CHAPTER 13 — Part 5
Autumn Berry – POV
My alarm rang at 6:30 AM, but honestly?
It felt like I had closed my eyes only five minutes ago.
I slapped my hand over the phone screen without even lifting my face off the pillow. My eyes felt heavy, sand-papered and burning from sleep deprivation. The club room last night had gone from "fun ghost investigation" to "actual possible case of unfinished disrespect and someone pretending to be a spirit," and my brain had refused to shut off afterward.
Across the room, Quinn groaned dramatically and rolled over, burrito-wrapped in her blanket.
"Autumn… why do alarms exist? Who invented pain?" she mumbled in a half-dead voice.
I snorted weakly, staring blankly at the ceiling.
"Probably someone who hated students."
"Oh, so everyone," Quinn muttered before burying her face again.
We both lay there for another solid minute — not sleeping, just… recalibrating life decisions.
Eventually, I forced myself up, legs wobbly and hair a tangled mess. I tied it into a barely-functional ponytail while Quinn zombied into her slippers.
"Coffee," she whispered like a prayer to the gods. "Caffeine and oxygen, that's my diet today."
"Same," I sighed.
Last night blurred in my head — Rhea insisting we stick together, Theo and Liam doing flashlight duty like dramatic detectives, Dorielle clutching her notebook like her life depended on it, and Carina, terrified and shaking until we finally brought her to her house for safety.
The rumors.
The staircase.
The missing girl — *Celeste Star*.
And under all of it, tangled like vines… my own memory trying to crawl back out.
That night in high school.
Those footsteps.
The breathing.
The voice calling my name from the bathroom stall.
Hands grabbing my shoulder when the lights died.
I shook my head hard.
No. Not now. Not again.
Not when we had someone else's story to solve.
---
We washed our faces, brushed teeth, dressed like tired detectives disguised as students, and headed out. The hallway was quiet — too early for the chaotic chorus of morning life.
Quinn nudged me as we walked.
"You okay? You spaced out earlier."
"Mmm. Just tired."
"Liar." She scanned me knowingly. "That wasn't 'I'm tired' face. That was your 'my brain is fighting demons again' face."
I paused mid-step, staring down at the railing of the dorm staircase.
Funny — staircases again.
"I'm just… remembering," I admitted softly.
The café door jingled softly as we entered. That smell — warm pastries, deep roasted coffee, soft background chatter — instantly brought life back into my soul.
Rhea was already seated, wearing oversized glasses and scrolling through student archives like she owned the school. Theo sat beside her, half-asleep but attempting to look studious. Liam was stirring his drink absentmindedly like his brain was still buffering, and Dorielle was writing something furiously in her notebook.
"You guys look dead," Theo commented.
"We are," Quinn replied, eyeing her iced latte like it was holy water.
I slid into the booth beside Rhea.
"So," she said, pushing up her glasses, "today we start digging deeper. Celeste Star's case isn't just a rumor — something happened back then. And that stairwell activity last night? Someone is recreating the haunting to scare people."
Dorielle tapped her pen.
"I looked up her old school posts, club lists, anything. She was quiet, barely any public photos, but a lot of people described her as gentle, shy, kind."
"Which means someone like that doesn't just disappear without noise," Liam murmured, fingers tapping thoughtfully.
Theo leaned back.
"And someone is benefiting from keeping the rumor alive."
We all paused as a waitress set down pastries. Quinn instantly grabbed a croissant like it insulted her bloodline.
"So plan?" Quinn asked, mouth full.
Rhea opened her notebook, flipping to a neat outline:
* Check Celeste's old classmates
* Look for school records or incident reports
* Interview students who study near the old staircase
* Cross-reference ghost rumor timeline
* Find motive — why now? Why restart the haunting?
"Perfect," I nodded. "We start with interviews."
Theo stretched, cracking his neck.
"Great. Social interaction on two hours of sleep. This will go amazing."
Quinn giggled.
"You mean you talking to girls will go amazing."
He shot her a glare.
"I don't flirt when investigating."
Liam smirked.
"You flirt when ordering coffee."
"That happened once—!"
We all laughed softly, and the tension lifted for a moment.
Even tired, this felt right.
Like we had a purpose.
The path to school was lined with orange leaves drifting like slow confetti. A little too peaceful considering we were going straight into another mystery.
As we crossed the courtyard, I slowed near the old fountain.
That sight — the worn stone edges, cracks from time and careless students — triggered something sharp in my chest.
High school.
Hallway lights buzzing.
My name scribbled on a locker in jagged letters.
Whispers behind hands.
A scream in the bathroom.
Running.
Hiding.
Crying alone in a storage room.
My breath caught, and Quinn looked back, expression soft.
"You want to sit for a sec?" she offered gently.
"No. I'm okay." I swallowed. "I need to do this."
Students filtered around the courtyard. We split slightly but stayed within eye contact, forming a loose circle — Rhea's rule: nobody's alone today.
Quinn and I approached a girl sketching on the bench near the staircase entrance. She looked startled when we greeted her.
"Hi," I smiled. "We're from the campus investigation club."
"Oh! The detective club?" she whispered, eyes widening.
"Have you experienced anything weird here?" Quinn asked.
The girl nodded slowly.
"Sometimes… footsteps. And once I heard someone crying. But when I looked, nobody was there. I thought it was just someone stressed."
Her fingers tightened around her pencil; she wasn't lying.
"And Celeste Star?" I asked gently. "Did you know anything about her?"
She hesitated.
"My sister did. They were classmates. She said Celeste was quiet but… bullied. People said she cursed someone before she disappeared. But my sister told me Celeste didn't even like raising her voice."
Bullied.
My stomach dropped.
I thanked her, voice steady even as memories scratched at the edges of my mind.
We spoke to two more students — similar stories. Footsteps. Crying. Shadows. And whispers about Celeste being "strange," but always from second-hand stories, never truth.
Rumor pollution.
The ugliest kind.
Quinn squeezed my wrist at one point, like she could feel my heartbeat rising.
"Breathe," she whispered.
I did.
Back at the café table an hour later, Rhea tapped her pen.
"We need a tangible name. Someone who knew Celeste personally."
Dorielle raised her hand slightly.
"I found one. A girl who transferred out after the disappearance. She was Celeste's tablemate."
My pulse kicked.
"What's her name?"
Dorielle scanned her notes.
Marina Vale.
The name hit like a ghost whispering across my shoulders.
Not the same person from my past — but the sensation was identical. A trigger. A reminder.
High school bathroom.
A voice mocking my sobs.
"People like you deserve it."
I blinked hard.
Not now. Not here.
"Let's find Marina," Rhea said, voice sharp with purpose. "Today we start uncovering the truth. Celeste deserves it."
We all nodded.
But inside?
Something cold settled under my ribs.
Because solving Celeste's story meant digging into pain people ignored.
Her pain.
And maybe mine along with it.
And for the first time since joining this club, I wondered whether haunting rumors were ever just stories — or if sometimes it was the past trying to claw its way back to be heard.