The Corridor That Remembered: A Record from the Faculty of Forgotten Rooms

"The dead only know one thing"

-Private Joker, Full Metal Jacket

“Naturally, this could be one of many things, but a thing nonetheless as you will come to learn. Nothing here is what is seems. This world might not scare you yet, but it will slither out of your mind long after your soul leaves your fleshly confines. So be wary of the witches who teach at night and prey by day. By this we know, as long as you have knowledge as your defense, and light as your guide you are safe, safe with me.”

~K.H. Obergfoll, first year studies from the Library Below “Academic Perfection” Circa Thirteen-Hundred and Fifty-Five, Witches Guild of All Things New and Retrieved: The Original.

Professor Gerald Gingrich sat on the edge of his otherwise tawdry desk having forgotten completely what he was supposed to be lecturing on. It was, after-all, the last day before Souls-Feast on Hallows-Eve and he couldn’t focus on anything other than the envelope sitting in his desk drawer. This was turning into quite the day and he didn’t want to be out later than necessary.

“Welcome to the last day of Indefensible Magic and the Realm of Forgotten Studies. Upon your return I expect a full thesis on the dead, including but not limited to—a study on Headmistress Marigold Thornswallow, or rather, her ghost— and The Guild of Forgotten Witches, a History on Maniacal Death Mavens and all those who keep Selcouth Creatures. Remember, ‘in this world, we are two circling souls, dwindling the same heart, the same mind, the same plane, the same magic—where common and uncommon creatures imbibe on the flesh of the wounded and the sane, until one light extinguishes the other.’ Now, if you can guess who wrote that last quote, I will award you fifty-points, extra credit.”

Pens and the scratching of paper could be heard all through the room as students hurriedly wrote what they could of the quote down, just as the bell rang out, signaling the end of the day.

“Class went rather quickly. I am sure there are things we weren’t able to discuss. Please remember to hurry home, and stay indoors. No magic, or improper spells are to be used out of class. Not for practice or protection. No exceptions. Be the rule, and go, be free and one with the rest of them.”

Cornelius Robbins, Amelia Grimsbane, and Zelda Eldridge were the first students to leave the confines of the tiny school—Ardenvale Academy for the Dark and Mundane, a place where there are no marbled halls, just boarded windows, defunct gyms, inaccessible basements, stuffy lockers, and flickering lights. The curriculum is basic, mixing mythical logic, elemental studies and forbidden defense magic to prepare students for the real world.

Founded in Eighteen-Ninety-Three, the school is located on a rather boring street at the edge of town. Right next to you and me. Quiet, sterile and prestigious, it looks more like an asylum than a coveted academy. No one outside of those invited to attend even know the place functions past the darkly veiled gates, and for good reason. The air hums and teams with life, a life that can give as quickly as it takes.

Gerald Gingrich was the last Professor to leave. The letter had all but burned a hole into his robes pocket. He knew what it was regarding and he would rather forget, or hope the letter forgot he hadn’t read it—but that was no use as it were. Ardenvale had a unique problem, one he had created, you know, in his Indefensible Magic and Forgotten Studies—but he, himself forgot what it was. So, for now, the School had an entire wing sealed off with protection charms for a department no one, not even he, remembered. The letter in his pocket was one Amelia Grimsbane had received. It was an acceptance letter, complete with a full course schedule in tow, a book list, supply list, and Professors who—coincidentally—didn’t exist in the history of the Academy, and it was all his fault.

It didn’t help things when Headmistress Marigold Thornswallow and her ghost were also coincidentally absent, though not completely. The letter screamed at him as he slipped a finger under the heavy seal, but he didn’t need to read any further— “YOU will make this right. No matter the cost. Do not leave until you do…” Headmistress Thornswallows voice was like nails on glass. Sharp and Screeching in all the wrong places.

His key stuck in the gate-lock as though it had sprouted roots. He had refused to go back through but it seemed he didn’t have a choice, he couldn’t leave the school unlocked, not when Souls-Feast and Hallows-Eve were taking place. Headmistresses words played in his head over and over again. His feet moving him forward as though by memory, a memory only he evaded.

“Turn around,” he whispered to himself, to his feet. But they didn’t budge. They kept moving forward as he watched himself round a corner towards the back end of campus.

The Corridor leading to the place he couldn’t remember creating had dying air, as though it was causing the school to rot from the inside out, and maybe it was. The floors didn’t even echo at the noise his polished leather shoes made. His feet sank deeper into the soft, wet stones with each step like the glands of a devil’s tongue. Gerald Gingrich thought he could see the walls moving, as if breathing on their own, and it appeared they were. They pulsed beneath his hands, beating louder and louder as he got closer to the door and the hall narrowed.

“Open for me,” he whispered, the words catching in his throat, and when the door finally shook open, the darkness inside didn’t just welcome him in, it remembered him. The confines of the room slowly bowing towards him in some form of quiet reverence, casting shadows of shapes he didn’t recognize across the room. Whispering to him in a voice that was familiar, yet foreign, and for the first time he felt the pulse fading into that of his own, the air stifling itself until he felt the drowning memory of what he had done flood before him.

“You left me here,” the voice whispered, sounding as though it came from his own mouth. The walls finally stilled, sighing as he came to understand. Gerald froze. The softened ground beneath him began to move, stretching out like human flesh. Hundreds of teeth-like fingers pressed through the cobblestones, grabbing at his feet—and in the final heartbeat before the door closed, swallowing him whole, he realized the corridor wasn’t leading him to a place he couldn’t remember, it was a place he kept, alive and eagerly waiting for him to come back. For his mind to finally come home and feed the school his memories, his infectious knowledge—as a greater sacrifice for the students who have yet to step foot inside.

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