Read Blackwood Echoes free: the opening chapter

Static

The bus coughed, shuddered, and finally wheezed to a stop in front of Blackwood Academy. Honestly, it looked exactly like you’d expect a school called Blackwood Academy to look. All gray stone, pointy arches, and enough ivy to house a small family of squirrels. It wasn’t exactly welcoming. More…imposing. Like it was daring you to ask what secrets it was keeping.

I tugged my backpack higher on my shoulder, trying to ignore the knot tightening in my stomach. New school, new state, new…everything. My mom had decided a change of scenery would be good for us after, well, everything. I wasn’t convinced. Good scenery couldn’t fix much.

I stepped off the bus, instantly swallowed by a wall of cool, damp air. October in North Carolina was definitely a vibe. A misty, slightly creepy vibe. The air smelled like wet leaves and something older, something I couldn’t quite place. Like dust and…woodsmoke? Or maybe just oldness.

A few other students were milling around, mostly upperclassmen judging by the confident way they carried themselves. They barely glanced at me. Good. I wasn’t really in the mood for small talk. I just wanted to find the main office, get my schedule, and locate the nearest coffee source. Priorities.

I spotted a girl with bright pink hair and a sketchbook tucked under her arm leaning against a stone pillar. She was sketching the academy, capturing the gloominess with surprisingly cheerful lines. Maybe she wouldn’t judge me for being the new, slightly awkward transfer student.

“Hi,” I said, approaching cautiously. “Um, is this Blackwood Academy?”

She looked up, a smile instantly lighting up her face. “The one and only! You must be new. I’m Lila.”

“Wren,” I replied, relieved. “Yeah, just arrived. It’s…big.”

Lila laughed. “That’s one word for it. It feels like a movie set sometimes. A very old, possibly haunted movie set.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Haunted?”

“Oh, you’ll hear the stories,” Lila said with a wink. “Blackwood has a history. Apparently, a student disappeared years ago. Never found. And now…” she lowered her voice dramatically, “Clara Bellwether fell from the observatory tower yesterday.”

My journalistic instincts immediately kicked in. “Fell?”

“That’s what they’re saying,” Lila said, sketching furiously. “But some people think it wasn’t an accident. Clara was…different. Kept to herself. And she was really into the old stories, the creepy parts.”

“An accident is always the easy answer,” I muttered, already mentally drafting a headline. ‘Blackwood Tragedy: Accident or Something More?’

“Exactly!” Lila snapped her fingers. “You think so too? You’re like a real detective.”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I just like puzzles. And things that don’t quite add up.”

---

The main office was predictably gloomy. Dark wood paneling, portraits of stern-looking headmasters, and an air of quiet authority. The receptionist, a woman with a tightly wound bun and an even tighter expression, barely acknowledged me as I approached.

“Name?” she asked, not looking up from her computer.

“Wren Abbott.”

She typed a few keys. “Ah, yes. The new transfer student. Here’s your schedule and a campus map. Headmistress Thorne will see you shortly.”

My schedule looked like a color-coded nightmare. Advanced English, Biology, Pre-Calculus…the usual torture. And then, surprisingly, a class called “Local History and Folklore.” Huh. That might actually be interesting.

I was still scanning the map, trying to decipher the labyrinthine layout of the school, when the receptionist’s phone rang. Her face tightened even further as she listened.

“Yes, Headmistress…Of course…I’ll tell her.” She hung up and turned to me, her expression unreadable. “Headmistress Thorne is…occupied at the moment. She’ll see you later.”

“Occupied?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

“Just a lot going on with the…situation,” she said vaguely. “You can go find your first class now. Room 207.”

I grabbed my schedule and headed out, feeling a growing sense of unease. Something wasn’t right. The receptionist was definitely hiding something. And the “situation” she kept mentioning? It was clearly more than just a tragic accident.

---

Room 207 turned out to be Advanced English, and the teacher, Mr. Davies, was a surprisingly laid-back guy with a penchant for graphic novels. The class was mostly filled with students I hadn’t seen on the bus, a mix of preppy kids, artsy types, and the usual assortment of high school stereotypes.

I found an empty seat in the back, near a window overlooking the overgrown gardens. They were beautiful, in a wild, untamed way. Roses climbed the crumbling stone walls, and vines snaked across the weathered statues. But even the beauty felt…sad. Like the gardens were mourning something.

As Mr. Davies started lecturing about Shakespeare, I couldn’t help but scan the room. I was looking for anything, anything at all, that might give me a clue about Clara Bellwether. And then I saw him.

A boy, sitting near the front, sketching in a notebook. He had dark hair, intense eyes, and an air of quiet sadness about him. He wasn’t looking at Mr. Davies. He was looking at the empty seat next to him.

The seat where Clara Bellwether used to sit.

He caught my gaze and quickly looked away, his cheeks flushing. There was something about his expression that struck me. Grief, definitely. But also…fear?

I wanted to ask him about Clara, but something held me back. He seemed like someone who preferred to keep to himself. I decided to observe him, to see if I could pick up any clues.

---

Lunch was a chaotic mess of noise and energy. The cafeteria was enormous, with long tables and a dizzying array of food options. I managed to find Lila, who was already holding a table for me.

“So, what do you think of Blackwood?” she asked, piling a mountain of fries onto her plate.

“It’s…a lot,” I said, picking at my salad. “And everyone seems really affected by what happened to Clara.”

“It’s messed up, honestly,” Lila said, lowering her voice. “She was a senior. Everyone thought she was super weird, but no one deserved that. And now this…”

“Did you know her well?” I asked.

“Not really,” Lila admitted. “I was in her art history class last year. She was really quiet. Always drawing. Mostly landscapes, really dark and moody ones. She was obsessed with the observatory. Said it called to her.”

“The observatory?”

“Yeah. That creepy tower on the hill. Supposedly, you can see the stars really clearly from up there. But also, it’s where Clara…fell.”

I felt a shiver run down my spine. “That’s…convenient.”

Lila rolled her eyes. “I know, right? It’s like something out of a bad movie.”

Suddenly, my hand went numb. A strange tingling sensation spread up my arm. I blinked, trying to shake it off. It felt like…static. Like my brain was receiving a bad signal.

I glanced around the cafeteria, trying to pinpoint the source of the feeling. And then I saw it.

A chipped ceramic mug, sitting on a nearby table. It was an ordinary mug, nothing special. But as I looked at it, the static intensified. Images flashed through my mind: a girl with long dark hair, a flash of blue fabric, the cold stone of the observatory tower.

It was like…seeing a memory. But not my own.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the images. When I opened them, the static was gone. The mug was just a mug again.

“Wren? You okay?” Lila asked, looking concerned. “You’re all pale.”

“I…I just felt a little dizzy,” I mumbled, trying to regain my composure. “It’s probably just the stress of starting a new school.”

But I knew it wasn’t just stress. Something strange was happening. Something I didn’t understand. And I had a feeling it was connected to Clara Bellwether.

I looked back at the mug. It sat there, unassuming and silent. But I could still feel a faint echo of the static, a whisper of a memory. And I knew, with a growing certainty, that this wasn’t going to be a normal school year.

“It’s probably just the stress of starting a new school.”

But I knew it wasn’t just stress. Something strange was happening. Something I didn’t understand. And I had a feeling it was connected to Clara Bellwether.

I looked back at the mug. It sat there, unassuming and silent. But I could still feel a faint echo of the static, a whisper of a memory. And I knew, with a growing certainty, that this wasn’t going to be a normal school year.

“Seriously, are you sure you’re okay?” Lila pressed, her brow furrowed with worry. “You zoned out completely. It was kind of creepy.”

I forced a smile. “I’m fine. Just…processing. Blackwood is a lot to take in.” I needed to appear normal, to not broadcast that I’d seemingly experienced a psychic flash from a chipped mug. That wouldn’t exactly endear me to anyone, even Lila, who was already giving me a slightly assessing look.

“Well, processing can wait. We have history with Mr. Hemlock next. And trust me, you do not want to be late for Hemlock. He’s a stickler.”

“Hemlock?”

“Yeah. He teaches European history. And he’s…intense. Think Professor Snape, but with a comb-over and a fondness for obscure medieval torture devices. He has a whole collection in his classroom. Apparently.”

I couldn't help but smile. "Sounds delightful."

As we walked towards the history building, I surreptitiously scanned the cafeteria, trying to locate the table where I’d seen the mug. It was gone. Someone had cleared it away. Disappointment pricked at me. I wanted to examine it, to see if there was anything unusual about it, anything that might explain the…experience.

The history building was even more imposing than the cafeteria. A gothic monstrosity of gray stone, it looked like it hadn’t been updated since the school was founded, which, according to Lila, was sometime in the late 1800s.

“Blackwood Academy was originally a finishing school for girls,” Lila explained as we climbed a winding staircase. “All etiquette and embroidery and learning how to attract a suitable husband. Now it’s co-ed, and they actually teach useful things. Though Hemlock still insists on reciting the entire lineage of the Habsburgs every year.”

We entered the classroom, a dimly lit space filled with rows of ancient desks. Mr. Hemlock, a thin man with a severe expression and a perpetually disgruntled air, was already lecturing.

“And thus,” he boomed, “the Treaty of Westphalia marked the end of the Thirty Years’ War, a conflict fueled by religious zealotry and power struggles. A cautionary tale for us all, wouldn’t you agree?”

He glanced around the room, his eyes landing on me and Lila. “Ah, new faces. Welcome. I trust you’ve both completed the assigned reading?”

I mumbled an apology. “We just arrived today, sir.”

He sighed dramatically. “Of course. Well, try to catch up. Ignorance will not be tolerated in this classroom.”

The class was predictably tedious. Mr. Hemlock droned on about European monarchs and battles, occasionally pausing to display gruesome illustrations of medieval weaponry. I tried to focus, but my mind kept drifting back to the mug and the strange vision.

After history, I managed to convince Lila to head to the library. I needed to do some research on Clara Bellwether, and the library seemed like the most logical place to start.

“You’re really obsessed with this Clara girl, aren’t you?” Lila said as we browsed the stacks. “I mean, she was sad and weird, but she wasn’t the only one. High school is full of sad and weird people.”

“I just…I feel like there’s more to her story,” I said, pulling a file labeled “Student Records: Bellwether, Clara” from the archives. “And something doesn’t add up. Falling off the observatory tower? It just seems…too easy.”

“Look, I’m not saying it was a party foul, but people have accidents. Especially at Blackwood. That observatory is dangerous.”

I opened the file. It contained basic information: Clara’s date of birth, her academic record, a blurry school photo. She looked even more withdrawn in the picture, her eyes shadowed and distant.

“Her grades were…okay,” I said, skimming the transcript. “Mostly Bs and Cs. But she was really talented in art. Lots of accolades in drawing and painting.”

“I knew that. She was actually pretty good. Just…dark stuff. Lots of ravens and skeletal trees.”

I flipped through the file, searching for anything that might shed light on her personality. There was a brief note from the school counselor, stating that Clara had been “struggling with social anxiety and feelings of isolation.”

“This is all pretty standard,” Lila said, peering over my shoulder. “Lots of kids struggle with that.”

“But look at this,” I said, pointing to a separate document. “This is a transcript of an interview with Clara, conducted by a private investigator, a few months before she died.”

Lila’s eyes widened. “A private investigator? What was that about?”

“Apparently, Clara’s parents hired someone to look into some…strange occurrences at Blackwood. They were worried about her safety.”

“Strange occurrences? Like what?”

I began to read the transcript. According to Clara, she had been experiencing “visions” and “dreams” that felt incredibly real. She believed that the observatory was a “portal” to another dimension, and that she was being “called” to it. She also claimed to have seen “shadowy figures” lurking around the campus.

Lila snorted. “Okay, that’s officially creepy. Sounds like she was losing it.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe she was onto something.”

“Wren, seriously? You’re not going to start believing in ghosts and portals, are you?”

“I’m not saying I believe in anything,” I said, carefully. “I’m just saying that we shouldn’t dismiss her experiences out of hand. Especially considering what happened to her.”

I continued to read the transcript, my skepticism slowly giving way to a grudging curiosity. Clara’s descriptions of her visions were strangely compelling, and her fear was palpable. She seemed genuinely convinced that something sinister was happening at Blackwood.

Suddenly, I felt that familiar tingling sensation again. It started in my hand, then spread up my arm. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for another flash of images.

But this time, it wasn’t a memory. It was a feeling. A wave of intense sadness, mixed with a sense of overwhelming loneliness. It felt like…being lost in the dark, desperately searching for a light that would never appear.

I gasped, stumbling backward. Lila caught me, steadying me with a concerned hand.

“Wren! What’s wrong now?”

“I…I don’t know,” I stammered. “I just…I felt something. A really strong emotion. Like it was coming from…somewhere else.”

Lila stared at me, her expression a mixture of alarm and exasperation. “Okay, that’s it. You’re officially freaking me out. Maybe you should go to the nurse.”

“No, I’m fine. I just need to…think.” I needed to understand what was happening to me, to figure out why I was experiencing these strange sensations. Was it just my imagination running wild? Or was something truly supernatural at play?

I looked down at the transcript in my hands. Clara Bellwether had been searching for answers, too. And now, it seemed, I was following in her footsteps.

“I’m going to go check out the observatory,” I said, my voice firm with determination.

Lila’s jaw dropped. “You’re what? Are you insane? That place is off-limits. And it’s…haunted.”

“I need to see it for myself,” I said. “I need to know what Clara was looking for.”

Lila sighed, shaking her head. “You are a disaster. Fine. But I’m coming with you. Someone needs to make sure you don’t fall off a tower.”

As we left the library and headed towards the hill where the observatory stood, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were walking into something dangerous. The air grew colder, the shadows longer. And I knew, with a growing sense of dread, that the truth about Clara Bellwether was far more complex than anyone could have imagined.

The observatory loomed before us, a stark silhouette against the darkening sky. It was a tall, imposing structure, built of the same gray stone as the rest of the academy. The dome at the top was partially open, revealing a glimpse of the telescope within.

A rusty gate blocked the path leading to the observatory. Lila rattled it, testing its strength.

“Definitely locked,” she said. “We’re going to have to find a way around.”

I examined the gate, searching for a weakness. And then I saw it: a small gap beneath the bottom, just large enough for a person to squeeze through.

“I think I found an opening,” I said, pointing to the gap.

Lila looked at me dubiously. “You’re kidding, right? That’s going to be humiliating.”

“It’s better than getting arrested,” I said. “Besides, we don’t have time to waste.”

With a groan, Lila dropped to her knees and wriggled under the gate. I followed close behind, feeling a surge of adrenaline.

We were now on the grounds of the observatory, surrounded by overgrown bushes and tangled vines. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves.

As we approached the observatory, I felt that tingling sensation again. It was stronger this time, almost overwhelming. I could hear a faint whisper in my ear, a voice that seemed to be calling my name.

“Wren…Wren…”

I stopped dead in my tracks, my heart pounding in my chest.

“What’s wrong?” Lila asked, turning to face me.

“Did you hear that?” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“Hear what? I don’t hear anything.”

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. “Never mind. It was probably just the wind.”

But I knew it wasn’t the wind. It was something else. Something far more unsettling.

We reached the entrance to the observatory, a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bars. It was unlocked.

“That’s…convenient,” Lila said, her voice laced with apprehension.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The air inside was cold and stale, and the darkness was almost absolute. I fumbled for my phone, turning on the flashlight.

The beam of light revealed a circular room, dominated by a massive telescope. Dust motes danced in the air, illuminated by the beam. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with ancient volumes on astronomy and astrology.

It was a place of forgotten knowledge, a place of secrets. And I had a feeling that Clara Bellwether had spent a lot of time here.

As I scanned the room, my eyes fell on something lying on the floor. A small, silver locket.

I knelt down and picked it up. It was tarnished with age, but still beautiful. I opened it, revealing two tiny portraits. A young man and a young woman.

The woman was Clara Bellwether.

And the man…was Mr. Hemlock.

The sample ends here.