Frederic whispered back, “It’s . . . him.” He said, “It was him—” Urging me to look at where the person had been, the tremble in his hands made it difficult for him to show me the exact location. “The Grainer—”

Ah . . . that children’s story.

I was more worried about his injury, but at the same time I could not disregard the possibility that there was someone out there following us. Ghosts had to be the least of my problems.

“Frederic.” I tried not to sound distressed. I too was beginning to shake from fear. “What was he wearing?”

“A mask.”

I could feel my brows crease in worry. Was the darkness playing tricks on us? “Okay . . .”

Well, we had to get back to the room, regardless of whether or not the ghost was there. Frederic, still shaking, stared at the ground as I dragged him into the empty room, all the while keeping an eye out for any possible individuals hiding in the darkness. There was no one, no one but us in the hallway—

That was what I believed and what I could see with my limited vision. My ears too, they could not pick up on anything, nothing but our labored breathing.

Returning to the warmly lit room, I did not close the door behind us, in fear that someone out there would lock it again.

If a stranger were to come inside to do just that, we would be able to see them and identify them.

Bringing him near the fire, all while keeping an eye on the doorway, I ordered, “Wait here.”

Not fully paying attention to me, the man stood there, shivering, with his eyes darting from place to place.

I was afraid that he might’ve done something to his roommate, but his actions were telling me otherwise. One look at him, and it was clear that he had been through something terrifying. Someone had hurt him . . . and I could not overlook that.

From the bed, I ripped at the white sheets until I had enough of that cotton fabric to make a bandage. Frederic looked up at me when I approached him, taking his wrist and examining the wound.

A small, but deep cut, located near the heartline of his palm, was spilling blood out onto the rest of his hand. With pressure and time, it would close on its own.

Tightly wrapping the wound, I pressed against the cut and tried to make sure that the bandage would not slip off. We’d have to clean it once it stopped bleeding.

“Y-Your name is . . . J-John . . .” Frederic said, wincing when I tied the bandage in a small bow, near his pinky finger. “How are you . . . h-here—?”

“The window.” I pointed to the open window, now appearing too nonchalant about my near-death experience. “My roommate, Yora, helped me escape our room.” I then waved a hand to his own room. “Tell me what happened here.” I’d said this with my eyes intently on his. I wanted to know what had happened already.

He swallowed. For a second, he had given me a look that probably meant he thought I was crazy. Well, at least he had trusted me enough, so far. “My . . . roommate . . .” He began, holding his injured hand.

“Who is your roommate?” I questioned.

“We . . . are in the Yew dorm.” He said. It was the dorm I was in with Yora. Science. “My roommate is Pippin.”

Pippin Anna-Beth, of Westley Motors. Yora had said that man was good friends with Warren Gregory, who was the son of George Westley’s best friend in the war. I would’ve assumed those two would be roommates. Though, if Warren was in a different dorm, then being in separate rooms would make sense.

“ . . . what happened to Pippin?” I implored. I hadn’t meant to sound suspicious, but I couldn't help it. The state of the room was really bad.

“He was taken.” Frederic said so quietly, I barely caught it.

“How?”

“I was in the bathroom when we heard the announcement . . .” His eyes were watery as he stared back at me, “I’d dropped a glass of water on the sink counter because I’d gotten scared—” He grasped onto his hand fearfully, “When I was picking up the shards . . . that was when I heard Pippin scream.”

I left him to peek into the bathroom, and did see the broken glass on the counter and floor, as well as the drops of blood. Frederic had followed me gradually from his spot near the fireplace, still shivering.

Careful not to frighten him any further, I let him sit on his bed as I asked him, “Who took Pippin?”

He shook his head, “I—I don’t know . . .”

I sighed.

“Is he . . .” Frederic took a shaky breath. “Do you think he’s—”

“Pippin is not dead, Frederic.” I knelt to look up at his defeated face. “I will find him.”

Interrupting us out of nowhere, a distinct scratching noise had me automatically searching for the speakers in the walls. There was one above the door.

Frederic, hearing the familiar static noise, fell to his knees and cowered, holding his hands above his head. The professor hadn’t even spoken, and the poor man was already frightened.

I did the opposite and stood up straighter, but I faltered when my eyes fell to the door, which was closing on its own—

No . . .

A man.

There was a man there.

Below me, Frederic had his eyes closed, but my own eyes were wide with shock.

“Gloves—” I uttered, barely letting it escape my lips. Black gloves . . . and a mask.

I was stunned.

Too stunned to react, I heard the click of a lock once the door closed. I had done nothing to prevent it. We were . . . trapped.

“Students.” The professor’s voice flooded the quiet room once the stranger in the mask had left us. “One of you has successfully found the roommate of the student who will tell you of your next schedule.”

Still astonished, I listened attentively. We just needed one chance to escape.

“But in order to leave your dorm, I must give you a test.” The professor definitely knew about Frederic and I. The man who had closed the door must’ve informed him somehow.

It made me wonder how many people were actually a part of this game, behind the scenes.

“For a gold star, I want you to tell me the blood type of each student here.” Our professor said. It was more of a demand than anything. “If you get a wrong answer, I will expel the student who has your next schedule.”

“Pippin . . .” Frederic murmured. The guilt was evident on his face.

I did not let the professor’s words faze me. “We will do it.” I said, to the speaker.

As if hearing me, the professor responded, “Write down your answers on a single white sheet of paper and slip it under your door—” He instructed, “If you pass, I will let you go, and I will reveal the location of the missing student.”

With that last statement, the scratchy noises of the speaker came to a sudden halt, abandoning us for the second time that night.

Frederic, still with his hands over his head, kept his eyes tightly shut, like he didn’t want to wake up from our current nightmare.

I couldn’t blame him. I too felt like defeat was already at our doorstep. Literally.

To name the blood type of all the guests with us . . .

It would’ve been impossible to do so without—

“Frederic.” I knelt to be face to face with the cowering man, “You know their blood types, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer me. I could feel his fear.

I tried again, “The only person you have to worry about is me.” I explained. “Haven’t you known these families all of your life?” I attempted to make him open his eyes, to look at me.

The man did so, eventually, as I persuaded him. “I . . . do know . . .”

“My blood type is O negative.” I told him, getting up to inspect his nightstand. “Do you have parchment paper? For letters?”

With his bandaged hand, he pointed me in the direction of the writing desk, where a fresh stack of papers sat, waiting to be used.

Returning his gaze with a reassuring nod, I extended my hand out to him, to help him get back up on his feet.

Seeing his bloody bandages made me recall the handkerchief that I’d seen when I first fell into the room. I’d forgotten to ask if it belonged to him.

“Wait—” I stopped him before he could reach the desk. “Frederic . . . did you . . .” Not wanting to touch the stained garment, I simply asked, “Did you drop a handkerchief somewhere?”

Puzzled, he shook his head, “I’ve not lost one . . . nor had I treated my wound with one before your help.”

“Oh . . .” Was all I could say. “Did Pippin drop one on his way out, then?”

“I don’t think so.” He responded, expression turning quite sad at the mention of his roommate. “ I had no time to—”

“It’s fine.” I stopped him before he could say any more. “Let’s just—let’s just get it done and over with. Okay?”

Frederic sat in the desk chair, shaken up but with a more determined look than he had on before. Without another word, he exhaled and tightened his right fist. His wound was a constant reminder of what had happened.

I hoped that I would not gain one along the way as well. I wanted to keep my worries primarily on the guests, more so than on my own state. Though, in order to complete the task, I had to keep myself alive and well enough.

In order to do that, I had to form allies and mention the masked man to them. That’d been no ghost. It’d been a human, with flesh and blood. Frederic had been correct all along.

We’d seen too much in the span of only minutes . . .

I’d seen too much fear in a single person, too much blood—

I . . .

Watching Frederic write down the names of each and every member of our party, I held onto the back of the chair and let my head hang low.

Unbeknownst to everyone else, I was tired. Maybe not as tired as the other men were, but still emotionally exhausted with the responsibility I’d taken on.

Yora was the only one to have seen that in me, which was why I had to return to him.

In time, I had to find out whether or not I could trust him.

I hoped he was trustworthy . . . or else . . .

Or else I’d truly be alone in this house.