The old rusted doors clicked loudly as June pushed them open with great effort.
The moment she stepped inside, sweat began to bead on her forehead.
It was hot.
So hot.
The tower was dark, its stone walls blackened with age and streaked with moss.
Tall, narrow windows were cracked, allowing only thin slivers of light to slip through and illuminate the swirling dust and hanging cobwebs.
The air smelled of forgotten years, heavy and stale.
Broken gears and wooden beams littered the floor, remnants of the tower’s original purpose, long abandoned and forgotten.
At the center of it all stood the strangest sight.
An old clock faced directly opposite the entrance as though welcoming its guests.
Its faint ticking was easy to miss if one wasn’t attentive, yet it gave the room a peculiar weight, as though time itself had stopped.
What June failed to notice, however, was that the clock’s hands weren’t moving at all.
They remained frozen at a mournful hour.
“Let’s go up,” Horace whispered from behind her, his breath fanning against her ear.
“U-uh… yes, sure,” she replied, struggling to breathe as she eyed the narrow spiral staircase clinging to the inner wall.
The worn steps creaked beneath their feet as they ascended.
“So, June, how do you like it?” Horace asked lightly, as though they were visiting an arcade instead of an abandoned clock tower.
“To be honest… it’s scary. Very scary,” she admitted truthfully, earning a laugh from him.
“Don’t worry. I’m here. Nothing could possibly happen.”
“H-Horace, something is wrong here,” she said, swallowing visibly.
Her clothes were already becoming soaked with sweat.
Honestly, it felt as though the clock tower was a living oven built solely for her.
Horace, meanwhile, seemed completely unaffected.
Still, she continued climbing.
The staircase eventually led them into a slightly brighter chamber where the clock’s heart and bell mechanism should have been.
Instead, resting at the center of the room was an ancient coffin.
Its presence felt unnaturally heavy, as though it carried the weight of countless untold stories.
Shadows clung to every corner, twisting and dancing in unnatural ways.
Intricate carvings decorated the coffin’s body, but the strangest thing of all were the long-melted candles surrounding it.
“I’m sure a ritual took place here,” Horace murmured to himself as he examined the scene.
“Only one witch I know could pull this off.”
He remained at the entrance while June slowly moved forward.
Her body tensed.
Her gaze locked onto the coffin.
She moved like a broken doll, drawn irresistibly toward the object resting at the center of the room.
With every step she took, it felt as though her soul was leaving her body, making room for something unfamiliar, dark, and foreign.
She could hear nothing.
Feel nothing.
Only the coffin.
“I guess Allan was right,” Horace muttered, sounding oddly detached, as though he were watching a play.
He observed silently until June’s hands suddenly stopped above the coffin.
Then he heard her whisper.
“Don’t… d-don’t touch it.”
“Go away.”
“Get back outside.”
“But it belongs to you. To us. We’re one, Gabriella.”
“Come here.”
Her body trembled violently.
Something inside her was stirring.
Faint noises seemed to emanate from the coffin itself.
She was struggling.
Struggling not to give in to whatever waited on the other side.
“I’m not… I-I’m not…” June muttered weakly.
Then calm returned.
Every trace of June vanished.
A smile spread across her face.
It wasn’t her smile.
It was one filled with malice, hatred, and wicked delight.
This time, her hands moved swiftly toward the coffin lid.
Ready to push it open.
Then suddenly, her body froze.
Unable to move.
She turned her head just in time to see Gwen standing at the doorway.
No footsteps.
No warning.
She was simply there.
Positioned firmly between Horace and the chamber.
Horace’s eyes narrowed.
His expression twisted with distaste as his usual charming smile disappeared completely.
“To think things were just about to get to the fun part.”
Far away from the clock tower, the field was alive with activity.
Students roamed freely beneath the night sky, their laughter and conversations filling the air.
“To think I was expecting to see her tonight. How disappointing.”
Allan spoke to himself as he wandered aimlessly across the field, hands tucked into his pockets.
He had really wanted to see her again.
Though they had met only yesterday.
“She’s scared,” he concluded with a smile.
His steps suddenly halted when he found himself standing before someone.
Looking up, he was met with an unfamiliar girl.
He gave her a quick once-over.
She was dressed up far more than necessary, her fingers tangled together nervously.
Her cheeks were flushed, and she kept biting her lip.
Ignoring her, Allan attempted to walk past.
Then she spoke.
“I’m Stephen.”
The sudden introduction made him pause.
“Hi. My name is Stephen Ellington. I’m in Senior Year, Class 10C.”
Tilting his head, Allan looked her over once more as though searching for a loose screw in her head.
His gaze drifted toward a nearby group of girls who were clearly watching from a distance.
Probably her friends, here to encourage Annabelle here.
She really did look like an Annabelle doll to him.
He looked back at her.
“And?” he drawled.
Her face reddened even more.
A smirk slowly appeared on his lips.
Tsk.
I haven’t even done anything yet and she’s already red as a cherry.
Well, he was bored tonight.
No harm in entertaining himself with Annabelle here.
“It may seem weird…” she began.
“Get to the point, Anna—Stephen,” he corrected smoothly, offering her a smile that nearly made her heart stop.
He was certain her heart were doing cartwheels.
“I… I’ve really liked you for a very long time,” she confessed.
The words trembled as they left her mouth.
“And?” Allan asked, stepping closer.
“I… it’s just… no, I mean… I like you and…”
Her chest visibly rose and fell as she struggled to continue.
Better ease off before she faints.
He thought
He took a few steps back, giving her room to recover.
“I want us to be close,” she finally said rushing her words.
Fingers crossed.
“How close?” Allan asked arching a brow.
“A-As much as you want.”
His smile widened.
“How generous. Joined at the hip?” He offered.
“R-Really?” she asked, eyes widening.
“It depends on—”
He stopped mid-sentence.
Something in the distance had caught his attention.
Someone.
In an oversized T-shirt and pants, that was blowing with the wind, her hair roughly done, obstructing her view.
Walking with hurried steps, making her way through the crowd.
Elaine.
“There goes my evening,” he murmured.
Then he turned back to Stephen.
“Then I have to say…”
A cruel smile formed on his lips.
“Go fuck yourself.”
Without another glance, he turned and walked away, following in Elaine’s direction.
Leaving a stunned Annabelle standing alone beneath the night sky.