Nocticadia: A Dark Academia Gothic Romance

Shit.

Like an idiot, I’d decided to look for my assigned dorm alone while exploring the campus a bit along the way. I stared down at the map I’d gotten from the dean’s secretary, twisting it around in a poor effort to figure out where the hell I was. Leave it to me to get lost in a perfect square.

I glanced up toward the building where I’d stopped, an ominous tower whose lichen-covered surface, laced in lush green vines, gave it a much older appearance than the other buildings on campus. Etched into the stone was a plaque indicating it was Emeric Tower.

The campus boasted six different houses, each with its own crest. Beautiful dormitories with their flags waving proudly out front, none of which appeared to be Crixson Hall. At least, not on the map I was looking at.

Growling in frustration, I spun around and straight into an unyielding wall of man. A burning humiliation thoroughly heated my face, as I stepped back. “I’m sorry!”

I trailed my gaze up a black button-down shirt, to a perfectly chiseled face with copper eyes blazing in irritation. The handsome man I’d seen back at the dean’s office. Without a word, he stepped around me.

“Excuse me,” I called after him, but he didn’t so much as acknowledge me.

The warmth in my face intensified with my growing irritation, and I twisted the map around, trying to figure out where the hell I was. I scanned my surroundings, watching students bustle to and fro, all of them well-composed and dressed like they belonged in an academia editorial spread.

I zeroed my attention on a woman, about my age, hoofing it toward me. Long, black hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her berry red lipstick emphasized the pallor of her skin. She wore a crop top with a skull on the front, and black and white striped pants paired with red boots. A bit eclectic, from what I’d seen so far. Maybe she was an art major, or something.

“Excuse me.” My voice hardly carried over the hum of voices, but she ground to a halt and twisted toward me, one pierced brow raised. “I’m looking for Crixson House. It’s not on the map.”

“’Cause it’s not called Crixson.”

“Wait, what? The guy at the dock told me.”

“We call it Crixson, but its actual name is Corbeau House.”

As soon as she said the name, I snapped my attention back to the map, finding it directly across campus from where we stood. “Ah.”

She gave a jerk of her head. “C’mon. I’m headed that way.”

Falling into step behind her, I stuffed the map into my bag. “I’m Lilia, by the way.”

“I’m Melisandre,” she said over her shoulder. “Mel for short. You’re new at Dracadia?”

“Yes. It’s my first day. I feel a little like a fish out of water.” Finally caught up to her, I glanced around at all the other students, who seemed to know exactly where they were going as they buzzed past with determined strides. “So, Crixson, why do you call it that?”

“Are you familiar with the Crixson Study?” At the shake of my head, she nodded. “Figured as much. There’s a whole conspiracy theory about how they tried to suppress all the information about it.”

“They?”

“The Rooks. They’re Dracadia’s super secret society,” she said on a dramatic whisper, while I chewed on the news that secret societies actually existed outside of books and movies. “Anyway, rumor has it they were somehow involved in this clinical trial that happened about twenty years ago. A bunch of women were invited to participate in some study for a new medication that supposedly reversed diabetes. They all stayed in Corbeau Hall, which as you saw on the map, is somewhat separate from the campus.” It did seem hidden in the illustration of trees that surrounded it. “So yeah, one night, six out of the eight women drowned themselves in Squelette Lake. And voila! Six skeletons were swept under the rug.”

“All six? Like … at the same time?”

“Yep.” As we passed another dark-haired girl, who flipped her off, Mel smiled and blew her a kiss. “Some kind of weird mass suicide.”

“What happened to the other two?”

“No one knows. They just disappeared. Some say they live in the tunnels beneath the dorm. Others say they were murdered and their souls haunt Crixson Hall. It’s mostly just staff who refer to the dorm as Corbeau.”

Confused, I shook my head. “The Rooks conducted this study?”

“Well, they played some role. Doctor Death’s father was the project’s primary investigator.”

“Doctor Death?” My gaze wandered the lush greenery of the campus courtyard, with its benches and aged statues. The stone walkways that weaved through well-kempt gardens and hedges.

“Professor Bramwell. He’s the–”

“Pathology professor. Why do you call him Doctor Death?”

“Well, aside from the fact that he plays with corpses all day, he was allegedly involved in a totally separate disappearance two years ago. A student by the name of Jenny Harrick. Was a total scandal. Rumor has it that he got jealous of her boyfriend and killed her. One of those, if I can’t have her, no one can deals.”

“Really?” That didn’t add up to a man who was considered brilliant in his field. I knew brilliant men. I’d worked alongside them. They rarely noticed anything outside of their own bubble.

“Yeah. He’s got scars across his neck and shoulder. Her boyfriend snapped. Stole some sulfuric acid from the chem lab and attacked him.” She snorted a laugh at that, as if it wasn’t an absolutely horrific visual she’d just planted in my head. “Boyfriend was permanently expelled, and Doctor Death got off with nothing more than a slap on the wrist.”

“But you said disappearance. So, not a confirmed murder, or anything?”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay fine. Disclaimer: all accusations of murder are based on speculation and rumor. Except that she never turned up, and he was the last to see her alive. Happy?”

Jeez. Touchy. I was just clarifying that there wasn’t actual proof that he’d murdered her.

The shady overhang of trees swallowed the open space, as the path continued on through a shallow forest, beyond which I could see a stone building ahead–one that looked significantly aged compared to the rest of the dorms we’d passed. “It sounds like you believe the rumors?”

She shrugged. “I believe in the underdog, and I can assure you, Professor Bramwell is no underdog at this university. He’s old money, and old money at this school equates to power.”

“Going back to the Crixson study, you said not much is known about it. How do you know so much about it?”

“Research. I wanted to know why everyone on campus avoided the dorm. You dig in a cemetery, you eventually find a bone.” We crossed the yard and arrived at the entrance of the building, where dark, weathered stones, covered in moss and vines, made for an eerie exterior. “Anyway, here it is. Crixson House.” The flag sticking out from the pediment of the building’s entrance bore a purple and black shield with a raven, or crow, it was hard to tell which. “One of the original buildings when the place was still a monastery. Before some of the buildings burned down.”

“Was that recent?”

“Nah. Centuries ago. It’s what the whole Adderly monument is about back at Thresher Bay. That we commemorate a British soldier who drove off the natives on the island and participated in the burning of accused witches is precisely what’s wrong with this country.”

I recalled having seen the monument just before boarding the ferry. “Why would they commemorate him?”

“Because no one gives a shit about the actual history. You have to scrape past all the lies to get to the truth. In their minds, he’s some kind of savior for having killed off a bunch of deranged patients and savages,” she said in air quotes. “What we would call those with mental illness nowadays, but back then, they were possessed by demons.” Sighing, she shook her head. “Anyway, I’ll spare you. What floor are you on?”

“Third.”

“I’m the RA for the third floor. If you smoke, crack a window, or light some incense. All rooms in Crixson have ensuite bathrooms, so if you drink? Hide the evidence in the shower during rounds. We never check the showers. And if you decide to have company over, I suggest the basement, if you’re a moaner.”

“I’m actually pretty quiet. I’m just here to study.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “That’s what every student here says on their first day. Anyway, check in at the front desk for your room’s key card. Don’t lose it. And if you haven’t yet gotten your ID card, go do that right away. You need it for the dining room. Dracadia Bookstore is at the opposite side of the clock tower, in the Plaza.” She waved her hands in a dismissive way, as if trying to flap away all the information flying out of her mouth at once. “It’s like its own small village, with lots of cool little shops, there.”

“Thanks. I appreciate the help.”

“No problem. Oh, and one other thing. Unless you have a class at Emeric Tower, I’d stay away from there, if I were you, particularly at night.”

A glance at my schedule earlier indicated that I did have classes there. At least three of them. One at night. “Why?”

“It’s just creepy. It’s where Doctor Death actually works. There’s a morgue for the cadavers and whatever autopsies he performs. And an incinerator room.”

“He performs autopsies here on campus?”

“Only special cases. The university hospital is about two miles outside of campus. Just past downtown Emberwick.” The small village I’d only acquainted myself with on a Google search before I’d arrived. “You don’t actually see the bodies, thank goodness, unless you’re in the med school program. They bring them in through the tunnels outside of the gate.”

“Interesting.” The more I learned about Professor Bramwell, the less I seemed to be able to visualize the man who’d garnered such a dark and macabre moniker. “He performs these autopsies by himself?”

“Yeah. He’s not the friendliest guy. Like I said, unless you have to be on that side of campus, maybe just steer clear.”

I couldn’t tell if she was trying to scare me, knowing it was my first year there, or being genuine in her warning. “Got it.”

Nothing she’d said had scared me, though. I’d already seen my fair share of ghosts and dangerous men. At least the ones at Dracadia wouldn’t smell like a grave digger.

After checking in with the front desk for my key card, I was directed down the hallway to an office, where they took an unflattering photo of me for an ID card, attached to a black and gold Dracadia lanyard. From there, I finally made my way to my room.

The keycard clicked green as I stuffed it into the card reader and turned the knob, before swinging the door open to a small but cozy room, with shiny hardwood floors and a simple bed. The dorms, while rich with antiquity, seemed to offer a few modern features. To my left was a small walk-in closet made of thick wood in the same shade as the rest of the room, with a heavy-looking dresser pressed against the wall. A lot of storage space that I likely wouldn’t fill.

The window on the south facing wall showed the ocean in the distance, and at the opposite wall sat an actual desk and chair, which looked out onto Dracadia’s courtyard. Why the room hadn’t been snatched up right away, with such a beautiful, almost panoramic, view was an absolute mystery.

My suitcase had been placed beside my bed, and on the mattress sat a stack of folded white sheets next to a folded black sweatshirt and T-shirt with the gold Dracadia logo. Beside those was a small black satchel that I opened to find a pin, a journal, pad of paper, pen and water bottle, all with the same school colors and logo. A small card tucked inside read: Welcome to Corbeau House, Fellow Dracadian!

As I smiled down at it, a strange and foreign sensation swept over me.

For the first time since my mother had died, I felt a sense of belonging.