CHAPTER 153: HORROR

CLARK – POV

"Curious little lamb, aren’t you?"

The voice was so close, so soft and low, that it slithered straight into my spine like ice. My body jerked like a live wire had touched it—my feet nearly left the ground. I spun around with a strangled yelp only for a hand—cold as death—to clap over my mouth, muffling my scream.

In a blink, I was slammed up against the wall.

Hard.

His body pressed into mine, and we were too close—way too close—his breath grazing my cheek, his icy presence bleeding into my skin like frostbite. To anyone stumbling in on us, it would’ve looked like a moment straight out of a romantic BL anime.

But this wasn’t romantic. This was a goddamn horror scene.

Because I knew that face.

The pale, ghostly guy. The senior I’d asked for directions on my first day—the one who had appeared out of nowhere, just like now.

Where had he come from? Why hadn’t I heard a single step? No shadow. No sound. Just one second I was alone, and the next—this.

"You shouldn’t disturb wolves while they’re having fun," he whispered, his lips brushing my ear.

Wolves? What the actual hell was he talking about?

I stared at him, heart battering my ribs like it wanted out. His eyes were pitch-black, unreadable. His face was smooth, elegant even—but there was a wrongness about it. Not wrong in a way you could point out, but wrong in the way a mask of a human might look after too long. Almost too perfect. Too still.

I tried to push him off, but he didn’t budge.

His body was like stone—unmoving, unyielding, cold.

"I-I wasn’t trying to disturb anyone," I managed to squeak once he eased the hand from my mouth. My throat was tight, dry. "I was just looking for my friend."

He smiled.

God.

It wasn’t a friendly smile. It was the kind of grin a predator gave before taking its sweet time.

"Funny little thing," he murmured, almost affectionately. "Always wandering into places you shouldn’t."

His breath smelled faintly metallic.

Like rust.

Or—blood.

My stomach turned. My knees felt weak.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," I said, stammering.

"Wolves can’t just enter the school vicinity like that," I blurted. I didn’t even know what I was saying at that point. Maybe if I kept talking, he wouldn’t eat me. That felt like a valid fear now.

He let out a soft, amused laugh.

"Oh, little lamb, I meant Man wolf" he breathed, nostrils flaring as he sniffed my neck.

I froze. Fully, entirely frozen. My brain screamed He’s going to bite you, and for a horrifying second, I was almost too scared to care.

What was he?! Some kind of twisted LARPing vampire?

No. No, that was just dumb.

"Wait, wait," I said quickly. "You’re not saying... like... an actual werewolf, right?"

Keep him talking, I told myself. Distract him. Maybe someone would come down the hallway. Maybe I could escape if he relaxed.

His grin widened.

He pressed his nose against my neck, inhaling.

I went rigid.

Don’t bite me, don’t bite me, don’t bite me...

He smiled—teeth a little too sharp.

"You don’t believe me?"

I didn’t answer.

Not because I was being rude.

Because I physically couldn’t.

My throat was dry. My limbs felt like jelly. And for a heartbeat, the hallway around us faded into nothing but cold, walls, and a deathly still presence standing inches from me.

He leaned in again, lips grazing my ear. "Humans," he whispered, "are such silly, amusing little creatures."

"I smell fear," he whispered. "But not just fear. Something else. Something..." He closed his eyes. "...so very peculiar."

"What do you want from me?" I whispered.

His eyes opened. Sharp. Hungry.

"I want you to understand," he said, brushing a thumb down the side of my throat like he was mapping where my artery ran. "That this place... it’s not for humans. Not really. You’re just decoration. Distractions. Food. Most of you never realize it. You’re so busy partying and chasing dreams, you never see the monsters in the mirrors."

He tilted his head, and for a brief second, his pupils elongated—like slits.

"You’re crazy," I said, almost too fast. "You’re completely insane."

"Maybe," he said lightly. "But at least I know what I am."

He tapped a finger to my chest. "You... you’re still figuring it out. But I’ll give you a hint."

He leaned forward again. "You smell like prey."

He let go of me then, and I nearly collapsed. My body had gone completely numb, legs trembling, heart clawing at my chest.

He stepped back a few paces, eyes still trained on me like he was watching a puzzle unfold.

"Go on, then. Be a hero. It suits your kind."

He gestured with his jaw toward the far end of the hallway—toward the old lecture wing, the one that had been under renovation since I’d arrived. It was supposed to be sealed off.

The place students were told not to go.

But just before I could open my mouth to ask what the hell he meant—he was gone.

Like gone gone.

One second he was right there.

And the next?

Poof.

No sound, no door opening, no footsteps, no lingering warmth.

I spun around, heart hammering like it was trying to escape my chest. "What the fu—" I yelped, louder than I meant to, and stumbled backward into the wall.

What just happened?

Was he a... ghost?

But no. Ghosts couldn’t touch you. Couldn’t pin you to a wall. Couldn’t sniff you like a bloodhound trying to decide if you were medium-rare or well done.

And what was with that whole wolves having fun bit?

No. Nope. No way.

This was just a messed-up hazing thing, right?

Right?

Maybe he was a senior with an overactive imagination and a flair for drama. Maybe they’d drugged the punch at the party and I’d inhaled some second-hand psychedelic fumes.

Yes. That had to be it. That, or I was losing my mind.

But then why did his touch still linger on my skin like frostbite?

Why did I feel like I’d just stared into the abyss and it had winked at me?

I turned toward the old wing slowly, against every cell in my body screaming do not go in there. My feet moved anyway. Because Sara might be in there. Because if she was, and something had happened to her—and I hadn’t even tried—I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

The hallway darkened as I approached, the familiar buzz of the overhead lights dimming into flickers. The doors here were sealed with tape and signs reading "UNDER RENOVATION – NO ENTRY" but someone had ripped the caution tape.

And the door?

It was ajar.

"Sara?" I whispered.

No answer.

Only silence.

And the low, nearly imperceptible creak of something deeper inside.

A floorboard?

A door hinge?

I swallowed.

"This is stupid," I muttered to myself. "This is dumb. I should leave. Call someone. Campus security. Anyone."

But I didn’t.

I stepped inside, into the gloom.

The air changed instantly. The smell was stale—like old dust, something rotting deep inside the walls. The kind of air that hadn’t been disturbed in decades.

Or, more terrifyingly, the kind of air that wanted to stay undisturbed.

I heard it again—Sara’s voice. Soft. A whimper.

And then... nothing.

Just like before.

My heart lurched. My breathing hitched.

Maybe that pale guy was right.

Maybe I was a curious lamb wandering into the den of wolves.

And maybe...

Just maybe...

They were hungry.

I crept deeper into the old lecture wing, each step heavier than the last. The air had turned thick, sticky almost, like it didn’t want to let me move forward. My skin prickled, that sixth sense screaming that I shouldn’t be here.

"Sara?" I whispered again, but it came out barely audible, like the building itself had swallowed my voice.

I pushed open a side door, and immediately regretted it.

The scene inside hit me like a brick to the chest.

There was a girl on the ground. Not Sara, thank God—but she looked young, maybe another fresher. She was on all fours, naked sweat clinging to her back like dew, her body moving unnaturally with the force of something behind her and in front of her. apparently I had walk on a threesome.

At first, I thought—no, hoped—this was some kind of twisted frat prank, or maybe I had walked in on something private and very, very inappropriate.

But then I saw them.

Not the men.

The things.

The one behind her had fur the color of burnt earth—brown, mottled, thick. His body was vaguely human, but his head—his face—was all wrong. Elongated snout. Slit-pupil eyes. Fangs. Like some nightmarish fusion between man and beast.

A wolf.

And the one in front of her, the one whose head turned first when I stumbled in, had reddish-yellow fur and glowing eyes that fixed on me like he’d just sniffed out dinner. His mouth curled, revealing jagged teeth still wet with saliva.

Then—he spoke.

"Another one has come to play." His voice was deep, distorted, like multiple people were talking through him all at once.