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It’s a picture of a picture? The photo has distinguished black edges and is placed on a table. A dead girl, arms bound, wearing nothing but her white bra and underwear. Her face is covered by a burlap sack and her knees are up, as if she’s displaying herself for the camera.
She’s a blonde like me… Curvy and beautiful.
And dead. Clearly dead.
Dr. Garcia pauses her lecture, looking almost bored, as the class erupts into chatter. “Relax, everyone. It’s only a prank. These old photos get sent out every year to this class to scare you. It’s unfortunate, but a certain group of people on this campus don’t seem to have respect for the dead. You’ll get used to it.”
A reminder, I realize. Someone is sending out a reminder.
I understand why my mother was so against me coming here. I know the lore of what happened at this school in the 1970s, and again in 2002, because I read about it when I got accepted.
I glossed over it, because what happened, happened so long ago, it didn’t really matter. I guess I was wrong.
After all this time, it should be left alone and not brought up again. The stain on the campus should have faded into oblivion with how horrible it is.
“Holy mother of fuck,” Dani whispers, staring down at her phone, her eyes bulging out of her head. I can’t rip my eyes from it, either.
Dani tilts her head and squints, inspecting the photo closer. Dr. Garcia speaks into the microphone, realizing she’s lost the group. “This class is officially over. Don’t forget your readings and try not to get caught up in the madness. The lore of what happened is quite alluring, but he’s a distraction, and you’ll get behind if you pay too much attention to him.”
Him…
The person who did this all those years ago, and the entity that came before him. His trademark name now haunts this town. He signed every taunting photo and left them in public places across campus for everyone to see.
The name he gave himself corresponds to the whispers and legend that haunts this town. The photos he left instilled fear in every student who attended this institution. Rumor has it, he carved out their eyes and hid their faces behind a burlap mask.
The mask is a symbol of a secret society so wicked, they had prohibited all fraternities and sororities on campus since the 1970s because of it.
And is the creepiest name I’ve ever heard.
Shadowface.
CHAPTER
TWO
SUMMER
Dani and I came home after class to our quaint, two-story house in the middle of town we are renting together. Dani’s mother didn’t want her living in the residence hall, so she found us a house instead. I tried to ignore the ickiness building in my stomach after seeing the photo sent out to the class. Everyone was talking about it when we left, whispers of Shadowface reverberating throughout the school. This unknown entity…this familiar demon in my mind.
I now understand why Dani and I saw a few students wearing burlap masks. I thought it was a weird freshman thing, but I now understand it’s a symbol of Shadowface.
They idolize him here.
It also makes sense why my mom was upset I came here.
After spending a few hours unpacking and getting ready for our new roommate to join us, I head upstairs to my charming room that also serves as the attic. It comprises my bed, a slim armoire, a desk in the corner, and a dresser beside the large square window under the arched ceilings. It’s small but has a beautiful view of the outside, where I can stare out into the canopy trees of the park near my house, and the tree-lined street beyond. Kinsmen is known for its dark, massive trees, which only adds to the crippling ambience of its history.
This semester is already proving intense, so I open my literature textbook and start reading through some of the material, avoiding my psychology readings altogether.
I lean my head against my headboard and stare out at the moon and a cloud hovering over it. A cool breeze hits my face, but I don’t close the window. I always keep my window open, and that’s what I love about these old houses. Windows without screens, where people can crawl into your room at night.
The idea of being watched excites me…always has.
Eventually, I grab the computer and pull up the list of today’s readings I have to get done for psychology. Three online articles and the entire first chapter on research methods. I run my thumb over my father’s name.
K. Landry.
My heart swells when I remember him, and I allow myself to feel the pain of his loss. After running away immediately after he died, it remains a lingering wound in my heart. I stare at the textbook on my desk and my vision blurs, as if my subconscious won’t let me read his words. My jaw tightens, realizing that book is the only significant part of my father I have left.
