The Meeting in the Library
The library smelled of old paper and dust, its tall shelves looming like silent witnesses. The tables had been pushed aside, the chairs arranged in rows that all faced the tall figure at the front: Principal Helena Grieve.
Students sat hunched, whispering nervously, the air thick with unease. The recent disappearances clung to them like a second skin—heavy, suffocating, impossible to ignore. The only sound before the meeting began was the rustle of clothing, the scrape of chair legs, and the occasional sharp breath.
Enid sat close to Wednesday, her hands twisting in her lap. Wednesday's posture was perfect, her hands folded neatly, her eyes forward. She looked like a portrait, still and expressionless.
Principal Grieve adjusted her glasses, her voice echoing through the room.
"Two of your classmates are gone. Eugene Ottinger. Marcus Talbot. They have not been found."
The words struck like stones. A few students gasped audibly. One girl buried her face in her hands. A boy whispered a curse under his breath.
Grieve let the silence linger. Her gaze swept over the room, sharp as a hawk's.
"I know you are afraid. You have every right to be. But fear will not save you. Information will. If anyone has seen anything unusual—or knows something—they must come forward. Now."
Her words fell heavy.
No one moved.
Finally, Bianca stood, her arms crossed, her chin high. Her eyes burned with restrained anger. "This isn't just bad luck. Someone's doing this. Someone who knows how this place works."
Whispers rippled across the room.
Grieve's lips pressed thin, but she did not disagree.
Then Xavier's voice cut through the murmurs, strained, trembling. "Some of us are pretending nothing's happening." His eyes narrowed toward Wednesday. "Or worse—pretending they don't care."
The library went silent. Heads turned.
Wednesday sat perfectly still, her eyes glimmering faintly, like black glass catching the light.
Enid's stomach clenched. She whispered urgently, "Xavier, stop."
But he didn't. He stood, his voice cracking with emotion. "She knew. About Marcus. She wrote it before it happened. Ask her. She sits there on her typewriter like she's narrating all of this. She's not surprised—she's ahead of it."
Gasps echoed. A few students leaned back as if to distance themselves from her. One boy muttered, "That's sick…" Another whispered, "Is he serious?"
Principal Grieve raised a hand sharply. "That's enough. You will not throw accusations without proof."
Her eyes locked on Wednesday. "Miss Addams… do you have anything to say?"
Wednesday finally tilted her head, slowly, like a raven studying prey. Her voice was calm, each word steady, deliberate.
"Only this: Marcus did not vanish because I wrote it. He vanished because he was careless. The woods are older than us. They are hungry. He fed them."
The room froze.
Bianca slammed her hands on her knees. "Do you hear yourself? You talk like you're proud of it!"
Wednesday's lips curved, the faintest ghost of a smile. "Pride is a mortal sin. I prefer amusement."
A ripple of discomfort spread through the students. Several shifted in their seats. Others whispered furiously.
Enid's pulse raced. She wanted to disappear into the floor. She wanted Wednesday to stop.
Principal Grieve's eyes lingered on Wednesday for a long, chilling moment. Her voice was cool but firm. "Enough. This meeting is over. You will all remain in your dormitories after dark. No exceptions."
The chairs scraped loudly as students rose, voices rising in fearful murmurs.
Bianca's Confrontation
As the students spilled into the hall, Bianca caught Wednesday's arm. Her nails dug slightly into the black fabric of Wednesday's sleeve.
"What's your game, Addams?" Bianca hissed, her voice low and dangerous. Her eyes burned with fury, but also a flicker of fear.
Wednesday turned her head slowly, her face unreadable. "Game? Life is not a game. It's a slow execution."
Bianca's jaw tightened. "Don't twist words with me. You know something. Maybe you're even doing something. I don't know how, but you do. And if you think I'm going to sit here and let you play puppet master with people's lives—"
Her voice cracked, anger breaking through into pain. She shoved Wednesday's arm away, her hands shaking. "Stay away from me."
She stormed off down the hall, her footsteps sharp.
Enid lingered, caught between them. Her chest ached. She glanced at Wednesday, who stood calmly, unaffected, like Bianca's fury was a breeze against stone.
Enid whispered, her throat tight. "Why do you let them think that? Why don't you try to… to comfort them? Just once?"
Wednesday's eyes turned on her, sharp as a blade. "Because comfort is dishonesty. Fear is the only truth worth keeping."
Enid's breath hitched. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. But she said nothing, following her roommate back toward the dorms with her heart like a stone in her chest.
Principal Grieve's Suspicion
That night, Principal Grieve sat in her office, the fire burning low. The walls seemed to close in with the weight of the silence.
She pulled a worn notebook from her drawer—the one she had confiscated from Wednesday earlier that year. She flipped through the pages, her eyes narrowing at the dark stories written in perfect handwriting. Tales of shadows, disappearances, murders. Each written like an autopsy, cold and clinical.
And now… reality was echoing the pages.
A knock at her door broke her thoughts. Miss Thornhill, one of the teachers, entered hesitantly. "Helena, the staff are worried. The students too. They're asking… if it's possible one of them is behind this."
Grieve closed the notebook slowly, her face calm but her eyes sharp. "Possible? Yes. Likely? Perhaps." She leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled. "And if it is, I know exactly who to watch."
Her gaze drifted toward the window, where the moonlight cut a thin white scar across the floor.
Enid's Breaking Point
Back in their dorm, Enid sat curled on her bed, her blanket pulled around her shoulders. She couldn't stop shaking. Every creak in the walls made her flinch.
The steady sound of click-clack, click-clack filled the room. Wednesday's typewriter.
Enid squeezed her eyes shut. "Please, Wednesday. Not tonight. Please."
But the sound didn't stop.
Finally, trembling, Enid stood and walked to the desk. She looked over Wednesday's shoulder—and froze.
On the page were words that stabbed like knives:
The girl would not scream. She would vanish between the iron gates and the stairwell. Her scarf would remain, caught on the railing like a ghost's whisper. No one would hear her final breath.
Enid's throat closed. Her vision blurred with tears. "No…" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Not again. Please, not again."
Wednesday slowly pulled the page from the typewriter. She turned, holding it delicately in her pale hands. Her eyes glimmered with something unreadable.
"This," she murmured, "is tomorrow."
Enid stumbled back, her chest heaving. "You can't keep saying that! You can't just—just write it like it's a story and watch it happen!"
Wednesday stepped closer, her voice low, calm, almost gentle. "But I can."
Her lips curved, the faintest smile. "And the question, Enid, is whether I'm writing what will be… or making it so."
Enid's tears spilled freely. She backed into her bed, her whole body trembling. "Stop it… just stop it…"
But Wednesday didn't. She simply placed the paper neatly on the desk, sat back down, and returned to her typewriter. The click-clack started again, echoing like a countdown through the room.
And Enid, for the first time, truly believed she was living with a monster.