one… hasn’t shown itself in over a century.” “I didn’t bring it,” Raven said. “No,” Morrow replied. “But it recognized you.” Raven’s stomach turned. “Why?” Morrow studied her face like she was reading a language only she could understand. “Because you’re your mother’s daughter.” The room seemed to tilt. “You knew her?” “We all did. She was… exceptional. Gifted. Brave.” “She disappeared.” “Yes.” “And no one found her?” “No one living.” Raven stared at her. “What does that mean?” “It means Blackwood Academy keeps its secrets. Some are buried. Some are bound. And some...” her gaze flicked toward the darkened mirror“are waiting to be unsealed.” A low growl echoed through the hall. Everyone froze. It hadn’t come from the mirror. The sound came again, louder. Not animal. Not human. Like something dragging its own voice across gravel. Raven turned slowly toward the far corner of the room. A door that hadn’t been there moments before now stood wide open, leading into darkness. Luna leaned toward her and whispered, “That’s the forbidden wing. No one goes there.” “So why is it opening now?” Morrow’s voice was firm. “It’s reacting to her. The seal is thinning.” “I didn’t do anything,” Raven said. “Magic doesn’t wait for your permission,” Morrow answered. “It moves through blood, memory, and intent. You may not want it. But it wants you.” Another growl closer now. The shadows at the door began to swirl. Morrow lifted her hands, and a gust of violet light burst from her palms, slamming the door shut. A sharp c***k echoed through the hall like a gunshot. The door vanished. Just… blinked out of existence. Raven stood frozen. “I think I’d like to go back to my room now,” she said quietly. Morrow nodded. “Luna, stay with her. Do not leave her side tonight.” “No problem,” Luna said, but her voice was suddenly more serious. They walked back in silence. Raven noticed how many corridors had eyes ;paintings, gargoyles, stone busts that always seemed to face her, no matter how many turns they took. The academy had learned her. It had memorized her walk, her scent, her breath. Back in Room 313, Luna locked the door three times and lit a circle of salt and ash around their beds. Raven sat on hers, staring at her hands. “She was here,” she murmured. “Who?” “My mother. She walked these halls. She fought that thing. And now it knows I’m here.” Luna sat cross-legged across from her, candlelight flickering in her silver;streaked hair. “Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’s scared of you.” “I don’t think anything that big knows how to be scared.” Luna smiled faintly. “Then maybe it’s time someone taught it.” Raven lay down but didn’t sleep. She watched the ceiling, counted the flickering shadows, and tried not to remember the voice in the mirror that hadn’t spoken. Because even without words, it had made her a promise. It was coming back. The night clawed its way through the hours with slow, dragging fingers. Raven didn’t dream;she never did. But something deeper than sleep held her down like weight on her chest. Every now and then, she swore she heard a soft whisper in the corners of the room, too quiet to make out, too real to ignore. At exactly three seventeen in the morning, the candles flickered once. Then again. Then went out. Raven’s eyes snapped open. The salt circle around her bed was still unbroken. Luna slept like the dead, one hand curled beneath her cheek, the other resting near a tiny, twitching vial of glowing blue light. And then the window creaked. It didn’t open. It creaked ;as if something was leaning against it from the outside. Raven sat up slowly, blood rushing in her ears. She moved to the window, every step careful, quiet. There was nothing there. Nothing but black forest and pale mist, the world beyond the glass muted and strange. She reached out, one fingertip touching the frost-glazed windowpane. It burned. She jerked her hand back with a hiss. A shape was forming on the glass. Fog curling, spiraling, settling into letters. A message. YOU WERE MEANT TO WAKE IT. Raven stared at the words, breath caught in her throat. Then, just as suddenly, the letters faded, erased by a breeze that shouldn’t have been able to pass through a closed window. Behind her, Mortimer the raven croaked from his perch. “She wakes. She breaks. She bleeds the gate.” Luna stirred. “Ugh. Mortimer, it’s not even dawn.” Raven didn’t speak. She sat on the windowsill until the first thin slice of morning peeled through the clouds. And by then, the message had vanished,but the burning in her fingertip hadn’t. Later that morning, the fingertip would blister in the shape of a key. And she wouldn’t be able to wash it off. She would wear it like a brand. A door had opened the night she arrived. And Raven Blackthorn, the girl who saw too much, was already holding the key. The bell tolled once, echoing across the cold stone halls of Blackwood like a warning. Students stirred in their dorms, a slow ripple of movement and murmured spells as the academy woke with its usual unsettling grace. Raven didn’t move from her spot by the window. She watched the sky turn from bruised gray to a pale, reluctant blue. Down below, the forest loomed like it knew her name now. The mist refused to lift from its roots. Behind her, Luna yawned and sat up, blinking sleepily. “Did you sleep at all?” Raven shook her head. “Figures.” Luna stretched, pulling a tiny skeleton hand from under her pillow and placing it in a velvet pouch. “Some of us need dreams to feel alive, you know.” Raven looked at her, solemn. “What if your dreams are warnings?” “Then lucky you,” Luna said. “Most people have to pay a psychic for that kind of service.” Raven held out her right hand. Luna leaned forward. “What happened to your finger?” The skin on Raven’s fingertip was scorched, blistered slightly,perfectly shaped like an old iron key. It didn’t hurt. It just pulsed faintly, like a second heartbeat. “I touched the window.” Luna frowned. “The window gave you a magic key?” “No,” Raven said softly. “The thing on the other side did.” Luna stared at her for a moment. “You really are your mother’s daughter.” There was a knock,two short raps,at the door. This time, it wasn’t Cassian. An envelope had been slid under the door, thick parchment sealed with crimson wax. Raven picked it up and broke the seal. Inside, a single note written in black ink. “Some doors are better left unopened. Room 9. Midnight. Come alone.” She read it once, then again. Then folded it neatly, slid it into her pocket, and turned to Luna. “Let’s go find the library.”