Something about Midnight

The first time I received a letter from a school that didn't exist, I thought it was a scam.

The second time, I threw it away.

The third time, I started wondering if someone was actually trying to find me.

The first letter had arrived three weeks ago.

Black envelope.

Silver lettering.

No stamp.

No return address.

No explanation for how it had gotten there.

It had been addressed simply:

MEREDITH VALE

At first, I had been curious.

Then I'd read the letter.

You are hereby invited to sit for the entrance examination at Blackthorn Academy.

I hadn't applied to Blackthorn Academy, in fact, I'd never even heard of it.

So I'd assumed someone was trying to scam me. Maybe it was one of those strange schemes where people convinced unsuspecting teenagers to pay application fees for imaginary schools.

I hadn't bothered responding.

The second letter arrived a week later. Same black envelope, same silver lettering.

Same school.

This time, the message was shorter.

We are still expecting you.

I'd stared at it for approximately five seconds before tossing it into the bin.

I'd forgotten about it.

Or at least, I'd tried to.

Which was why, when I walked outside the orphanage on Tuesday morning and saw another black envelope sitting neatly on top of the pile of mail, my first thought was:

You've got to be kidding me.

I stopped at the front steps.

The morning was unusually quiet, A cool breeze moved through the trees surrounding St. Agnes Orphanage, carrying the smell of rain.

Somewhere inside, children were arguing over breakfast.

A door slammed.

Normal. Everything looked perfectly normal. Except for the envelope.

I stared at it, then at the rest of the mail.

Bills.

Advertisements.

A letter from the local council.

A flyer for a nearby grocery store.

And the black envelope.

Again.

I sighed.

"Persistent little scammer."

I picked it up. It was heavier than the previous ones. Thicker, too. And colder.

I frowned.

I turned it over, there was no stamp. No seal, no address, nothing.

Just my name.

MEREDITH VALE

Written in silver ink. I ran my thumb over the lettering. The ink shimmered beneath the morning light. I immediately pulled my hand away.

"Okay."

I looked around, nobody was standing nearby.

"That's creepy."

"What's creepy?"

I nearly dropped the envelope.

I turned around and saw Mrs. Whitmore stood in the doorway. The old woman was holding a mug of tea in one hand, but she'd gone completely still.

Her eyes weren't on me, they were on the envelope. And something about her expression made my stomach tighten.

Mrs. Whitmore had been running St. Agnes for almost twenty years. I'd known her for nearly all eighteen of my own.

I'd seen Mrs. Whitmore angry, I'd seen her exhausted. I'd seen her furious when one of the younger children broke a window. I'd even seen her cry once when one of the older girls finally got adopted.

But I'd never seen her look like this.

Afraid.

"Where did you get that?" Mrs. Whitmore asked.

I glanced down at the envelope.

"It was in the mail."

"Give it to me."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Good morning to you too."

"Meredith."

The tone made my smile disappear. I held the envelope closer to myself.

"You know what it is?"

Mrs. Whitmore didn't answer. Her fingers tightened around the mug.

"Where are the other letters?" she asked.

My eyes narrowed.

"The other letters?"

"The ones they sent before this."

That was interesting.

"You knew about them?"

Mrs. Whitmore looked away which only cause my suspicion to grow.

"Mrs. Whitmore."

"Give me the envelope."

"No."

"Meredith."

"Why?"

"Because you don't understand what you're dealing with."

I stared at her.

"Then explain it."

Silence.

That was answer enough. I tore open the envelope and Mrs. Whitmore inhaled sharply. Inside was a single sheet of thick black paper. I unfolded it.

The paper was cold against my fingers. Not normal cold, It felt like I'd pulled it from a freezer.

Silver letters appeared across the page.

Miss Meredith Vale,

You are hereby invited to sit for the entrance examination at Blackthorn Academy.

Your presence is expected on September 3rd.

I frowned.

There was something different about this letter. I continued reading.

Failure to attend will not affect your admission.

I blinked.

"What kind of entrance exam says failure to attend won't affect your admission?"

Mrs. Whitmore said nothing. I looked at the final line.

We have been waiting for you.

My stomach tightened. There was a signature beneath it.

E. Ravenscroft

I looked up.

"Who is E. Ravenscroft?"

Mrs. Whitmore's face had gone pale.

"Throw it away."

"What?"

"Throw it away, Meredith."

"You've said that before."

Mrs. Whitmore froze.

I folded my arms.

"The first letter. You told me nothing."

"I didn't know what to tell you."

"The second one?"

"Meredith—"

"And now there's a third."

My voice rose slightly.

"Three letters from a school that apparently doesn't exist, addressed to someone who never applied."

Mrs. Whitmore looked toward the road, almost as if she expected someone to be standing there.

I followed her gaze, there was nobody.

"Blackthorn Academy doesn't exist," Mrs. Whitmore said quietly.

"I figured."

"No."

She looked back at me.

"You don't understand."

She stepped closer.

"Blackthorn Academy doesn't exist anywhere."

I frowned.

"What does that mean?"

"It means you won't find it online."

"I already searched."

"You won't find it on any map."

"I know."

"You won't find a record of it."

I tightened my grip around the letter.

"Then how did they get my address?"

Mrs. Whitmore didn't answer.

A strange feeling settled in my stomach.

I looked down at the letter again.

Something was wrong. The page seemed darker than before. I blinked then another line slowly appeared beneath the signature.

I stopped breathing.

The silver ink spread across the paper by itself, etter by letter,word by word, until a sentence appeared.

September 3rd.

I stared.

Then another line formed.

Don't make us come looking for you.

My heart began to pound.

I looked at Mrs. Whitmore.

The old woman was staring at the letter. But this time, she wasn't afraid of the envelope, she was afraid of me.

"Mrs. Whitmore..."

The woman took a slow step backward.

"Who are they?" I whispered.

Mrs. Whitmore's lips parted.

For a moment, I thought she was finally going to tell me everything. Instead, she said four words.

"Your mother knew them."

I went completely still.

My mother. The woman I'd spent eighteen years knowing almost nothing about. The woman Mrs. Whitmore had always refused to discuss.

I looked back at the black letter. For the first time, I didn't think it was a scam. I thought it was an invitation.

And somehow, someone had been waiting eighteen years to send it.

The first three times I almost got killed, I thought it was just a simple accident.

By the fourth time, I'd come to the conclusion that I just had really bad luck.

I mean, who else finds themselves in a car crash, a building collapse, a fire, and then somehow gets struck by lightning?

How I survived all that was still a mystery.

At this point, I'd stopped questioning it.

Maybe I was just ridiculously lucky.

Or ridiculously unlucky.

I hadn't quite decided.

The problem was, after what happened with the letter that morning, I had a lot more important things to worry about.

Blackthorn Academy.

My mother.

Mrs. Whitmore's reaction.

And the fact that apparently someone had been waiting eighteen years for me.

I hadn't asked Mrs. Whitmore any more questions after that. Not because I didn't want answers, because she had disappeared into her office before I could get them.

And every time I'd tried to bring it u