TRAPPED IN HIS TERRITORY

THE LIVING ARCHIVE

The ride on the bus was completely quiet with the chirping of birds sounding louder than we could ever breathe . My stomach churned each time the driver took a turn , I wouldn't have gone on this 'death like journey ' if Emma hasn't forced more or less dragged me on the bus . Call me paranoid but I have a really bad feeling about this trip , it seems , too planned , well structered . Too perfect .

I turned my head to my right slowly to be met with Emma who had her phone placed on the head rest of the chair in front of her , taking videos to commemorate this trip , she seemed immense in her videos , I turned my head away swiftly as I stared into space again

"Common , you look like we're on a trip to selling or souls "

She said turning swiftly towards me

I took in a deep breath as I swallowed

"No I don't " I muttered taking in her looks ,

The bus smelled faintly of dust and coffee, the kind of stale air that clung to every field trip, like old upholstery could keep secrets. I sat near the window, arms folded across my chest, forehead pressed lightly to the cool glass as campus bled into highways, and highways gave way to forests that looked endless. The kind of forest that swallowed things whole.

She was in full hype mode, bouncing her knee, hair up in a messy bun, sunglasses perched like she thought this was Coachella instead of a school history trip into the middle of nowhere.

“Okay, this is vibes,” she announced, shoving the phone toward my face. A picture of blurred pines, captioned with ghost emojis and a flame.

I groaned. “You’re going to make this trip look like a haunted influencer retreat.”

“Exactly.” She grinned like a devil. “I’m adding atmosphere. You need to learn to market your life better, Beth.”

I didn’t answer. My stomach had been knotted since the bus left campus. Every mile deeper into the woods felt heavier, like we weren’t just dragging students and luggage but some invisible weight that pressed closer the further we drove.

Voices floated around us.

Jason, sprawled across the aisle with his legs stretched out, announced dramatically, “If I don’t get food soon, I’m going to eat one of you. Probably Marcy, she looks like she has the most snacks hidden in her bag.”

Marcy, the tiny brunette two rows behind us, tossed an empty chip bag at his head. “Too late. I ate them all already.”

“You’re evil,” Jason whined, catching the bag and crumpling it up like it was evidence of betrayal.

Samantha, eyeliner sharp enough to slice, snorted. “No, what’s evil is forcing us onto this murder-mystery bus ride instead of letting us stay on campus and nap.”

At least someone agrees with me '

“Field credit,” Marcy reminded, shrugging.

“Still evil,” Samantha muttered.

The chatter carried through the bus: card games slapping on trays, a group in the back trying to harmonize to some song on someone’s speaker, laughter rolling like waves. Normal college noise. But underneath it, I felt something else. The silence of the forest pressing against the windows.

Then Professor Alden, our history professor , the one who orchestrated this whole trip stood.

“Eyes up, everyone.” His voice carried easily, even over the noise. Calm. Controlled. The kind of voice you stopped for. He didn’t need to raise it much; it just cut through.

He looked collected as ever,gray hair neatly combed, jacket pressed, glasses catching faint glints of light. More like a lawyer than a history professor. One hand steadied him against the seat rail as the bus rattled.

“As we approach Halestone,” he said evenly, “remember this is not just sightseeing. The town itself is a living archive.”

The noise dimmed. Curiosity leaned in.

“Halestone was founded in 1791,” he continued. “A mining settlement, small at first, but it grew into something else. Isolated. Self-sufficient. And then—” He adjusted his glasses, his eyes glinting. “Records from the outside stop abruptly around 1860. What you’ll see today is a place most historians believe to be abandoned.”

Jacob, tall and lanky, leaned forward from two rows ahead. “So… like, ghost town?”

Alden’s mouth curved into a smile. But it wasn’t warm. “That’s one way to put it. But remember—” his gaze swept the bus and lingered on me for a second longer than it should have—“not all ghosts are dead.”

The silence that followed wasn’t playful.

Emma whispered, “Okay, that was creepy.”

I tried to smile, but goosebumps prickled along my arms. Alden hadn’t sounded like he was joking. His words were deliberate. Weighted. As if they weren’t a warning for the class, but a reminder to himself.

The bus jolted over a pothole. My hand flew to the seat in front of me for balance. When I looked out the window again, the trees had changed.

Taller. Denser. Branches weaving overhead until the sunlight dimmed, like a canopy pulling tight, shutting us in. It didn’t feel like a forest anymore. It felt like a tunnel. A passage leading us somewhere we weren’t supposed to go.

Behind me, I heard nervous voices.

“Is it me or did it just get… darker?” someone muttered.

“My phone’s dead,” another complained. “No service either.”

A chorus of groans followed. Screens lit up only to flash blank.

Emma sighed theatrically, holding hers up. “Goodbye, civilization.”

But nobody laughed this time.

Even Jason, always the clown, frowned at his phone and shoved it into his pocket like it was suddenly useless.

I shifted, heart beating faster. It wasn’t just the trees. It was the air itself. Heavier. Thinner. Like we’d crossed some invisible threshold. No phones !! What'd you mean no phones , what if we got into trouble how would we call for help . I forced myself to sit still and not panic

At the front, Alden didn’t turn. He stood steady, hand gripping the seat rail, gaze locked ahead on the road. Not curious, not unsettled. Expectant. Like he knew this was coming.

The driver began to slow.

Through the dark web of trees, something glinted. Iron.

I leaned closer to the glass, breath fogging faintly.

Gates.

Tall, rusted, tangled with ivy. Wrought iron twisted into designs too intricate for their age, spirals and symbols that made my skin prickle just to look at them. They weren’t open, but even from here I could feel it—the shift in the air, colder and sharper the closer we drew.

The driver hesitated. His hands tightened on the wheel, shoulders tense. For one second, I swore he was going to stop. Maybe even turn around.

But then Alden leaned down, close to the driver’s ear. I couldn’t hear the words, only the low cadence of them, but whatever he said made the driver stiffen.

And then—

The gates groaned.

Open.

On their own.

Gasps broke out.

“No freaking way—”

“Did you see that?”

“Someone’s messing with us—”

But there was no one there. Just the gates, creaking wide, ivy shuddering, rust flaking like ash.

The bus crept forward.

My pulse hammered.

And then I saw them.

Figures.

Just beyond the gates, at the edge of the trees.

The town was beautiful , more than I expected , it looked almost normal , unlike the weird unsettling feeling I felt . The houses were the kind you'll picture when talking about the medieval age .

The feeling I felt ?

Unmatched .

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