Have you ever seen a demon cry? | Lisa x Female Reader

Chapter 7

The Gottfried Curse

July 7, 1989

By Jacqueline Brookmeyer

After nearly one hundred calamity-free years, a fire ravaged the forest surrounding Gottfried, the college located near Attica Falls. The college is known not only for its stringent classical academics, but for its proclivity for disaster. Since its founding in 1735, Gottfried has been plagued by a horrific and unexplainable chain of tragedies, including disease, natural catastrophe, and a string of accidents of the most perverse and bizarre nature.

These recurring events have brought attention to Gottfried, attracting a series of enigmatologists who have attempted to understand the causes and patterns behind the disasters. All of them died under suspicious circumstances, until 1789,when the disasters stopped. But has this phenomenon, coined locally as "the Gottfried Curse," truly been buried?

It began in 1736 with an outbreak of the measles and mumps. The college was originally founded as a children's hospital by Doctor Bertrand Gottfried, who attempted to ward off the epidemic. Despite his efforts, more than one hundred children perished. Rumor has it that the doctor built catacombs beneath the hospital grounds to bury the children and contain the infection. Three years later, Bertrand Gottfried mysteriously died. His body was found in the lake by a groundskeeper, his death apparently caused by heart failure.

I pause, my breath catching in my throat as I stare intently at the printed words that seem to echo with significance. "Heart failure," I whisper, the syllables hanging heavy in the air.

"What?" Lisa's voice comes from over my shoulder, curious and concerned.

"Bertrand Gottfried died of a heart attack. Just like my parents," I reply, my voice barely above a murmur, each word weighed down by the implications swirling in my mind.

Lisa tilts her head slightly, contemplating my words. "He was old," she offers, attempting to rationalize. "It's not the most bizarre way to die."

"It is if they find you in a lake," I counter softly, my eyes scanning the page for any hint of further detail.

"Maybe he was swimming when he had the heart attack," Lisa suggests optimistically, her voice trying to inject a sense of normalcy.

"Or maybe it wasn't a heart attack," I muse, my thoughts racing ahead to darker possibilities. I feel a chill run down my spine, a mixture of fascination and apprehension gripping me tightly.

"Turn the page," She finally instructs, her voice steady but tinged with urgency, eager to uncover more of the unsettling history that seems inexplicably intertwined with my own.

Though none of the catacombs were ever discovered, they are purported to have been the beginnings of the subterranean tunnels that still run beneath the premises. All previous headmasters, including the newly incumbent Headmistress Calysta Von Laark, have refused to comment on this matter.

After the death of Bertrand Gottfried, the hospital stopped accepting new patients and closed its doors to the outside world. For a decade, no one came in or out, save for a weekly groundskeeper, who delivered groceries and supplies from the local general store. Yet, just as suddenly as the hospital closed, it reopened.

This time, as a school. The head nurse at the time, Ophelia Hart, ascended as the first headmistress. She named it "Gottfried Academy," after its founder. Over time, the infirmary's tragic history was forgotten, and students began to filter in. The disasters continued like clockwork.

The unexpected collapse of the building that is now the theater, in 1751; the nor'easter of 1754; the tuberculosis epidemic of 1759; and the food poisoning incident in 1767. Ten years later, the school was partially destroyed during the Revolutionary War, which was followed by a series of disasters culminating in the chemistry lab accident of 1789. But what was origin of the curse, and is it really over? Some believe that it's the area itself. Others believe it was Bertrand Gottfried.