Detention with the Devil

EPISODE 3 - OLD RECORDS & HIDDEN TRUTHS

Chapter 11: Old Records

The stone wall Damian signaled toward ran parallel to the school grounds, overgrown with ivy and shadowed by tall acacia trees - far enough from the main gate that most students never walked this way, yet close enough to keep the academy always in sight. Elara slowed there after turning the corner, glancing back to make sure no one followed. Valdez had remained near the entrance; Zara's group had gone toward the parking circle. The road seemed empty.

Near a break where heavy branches arched low, a section of wall looked older, stones more weather‑worn. Set deep between two blocks was a narrow iron grille, rusted but still strong, as if covering an old drain or air passage. Tucked neatly behind one vertical bar, barely visible unless you stood exactly here, was a folded sheet of paper - plain, yellowed, not stamped or printed.

Elara pulled it free carefully, heart beating faster. It was a page torn from an old register, faded ink, neat handwriting listing names, dates of admission, status. Most marked Graduated, Transferred, Withdrawn. But several names were simply crossed through heavily, notes beside them cut short: "Removed - records sealed", "Disappeared mid‑term - file closed", "West Wing incident - no further details".

Dates stretched back decades - and the pattern repeated every few years, regular and chilling. Just as the carved lines behind the blackboard had said: one taken, one given.

A soft rustle from deeper shade made her jump. Damian stepped out silently, hands still in pockets, expression guarded. "Keep moving. Don't stand still here - they check even the outer walls."

"You left this?" Elara asked low, clutching the page.

"I didn't write it. I only found where it's safe to leave things they don't dare destroy completely." He walked slowly beside her, matching pace, voice level and careful. "The archive inside is locked, watched, cleaned out regularly. But Blackwood was built old - old buildings forget to lock every hole."

"Who are these people?"

"Students exactly like you - smart enough to notice, stubborn enough to ask." Damian's tone hardened just a little. "And always... they were scholarship students."

Elara stopped short, stunned. "Only us?"

"System works neat: prestige needs fresh talent... and the price is paid from the part that's easiest to replace." He glanced back toward the high stone walls rising above trees. "Valdez guards the official books. But the real record... it's scattered everywhere else - behind boards, in cracks, buried under layers of paint, written in places they think no one reads."

Before Elara could press further, distant voices carried from the road bend - guards or prefects patrolling. Damian moved away quickly, slipping back toward the school side, blending into shadow and distance as if dissolving into the academy itself. "Hide it well. And remember: now you hold proof... so you are also now the risk they watch most closely."

Elara folded the brittle page tight inside her notebook, deep between pages of schoolwork, and walked fast toward the main road home - knowing clearly: the records existed, the pattern was real... and she had stepped right into its path.