Buried During Snowfall – Chapter 8
The Man Who Never Aged
Nobody moved.
Snow drifted through broken windows into the hallway while the figure stood motionless at the far end beneath pale moonlight. Tall. Thin. Black wool coat buttoned to the throat. Silver pocket watch chain hanging across his chest exactly as Adrian remembered.
And the face.
God.
The face.
Not distorted. Not hidden. Not ghostly.
Normal.
A man in his late fifties with neatly combed gray hair and cold expressionless eyes.
Exactly the same face from thirty years ago.
Mara tightened her grip on the gun. “Hands where I can see them.”
The man ignored her completely.
His eyes remained fixed on Adrian.
“You survived longer than expected.”
Adrian could barely breathe.
“You’re dead.”
The Headmaster smiled faintly.
“Not yet.”
Mara stepped forward aggressively. “Get on the ground now.”
Still ignored.
Then the man spoke again in the same calm measured voice that once silenced entire rooms full of children.
“You remember the lake now, Adrian. Good.” He tilted his head slightly. “Memory is honesty.”
Adrian’s pulse hammered violently.
“What are you?”
The faint smile widened almost imperceptibly.
“A teacher.”
Mara lost patience first.
She rushed forward, gun aimed directly at his chest. “Last warning!”
The Headmaster looked at her for the first time.
And something in his expression changed.
Recognition.
“You shouldn’t have brought her here.”
Then the lights died.
Complete darkness swallowed the hallway instantly.
Mara cursed sharply. “Flashlight!”
Adrian reached for his own but heard movement first.
Fast movement.
Not running.
Closer.
Like shoes gliding across wet floors.
Then came a scream.
Mara’s scream.
Adrian snapped on his flashlight wildly.
The hallway was empty.
The Headmaster gone.
Mara gone.
Only snow drifting through broken windows remained.
“Mara!”
No answer.
His light shook violently across dead corridors.
Then came a metallic crash somewhere below.
Second floor.
Adrian ran.
The staircase groaned beneath him while darkness pressed tightly around every corner. He reached the second floor breathing hard and immediately saw blood smeared across the wall near the landing.
Fresh.
“Mara!”
A weak sound answered somewhere nearby.
Not words.
Pain.
He followed it toward the old infirmary wing.
The door stood open.
Inside, overturned beds and rusted medical cabinets filled the room beneath weak flashlight beams. Broken glass covered the floor. Snow drifted through cracked windows onto mold-covered mattresses.
Mara sat against the far wall clutching her shoulder.
Blood soaked through her jacket.
Adrian rushed toward her. “What happened?”
“He cut me…”
Her breathing sounded uneven.
“Who?”
“You know who.”
Adrian examined the wound quickly.
Knife slash.
Deep but not fatal.
“He moved too fast,” she whispered. “Jesus Christ…”
Adrian helped her stand carefully.
Then both froze.
Written across the infirmary wall behind Mara in fresh blood:
YOU WERE ALWAYS THE WORST ONE
Adrian stared at the words silently.
Mara noticed immediately.
“That message is for you.”
He didn’t deny it.
Because he knew it was true.
Not the accusation.
The familiarity.
Someone here knew him personally.
Not academically.
Personally.
Then Mara noticed something else inside the infirmary.
A door.
Hidden behind rusted cabinets.
Slightly open.
Cold air drifted from inside.
Adrian’s face changed instantly.
“No…”
“What?”
“That door wasn’t here before.”
Mara frowned. “Secret passage?”
“No.” His voice sounded hollow. “The Headmaster’s office.”
Silence.
Adrian slowly approached the hidden doorway.
The smell hit him first.
Old paper.
Dust.
Cigarette smoke.
Fresh cigarette smoke.
Someone had been inside recently.
Very recently.
He pushed the door open fully.
The office remained almost perfectly preserved.
Unlike the rest of Ashriver, this room looked untouched by time. Bookshelves lined the walls neatly. A coal fireplace sat dark in the corner beside leather chairs coated only with thin layers of dust. Heavy curtains covered tall windows facing Blackwater Lake.
And behind the desk sat a tape recorder already playing.
Click.
Static.
Then the Headmaster’s voice again.
“I wondered how long it would take you to find your way back here.”
Mara scanned the room carefully with her weapon raised. “Where is he?”
The recording continued calmly.
“You always were the cleverest student, Adrian. Violent. Damaged. But clever.”
Adrian stepped toward the desk slowly.
His eyes locked onto something resting beside the recorder.
A student file.
Yellowed with age.
His name typed across the front.
ADRIAN VALE.
His hands trembled as he opened it.
Inside were psychological evaluations.
Disciplinary reports.
Medical notes.
Photographs.
Hundreds of pages documenting his childhood in disturbing detail.
Mara moved beside him carefully. “What the hell…”
One report caught her attention immediately.
SUBJECT EXHIBITS EARLY DISSOCIATIVE TENDENCIES.
Another.
SUBJECT RESPONDS POSITIVELY TO ISOLATION PROCEDURES.
Then another.
MEMORY FRAGMENTATION SUCCESSFUL AFTER SESSION 9.
Mara looked up sharply. “What sessions?”
Adrian barely heard her.
Because he had found something worse.
A photograph.
Three boys standing beside Blackwater Lake.
Adrian.
Noah.
And Caleb.
The back of the photo contained handwritten words.
PRIMARY CANDIDATES
Adrian’s stomach twisted violently.
“No…”
The recording crackled again.
“You still don’t understand what Ashriver was,” the Headmaster said softly. “That was always your weakness.”
Mara grabbed the recorder angrily. “Where are you?”
The voice ignored her.
“The children sent here were not accidents, Detective Quinn. They were selected.”
Adrian looked up slowly.
Selected.
Not admitted.
Selected.
“Chosen for what?” Mara demanded.
The tape hissed briefly.
Then:
“To survive.”
Silence filled the office.
Snow tapped softly against windows.
Adrian spoke quietly now.
“What happened beneath the lake?”
The recording paused.
Then the Headmaster answered with almost affectionate calmness.
“We built something beautiful.”
Mara looked horrified. “You murdered children.”
“No,” the voice replied. “We remade them.”
Adrian suddenly remembered another fragment.
Not snow.
Not the lake.
A room underground beneath freezing concrete walls.
Children strapped to chairs.
Lights.
Machines.
And screaming.
His knees nearly gave out.
Mara caught him quickly. “Adrian!”
He stared ahead breathing hard.
“It wasn’t a school…”
The tape recorder clicked once.
“Correct.”
Then another voice entered the recording unexpectedly.
A child’s voice.
Weak.
Terrified.
“Please stop…”
Adrian froze.
He knew that voice too.
Caleb.
The third boy from the lake.
The recording continued.
“Session Twenty-One,” the Headmaster said calmly in the background. “Subject displays extreme resistance to memory separation.”
Then came screaming.
Real screaming.
A child begging for help.
Metal restraints rattling violently.
Mara shut the recorder off instantly.
The silence afterward felt monstrous.
Adrian stared at the dead machine.
“He’s still alive.”
Mara looked at him carefully. “You really believe that?”
“Yes.”
“That’s impossible.”
Adrian slowly shook his head.
“No. What’s impossible…” His eyes moved toward the frozen lake outside the office windows. “…is how many people helped him.”
Then they heard it.
Footsteps.
Not one person.
Many.
Moving through the hallways outside the office in slow synchronized rhythm.
Adrian extinguished the flashlight instantly.
Darkness swallowed the room.
The footsteps stopped directly outside the door.
And children’s voices whispered softly in unison from the hallway:
“Welcome back, Adrian.”