Assassin's Creed High-School

Paranormal Investigation Club

Goblins and werewolves and ghosts, oh my!

Excitement courses through your bloodstream as you take long and eager strides through the seemingly endless hallway which inevitably leads to the basement, aka the clubroom for the Paranormal Investigation Club. It was the perfect location, in your opinion – it would have been the place you had chosen were you the one to have started the club.

The hallway fills you with a delicious sense of dread and you can’t help but shiver in delight. It was all so overwhelmingly perfect. The appearance of the hallway has you questioning whether it was recently decorated in order to satisfy the needs of the club, but the thick grime and water stains clinging to concrete walls suggest that this particular part of the building had been forgotten many years ago.

Dangling light bulbs release the occasional hiss as their life-force agonizingly ebbs away before they eventually stutter into darkness; at first the flickers of dying light are spread generously apart, yet soon they become so close together that there is more darkness than light. Despite your enthusiasm, you are forced to slow your pace, occasionally reaching out with grasping fingers or inquisitive toes to ensure that nothing dangerous lurks ahead.

The temperature drops abruptly, sending an unpleasant chill seeping into your bones. Your breath slips from your lips in the form of white mist, swirling fearfully in the air before disappearing completely. If Supernatural has taught you anything, it’s that a ghost was in the vicinity – your nose nearly bleeds at the thrill of it all. Casting an inquisitive glance over one shoulder, you’re slightly disappointed to find an empty vastness rather than a specter.

How anticlimactic.

Redirecting your attention to the path ahead, you embarrassingly let out a startled shriek at the sight of a hunched figure in the distance. Between every flicker of dying light, the figure trudges a little bit closer. Its breathing is rough, ragged, as though it was struggling to breathe.

Wait, do ghosts need to breathe?

Maybe it wasn’t a ghost. Oh, shit. What if it was an axe-wielding maniac?! An escaped convict with an unquenchable thirst for blood?!

Light suddenly flickers to life above your head and you scream when coming face to face with the mysterious creature. Only…it wasn’t a creature. It was just a man – the custodian, or so his overalls imply.

Chapped lips curl over rotted teeth and he practically barks right in your face, “What are you doing down here?”

You would have preferred the axe-wielding maniac.

Recoiling at the scent of putrid breath, you answer, voice containing a faint tremble, “I-I…uhm, I’m, um…searching for the Paranormal Investigation Club.”

The scent of perversion and desperation from this morbidly obese individual has you growing concerned for your safety. That concern only increases when anger flashes in those bloodshot eyes and he straightens, the old light bulb in his hand cracking slightly under the weight of bloated fingers.

“What is it with you parassiti and your cazzo clubs? Obsessing over meaningless garbage. Creating unnecessary messes which I have to clean up. And do I get a grazie? No. I get to mop up puke after you ingrati bastardi without so much as a sniff of acknowledgement.”

You consider moving around him but the hallway is fairly narrow and this man takes up more than his fair share of space. “Look, I’m really sorry that you hate your job, but I really should get going. Don’t wanna be late…”

He barks a laugh, the sound hoarse and cruel, before breaking out into a coughing fit and spitting a thick blob of discoloured saliva by your feet. “You think your precious little club is going to help you succeed in life? Ha! Education in itself is a sham. Take it from someone who knows, kid; I had the best education money could buy, the best profession – there wasn’t a single soul who didn’t know the name Uberto Alberti. I was a big cheese. A huge cheese. But look at me now; I’m forced to ride the bus every day like every other unimportant loser. My apartment doesn’t even have a bathroom – I have to use the laundromat downstairs. And at the grocery store, I have to wait in line with nobodies to buy groceries from a failure!”

He deflates and brushes aside his hair, the grease coating his skin keeping the stringy strands glued to his forehead. “Nothing lasts,” he grumbles, clutching his stomach with both hands, “You get older and fatter, and suddenly the world no longer knows you exist.”

Uberto goes silent and squeezes the bulging flesh of his stomach for a moment before abruptly walking away without another word – much to your relief. That was quite an ordeal. The man clearly spent too much time down here, the chemicals having scrambled his brain.

Shaking off the lingering haze of danger, you continue on your way, the clubroom coming into view not ten steps later. The door was smooth blackwood with an Icovellavna – or Celtic Knot – carved into the centre. Such a symbol was often used for protection against negative energy. You rap upon the wooden surface after discovering that the door was locked and wait, listening to the faint sounds of movement on the other side. The door then opens and the face of Henry Green appears.

“Ah, (Y/N),” he greets with a dazzling smile; white button-up shirt a stark contrast to the surrounding darkness. “Come in, come in, my dear,” he enthuses, voice smooth and drizzled with an unmistakable accent.

You’re ushered into the clubroom and Henry locks the door behind you. For a clubroom, it isn’t really all that impressive – all concrete and no personality. Surely it wouldn’t have killed them to hang a few posters? Perhaps a plant in the corner for some much needed colour? It was spacious though, so at least that was something positive. A bookshelf just waiting to collapse sat pressed up against one of the walls, a few books of the occult and real-life hauntings lining the shelves, though they appear to be second hand.

You’re quick to spot Evie first sitting at the circular table situated in the centre of the room, your mood instantly lifting when she flashes a smile, making you feel welcome. On either side of her sits two male students you have yet to meet, though they barely seem interested in your presence anyway, their gazes fixated upon the freckled beauty sandwiched between them.

“You’ve arrived. Good. ” Evie stands and strides closer, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “Have you met our other two members? Alexander Graham Bell and Robert Topping.”

Both boys rise from their seats as Evie makes the proper introductions.

The one known as Topping steps closer whilst removing the top hat from his head and provides a vaudevillian bow, “Ah, the illustrious (Y/N). Welcome, my lady, to our humble place of gathering. Robert Topping, at your service. Come and seat yourself at the table.” He ushers you towards the table and helps you into a seat. “Would you care for a drink? Or two?”

Impressively, the gangly teen removes two sodas from the depth of his top hat and sets them down before you. Even more impressively, they were ice cold.

Alexander claims his previous seat with a slight shake of his head, “Careful, Robert, we wouldn’t want to overwhelm the poor girl now, would we?” He catches your eye and smiles, though it’s a nervous one, his hands constantly fidgeting with anything they come into contact with, “Alexander’s my name though most people call me Aleck. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

You offer a bob of your head in greeting to both male students.

“Did you have any trouble finding the place?” Henry asks as he moves around the table and takes a seat. “It was only when I was coming here myself earlier that I realised that this particular venue can be rather difficult to locate if you’re not familiar with the territory.”

You shake your head, “It wasn’t that difficult.”

Evie taps the butt of her pencil against pursed lips, an odd twinkle in her eyes. “You’re fortunate then; I heard a student went missing down here a few years ago since there are multiple sub-basements, though I think they’ve all been sealed now.”

“Missing?” Did you hear that right? “So...they were never found?”

“If you believe in the rumours,” Aleck speaks up, casting an amused sideways glance at his fellow club members. “Which we do.”

Henry leans forward in his seat, “Legend has it that the spirit of Tobias Wilson still wanders the many passageways of the sub-basements, searching for a way out.”

“And every Wednesday,” Topping continues, “at the witching hour, it’s said that you can still hear him screaming for help.”

Your tongue moistens your lips as you struggle to maintain composure and not appear too eager. It was awful about the student – truly tragic news – but the idea of there being an actual ghost on school grounds was simply too thrilling to ignore. “Have any other students gone missing?”

“If they have, there’s no record of them,” Evie says, “Though there have been numerous disappearances reported all across the island for many years, but many of the islands residents choose not to acknowledge them.”

Okay...

Something was definitely happening on this island.

A heavy hand falls upon your shoulder whilst warm breath grazes your ear, “Do the mysteries of the island intrigue you, child?”

This stranger’s presence came as quite the shock which is why your body jolted in alarm, eyes comically wide and ass now dangling halfway off the chair. Topping and Aleck erupt in a fit of snickers – even Evie lets a tiny giggle escape.

How embarrassing.

The stranger chuckles and holds both hands up as you regain composure. “Sincerest apologies and deepest pardons, child. It was not my intent to scare you.” As he walks around the table, you could’ve sworn you heard him mutter ‘it was rather entertaining though’.

Henry stands to make the proper introductions, “(Y/N), allow me to introduce our club sponsor,” he says, spinning in a complete circle, trying to keep the elderly gentleman in one spot long enough to introduce the pair of you – though it isn’t going so well. Henry sighs, shoulders sagging when he fails at his task, and resorts to offering you a defeated smile, “Charles Dickens.”

Charles blows the thick layer of dust off the cover of a book in his hands, coughs, then puts the book back. “The accommodations are rather lacklustre...yet it does possess a macabre aesthetic which is rather befitting. Yes. I approve.” He clasps his hands and interlocks his fingers, “Tell me: do you believe in ghosts?”

You don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

He nods slowly, seemingly taking your answer into careful consideration. “I’m...skeptical myself. Here we are in modern society, yet the populace is so in thrall to the supernatural, that it leaves itself vulnerable to charlatans.”

Whilst he speaks, you can’t control the wandering of your eyes. They fall upon Evie, and you watch – in thrall, as Dickens would say – as she sets up a projector.

Another girl has never captured your attention before – well, no one’s really captured your attention before – but there was something different about Evie. And it wasn’t just because of something as superficial as her appearance. It ran much deeper than that; your ‘special vision’ allowed you to see into the souls of others. To view people for who they truly were. And Evie’s soul was worthy of admiration – a strong yet somehow still delicate, elegant chestnut shape that shone under a mysterious light and swayed as if dancing to an everlasting song.

“-truth, like a spirit, must be cajoled, before it will reveal itself,” Dickens finishes, turning on the projector. “As most of you are aware, Primrose Island is an archipelago with a rich history, and a place where there have been clashes between ethnic and national interests, as well as cultural, religious, economic and political differences. And amidst those affairs formed a paranormal underbelly – one which we will be exploring today.”

The projector screen lights up with a photograph of a medieval plague doctor.

“Il Dottor Malfatto,” he says slowly, eyes squinting at the projector screen, “Many of you may be already familiar with the moniker due to the urban legend, but I can assure you that this individual was no mere fable. Over the duration of twenty years, Malfatto was found to have brutally butchered seventy-five people – a relatively easy task due to his position as head doctor of the island’s only hospital. His reign of terror came to an end in 1437 as he was sentenced to death by hanging – and in our very own town square, no less. One would believe that his story ended there, but now is when it becomes far more fascinating; within a month of Malfatto’s death, all those that had been responsible for his demise were found murdered, the word ‘Vendetta’ carved into their foreheads.”

The projector is shut off and everyone redirects their attention to Dickens.

“Rumour has it that the soul of Malfatto continues to reside within the hospital, searching for new victims. Today, we shall be taking a trip to the location in the hopes of discovering some evidence which may prove the presence of a paranormal entity.” He clapped his hands, twice, “Let us be off.”

>>Fast Forward>>

“A hotel?”

Henry had questioned the minute your small group arrived at the designated location. Topping and Aleck appeared as equally confused, but you and Evie weren’t.

No. You are very much aware of this place.

After extensive research in online chat rooms and fanatical forums devoted to all things paranormal, you knew more than your fair share of information about this hospital turned hotel; since making the conversion, it has developed a certain status which brought ghost hunters and thrill seekers alike from around the world to sleep in the arcane four-poster beds. It was without running water and electricity, and possessed single pane windows, but it was still in fairly good condition for a building of its era. There had been reports of cackles and giggles from within though no one could confirm whether they were real or staged. Every once in a while, some guest would snap a picture of a blotched white light in an unlit room and claim it to be one of Malfatto’s victims. And other’s swore up and down that they had been touched by a specter during the night, either from a victim, or Malfatto himself.

“-now we don’t have much time,” Dickens finished.

Damn. You really need to start paying more attention when the man is speaking.

Dickens turns to face the group and rubs his palms together, “Let us split up into groups of two so more ground can be covered; Robert and Alexander, the pair of you shall investigate the lower levels, whilst Evie and (Y/N) can investigate the upper levels. Henry, I require your aid in running the command centre.”

Henry’s eyes dart to Evie for a split second before he begins carting in metallic suitcases – which appeared rather heavy if the slight buckle of his knees was anything to go by.

You wondered if all this equipment was necessary but Dickens seemed to know what he was doing.

“This is an EMF Detector,” Dickens began to explain, handing each of you a piece of equipment as he named them,  “which will alert you to the presence of a spirit. Secondly, walkie-talkies, so you can stay in contact at all times. And lastly, a video camera. According to the lore, ghosts can be viewed in photography and video, so keep these cameras rolling at all times.”

“It’s like The Blair Witch Project,” Aleck comments whilst examining the video camera.

“Without the deaths, hopefully,” Topping murmured.

>>Fast Forward>>

The interior was that of a museum; everything seemed to predate the 1960’s and was either an original or had been refurbished retro. The tangerine and fuchsia walls gave the illusion of being in another era, though the paint looked bright and new, freshly applied. The floral motif was bold and the furniture sparse and simple. On the wall behind the front desk sat an orange telephone with its large dialling disk and curled cable dangling from the receiver.

Henry and Dickens established themselves in a corner of the lobby, surrounded by monitoring equipment tailored to studying the paranormal.

“Uh, Miss Frye? A moment of your time, if that’s alright?” Aleck approaches the tall brunette whilst constantly fidgeting with the bottoms of his sleeves, “I wanted to let you know that, if I don’t make it back, it’s been an absolute honour – nay, privilege – in working alongside you. Our time together, though brief, will forever be engraved on my memory.”

Jeez, talk about being dramatic.

Evie’s gaze darts from one side to the other, almost as though she didn’t understand what he was saying and was hoping someone would step in to translate. But when no one does, she plasters on an unconvincing smile, “Thank you?”

“No, no – thank you,” he beams, positively giddy.

And with that awkwardness out of the way, Aleck and Topping venture to the basement.

You and Evie lock gazes for a moment before laughing. “Come on,” she says once her laughter dies down, giving your shoulder blade a pat, “I’ll take the lead and you keep the camera rolling.”

Evie holds the EMF detector at arms length and leaves the lobby with you trailing at her heels, trying to hold the camera as steady as possible. Unlike Evie, you pause when coming to the staircase, eyes narrowing faintly; the stairs were slapped against the wall as if they had been an afterthought and were uncommonly narrow. The rail was a simple plank of wood supported by three spindles. It looked prepared to come crashing down under the slightest bit of pressure but Evie disproved such judgement when she went charging up the steps, one heavy stride after another.

Taking a breath, you place some of your weight on the lowest step. It squeaked, and though it didn’t surprise it you, it was immediate and loud – if there are guests upstairs, they now know you are there. “Damn steps,” you grumble, continuing your ascension of the staircase and taking note that each step was a different height, making it near impossible to judge how high to lift your foot.

You suppose you shouldn’t really complain though. Exploring a haunted building has been a fantasy of yours for many years, and now you were finally doing it! And with other people who shared your passion for the paranormal.

Reaching the top of the staircase, Evie is already drifting down the hallway, forcing you to scramble after her. “We’re getting some pretty good readings,” she murmurs more to herself than you, the EMF sparking to life every few seconds.

“Is there anyone with us?” You ask, abruptly realising how loud and excited your voice was.

Evie smiles as she glances in your direction, “That’s a good idea; are you with us, Malfatto? Do you have a problem with our being here?”

The pair of you glide through the hallway, continuously asking questions in hopes of getting an answer. But all was silent – even the EMF remained stagnant. Evie rattled the device with a frown.

“It was working just a moment ago…”

As she fumbles with the EMF, you get the bright idea to wander off on your own – what’s the worst that could happen?

Though the sun continues to thrive outside, it is oddly dark inside, the wall lamps doing very little to brighten your surroundings. The hotel also has this surreal quality only ever felt when arriving home late at night and everyone had already gone to bed.

You waft into a nearby guest room, which was fortunately vacant, and give the area a sweep with the video camera. There didn’t seem to be anything here. How disappointing. Maybe the rumours were exactly that – rumours.

Shrugging, you turn the camera off in order to save on the battery, and prepare to leave. However, the door slams shut just as you make a reach for the handle, managing to rip a startled yelp from the back of your throat.

What the hell was that?!

You grab the handle with haste and jiggle it frantically but the damn thing won’t budge, so you resort to banging against the wooden surface with a closed fist. “Hey! Evie, are you there?! I need help, this damn door is stuck!”

You press your ear up against the door to listen for Evie’s response but instead you hear laughter, not quite happy though, more sniggering and triumphant. Footsteps could be heard running up and down the rug lined hallway continuously before abruptly stopping.

Was this some kind of joke?

The walkie-talkie attached to your hip crackles to life, Henry’s voice occupying the silence a moment later. “(Y/N)? Is something the matter? Evie radioed in and said you were gone.”

“Henry,” you practically sigh into the receiver, “I got stuck in one of the bedrooms and can’t get out. The door is locked.”

Henry releases a soft and confused ‘huh’ into the receiver, which you’re fairly certain you weren’t meant to hear, before changing his tone to one more comforting, “I’ll fetch a key from the front desk and help you out. What room are you in?”

That…was a good question.

“Uh, I’m in…”

You search the room, hoping the room number will be printed somewhere other than the door, but so far, no luck. You slam the bedside drawer shut after coming up empty yet again and turn around…that’s when you see it.

A ghost.

At first it was no more than a chill in the air, a shimmer of mist, diffuse. Through it, the furniture and wallpaper that peeled with the rising dampness became slightly out of focus, like a poorly taken photograph. It wasn’t until your back hit the door did it congeal into a more distinct form – a medieval doctor, plague mask and all.

“Malfatto…?”

This…spirit didn’t seem to hear you, wasn’t even aware of your presence in the room. Was that normal? Malfatto moved to the corner and seemed to busy himself with an unseen task. He spoke as he worked, in Italian, to someone he could see but you could not.

This was so peculiar. It was as though you were watching a memory rather than a current event.

Malfatto suddenly slams both fists down onto a table no longer there and screams angrily, voice slightly distorted, like an echo. He whirls on the spot, now facing you, a saw in hand – for hacking up his victims, no doubt.

A terror unlike any other digs its claws into your heart; you were suddenly very much aware that, if this was a vengeful spirit, you could get hurt. And if it wasn’t a spirit…then something was happening to your mind, and that was the scariest thought of all.

Your stunned gaze flies to Malfatto as he charges across the room brandishing the saw. You shriek and raise both arms in a pathetic attempt to defend yourself, but such an act proves to be futile for the misty figure of Malfatto passes straight through you and disappears through the wall. A strange tingle dances along the line of your spine, as though ice cubes have been poured down the back of your shirt.

After a moment of silence, you unfurl from your hunched position and give the room a hasty scan. Empty. As though nothing had even happened. Did…did you simply imagine that? Or did it really happen? Was it a ghost? Or something else?

The door clicks and swings open to reveal Henry and Evie, concern creasing their brows. “Is there a problem up here?” Henry asks, eyeing the room as though something was waiting to jump out at him.

Evie brushes past him before you can answer, “We heard a scream; are you alright? You’re not hurt, are you?”

Her concern for you was heart-warming and managed to make the last few minutes seem virtually non-existent. You provide a smile and slight bob of the head, “Everything’s fine. I mean, I was pretty freaked when the door slammed shut at first, but it was strangely invigorating. Oh! You’ll never believe what I saw! I - -"

Before you can share your experience with Malfatto, Dickens is appearing in the doorway, and in his grasp is—

“Jacob?” Evie’s stunned expression swiftly turns to one of annoyance. “What are you doing here?”

Dickens pinches the top of Jacob’s ear even harder, causing the teen’s face to twist in pain. “I regret to inform you all that we have been duped,” he says, disapproval creasing his brow when his eyes fall upon Jacob, “by this hoodlum here.”

Anger radiates from Evie as she crosses both arms, “Jacob,” the word was slow, menacing, a threat. “What did you do?”

The younger twin by one minute manages to wriggle free of Dicken’s pinch and rubs his ear, “It was only a prank, sister dear,” he explains, tone so sweet it made your teeth ache. “You go on and on about all this ghost nonsense, so I thought I’d have a bit of fun.”

“Wait,” you step forward with a slight shake of your head, “so you’re the one that locked me in here?”

He had the decency to at least look sheepish, “Guilty. I just wanted to give you a bit of a scare.”

“And…the laughter? The running footsteps?”

“An app on my phone.”

“But...the EMF…”

“Power lines.”

Everyone redirects their attention to the window to find the power lines across the street, meaning the EMF detector was useless this entire time.

Though you are greatly disappointed at finding out that all this had been a prank, you had to admit that it was fairly entertaining. “Huh…well, I gotta say, Jake, that Malfatto thing was super realistic.”

“Malfatto thing?” He looks genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”

Now it was your turn to be confused, “Didn’t you use a projector or something to make that image of Malfatto? He was in the corner, then picked up a saw and ran at me? That…that wasn’t you?”

An uncomfortable silence settles over the room and you’re forced to stare into their sympathetic faces. You hated those faces. Such an expression blatantly accused you of having imagined the entire thing. But you didn’t imagine it. You couldn’t have, just like you couldn’t have imagined that phantom on the street outside Shay’s house.

Could you have…?

Dickens sighs heavily, hands falling to his hips, “This has been most disenchanting thus far. Let us go and see if Robert and Alexander have fared any better.” He gives a waggle of his finger before departing, Henry following obediently.

Jacob makes a run for it when Evie raises her hand in a threatening manner. She then sighs and offers an apologetic smile now that the two of you were alone. “I’m sorry about Jacob – he watches far too much Scooby-Doo.” You share a tiny laugh and she rests a hand on your shoulder, “I do hope my brother’s antics don’t have you considering resigning from the club.”

“Resign? No way,” you assure with a small laugh, “I love this club, and hopefully someday we will make contact with a spirit.”

She provides a dazzling smile, “I hope for the same.”

As the pair of you leave the room, she asks, “Did you really see Malfatto?”

“Uh, well….”