Horror Game Developer: My games aren't that scary!

Chapter 742: VILE – 303 [5]

I could see the children again a little further down the corridor.

They were passing through a set of double doors, their books held against their chests. None of them had turned towards the sound of my footsteps.

I started after them, keeping close to the wall.

The papers in my pocket pressed against my leg as I walked, and as I reached down to my pocket, something caught my sleeve before I could pull my hand out.

“Hn?”

I stopped, looking for anything it could have snagged on, but there was nothing beside me.

But I was certain I hadn’t imagined it.

…The slight crease by the edge of my sleeve was proof of it.

“Don’t.”

The voice came from below my shoulder, prompting me to freeze as I looked down.

‘…Don’t what?’

I swallowed silently, staring at the empty space around me.

Still, regardless of how I looked, there was nothing.

But I knew I hadn’t imaged that.

‘It doesn’t want me to go?’

Why?

To protect me or stop me from finding out about the past?

‘…But do I even have a choice?’

I did…

If I just waited it out, I’d probably be fine.

But a part of me didn’t want to let go. I wanted to see through the story to the end.

I wanted to find out the truth behind VILE – 303.

‘Just what is this anomaly hiding?’

The children continued through the doors. I watched the space beside me for another moment before moving, this time keeping my arm close to my side.

I turned my wrist.

[01:34]

There was still no response from my nodes. Following the children wasn’t how I had planned to spend the night, but at least they seemed to know where they were going.

‘…Did the Guild know about this?’

The crossed-out name, the voice answering for it, the children sitting through their lessons… Had anyone ever tried to find out what had happened here?

‘It’s possible, but I’m not sure. Nobody probably had the balls to stay here past midnight.’

The entry I’d read on the Guild Database was a description, and not an investigation report. And even if they knew, that didn’t mean they had any reason to do something about it. The anomaly wasn’t spreading. Access required a key, and following a few precautions kept everyone safe during the day.

As far as containment went, it wasn’t a problem.

Being trapped inside it was a little different, though.

I checked the papers in my pocket again before following the children through the doors.

A smaller corridor lay beyond them. The children were entering a room on the right, opposite a narrow window with School Office written across it.

‘The layout is starting to change instead of the infinite loop that was present before. Looks like I’m on the right track.’

My steps slowed. Through the classroom doorway, I could see them taking their seats. The desks were arranged differently here, with narrower aisles and a cupboard full of drawing materials along one wall.

There was no one at the teacher’s desk.

Near the back, a chair remained empty. I could just make out the number twenty-seven on the desk in front of it.

I checked the corridor before reaching for the office handle, keeping a close watch of the children as they entered the classroom opposite the office.

The handle turned without a sound, and I eased the door open just enough to slip inside.

The room smelled of damp paper. A coat hung beside a closed inner door, its sleeves almost touching the floor, and several folders had been stacked beneath a row of pigeonholes. I left the door open so I could watch the classroom opposite.

The attendance sheet mentioned a withdrawal record.

I followed the labels on the pigeonholes until I found Class 3-C, then pulled out the folder beneath it. Most of the papers concerned absences and requests from parents, and I went through them carefully, stopping whenever the rustling covered the sound of the corridor.

Mara’s name appeared near the back.

11 October — Mara Balle.

Withdrawal requested by telephone. Written confirmation outstanding.

There was a reminder beneath it, dated three days later. The office had still been waiting for the letter.

‘…So nobody came to collect her?’

It didn’t say. I checked the next sheet, hoping to find a signature or an address, but instead found a list of names. I recognized Rachel Zims and Edward More near the top before noticing the heading.

18 October — Classroom 3-C.

All absent.

“…”

My expression sank.

I held the sheet closer to the light. Someone had attached a shorter statement behind it, the writing cramped against the margin.

Mrs. Vale’s body was removed from the landing before entry to 3-C was attempted.

Instructions to remain seated could still be heard inside. Witness identified the speaker as Mrs. Vale.

There were dark marks along the bottom of the paper. I rubbed one lightly with my thumb, then looked towards the classroom. The nearest boy was arranging his pencils. Beside him, a girl smoothed the corner of a page with her palm.

I looked back at the statement.

‘All absent…? And Mrs. Vale’s body was removed? This suggests that she died. But why was everyone else absent?’

The more I read, the more it became clear to me that something more sinister was at play behind the scenes.

Step!

A footstep sounded beyond the double doors.

I slipped the papers into my pocket, taking the attached sheets with them, and returned the folder. There wasn’t enough time to go through the rest.

I crossed the corridor and entered the classroom.

The children were already looking towards the front, and I passed between their desks without any of them turning. By the time I reached the empty chair, the footsteps were almost at the doorway.

The same number had been cut into the wood of the desk.

27.

I ran my thumb over it as I sat, then rested my hands beside an unused exercise book. A pencil, a ruler, and a small eraser lay along its upper edge.

“Continue your copywork.”

The door closed behind the teacher as I kept my gaze lowered.

Even now, I had yet to dare to look at it.

I opened the exercise book, glancing towards the boy in Seat 26, on my left, to find the correct page. He had already begun writing, and I copied the first line while listening to the chalk move across the board.

The desk moved slightly beneath my arms.

At first, I thought I’d caught one of its legs with my foot, but when I moved both feet back, the wood rocked again.

⎯!

I caught the ruler before it could slide off the edge.

I placed it beside my book and pressed down on the desk, trying to work out which leg wasn’t resting properly.

Tok!

A small knock came from underneath, followed by another hard enough to lift the back against my hands.

“⎯⎯!”

The sound echoed loudly in the silence, prompting me to freeze in place as I held my breath at once.

The teacher’s voice had long faded.

I leaned forward, easing the table down before the legs could strike the floor. Through the gap beside my chair, I tried to look down, only to be left stumped as nothing appeared beneath me.

But I was certain.

Something was present.

Close to me.

‘Should I use my glasses? No, that isn’t wise…’

That would just attract the teacher’s attention.

Then…?

“Keep writing.”

The teacher’s gravelly voice sounded once more as the screech from the chalk echoed ahead. I held my breath slightly at the sound, but soon I picked up the pencil, leaving my other palm pressed against the desk.

The pressure eased enough for me to finish another line, though I couldn’t tell whether anything had moved away.

“⎯⎯!”

The eraser was next.

Before I realised, it slid past the edge of the desk.

I caught it against the book, but before I could put it back, the ruler moved to the side and fell.

Clack!

Every pencil stopped.

The silence returned.

It was even more suffocating than before.

And all gazes immediately fell on me.

“Mara. Hands on the desk.”

The voice came from the front, followed by a footstep. I put the pencil down and spread my hands against the wood. Beneath them, the desk started shaking again.

‘…Fuck.’

I braced one of its legs with my shoe and pressed down, trying to stop the shaking.

The shaking was small enough that the books barely moved, but each time I eased the pressure, a leg started to lift.

The teacher stopped beside me, its long shadow casting over the table before me.

Sweat gathered beneath my collar, and I could feel a thin strand working its way down my back as I kept my attention on the page.

“It came from here.”

The teacher picked up the ruler and placed it beside my book. The desk knocked against my shoe, and I shifted my weight to keep it from touching the floor.

Something brushed my wrist, then caught two of my fingers.

I could feel smaller fingers trying to lift them from the wood, their grip tightening whenever I pressed down harder.

“Do you need to be moved again?”

I looked at the unused margin of my book, waiting for something beside me to answer. When nothing did, I kept my hands where they were, listening to the faint creaking beneath them.

After a while, the fingers loosened. The pressure under the desk eased with them, leaving me leaning over the table before me.

“Then sit properly.”

I straightened slowly.

The teacher remained beside me for another few seconds before returning towards the front. Only when the chalk started moving again did the other children resume their work.

I picked up the pencil, adjusting my grip to keep it from slipping between my damp fingers.

Whatever was beside me seemed determined to get me into trouble.

I glanced towards the boy in Seat 26. He was copying the next line without a single word.

He didn’t seem to have noticed any of my actions at all, and as I looked at him, my eyes glossed over his notes before I turned away.

‘Quite neat writing.’

But that wasn’t important.

The teacher’s question bothered me enough that I reached for the papers once it had settled at the front. I kept them beneath my exercise book and checked the sheets I’d taken with the withdrawal record.

One was a request for repairs.

12 October — Desk 26. Removed for repair.

Mara Balle remains absent. Elon Ward claims to have spoken with her at the treeline, though he noted her skin felt remarkably warm. He has been told not to visit her again.

My pencil stopped above the page.

I checked the date again before looking towards the boy beside me.

I watched him finish another word, and then I looked at the letter in front of me.

I blinked slowly as I compared the two.

And as I did, his head slowly turned.

Our eyes met.