His Idol

The horrible place..

Cyrus stood frozen, staring at the dilapidated structure before him. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes scanned the once-standing walls, now crumbling under the weight of time and neglect. The faint light from his flashlight flickered, casting eerie shadows across the dirt path leading toward the school's entrance. He swallowed hard, gripping the flashlight tighter as the cold wind howled through the trees, sending a chill down his spine.

The building that stood before him was an old, forgotten school. It wasn't large, but its two-story structure loomed in the darkness, its broken windows like hollow eyes watching his every move. Weeds and overgrown vines had claimed the brick exterior, and the faded letters above the entrance were barely readable: St. Grey's Academy.

Cyrus had never heard of this school before, and he wondered why his father had forbidden him from venturing down this path. It didn't look like a place anyone would have cared about for years, let alone been the scene of an accident his father had warned him about. He shuddered at the thought, the remnants of his earlier tears still clinging to his cheeks, now mixed with raindrops from the storm.

The rain had let up slightly, but the occasional bolt of lightning still illuminated the sky, casting fleeting light across the eerie scene. Cyrus glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was following him. His father was still at home, passed out in the recliner, oblivious to his son's quiet escape. He felt a surge of defiance and freedom, but fear quickly followed. The old school stood like a monument to something lost—something wrong. A bad vibe lingered in the air, making his stomach twist.

He approached the entrance cautiously, each step on the gravel and broken asphalt crunching underfoot. His heart raced, but his curiosity drove him forward. What had happened here? Why did his father want him to stay away from this place?

The school's double doors were slightly ajar, creaking as they swayed in the wind. Cyrus hesitated, the urge to turn back nearly overwhelming. But something—perhaps that burning curiosity that had gotten him here in the first place—pushed him onward. He squeezed through the gap, his backpack catching momentarily on the doorframe before he slipped inside.

The air was thick and musty. The flashlight beam cut through the darkness, revealing broken desks, torn posters, and peeling paint. The hallway stretched out before him, dimly lit by the occasional flash of lightning from the shattered windows. The walls were covered in graffiti, some of it faded, some more recent. There were no messages, no signs of life, but the feeling of abandonment was palpable.

Cyrus ventured deeper into the school, his footsteps echoing eerily in the empty halls. He passed by what looked like classrooms, the doors hanging off their hinges, desks overturned and broken. The chalkboards were smeared with long-forgotten lessons, some written in chalk that had faded to nothing but ghostly smudges.

He thought about the knife he had taken from the box back in his room. It rested in his backpack, a small comfort amidst the overwhelming tension of the place. As he continued down the corridor, Cyrus couldn't shake the feeling that someone—or something—was watching him. Every creak and groan of the building made him flinch, and his breath quickened as the sense of unease grew stronger.

The further he went, the more the school seemed to deteriorate. The roof had caved in in some places, letting in rain that pooled on the cracked linoleum floor. The walls were damp, and the smell of mold and decay filled the air. Cyrus's flashlight flickered again, and he tapped it nervously, trying to keep the light steady.

Ahead, he saw a set of stairs leading to the second floor. His heart pounded in his chest, but he couldn't stop himself from climbing them. Each step groaned under his weight, but they held firm as he ascended. The second floor was worse than the first. The ceiling sagged, and the floorboards creaked ominously. It was colder up here, the wind whipping through the broken windows with an eerie whistle.

He shined his flashlight down the long, empty hallway. At the far end, a door stood ajar, and beyond it, he could make out a faint glow. A part of him wanted to turn around, run back home, and forget he had ever come here. But something about that glow drew him in, as if it held the answer to all the questions swirling in his mind.

Cyrus approached the door cautiously, his hand trembling as he pushed it open. The room inside was once a classroom, but it had long since fallen into disrepair. Broken desks were piled in the corner, and the chalkboard was cracked. The glow came from an old lantern, flickering weakly in the corner of the room. Someone had been here recently.

He scanned the room nervously, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. The lantern was almost out of fuel, the flame sputtering as it fought to stay alight. But what caught his attention more than the lantern was the table in the center of the room. On it lay a stack of old, yellowed papers, covered in dust.

Cyrus approached the table and picked up the top sheet, careful not to tear the fragile paper. It was a list of names—students, he assumed. But next to each name was a note written in red ink. Some of the notes were simple: absent, expelled, transferred. Others were more cryptic: missing, injured, deceased.

His heart raced as he flipped through the papers, the list of names growing longer with each page. The last few pages were different. They weren't lists of names but handwritten notes, detailing strange incidents that had occurred at the school before it was shut down. Fights breaking out for no reason, students disappearing without a trace, teachers quitting suddenly and never returning.

Cyrus's hands trembled as he read the final note: Closure imminent. Too dangerous to continue operations. The accident was the last straw.

The accident. The very thing his father had warned him about. Cyrus's mind raced, trying to piece it all together. This school wasn't just abandoned—it was abandoned for a reason. Something terrible had happened here, something that had been covered up, and now, decades later, it still held that lingering sense of dread.

The room felt colder than before, and Cyrus felt the weight of the darkness pressing in on him. He quickly stuffed the papers back on the table and turned to leave, but as he reached the door, the floor creaked loudly behind him. He froze, his blood turning to ice. He hadn't made that sound.

He turned slowly, his flashlight shaking in his hand as he scanned the room. There was no one there, but the feeling that he was being watched had returned, stronger than ever. His breathing quickened as he backed out of the room, his eyes darting around wildly.

He nearly tripped over his own feet as he ran down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the empty building. His mind raced, replaying the images of the papers he had just seen. What had happened here? What was the accident? And why had his father been so adamant about keeping him away from this place?

Cyrus didn't stop until he was outside, gulping in the fresh air as the rain poured down around him. He hopped on his bike, not caring about the weather, and pedaled as fast as he could away from the school. He didn't know what he had just uncovered, but he knew one thing for sure: he wasn't supposed to find out.

As he sped down the dirt road, the wind whipping through his hair, Cyrus's thoughts raced even faster. His life had always felt broken, like something was missing, and now he wondered if this place held the key to his past. But if it did, it was a dark and dangerous key, one that he wasn't sure he wanted to use.

The road home seemed longer than before, the trees pressing in closer, and the storm growing wilder. But Cyrus couldn't shake the feeling that whatever he had found in that abandoned school was far from over. And something told him that, whether he liked it or not, he would be drawn back there again.

For now, though, he just wanted to get home and pretend that this night had never happened.