Chapter Twenty Amund
Edith runs away, her white hair bouncing as she sprints down the hall toward the double doors. She bursts through them—and is standing at the start of the hallway again.
“How is this even possible?” she cries, throwing up her hands.
“We walked right into a trap,” I tell her. “This hallway must be cursed, turning it into an endless loop.”
Our voices shatter the silence. I can’t shake the feeling that we’ve intruded in a place we do not belong. Where perhaps no one belongs.
Edith pouts. “Why?”
I try not to stare at her lips. “If I had to guess… to torture us. The spirits must want to trap others like they’re trapped in this school.”
“Great.”
“We have to figure out a way to break the loop,” I tell her, scanning the hall for anything that might be a clue.
This place once belonged to the seers, so there might be magic here I don’t understand.
Maybe they didn’t either. After all, they caused the Tragedy thirty years ago.
Even the air here is thicker, heavier, weighing down on my shoulders. It feels wrong.
Edith takes off again.
She disappears down the hall, only to reappear where she started, but this time she doesn’t stop. She keeps running, breezing past me. Once. Twice. A muscle in my jaw ticks. How can I figure anything out like this?
“What are you doing?” I ask her.
“Maybe if I go fast enough,” Edith says, running past me, “I can get out.”
“I said we need to break the loop.”
“Well, running is how I got into this loop. Maybe it’s how I can escape, too.” She continues down the hall.
“Stop,” I say. “It clearly isn’t working.”
But Edith won’t listen.
As she runs by this time, I grab her arm. “Enough. You’re just going to tire yourself out.”
“I can keep going,” Edith says, a sheen of sweat covering her skin. “I did track in my old school.”
I clear my throat. I already know that from her file. “That isn’t how we’re going to get out.”
“How then?” Edith looks around us. “I can’t just stand still and do nothing.”
“I don’t know.” I fold my arms across my chest. “But if we want to make it out of here, we’re going to have to cooperate.”
“For all I know, you’re the reason this happened,” Edith practically snarls. “If you weren’t following me, then maybe—”
“I wouldn’t have been trapped here,” I finish for her. “But you still would be. And the fact of the matter is, we’re both trapped here now whether we like it or not. So if we want to get out, we need to work together.”
Edith gives a frustrated huff.
“Okay, what do you have in mind, then?”
“We need to look for clues,” I tell her, scanning the hall. “I’ll take the left wall, you take the right. If you notice anything that seems odd or out of place, let me know.”
Edith rolls her eyes. “Fine.”
I turn to the left wall, trying not to let her presence distract me. The corridor is long and fairly narrow. The walls, ceiling, and floor are all ancient, worn stone—
“Why were you following me, anyway?” Edith interrupts.
Annoyance flares through me. On hunts with Father, I’m accustomed to complete silence. I remain focused on my task, trying to ignore her so I can concentrate.
“Well?” Edith prompts.
“Because I can’t allow you out of my sight,” I say, hoping that will make her stop.
As I say the words, something gives me pause.
Her panicked, wide eyes when she ran into me here.
Those pink lips of hers parted in surprise…
that wasn’t the expression of a hunter, but the hunted.
She claimed something was chasing her. Was she taken aback that I caught her here, or could she have been telling the truth? Maybe there was someone else here.
I turn the question back on her and ask again, “What were you doing here?”
“I heard this school was haunted,” Edith admits. “I came here hoping I could talk with Emilía directly.”
I examine the wall. “Didn’t you speak with her at the séance?”
Edith startles, turning to me with wide eyes. “What? You—”
“Won’t turn you in to Helga,” I say, cutting her off. “If I did, Nils would get in trouble too.” Her shoulders relax a little, until I add, “But I did hear Emilía say you killed her.”
“That’s the reason I came here, okay?” Edith drags her hands down her face. “I needed to ask her if she really meant that.”
“It seemed clear to me,” I point out.
“I really don’t think I did.” Edith fidgets, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “Whoever was chasing me, I think they were the real killer.”
I guess it’s possible there was someone else here. Sometimes students will sneak out here to drink so they won’t get caught. Or engage in… other kinds of activities. I clear my throat, not letting my mind wander there, especially not where it involves Edith.
Some part of me wants to investigate her claim, to see if there’s any possibility she might be innocent.
I don’t want to believe I could be attracted to a killer, and I must admit that I’ve been attracted to Edith since the moment I met her.
It’s hard to accept that my instincts about someone could be so wrong.
If they are, what else have I been wrong about?
I scan the hall until I reach—“The portraits. They might be important.”
Edith joins me. “How so?”
I’m too aware of how close she is. “For starters, they’re the only things in the hall,” I point out, studying each portrait.
The earliest one belongs to Egill. Beside him are more portraits I don’t recognize. Seer students, I’m guessing. As I stare into their lifelike faces, I realize most—if not all—of them are probably dead now.
The thought chills me.
As I take a step, Egill’s eyes follow me.
That… isn’t possible.
His portrait was looking straight ahead moments ago. I know it was.
“Umm, did you just see that too?” Edith asks.
So it wasn’t just me? I pause. As I inspect the painting more closely, I remember what Father once told me: Egill’s spirit never left Skallagrim. Swallowing hard, I walk to the left, then back to the right. Egill’s gaze tracks my every movement.
Edith whimpers. “Could their spirits be trapped in these paintings or something?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
Anything is possible in the seer school. It’s haunted by the Tragedy and our own personal ghosts. That’s why I rarely volunteer to patrol here. Not only would Father think I’m taking the easy way out, but something about this place has always felt off.
As I continue down the long line of paintings, I study each face carefully. The rest appear to be regular portraits. Each background is plain, placing the focus on the individual. I don’t even know what it is I’m looking for—
A familiar face stares out at me.
TRYGVE LUND, the plaque below reads. My uncle.
Father keeps a framed photo of him on the wall of his office. In this painting, Trygve isn’t smiling. He appears somber and serious, resembling Father far more than I realized. Beside him is…
Wait. Father?
Why is there a portrait of him here? He’s a hunter, not a seer.
I check the name beneath to make sure: AGNAR LUND.
Father, a seer? Impossible. I stare at his portrait in disbelief. If he were a seer, then that would mean he’s been lying to me my whole life. I know my own father. There’s no way he would have kept something like this from me.
“Amund?” Edith asks, joining me. “Who is that?” She narrows her eyes at the portrait. “Wait, he looks kind of like—your dad is a seer?”
“It would appear so,” I say, though I’m still not certain.
“You didn’t know?” When I shake my head, Edith adds, “I never realized mine was a berserkr either. I guess both our dads kept secrets from us.”
“I’ll have to confront him about it if we ever get out of here.”
If being the key word. Right now my focus should be on finding a way out.
I force myself to continue my inspection, searching for some clue on how to escape.
Beside him is a portrait of a girl with a freckled face and brown hair.
According to the plaque, her name is Anastasia Orlova.
She reminds me of Irina, actually. Was this her aunt?
Anastasia’s eyes blink.
I stumble back. “Did you—”
“Hmm?” Edith asks, still studying the portrait of my father.
My jaw tightens as I turn back toward Anastasia’s—
It’s empty.
Anastasia is gone, leaving only the black brushstroke background.
Suddenly, it’s difficult to breathe.
Impossible. My eyes dart down the corridor. In the darkest reaches, I see a girl standing there, bathed in shadows. Her face is unmistakable.
Anastasia.
Only now her throat is slit ear to ear. Dark red stains the front of her dress like a gruesome waterfall.
She tries to speak, but no words come out.
Her vocal cords must be severed, even as a ghost. Her hand shoots out of the shadows, a long finger extending toward the opposite end of the hall. The way we originally came from.
Realization dawns on me.
“We have to go back,” I say, thinking out loud.
Edith turns to me, seeming unaware of the ghost. “What?”
“To get out of this hall, we have to go back, not forward.”
As soon as I say the words, Anastasia shoots toward us.
On instinct, I grab hold of Edith, shielding her with my body.
But instead, Anastasia passes through us like a wisp of smoke, leaving icy tendrils in her wake.
As cold spreads through me like frost, I hold on to Edith and her warmth more tightly.
“A-Amund, what the hell was that?” Edith stammers.
Only now do I realize I still have my arms wrapped around her.
“Sorry,” I say, quickly releasing her.
Edith flushes. “I meant the ghost. Did you see her too? Her neck—”
“You mean her?” I gesture to where Anastasia hovers down the hall.
Edith grimaces.
“Who is she?” she asks, her voice shaking like the rest of her body.
“I think she’s Irina’s aunt. The one who died in the Tragedy.”
Edith takes a moment to collect herself. “Maybe she knows the way out of here?”
“Maybe.”
Cautiously, we approach Anastasia. The walls groan as the hall stretches and stretches before us, the horizon seeming impossibly far, until it’s drowned in shadows. Each step I take seems to echo louder, as if the hall is becoming more cavernous as we continue.
Anastasia drifts forward, leading us onward. The hall fades away before my eyes, replaced by the entryway of my home. My mother is standing in front of the door, and an eleven-year-old Nils stands beside her, clutching her hand tightly.
“Amund, come with us,” my mother’s voice says. “Please.”
I stop in my tracks, knowing full well my mother isn’t here. Edith isn’t reacting to her at all, and this conversation happened years ago.
“What?” someone asks. Someone who sounds like me, I realize.
“We’re leaving,” she continues. “Hurry, before your father comes back.”
Edith grabs my arm, stopping me. “A-Amund? Do you see that?”
I turn to her. “What?”
“It’s my childhood home,” Edith says. “The hallway to the bathroom and… my parents’ bedroom.”
“No, I don’t,” I say, though I don’t tell her what I am seeing. “We have to continue. It’s the only way out.”
“I can’t,” Edith says, her voice trembling. “Please, I can’t go back there.”
“Then you’ll be trapped here forever,” I remind her. This must be part of the challenge of this cursed hallway. You have to confront a wound from your past in order to escape. As I stare at the door ahead of me, I know what that wound must be.
Our worst memory.
Edith shakes her head, her white hair swaying. “You don’t understand. I can’t—I can’t see that again.”
The terror in her voice makes my chest ache. Her parents’ bedroom, she said. I recall what I read in her file. Isn’t that where she witnessed their murder-suicide? No wonder she doesn’t want to face it again. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.
So we both see doors ahead.
For her, it’s the door to her parents’ bedroom.
For me, it’s the front door to my house.
It must be the way out, too.
“Here,” I say, offering her my hand. “You can close your eyes. I’ll lead you through it.”
Edith chews her lip before nodding. “O-okay.”
Her touch is soothing as I turn to face my mother and Nils. I brace myself for the words that I know are coming.
The words that still haunt me to this day.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I hear myself say. “Damn it, Nils. Why did you have to tell Mom? This is all your fault. If you weren’t so argr, we could still be a family.”
Hot shame fills me. I didn’t realize it then, but I was repeating Father’s words. There’s no excuse for it. Some things should never be said.
I watch the hurt spread across Nils’s face. The shock on my mother’s. The sight is already seared into my mind.
“Nils isn’t the problem. Your father is.” Mother hesitates a moment before adding, “And you’re more like him than I realized.”
They turn away from me and open the door.
As they leave, I start to shout. “Don’t.” Each word grows more and more desperate. “Don’t go!”
But it’s too late. The door slams shut behind them.
They’re already gone.
I tighten my grip on Edith’s hand, reminding myself this is merely a memory.
Except… this time, I’ll have to open the door.
I’ll have to follow them.
I’ll have to see what would have happened if I had chosen them instead of Father. How different my life would be now if I’d spent these past five years with them. It seems far too cruel. I can think of no worse punishment than knowing what could have been.
I stare down the closed door. I have to.
Or else I’ll die here, trapped. And not just me. So will Edith.
Focusing my breathing, I reach for the doorknob with my free hand.
I open the door.