Ancient Masks and Missing Teachers

In the busy corridors of Crestwood High, Ms. Marlowe was patiently observing. Everything and everyone. She was a woman of mystery since her recent arrival at the school.

Their previous history teacher, Mr. Mortimore, had disappeared. One day he was teaching them about the gold rush, next, his flat was being investigated by police when he didn’t show up to school for two weeks. There were whispers that the cops found his place in disarray and chaos. No signs of the man anywhere. It was as if he had vanished into thin air.

The winds changed, the weather brightened, and Ms. Marlowe appeared in their classroom. Her eyes seeming to unpack their secrets and insecurities with just a glance their way.

Her entrance, on that fateful first day, was nothing short of theatrical. Draped in a flowing, vintage dress with a medallion around her neck that seemed to glow faintly, she greeted the misfits with a knowing smile.

The woman had dark hair that flowed back from her face in soft curls falling to her shoulders. She was mature and attractive with an ageless quality about her. No one could work out just how old she was by looking at her yet those piercing blue eyes were of someone much older.

Ms. Marlowe wasn't the only change. Now, the classroom was adorned with maps from various historical periods, ancient artifacts sat on shelves, and the air was filled with the faint scent of old books. But the most intriguing object is the clock. Unlike any ordinary clock, its hands often move erratically, hinting at the extraordinary events that could be about to unfold.

The five misfits that intrigued her the most were: Jake, Emma, Sam, Lily, and Ben. She noted how the others treated them, or to be more apt, mistreated them. They needed taken under her wing but not just yet. She needed to test them. See what they were made of. Were they worthy students for her extra curricula program?

*********

The canteen line stretched halfway across the quad, kids fidgeting in the late-morning warmth after such a cool start to the day, the smell of hot chips and sausage rolls thick in the air. A pair of magpies strutted between the feet of the queue, bold enough to snatch dropped crumbs, their warbling song cutting through the chatter.

Jake sat under the shade of a gum tree, skateboard balanced against his shin, sweat sticking his shirt to his back. A meat pie cooled in its paper bag beside him, forgotten.

Jake was the quintessential skateboarder with a lean, athletic build and a casual, confident demeanour. His short, tousled blond hair was perpetually messy, giving him a carefree, effortlessly cool appearance. He often wore graphic tees, ripped jeans, and his favourite worn-out sneakers, always ready to hit the skate park after school.

A rainbow bracelet on his wrist subtly hinted at his pride and identity, a quiet declaration of his true self.

His eyes were fixed on Alex — the new boy — who sat a few tables away, chewing a sandwich as if he’d been eating there his whole life. Alex’s tie was perfectly straight, his hair neat despite the heat. He didn’t look like someone who got picked on, but he didn’t look like someone who belonged, either.

“Hey, earth to Jake,” Emma said, dropping beside him and nudging his elbow with her lunchbox. A lock of auburn hair escaped her ponytail and clung to her temple, “You’ve been staring at him for ages. Just go over.”

Emma was the epitome of girl-next-door charm with her fair skin and warm hazel eyes. She had a petite frame, but her presence was anything but small, radiating confidence and determination. Her style was effortlessly chic; she favoured floral dresses, denim jackets, and a pair of trusty ankle boots.

“This is such bull shit! I’m rattled over one boy,” Jake’s ears went hot. He tugged at the rainbow band around his wrist, as if it might give him courage, “What would I even say?

“Well ducks!” Emma said with a smirk. “What about, nice tie?"

He slouched lower, muttering, “What if he’s not into blokes?”

Emma unwrapped her sandwich, shrugging, “You’ll be put out of your misery”

“Or I’ll get a black eye.”

Sam plonked down on the other side, sausage roll in one hand and a pile of chips in the other. He grinned, his round cheeks flushed, “Heck, mate, you’re a bloody catch! If I weren’t straight, I’d date ya.”

He shoved a chip into his mouth, then clapped Jake on the back with his greasy hand. Jake jerked forward, nearly toppling his pie.

“Cheers,” Jake muttered, scrubbing at his shirt.

Sam was a solid boy with dark skin and curly black hair. He always had a cheery smile and a warmth about him. He wore form fitting pants and dress shirt with a complimentary waist coat. His boots were polished and clean. He looked like an academic. His mother insisted. He was not to leave home looking a disgrace.

He had been taunted about the colour of his skin and belittled because of his culture yet always managed to shrug them off. He walked proudly through the halls and never let anyone get to him.

Of course, at home, it was different. There he could feel the insults and racist rants directed at him. He could punch the walls and cry in his mother’s arms but the outside world didn’t get that.

He was a smart kid. He could also fix a dirt bike and reconfigure a computer all in one breath. This alone fortitude his defenses to take on the insults and injuries from others. He had a brain and used it.

Ben dropped onto the grass with the grace of a collapsing deckchair, scarf trailing dramatically across his knees. He noticed Jake’s anxious look. He began to bite his lip, “You definitely want to dick him down!” He glanced over at Alex, “I get the vibe that his going for, Greta Garbo!” He took on an Eastern European accent, “I just want to be alone.”

Jake smirked. He seemed to relax, “That accent is new! Prepping for the new school play?”

“Sir! I’m just a man of many talents…one day they shall see me roar!”

A group of footy boys at the next table — led by Mattie, team captain and resident loudmouth — whooped with laughter, though not kindly.

“Look at this fuckin lot,” Mattie crowed. “Jake the princess and his court jesters.” His eyes zeroed in on Jake’s wrist. “Nice bracelet, mate. What’s next? A butt plug?” He glanced over at Alex, “He may look sweet but unless you want that pretty face looking like a Picasso…I’d stay well clear. The last kid that objectified him is still in rehab.”

The laughter that followed burned hot in Jake’s ears. His fists clenched under the table.

But before he could speak, Ben leapt onto the bench, arms wide. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: Jake the Magnificent!” Alex finally looked over. A wry grin on his face. “Skater of sidewalks! Heartthrob of Crestwood High!” Ben checked the kid was still taking notice. Alex was now paying attention. “Owner of the world’s finest rainbow bracelet!” He bowed low, nearly toppling into the sauce-smeared table. “And a bloody good kisser at that.” Jake gave him a quizzical look, “What! Have you forgotten! A couple of curious thirteen-year-olds, some cheap booze and a dare.”

Jake smirked. He remembered. His first kiss.

The younger kids howled with laughter. Even a couple of Mattie’s mates cracked smiles. Mattie scowled, shoved a mate in the ribs, and turned back to his chips.

Ben winked at him, as if to say got your back.

Jake caught Alex looking. The boy gave him a curt nod. This caused Jake to blush. Alex didn't seem psycho. Maybe Mattie was just messing with him? He was known for being a dick.

Across the table, Lily, long blonde hair with a dark streak of purple, was sketching in her pad, humming to herself when she stopped suddenly reaching over to Emma. She tugged her sleeve, “Um… will you come with me? I still don’t like going to the loo on my own.”

Lily had a slender, graceful build with delicate features that exuded both strength and vulnerability. Her striking green eyes partially hidden by long hair that cascaded about her face.

Lily's fashion sense was impeccable, blending comfort and style with loose-fitting tops and skinny jeans that made her feel both confident and authentic. She often wore a simple necklace, a gift from her supportive older sister, which she touched for reassurance when she felt anxious. Transitioning in a conservative school wasn't easy.

Emma softened immediately, “Of course, ducks!”

Lily adjusted her sketchpad strap. Her pale hands trembled slightly, though whether from heat or nerves, no one could tell. She’d been the target of some harsh words when trying to use the bathroom. She still felt uncomfortable there but where else was she to pee?

As the two girls went to pass them, Mattie perked up once again. He had found a new target to mess with, "Oh! Here we fuckin go!" he smirked. Lily froze while Emma placed a supportive arm about her, "The reigning queen of the freakazoids! Half boy, half girl or whatever! Have ya had the snip?" his group began to snigger, "Just another excuse to be...."

Matty was cut off by a deafening bang. He jumped out of his seat. Rattled Smoke curled up under their table. Ben stood to one side, a match book and a spare firecracker in hand.

Mattie snarled, “Ya fuckin lunatic!” He stomped off. The other boys followed after him.

Ben was an oddball of the group with a tall, lanky frame that seemed to always be in motion. His mop of curly, brown hair often fell into his face, partially obscuring his piercing gray eyes that seemed to see the world in a way no one else did. He had a penchant for quirky fashion, often donning mismatched socks, graphic tees with obscure references, and colourful scarves even in warm weather.

Jake shook his head, trying not to laugh. Sam nearly choked on his chip. Ben wasn’t having anyone pick on his friends. He was protective over them. Overcompensating for his own feelings of insecurity.

For a moment, though, Jake caught something sharp in Ben’s eyes. The grin was too wide, the laugh too loud. And just as quickly, it was gone.

At a table nearby, Ms. Marlowe sipped her tea. She had a way of watching without being noticed, but her gaze lingered on the group beneath the gum tree. She tilted her head slightly, as though listening to something only she could hear.

*********

Later that day, during her study period, Emma slipped inside the library, seeking refuge from the buzzing school. She loved this space: the smell of old paper, the tall shelves, the way dust motes hung in the light like lazy stars. It was quiet and peaceful.

At the far end, Ms. Marlowe sat at a desk researching for a class. Old school style. With books and not just the online resources. The woman stood up, humming to herself, venturing into a stack. She had left a leather-bound book open. Not a library book — its pages were yellowed, edges frayed, the ink fading but neat. A diary.

Emma was intrigued. She wanted to find out more about this teacher. She flipped quickly to the front page to find Mr. Mortimore’s name scribbled across the front. She turned back to the open section. She leaned closer.

At the top of the page, written in tight script:

1984. Mask of Tezcatl recovered, removed from museum custody. Too dangerous to be left in careless hands. I will hide it where no one will think to look within the very bones of Crestwood High.

Her heart thumped. She glanced around. No librarian, no students. Only the ticking clock above the door. She read further, breath catching.

The mask has awoken. It whispers to me. It shows me shadows, futures, things I should not see. I fear I have erred, but it is too late now. The mask chooses. The mask feeds. If I disappear, know that it has taken me. My only salvation will be the circle of five. But I dare not involve any others. I fear I am forsaken.

Emma’s hand shook as she snapped her notebook open and quickly scribbled the words. “Circle of five,” she whispered.

She turned another page, and this time the words were different. Cryptic. Almost a riddle:

Seek where the stone breathes cool and the earth keeps its secrets.
Beneath the words of the wise,
Behind the door that no child opens,
Lies the shadow of history, waiting.

Emma frowned, mouthing the lines to herself. Stone breathes cool… earth keeps secrets… beneath the words of the wise.

Her pulse raced. She pulled out her phone, hands trembling, and snapped quick photos of each page. Click. Click. Click. The shutter sounded too loud in the stillness, but she couldn’t stop until she had the whole entry.

A soft scrape behind her. She nearly dropped the phone. Ms. Marlowe entered, balancing a stack of textbooks. Her eyes flicked to the diary still open on the desk, then to Emma’s startled face.

“Ah, Ms. Summers,” she said smoothly, as though nothing were amiss. “Enjoying a bit of extra reading?”

Emma shoved her phone back into her pocket, “Yes, Miss.”

Marlowe smiled faintly, though her gaze lingered, "Curiosity is a gift. Don’t lose it.” She set her books down. “Off you go now — the bell’s about to go.”

Emma hurried out, heart hammering, the photos safe in her pocket.

********

Emma waved the others over to the bike racks, glancing around before tugging her phone from her pocket, “You’re not going to believe this, my little duckies.” Her voice was urgent, almost trembling, “I found Mr. Mortimore’s diary in the library. He… he brought this ancient mask here. To Crestwood. To hide it.” She laughed, having read further pages that she had snapped. "Did you know he use to work in a museum? In London? You forget teachers have lived other lives."

“Heck! You don't say!" Sam perked up immediately, his backpack bouncing as he leaned closer. "So where is this mask?"

"It could be somewhere in this school."

“Wait," Sam's eyes brightened up, "Here! in our school? This could be like a proper treasure hunt. That’s wicked!”

Emma swiped through the photos. The others crowded in, squinting at Mortimore’s spidery writing.

“Sounds like bull shit to me," Jake frowned, “Besides, we have no business getting involved. We could end up disappearing like he did.”

“Look,” Emma muttered, sliding to the page with the riddle, “It might lead to nothing…but if true we could find out what happened to him. Aren’t you a little curious?”

“Just a little…or I’d be at the skate park by now.”

They read the lines together:

Seek where the stone breathes cool and the earth keeps its secrets.
Beneath the words of the wise,
Behind the door that no child opens,
Lies the shadow of history, waiting.

Silence followed. Then:

“Stone breathes cool?” Jake repeated. “That’s a cellar, yeah?”

“Or a tunnel,” Sam said quickly, eyes bright. “The old boiler room, maybe. I’ve heard it goes under half the school.”

Emma tapped the second line, “‘Beneath the words of the wise.’ That must mean under the library — it’s literally where all the books are.”

Lily fiddled with her neck lace, feeling anxious, “But ‘behind the door no child opens’… what does that mean?”

Ben grinned, scarf sliding loose from his neck, “Easy. It’s the creepy door at the bottom of the library stairs. The one padlocked since forever.”

Jake shoved his hands in his pockets, “Look, why should we care? So, some old teacher went off the rails. Stole something, he shouldn’t. Big deal.”

Emma’s eyes burned, “Because it’s history. Because it’s knowledge hidden right under our noses. Don’t you want to know what’s been buried here all this time?”

Sam cut in, eyes alight, “I do. Adventure, mystery, danger — I’m in.”

“Alright kids! Me too,” Ben added, his grin sharpening. There might even be a few bucks in it if the mask is wanted by someone.

Lily stopped fiddling with her necklace, "I… I just want to be part of it. With you. I don’t care where we’re going. I just… don’t want to be left out.”

The others fell quiet. Even Jake glanced at her, surprised.

Emma nodded firmly, “Then it’s settled. We start with the library cellar tonight. If the diary’s right, that’s where Mr. Mortimore hid it.”

Jake sighed, rolling his eyes — but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Fine. Better than sitting at home listening to George ranting. But when we get caught — and we will — I’m blaming all of you.”

Ben clapped him on the shoulder, “Heck! That’s the spirit.”

They exchanged looks — nervous, excited, uncertain — but the decision hung solid between them.

From the veranda, Ms. Marlowe sipped her tea, watching the five heads bent close together. She could almost hear Mortimore’s warning echoing from decades past: The mask chooses. The mask feeds.

“The circle awakens,” she whispered.

*********

The bell rang, scattering students across the streets of Crestwood. The five misfits peeled away in different directions, but each carried the weight of Mortimore’s riddle in their heads.

Jake skated home, the riddle looping in his mind like a song stuck on repeat. Stone breathes cool. Earth keeps secrets.

When he rolled into the driveway, his stepdad was waiting by the Ute, beer in hand, arms folded, “Fuckin Skating again,” he said, voice like gravel. “No wonder you’re hopeless at maths.”

“There are more things in life than mathematics, George,” The boy replied, snidely. “I’d like to see you do a half pike.” The man glowered at him, “Now that takes skill”

“Hey! Kid! That won’t pay the bills,” the man grizzled, “I’m getting sick of working my ass off for a snot nose brat like you.”

“Well, that’s what ya get for marrying my mum. It seems we both lose out.”

“Just get a fuckin job!” He glanced at the rainbow band. “And lose the bangle if ya don’t want people thinkin you’re a bigger clown than ya are.”

Jake clutched the board tighter. Normally he’d argue back some more, but tonight, he just wanted out. Out of the house. He bolted to his room, shut the door, and lay on his bed staring at the cracked plaster ceiling.

He pulled at his rainbow wristband. He thought of Alex’s smile, then shoved the thought away. His foot tapped against the bedframe, restless, itching to get started with this quest. At least, he'd be away from the prick.

At home, Emma dumped her schoolbag on the desk and pulled up the diary photos again. She zoomed in, scribbling notes furiously in the margins of her exercise book. She frowned, suddenly studying one of the images. It was another riddle. It was more like a ritual.

She barely heard her mum call from the kitchen, “Dinner in half an hour! And don’t forget your science project — marks count this term!”

Emma murmured an absent “Okay!” but her pen never stopped moving.

Her chest buzzed with nervous excitement. This wasn’t about grades or tests. It was real. For once, she was chasing knowledge that mattered.

She underlined the words beneath the words of the wise twice and whispered, “The library cellar.”

Sam was in his garage, the lock-picking gadget taking pride of place on his workbench. It looked like an upgraded screwdriver made from copper and metal with weird attachments. His tongue stuck out in concentration as he tightened the last screw.

The motor whirred to life, smoother this time. He grinned, “Wicked!”

His Pop leaned against the doorway, arms folded, “Still fiddling with that thing?”

“Yep,” Sam said, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Remember what I told you. Some doors are shut for a reason.”

Sam smirked, “And that’s why I want to open them.”

Pop shook his head, chuckling, but his eyes lingered with something like worry.

Sam packed the gadget carefully into his backpack, heart thumping with anticipation. A chance to test his skills.

Lily sat cross-legged on her bed; sketchpad balanced on her knees. The riddle replayed in her head as her pencil scratched across the page. She was doodling in her pad, the symbols and glyphs looking alien.

Her sister leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, “What’s that?”

“Just doodling,” Lily said quietly, touching her necklace. “I’m not sure what it means.”

Her sister’s eyes softened, “Looks…creepy…like you’re channeling something.”

“You’re right,” Lily said, studying the symbols as if finally noticing her work. “Must be tapping into something…malevolent.”

“You be careful!?" Her sister squeezed her arm before departing the room. “Some things are best left alone.”

Lily just traced her drawings feeling a chill wash over her. She wanted to back out but her need to belong was much stronger. She didn’t want to miss out.

Ben killed time at the park, juggling an empty Coke can for a group of younger kids. He kicked it off his knee, caught it on his foot, sent it spinning into the air and balanced it on his head. They clapped, and he bowed like a circus act.

When their parents called them home, the laughter faded, leaving silence. Ben shoved his hands in his pockets and drifted toward his street.

The lights were already on in his house. A man’s angry voice cut through the flyscreen. Ben stopped at the gate, jaw tight. He turned on his heel, back into the dark. Better the shadows than what waited inside.

He tugged his scarf loose and grinned at no one. “Maybe that mask’s worth something. Enough to get me out of here.”

But his laugh sounded hollow even to his own ears.

*********

The oval stretched wide and dark, cicadas fading into the drone of crickets. Crestwood High loomed in the distance, its windows reflecting the faint glow of streetlights. By night, the place looked less like a school and more like a carcass — empty, waiting, full of secrets.

Jake balanced his skateboard under one arm, muttering, “All this shit for some dead teacher’s riddle.”

“Not just some teacher, ducks," Emma whispered, her torch gripped tightly. “The man was at least kind to us. Didn't he wear a rainbow pin just for you? To show his acceptance? " She studied her notes quickly.

Jake nodded. He bowed his head feeling silly. If this helped find him, they should do it. Mr. Mortimore was a good bloke.

"He said the mask would feed. Feed on what?" Emma explained to the group, " He left the riddle for a reason.”

Jake listened intently, "Yeah! But what is the mask's origin story. Everything has one...it helps to know what we are really getting into."

“Mr. Mortimore kept notes." Emma explained, wanting to get on with the mission than stand around talking. "He says that the mask was used in rites of sacrifice, where the wearer became the mouthpiece of the gods." Her voice lowered to a hush, "Others called it the Mirror of Shadows — said if you looked into its eyes long enough, you’d see not your reflection, but the worst version of yourself." She paused, waiting for the information to sink in, "There are stories of it resurfacing over the centuries — in Mexico, Spain, even once in London during the plague — each time leaving disaster behind. Always vanishing, always turning up somewhere new.”

Jake dropped his voice, glancing over his shoulder as if being watched, “And now… here. In our school.” He got a chill, "I hope those are just myths...because we could be walking into something we're not prepared for."

“I'm always prepared, mate,” Sam added, tugging his backpack higher. “I brought a lock picking gadget that will make life a lot easier for us.”

Ben twirled his scarf dramatically, “Epic or disastrous. Either way, beats watching telly at home.”

Lily kept close to Emma, sketchpad clutched like a shield, “What if it’s not in the cellar?”

Emma hesitated. “Then we keep looking. But the diary made it sound clear: stone breathes cool, earth keeps secrets, beneath the words of the wise. That must mean under the library.”

Sam grinned, “Exactly. Now come on before the groundskeeper does his rounds.”

They slipped through the squeaky side gate, hearts hammering.

*********

The school grounds felt different at night — the gum trees casting spindly shadows across the cracked pathways, the oval pale under moonlight, the canteen windows glowing faintly like watchful eyes.

A torch beam sliced across the quad. The groundskeeper. A solid man in stubbies and steel-caps, keys jangling at his hip. He muttered about clogged sprinklers as he lumbered past.

The five froze behind the art block wall, pressed close together. Emma held her breath until her lungs ached. Ben leaned over and whispered, “Don’t breathe or he’ll smell your fear.”

Lily smacked his arm, stifling a laugh that came out shaky.

The beam lingered, then moved on. The groundskeeper’s footsteps faded.

“Too close,” Jake muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Closer we get,” Sam shot back, “the better it feels.”

They darted across the quad and slipped through a side entrance. The cleaners were still here. The sound of a floor cleaner humming through the air.

The smell of dust and old carpet hit them, thick and heavy. Their torch beams cut through the dark, catching the edges of shelves, posters curling at the corners, and the glass of the trophy case glittering like teeth.

“Alright,” Emma said, voice low but steady. “The riddle said, beneath the words of the wise. The library’s where the words are. So, we go down?”

Sam led the way to the back stairwell, where a padlocked door blocked the way to the cellar. The paint was cracked, the sign faint: STOREROOM — STAFF ONLY.f anyone finds this, let them know, beware the circle of five.

Sam was already crouching, gadget in hand. It buzzed faintly as he fiddled with the lock, “Heck! This is a piece of cake.”

They tensed as a light flicked on down the hall. A shadow moved past the frosted glass of the staffroom door. A cleaner’s voice hummed faintly — kettle boiling, chair scraping.

They held still, hearts pounding. After a minute, the light flicked off, footsteps retreating. The slam of the outer door echoed like a gunshot.

Sam exhaled in relief, then grinned. “And… open.” The padlock popped, the door groaned inward.

Cold air wafted up, smelling of damp stone and dust.

Jake wrinkled his nose, "Stone breathes cool. He was spot on.”

Emma swallowed hard, torchlight shaking on the first step down, “We were so on the money! Mortimore was right. This is it.”

Ben tugged his scarf up over his face like a mask, grinning. “Time to see what’s been hiding all these years.”

The door opened. The stairs groaned under their shoes as they crept downward, torches sweeping across rough concrete walls. Cold air wrapped around them, damp and earthy, exactly as Mortimore’s diary had promised: stone breathes cool, earth keeps its secrets.

Lily shivered, “This is… wrong. Doesn’t feel like we're in school anymore.”

Jake smirked, though his grip on the banister was tight, “Feels like Wolf Creek: School Edition.”

The steps ended at a heavy wooden door. Emma’s torchlight found faint carvings etched into the frame: spirals, jagged suns, sharp lines that seemed to shift if she stared too long. She pressed her notebook against them, frantically sketching. “These are the same symbols from Mr. Mortimore’s diary. This… this is ancient.”

Lily gasped, “I’ve been drawing those symbols.” She flashed them her art book. Her doodles now made sense. They were leading her down here.

Sam ran his gadget along the old iron lock, though the door swung open before he touched it. The hinges wailed in protest, echoing down the narrow passage beyond.

They stepped inside.

*********

The cellar opened wide, a cavern of dust and shadow. Shelves leaned drunkenly against the walls, heavy with forgotten relics: milk crates of yellowed exercise books, maps rolled tight with fraying edges, cricket bats cracked in half. Cobwebs hung in ropes from the beams, dust motes thick in the torchlight.

“Looks like someone’s garage sale from the fifties,” Jake muttered.

Ben plucked a moth-eaten blazer off a hook and slipped it on. It hung past his hands, brass buttons dull with age. He puffed his chest out and bellowed, “‘No running in the corridors, young man!’”

Lily laughed nervously before clapping a hand over her mouth.

Sam swept his light across the back wall and froze, “Heck! Uh… guys.”

The carvings stretched across the cement, deeper and sharper here, spirals coiling into jagged suns, triangles enclosing skeletal faces. They pulsed faintly in the torchlight, as though lit from within.

Sam ran a hand over them, "This isn't graffiti! These markings are carved into the very structure...no....I think they were burnt into the walls...there are scorch marks about the edges."

Emma’s voice trembled, “They look thousands of years old. Almost ancient."

Jake muttered, “Better question — why do they look like they’re moving?”

Lily’s torch swung lower. Something gleamed on the lowest shelf: a small carved skull with a melted candle within it. Left over from the last school play. Its hollow eyes caught the light, glimmering faintly as though alive. Lily gave a yelped, jumping backwards.

The others weren't so concerned with the prop. Their eyes caught sight of what rested beside it. An ancient-looking mask — cracked along one cheek, turquoise stones missing, but unmistakably powerful. Its surface shimmered, sliding between shadow and colour, like oil on water. The carved features were hauntingly human: high cheekbones, lips pressed into the suggestion of a smile too cold to be kind, eyes hollow yet angled in a way that made them seem to watch.

Lily whispered, “It’s watching us.”

The air shifted. A low hum rose from the floor, vibrating in their teeth. Dust sifted down from the beams.

Ben forced a laugh, “Creepy skulls, ancient masks — all we’re missing is Indiana Jones.” He flicked his lighter, flame sputtering in his palm. “See? Nothing to be afraid of.” But his grin looked brittle.

The mask’s cracked lips seemed to twitch — almost a smile.

Emma’s breath caught, “Ducks! I think....it’s reacting to us. To five of us.”

The hum deepened. The carvings on the wall glowed faintly, each pulse matching the thud of their hearts. The shelves rattled. A box toppled, spilling books across the floor. The torches flickered. Sam’s gadget sparked in his bag, wires twitching like snakes. He scrambled to shut it off.

“What the fuck is going on?” Jake’s voice cracked.

Emma whispered, eyes wide on the mask, “It’s waking up…because it knows we’re here. Maybe we should have stayed away.”

The door behind them slammed shut with a bang that echoed like a gunshot. They all jumped.

Ben farted, "Sorry..."

The group were momentarily distracted by the stench until the mask glowed even brighter, its smile stretching, alive. The eye sockets burned with faint light, its cracked mouth curling into something too close to a smile.

The carvings along the back wall pulsed brighter, each beat thudding in their chests like an extra heart. There was a current of power fizzing through the chamber.

"I think it has been busy preparing this place," Emma spluttered. "The right symbols...the perfect conjunction to the room. To take control."

The hum shifted, almost like a voice — not words, but pressure in their skulls. One by one, the room warped, bending to each of them.

Emma’s notebook slipped from her hands. She bent to grab it, only to find the pages covered in ink-black scrawls: Failure. Failure. Failure. Each word slashed across the page in her own handwriting. The shelves around her sagged, spilling books onto the floor. She snatched one up, only to find the pages blank. Another — also blank. Every book, every source of wisdom, emptied.

A voice hissed at her ear: You’ll never know enough. You’ll never be enough. Her throat closed. She stumbled back, clutching the useless book to her chest.

Sam’s backpack jerked. The gadget he’d built writhed free, wires snaking like vines, wrapping around his wrists and tightening.

“No—” he yanked, but the more he fought, the tighter they pulled. Sparks spat, searing his skin.

The mask’s whisper curled inside his skull: Your toys betray you. Without them, you are nothing.

Sam roared, thrashing. To the others, he looked like he was wrestling shadows, but his arms bore red welts where nothing visible touched him.

Lily’s torch beam swung wildly, revealing figures in the dust. Classmates from school, faces twisted into sneers, their voices a chorus of jeers. Freak. Pretender. Attention seeker. The sketchpad slipped from her hands, pages fluttering open — only to reveal cruel caricatures of herself, drawn in her own pencil lines. The boy she once was staring back in warped images.

Tears blurred her eyes, “I just want to belong.”

The voices shrieked louder. You never will.

The air shifted. Jake blinked — and he was standing in the canteen, skateboard under his arm. Alex sat across from him, smiling. His chest lifted. He stepped closer — but Alex’s face sagged, skin melting like wax until only bone remained. The skull grinned, hollow eyes boring into him.

“You’ll never have him,” the mask hissed. “Too ugly. A buffoon. A deviant.”

Jake fell back, heart hammering, bile rising in his throat.

Ben doubled over, laughter spilling uncontrollably. It shook his whole body, wild and manic, echoing against the cellar walls.

“Mate—” Jake dragged away from his dark thoughts. He grabbed his arm, “Stop—”

But Ben’s laughter warped, deepened. It wasn’t his voice anymore but something ancient and cruel, spilling through his mouth. His eyes widened in horror, tears streaking his face, but the laughter wouldn’t stop.

The mask’s sockets blazed brighter. You are my mirror, it purred. You hide behind a mask, just as I do. I will wear you next.

Ben dropped to his knees, hands clawing at his scarf as though trying to choke the laughter out.

The cellar shuddered. Shelves collapsed, spilling books in choking clouds. The carvings peeled from the walls, stretching into shadowy figures with hollow eyes. They reached out, skeletal fingers brushing against the five.

Emma forced herself to her feet, notebook trembling in her hands, “Mortimore said a circle of five. We must stand together. That’s the only way!” She needed to galvanize them even in their separate experiences. "The mask wants us to fail! To let it win! We must stop it!" She shook Jake, "I need you, Jake! You got to help me with the others,"

Jake seemed to hear her. He shook his head to clear the macabre image of Alex from his mind. He staggered, helping Ben upright, though his own legs shook.

Emma shook Lily vigorously until she locked eyes upon her, "This isn't real! I am! Only us!" Lily scrambled to Emma’s side, clutching her hand.

Sam wrenched free of the phantom wires, roaring as he stumbled over to them.

The mask shrieked, the hum deafening now.

Emma remembered the ritual. Yes, that was their saviour. She checked her notes, “We need to perform this ritual.” The others formed around her, a tight circle. She raised her voice, half-reading, half-inventing the ritual words from memory:

“Oh spirits who walk with shadow, we offer our circle.
By fire, by breath, by bond we are bound.
Rest in the silence, return to the dark.
Leave what is living, claim not our souls.
Sleep, and trouble us no more.”

Ben’s laughter cracked into sobs. Jake squeezed his shoulder, holding him steady. Lily whispered the words with Emma, tears streaming. Sam gritted his teeth and shouted them.

“No! We say it together. Come on! It’s the only way.”

Together, five voices rose. They repeated the ritual again. Five times. The skull glowed in answer, hollow eyes blazing white.

The carvings screamed and dissolved into dust. The shadow figures vanished. The shelves stilled. The mask writhed, cracks widening, light spilling through until with a final shriek it collapsed back into silence. Its sockets went dark. Its smile stilled.

The cellar fell silent, dust settling like snow. Their torches flickered weakly.

Jake and Ben sank against a wall, both trembling. Lily crouched beside them, sketchpad clutched tight, her hand still locked in Emma’s. Sam knelt by his bag, staring at his fried gadget in disgust.

Emma wiped her eyes and whispered, “We did it. We silenced it once more…I guess we passed the test.”

Then Lily’s beam caught something odd at the far corner — the wall looked uneven, a square of bricks slightly darker than the rest.

“Wait,” she whispered. “There’s something there.”

Sam pressed his hand against the wall. He gave it a tap, “It’s fake. Hollow. Like a panel.”

Sam leaned his shoulder in and shoved. With a grinding scrape, the false wall lurched open, revealing a cramped alcove beyond.

The smell hit first — the rotting stench. Much more pungent than Ben's fart. Inside slumped a decaying figure mottled and grotesque. Insects buzzing around. He was clutching a pen and paper.

Emma’s breath caught, “Mr.… Mortimore!”

The five froze, the air turning colder as the torchlight fell across the bloated body. For a long moment, none of them moved.

Emma’s breath came sharp and shallow, her hands trembling around her notebook. Lily’s eyes brimmed, and she hugged her sketchpad to her chest as if it could shield her from the sight.

“Shit!” Jake swore under his breath, suddenly pale, the bravado drained from his voice.

Sam’s usual grin slipped, his fingers twitching as though even he couldn’t joke his way past this. And Ben, for once, said nothing — his scarf hiding a face stripped of its mischief, eyes locked on the crumpled pages in the dead man’s lap.

They were all shaken, each in their own way, and for the first time the adventure didn’t feel thrilling. It felt terrifyingly real. Here was the end of the missing history teacher — not vanished, not retired, but entombed in his own school.

Emma bent closer, torchlight trembling over his late notes. His final entry scratched across the pages:

The mask speaks always now. Cannot eat. Cannot sleep. Must hide it before it claims me. But it was too cunning. The mask trapped me here. To silence what I knew about it.

Her throat closed.

Lily clutched her sketchpad to her chest, tears welling, “Poor man! He was alone. Unable to escape. How horrid.”

Silence hung. Dust still falling like snow. The false wall scraped shut behind them, but the image of Mortimore’s hollow eyes clung to their minds. They stumbled up the cellar steps, pale and shaken, barely speaking.

At the top of the staircase — there was Ms. Marlowe, torch in hand, the groundskeeper hovering anxiously behind her, “Found what you were ready for, did you?” Her voice was calm, steady, but her eyes softened as they flicked over their faces. "Now we can begin." She seemed to know exactly what they had experienced.

Without another word, she ushered them into her classroom. The groundskeeper grumbled about broken locks and “bloody kids,” but obeyed when Marlowe waved him off. She set out mismatched mugs from a cupboard, poured steaming tea from a battered pot that smelled faintly of eucalyptus and something older, spicier.

“Drink,” she said simply.

The warmth seeped into their hands, then their chests, easing the tightness in their lungs. The taste was strange — sharp, soothing, almost ancient. One by one, their trembling slowed.

Lily blinked at her cup, “What… is this?”

“Just something to ease your thoughts,” Marlowe replied. "And find comfort from your ordeal.”

The five sat in silence, clutching their mugs, the reality of Mortimore’s lonely death settling deep in their bones. Time seemed to stop for them. One minute, they were drinking tea, next, they were being shouted at by the principal about an hour later. He was far more worried that they had experience trauma from finding their dead teacher. Yet shouting was how he showed concern. He was now going to have quite a headache to deal with.

Of the mask! Their evidence seemed to have vanished. It was gone by the time their principal arrived.

*********

The five slouched into Ms. Marlowe’s history room. She had suggested weekend detention which the principal gladly accepted. It was one less thing for him to worry about. Now here they were, the door clicking shut behind them.

Ms. Marlowe stood at her desk, arms folded, eyes flicking across them one by one, “Breaking locks. Sneaking into the library cellar. Disturbing what should have been left alone.” She let the silence hang before adding, “And finding Mr. Mortimore.” She gave them a round of applause, “Excellent work, my dears.”

Lily flinched, “You’re not upset?”

Jake snarked, "No one is saying anything about the mask! Like we made it up!"

"No longer your business. It's been taken care of," The woman replied. “I was partially responsible for everything that happened to you,” Ms. Marlowe’s gaze softened, “You didn’t think I left that diary open by accident.”

The five exchanged uneasy glances.

Emma blurted, “But why?”

“I had to test your curiosity, your nerve and resourcefulness,” The woman smiled. “You all bring such uniqueness that compliments your friendship.” She tapped the desk, “That is the kind of students that I have been looking for.”

Ben leaned back in his chair, scarf tugged loose, “For what? You’re starting to creep me out.”

“You’re friendship saved you from the mask,” Marlowe said softly, “The circle of five is not a myth. It is balance — knowledge, courage, belonging, rebellion, laughter. Five points of a whole.”

Her words landed heavy, silencing even Jake.

The peculiar clock on her shelf ticked erratically, hands jerking forward then back. Marlowe’s eyes flicked to it, then back to them. It was being primed.

“Detention,” she said, tone suddenly lighter. “That is the principal’s name for it. But here, with me, it will be something more. It is not bound by this school, nor even by this locked time period.”

Sam sat up straighter, “Wait — what do you mean, not bound by locked time?”

Marlowe smiled faintly, “Being able to move freely through all time and place. Your first detention will not be lines on a page,” she said. “It will be a field trip. A lesson in history itself.” she said, her voice full of promise and mystery. “Welcome, Time Sleuths, your real adventure begins now.”

Emma was practically vibrating with excitement. She could hardly stay seated, her eyes wide and sparkling as she anticipated what Ms. Marlowe had in store for them.

Across the room, Lily seemed indifferent to the palpable energy, her focus solely on her sketch pad. Her pencil moved fluidly, capturing the intricate details of the clock on the wall.

Sam, on the other hand, was leaning forward, intrigued by the stories Ms. Marlowe might share. He loved tales of the past, and his curiosity was piqued.

Ben, ever the class clown, was busy trying to balance a pencil on his nose, drawing snickers from Lily and Sam. “Hey, kids, watch this,” he whispered, nudging Jake, who just rolled his eyes, more annoyed than amused. Ben didn’t care. This got him out of home. He was safe here.

“This is bull shit!" Jake slumped in his chair, glaring out the window at the brilliant blue sky. “I'm missing a perfect day for mastering the half pipe at the skate park," he muttered, tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk. “Not some cryptic crossword puzzle.”

“You think so, Mr. Sullivan,” Ms. Marlowe smiled, smugly. “Well, you give me just one detention and I’m sure you’ll change your mind.” At that moment, the hands of the peculiar clock started spinning wildly, emitting a soft, ethereal glow. “Ahh! We are but away.”

The room filled with a strange humming noise as Ms. Marlowe calmly instructed the students to gather around. With a flick of her wrist, the clock’s hands stopped, and a swirling vortex opened in the middle of the room.

“This can't be happening!” Jake said, wide eyed.

“But it is!” Ms. Marlowe said. “Your eyes do not deceive you.”

“Heck! This is like a portal,” Ben asked, his eyes wide with excitement and a hint of fear. “But leading to where?”

Ms. Marlowe stood up and approached the portal, “Well, high time we found out. Don’t you think, Mr. Sullivan?”

The woman winked over at Jake who was starting to believe what she was saying.

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