Chapter four : The Blood Manuscript
785 Words
Saint Elora didn’t sleep anymore.
The campus clock tower ticked, but never chimed. No one noticed. The birds had migrated, but their calls still echoed through empty courtyards. No mouths moved. The air smelled of wet stone and burning teeth.
And Linet—
Linet was gone.
Or rather… she was missing from memory.
The students passed her in hallways, brushing her shoulder, but their eyes didn’t register her. In the cafeteria, trays were set for every student but her. Even her lecturers marked her absent on the attendance sheet—even when she raised her hand to answer.
She had become a ghost in her own timeline.
Only one person still looked at her—Kendi.
But not with warmth.
With reverence.
And fear.
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The Manuscript Appears
On the fifth day of her unexistence, Linet found a book on her bed. Heavy. Wrapped in rawhide. Pages stitched with dark thread, faintly pulsing when she touched them.
It was titled:
> "Conducting The End: A Sonata for the Flesh"
No author.
Inside: Names.
Pages and pages of student names—written in a deep red ink that smelled like rust and rain. Every name had a line struck through it. Some had two.
Near the end—her own name.
But not crossed.
Beside it: a musical note. A treble clef with a single teardrop at the base.
The next name—
Kendi.
Then: Eli. Dozens more.
Some she didn’t recognize.
Some were already missing.
She flipped to the last page. A blank staff notation. As if waiting for someone to compose something unspeakable.
She didn’t sleep that night.
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Rocky Returns
He came to her at 3:06 a.m.
Not through the door.
Through the mirror.
His reflection emerged slowly, like a wet painting running in reverse. He wore no shoes. His fingers were bleeding ink, dripping onto her floor and sizzling like acid.
He did not speak.
He simply walked to the Manuscript, opened it to her name, and began humming.
Her ears bled instantly.
She tried to move, scream, run—
But her body had forgotten how to disobey.
He reached out.
Touched her wrist.
The veins underneath rearranged into musical staves, pulsating with each beat of her heart.
Then he whispered:
> “There’s no you. There’s only the song.”
And vanished.
She wept until her tears turned black.
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Kendi’s Descent
Kendi had begun bleeding from her eyes.
Not from pain—but devotion.
She now taught a class of fifteen students in the old library basement—none enrolled officially, none speaking outside the lessons. They called her “First Tuning.”
She spoke of echoes and hidden symphonies. She taught them how to bleed in rhythm, how to scream in unison. She instructed them on sacrificing memory for clarity.
And one by one—they disappeared from class records.
Linet watched from the darkness behind the broken shelves. Watched Kendi draw new sigils in ink and blood. Watched her weep silently as she burned her own photographs.
One day, Kendi turned toward the shadows and said:
> “He is ready for you to compose.”
Linet said nothing.
But her hands began to itch for a blade.
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The Hall of Unheard Screams
Room 408 didn’t exist.
But Linet found it anyway.
Behind the music block, past the piano lab, through the door labeled “Storage – Keep Shut,” there was a black corridor lit by flickering neon. The further she walked, the louder the silent screams became—pressure behind her eardrums, as if hundreds of mouths were screaming just beyond the hearing range.
Inside Room 408, there were 27 chairs.
Each bolted to the floor.
Each with straps.
Each stained.
At the front: a conductor’s podium.
And behind it—a mural.
Of her.
Conducting a choir of faceless bodies. Their mouths wide. Their tongues replaced by tuning forks.
Painted in blood.
And behind the mural—hidden in the wall—was a camera.
Still warm.
Still recording.
Still aimed at her.
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Final Scene – The Shattering
Back in her room, Linet found her reflection staring at her again.
But this time, it wasn’t mimicking her.
It was smiling, slowly peeling off its own face—revealing nothing underneath.
Just darkness.
It reached out and pressed a blood-covered hand against the mirror. A single phrase appeared in reverse:
> “KILL HER.”
She turned—and Kendi stood at the door.
Smiling.
Holding the Manuscript.
And a scalpel.
“Shall we begin?” Kendi whispered.
Linet didn’t answer.
Because suddenly, she understood the melody.
And she was ready to play it.
Even if it meant conducting the end of everything.
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- Writer
