M.A. Kleen

When a young reporter delves into the unsettling mysteries of Blackwood High, an unlikely trio discovers a haunting ancient evil that may be tied to a face they all know too well. In the echoing chambers of a long-forgotten gymnasium, an old curse seeks power, immortality, and a god-like status.

Please enjoy this horror short, part of a series experimenting with artificial intelligence. I fed the location, characters, scenario, and mood into ChatGPT and asked it to craft a story, then used Stable Diffusion XL to create illustrations. How did it turn out? Well, you be the judge.

In the somber town of Arkham, Massachusetts, Blackwood High School was a monolithic structure of great age. Its granite façade, flecked with streaks of dark moss, often seemed to loom over those who dared to enter. Its tall gothic arches and narrow windows gave the school an almost church-like appearance. And yet, for all its formidable presence, Blackwood had its secrets.

Vice Principal Thompson was a strict man, a stickler for rules and discipline. His angular face and thin spectacles, always perched on the bridge of his nose, gave him the appearance of a hawk, always watching, always waiting. He was often at odds with the janitor, old Mr. Jenkins. Jenkins had a face weathered by time, and hands that always bore the dirt and grime of his trade. Yet, there was a sharp intelligence in his eyes, suggesting that there was more to him than just his humble profession.

On that fateful winter evening, Amelia Smith, an ambitious young news reporter with curly auburn hair, approached Vice Principal Thompson in the shadowy corridors. Amelia had heard rumors about the school’s troubled past and hoped for a story that could jumpstart her career.

“Mr. Thompson,” she began, “I’ve been hearing whispers about strange occurrences here at Blackwood. Students disappearing, mysterious symbols, strange sounds in the night. Is there any truth to these tales?”

Thompson glanced around nervously. “Miss Smith, Blackwood High has a long history. And with history comes stories. But they are just that—stories.”

Yet, as Amelia was about to leave, Mr. Jenkins interrupted, “Not all of ’em are just stories, sir.” He emerged from the darkness, clutching an old leather-bound book. “Some of them tales have roots in truth.”

Thompson scowled, “Not now, Jenkins. This is neither the time nor the place.”

Undeterred, Jenkins opened the book, showing them a page filled with dark symbols, eerily similar to the ones Amelia had seen scrawled in the school’s bathrooms. “I found this in the old school library. This here is a book of dark rites. And this—” he pointed to a particular symbol, “represents an entity, an entity bound to this school.”

Amelia, her reporter instincts tingling, pressed on, “An entity? What do you mean?”

Jenkins, hesitating slightly, replied, “There are tales of an ancient evil, summoned by one of Blackwood’s founders. It requires a vessel, a human conduit, to manifest itself.”

Thompson, looking increasingly uneasy, said, “That’s enough Jenkins. These are just old myths. We have no time for this.”

But Amelia wasn’t ready to let go. “What if there’s truth to this? What if there’s a reason behind the recent disappearances? We need to find out.”

And so, the unlikely trio found themselves delving deeper into Blackwood’s mysteries. As they searched the school’s underground chambers, they discovered old portraits, one of which was of the school’s gym teacher, Mr. Blaine, but from what seemed like a century ago. The same face, the same wicked smile.

“Impossible,” Thompson whispered.

“It’s him,” Jenkins muttered, “The vessel.”

Suddenly, echoing through the cold, stone walls, they heard the sounds of a chanting choir. Following the haunting melody, they stumbled upon the school’s old gymnasium, long thought to have been sealed off.

There, they found Mr. Blaine, standing atop an intricate chalk circle, surrounded by hooded figures chanting in a forgotten tongue. As they looked on, horrified, the air grew colder, and a dark shadow seemed to form around the gym teacher.

“Ah, Vice Principal Thompson,” Blaine’s voice echoed in the vast chamber, “I see you’ve brought guests. Good. The ritual requires witnesses.”

Thompson shouted, “This madness ends now, Blaine!”

Blaine chuckled, his eyes glowing with an unnatural light. “I’ve waited a century for this moment. With the energy of the students I’ve taken, I’ll be unstoppable.”

Amelia, her voice quivering, questioned, “Why? What do you want?”

Blaine smirked, “Power, my dear. Immortality. To be a god among men.”

Jenkins stepped forward, holding up the leather-bound book, “We have the book, Blaine. We know how to stop you.”

Blaine laughed, a deep, resonating sound that seemed to shake the very foundation of the school. “You think that old relic can stop me?”

Suddenly, Amelia had an idea. She remembered a particular chant she’d seen in the book. “Mr. Jenkins, the binding spell! We have to recite it!”

As Jenkins began chanting the verses, Blaine’s shadowy form began to waver. Thompson, gathering his courage, joined in the chant.

“Stop them!” Blaine ordered the hooded figures. But they hesitated, seemingly entranced by the ancient words.

Amelia, her voice clear and resolute, joined in, and together, their voices grew stronger, overpowering the entity that had anchored itself to Blaine.

With a deafening scream, the shadow was ripped from Blaine, dissipating into the air, leaving the gym teacher collapsed on the floor, his face etched with centuries of pain and torment.

The hooded figures, now free from Blaine’s influence, fled the scene.

In the aftermath, the school was shut down for an investigation. Mr. Blaine was taken into custody, but he remained in a catatonic state, his mind seemingly lost to the ages.

Amelia’s report on the dark secrets of Blackwood High became a sensation, catapulting her career. Thompson resigned from his position, looking for solace in a quieter life, while Jenkins, the unsung hero, continued to watch over the school, ensuring that no other dark entities would ever return. And so, the curse of Blackwood High was lifted, but the memories of that fateful night remained, a chilling reminder of the thin line between our world and the unknown.