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THE BLARING OF HER ALARM SPLIT THE SILENCE like a banshee with a megaphone. y/n groaned, her face buried deep in the pillow like she could dig herself into the mattress and escape responsibility altogether. Her skull throbbed like something had taken a jackhammer to her sleep cycle—which was fair enough, considering she'd gotten a whopping two and a half hours of shut-eye.

Maybe, just maybe, she shouldn't have stayed up doom-scrolling her own comment section. Or clapping back at that one glitter-obsessed fangirl who'd called Enid Sinclair's gossip vlog "a brave and credible journalistic masterpiece."

Maybe she also shouldn't have replied: if you think makeup tutorials and emotionally stunted roommate gossip count as credible journalism, i'd love to see what you consider a crime scene. a broken nail and a missed curfew?

And maybe—just maybe—she shouldn't have added the gif of a clown falling off a unicycle.

Because that reply?

That was the match.

The forest?

Very much on fire.

Because in less than 15 minutes, all hell broke lose.

@enidsucksbad:
replying to @WolfQueen22
your right. the real beast isn't in the woods... it's sitting in ophelia hall, editing glitter into her thumbnails.

@WolfQueen22:
EXCUSE YOU??
Enid provides real content!!!
All this blog does is write creepy murder poems like it belongs to a on ghost Tumblr in 2014!

AND FYI, IT'S YOU'RE*

@imnoturpapa:
NO BECAUSE SHE JUST CALLED @(your_wattpade_username) "THE GHOST OF BLOGMAS PAST" 😭😭😭

@anna_banana:
i don't see what the problem here is tho
@(your_wattpad_username) has a body count and @FurRealSinclair has eyeliner tips
it's a different genre, babes. y'all are making mountains out of molehills as usual.

@WitchTokMom69:
replying to @enidsucksbad
Enid's vlog is VALID.
Not all of us want to read about dead things before breakfast.

@strongboi_owen:
No offense but if you're living at Nevermore and NOT reading about dead things before breakfast... wyd?

@everyone:
replying to owen...

Bro, who even are you?

He doesn't even go here!

Do we know you?

New student?

...

Y/n stared at the spiraling comments from beneath her blanket like a Roman emperor watching gladiators fight in the dirt.

Her favorite so far?

Someone edited a pic of her blog's pfp and Enid's photo-shopped onto Tom and Jerry, with the caption:

"Catch them live at 8 PM. Sponsored by passive-aggressive Instagram captions and sleep deprivation."

She had to admit—the fandom was getting creative.

Another post:

Poll by @b4rcslay
Who would win in a street fight?
🔘 Glitterbomb Gossip Gremlin
🔘 Blog-Posting Banshee-in-Training

She didn't even realize how far the rabbit hole went until someone leaked screenshots of their old posts—y/n's anonymous ghost sighting series, Enid's how-to on "flirty full-moon hair."

By 3:00 AM, alliances had been formed.

By 3:07 AM, memes had been deployed.

And at exactly 3:13 AM, the air turned cold.

A user named @KendraYamazaki79 joined the comment section.

@KendraYamazaki79:
Some of you have class in the morning.
Some of you are on academic probation.
All of you need a reality check.
I'm contacting Principal Weems and the board.

The silence was instant.

One by one, comments began disappearing.

Entire accounts went into private mode.

Even @enidsucksbad changed her username to @preacher_of_love, deleted her comments and changed her bio to "taking a break for my mental health 🧘‍♀️✨."

Someone posted a final meme before vanishing:

"This thread after Samara's mom arrived:"

The y/h/c-haired girl simply blinked at her screen, before blocking the older woman in advance.

She then put her phone on silent, flipped it face down, and pulled the blanket over her head.

Sleep. Or at least something close to unconsciousness.

She had class in four hours.

And a revolution to plan by lunch.

But alas, the blaring of her alarm like the gates of Hell opening inside her skull were good enough to make her reconsider the purpose of her existence itself.

She groaned into the pillow. Every part of her body screamed no. Her hand started twitching beneath the covers, ready to swat the alarm clock into another timeline--

And then...

It stopped.

Not paused. Not snoozed.

Turned. Off.

Y/n froze.

That was not right.

That was horror movie-level wrong.

She poked her head out from under the blanket like a sewer raccoon testing the wind, eyes squinting at the pale light pouring into the room—and immediately yelped, flinging herself backward.

BANG.

"Holy shit !" she cried out, slamming her head against the headboard. "Ow-ow, for the love of--"

Clutching her head, vision still blurry, she took a better look.

And what she saw made her soul try to leap from her body.

Sitting elegantly on the chair across from her bed, legs crossed and posture unnervingly perfect, was none other than Principal Larissa Weems.

She smiled like this was perfectly normal. Like she hadn't just invaded the bedroom of an exhausted banshee at the crack of dawn.

"Good morning, Miss l/n," she said, calmly. Cordially.

Y/n blinked. "What the fff-hell are you doing here? And how did you get in?"

Weems tilted her head slightly. "Miss Thornhill had the foresight to retrieve your duplicate key last night. At my request, of course."

Y/n stared. "You... you had her steal my spare key?"

"She borrowed it," Weems corrected, tone light. "just like you borrowed it from me after learning about the arrival of our newest student, isn't that right?"

No reply.

"And I had a feeling you'd sneak out to collect your missed dinner. I was right."

Y/n groaned and buried her face back into her pillow. "You knew I was gonna do that?"

"You're a creature of habit, Miss l/n," Weems replied with unnerving composure. "And rebellion. A very... predictable combination."

Y/n sat up slowly, hair frizzed out in all directions like she'd been struck by lightning and then immediately rolled in sarcasm. "Okay, so you broke into my room to say 'I told you so'?"

Weems chuckled softly, folding her hands. "Not quite. I'm here because of your little... off-campus excursion."

Y/n froze. Her spine went stiff. "You know about that?"

Weems didn't answer immediately. Her smile remained intact, but it had gained a new edge. "Let's just say... you weren't the only one observing things last night, y/n."

Weems didn't wait for the girl to recover from her shock.

She simply uncrossed her legs, rested her palms lightly on her knees, and leaned in with the cool authority of someone who'd been waiting for this conversation for quite some time.

"You do realize how dangerous it is to sneak into the woods, alone, in the middle of a thunderstorm, right?" she said calmly. "And not just dangerous—reckless, irresponsible, illegal, and need I add: profoundly stupid."

Y/n blinked slowly. "That's a lot of adjectives before breakfast."

"This is not a joke, Miss l/n," Weems said, tone sharpening just a fraction.

"Neither is the thing out there ripping people's limbs off," the girl countered, arms crossed, voice hoarse from lack of sleep but steady.

Weems' smile didn't falter—but it did freeze.

"The sheriff says it's a bear," she replied. "The mayor agrees."

"Oh, really?" y/n raised her brows. "Because I don't know many bears that can leap through trees like a jungle gym and tear someone in half like it's bubble wrap."

"That will be enough," said the blonde, her voice dipped in warning. "Outcasts already live under constant scrutiny from normie society. You being caught—discovered—at the scene of a violent crime does not help our reputation."

"Ah, so you do know it's not a bear," y/n said sharply.

The headmistress said nothing.

Just the soft sound of her sigh as she rose to her feet, smoothing down the front of her dress like the conversation had grown tiring.

"You'll report to my office after breakfast," she said. "First thing."

Y/n narrowed her eyes. "For what?"

"Detention."

Weems turned to face her fully now, back straight as a blade. "You'll be missing fencing today—and instead, spending the morning composing a five-thousand-word essay on the importance of rules and regulations."

"You want me to write a 5K apology letter for not dying in the woods?" y/n asked, deadpan.

"I want you to reflect on why rules exist in the first place," Weems replied coolly. "And why they are not optional at Nevermore. And no, you may not use ChatGPB or any of those... AI thingies."

Y/n's jaw dropped. "Okay, well, that's unfair--"

"Also," Weems continued, ignoring the protest, "your phone is being confiscated for the week."

"You're literally violating several digital freedom laws right now."

"You're literally violating several campus security regulations, so let's not split hairs."

She scoffed, sitting back with an exaggerated sigh. "Whatever. It's not like I was gonna go to the Harvest Festival anyway. Not in the mood for fake hay rides and candied existential dread."

"Oh," Weems said, pausing mid-stride, "I forgot to mention that part."

Y/n stared.

"You'll be attending the festival," Weems said with the grace of a guillotine dropping. "As a volunteer. With the cleaning crew."

Y/n's mouth opened.

And immediately closed.

And then opened again. "You want me to what?"

"To clean." Weems smiled tightly. "Trash. Vomit. Hay residue. Whatever the townspeople leave behind. Consider it community service."

"I-That's—You can't just--"

"I can, and I have."

Weems turned back to the door, adjusting her watch.

"Oh, and one more thing," she said lightly, hand on the knob. "You'll be moving dorms after lunch."

The banshee blinked again. "Wait- what?"

"Enid Sinclair's room, as we discussed yesterday before your little... field trip. You have exactly one hour after detention to pack."

She opened the door.

"Welcome to reality, y/n/n."

And with that, she was gone.

Y/n stared at the now-shut door, wide-eyed, blanket still wrapped around her like a defeated burrito.

A silence passed.

"...Should've just let the monster eat me."

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