FINDING HER

The first week at Lincoln College passed in a blur of orientation lectures, campus tours, and the chaos of settling into a new life. Alan and Brad stuck together like glue, but the college was larger, louder, and far more unpredictable than Centre-Main had ever been. New rules, new faces—and new problems. Dorothy, sharp as ever, had already gained a reputation for her quick wit and sharper tongue. She kept Alan and Brad in line when she could, though even she couldn't stop them from turning their dorm room into a lab for questionable experiments, the latest of which involved an old toaster, a car battery, and a dare. Helena, a quiet girl with a talent for sketching portraits that felt almost alive, often sat under the old elm near the library. Brad was fascinated by her calm, especially given how chaotic his life always seemed. She didn’t talk much, but when she did, it mattered. Then there was Brad’s sister, Violet—sophomore, senior in rank, and a pain in his neck. She had joined the student council and wielded her authority with the smugness of someone who enjoyed catching her younger brother breaking curfew. Her presence in the hostel meant that every plan Brad made had to be twice as clever—or twice as secret. It wasn’t long before Alan stumbled upon something strange in the college archives—an old blueprint tucked behind a loose stone in the history wing's basement. The parchment was faded, water-stained, and marked with cryptic symbols that looked oddly... recent. At first, they laughed it off as a prank or maybe an art student’s project. But when Jane, now part of the journalism club, overheard them talking and offered up a rumor about a hidden room beneath the chapel—sealed off after a fire twenty years ago—they couldn’t resist digging deeper. “This is it,” Alan whispered late one night, flashlight in hand, eyes gleaming. “Our first real adventure.” Brad just grinned. “Let’s hope it doesn’t get us expelled.” With Hank reluctantly agreeing to keep watch and Dorothy already two steps ahead with a plan, the four of them prepared to sneak into the chapel after dark. What they found beneath it would change everything. The night was colder than usual. The kind of cold that crept under doors and clung to your skin like a warning. The chapel stood silent and dark, its stone walls casting long shadows under the pale moonlight. Alan, Brad, Dorothy, and Helena met outside the east wing, where an old maintenance hatch had been left rusted and forgotten. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Helena whispered, clutching her sketchbook like a shield. “You said that ten minutes ago,” Brad grinned, prying the hatch open with a stolen crowbar. “Still not backing out, are you?” Helena hesitated, then shook her head. “Someone has to record this when it all goes terribly wrong.” Inside, the air was thick with dust and something older—mildew, maybe, or just time itself. Their flashlights cut through the dark in trembling beams, dancing across stone walls and warped wooden beams. The tunnel sloped downward, leading them beneath the chapel toward something they couldn’t yet name. After twenty minutes of crawling, slipping, and whispering louder than they should have, they found it. A door. Massive and metal, with gears embedded into the frame like it had once been part of a vault. A strange emblem was carved into its center—an open eye with a flame in the pupil. Helena sketched it instantly. “What the hell is this?” Alan breathed. Brad ran his hand over the cold metal. “Feels like... some kind of safe room.” Dorothy frowned. “Or something they wanted to keep locked away.” There was no handle. No keyhole. Just the symbol—and a faint humming from behind the door, like machinery still ticked inside, waiting. They stared at it, unsure of what to do next. Then Helena reached into her bag and pulled out something none of them expected—an old brass key with the same eye-and-flame symbol etched into the top. “I found it in the library archives last week,” she said quietly. “Didn’t know what it was until now.” Alan took the key and found a small circular indentation beside the emblem. With a deep breath, he slid it in. The ground vibrated. A low grinding filled the tunnel as the gears began to turn. The door groaned open, releasing a burst of stale, cold air—and revealing a staircase spiraling down into blackness. They looked at each other. No words. Just a shared understanding that whatever lay beyond this door wasn’t just about secrets or mischief anymore. It was something bigger. Deeper. Older. And they had just crossed the threshold. The grinding of stone against metal echoed through the tunnel like the groan of something ancient waking from a long slumber. The door opened just wide enough for them to slip through. Alan led the way, his flashlight cutting into the thick dark. The stairwell spiraled downward, walls lined with carved stone, symbols etched deep into their surfaces. Helena kept glancing at the walls, sketching quickly whenever they paused to rest. “What do you think this place was?” Dorothy asked, her voice hushed. “A bomb shelter? A secret lab?” “Or a cult lair,” Brad muttered, peering at a carving of the eye symbol surrounded by twisted branches. “The whole ‘eye with a flame’ thing isn’t exactly comforting.” At the bottom of the stairs, the tunnel opened into a wide chamber, circular and domed. The walls were lined with dusty shelves filled with old tomes, vials, and cracked jars. A stone table sat in the center, surrounded by broken candle holders and a metallic device that looked centuries out of place. “Guys…” Helena stepped forward slowly, pointing. “There’s something here.” The device had levers, gears, and a glass orb embedded in its center. When Alan touched it, the orb flickered faintly—just for a second. “It’s still powered,” he whispered. “After all this time…” Dorothy pulled a notebook from her bag and began documenting everything. “This whole place feels like a secret society's meeting room. You think the college knew this was down here?” “No,” Brad said. “But someone did. And maybe they still do.”