Jane had every intention of telling her father about the Impossible Room and the silver key over breakfast. But the more she thought about it, the wiser she thought it was to keep it to herself. Part of her liked having a secret, something her father didn’t know. Especially after he had dragged them both to this East Coast hell. Besides, she wasn’t sure she hadn’t dreamed most of it. Only the key around her neck persuaded her that anything strange had happened at all. She kept it hidden under her blouse as her father delivered a plate stacked high with pancakes, his go-to culinary move.


    “I’ll go grocery shopping this afternoon,” he said by way of apology and settled across from her at the table. She looked out across the distance between them, feeling that something was missing. Her mother, who always sat across from Jane and to her father’s right. She thought that being in a new house meant she wouldn’t be surrounded by her mother’s memory, but she hadn’t counted on their old furniture bringing her back to life in Jane’s mind.


    “I’ve already got you registered,” her father said. The school’s only a couple blocks north.”


    Jane scowled up at him. “You’re not going to drive me?”


    Her father fixed her with his trademark reassuring smile. “Of course. But I can’t pick you up this afternoon. Faculty meeting. Think you can find your way home?”


    “Yeah,” she said, picking at her pancakes. “I can figure it out. This town’s not that big.”


    “It’s a lot smaller than Des Moines, that’s for sure.”


    They ate in silence, all thoughts of the impossible room and the silver key pushed out of Jane’s mind by the dread of starting a new school. All she had to do was tough it out for three more years, and she could get out of here. New York had always sounded exciting. Or maybe she’d just go back to Des Moines. That’d show the old man.


    * * *


    The Volvo pulled up to the front of the school, and Jane looked around at all the strange faces. A few stared briefly back at her before going on with their lives.


    “Remember,” said her father. “They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”


    “Dad,” Jane groaned, but she was smiling despite herself. “Shut up.” You’re making it hard to be mad at you, she thought.


    “Have a good day. I love you.”


    “Yeah,” Jane replied, noncommittal as she opened the door and got out.


    She walked toward the entrance, realizing for the first time that she had no idea where she was going. She knew she had to visit the front office, and every school had one of those so it shouldn’t be hard to find. She took a deep, steadying breath, and waded in.


    The front office was a glassed-in box at the other end of a big central area. Jane dodged a few students and went inside. She had to wait her turn at the front desk for a few minutes before getting an audience with the platinum-haired woman behind the counter.


    “I’m Jane Campion. I’m new here.”


    “Hello, Jane.”


    A soft yet stern voice from the back of the small office caused Jane’s head to snap quickly to the right. A tall, middle-aged woman with straight, shoulder-length dark hair stood smiling down at her. She wore a white blouse, a black ankle-length skirt, and sensible shoes that looked equally at home at a formal dinner party as they would storming the beaches at Normandy.


    Jane walked toward the woman as if compelled.


    "I''m Principal Waite," said the woman. "I''ve been expecting you."


    "OK," said Jane.


    "I have your schedule," she said, handing Jane a slip of paper. Jane scanned it, seeing strange abbreviations for her classes, the first initials and last names of teachers she didn''t know. It might as well have been Egyptian heiroglyphs.


    "I will show you around," said the principal as she led Jane to the door. Jane watched the woman''s back, following her up the hall and through a labyrinth of corridors like a baby duck following its mother.


    "I have to say, Ms. Campion," said the woman, "I was very impressed with your transcript. Though I would expect nothing less from the daughter of a professor of literature and a neuroscientist." She pronounced "literature" in a way that made it sound much more profound than Jane believed it to be.


    "Your father teaches at Miskatonic? How exciting."


    "Yeah. I guess."


    Ms. Waite pointed out the major high school landmarks as she walked and talked; the cafeteria, the library, which was actually still called a library and not the learning commons.


    "You know, the faculty''s immediate family can attend the university for free. You might want to keep that in mind. There are many fine programs. I was an Esoteric Studies major there myself."


    Jane was about to ask what the heck Esoteric Studies was when Ms. Waite stopped before an open classroom door. "Your first class," she said as if she were presenting Jane with a gameshow prize.


    Ms. Waite stepped aside so Jane could enter, standing there expectantly like a bellhop waiting for his tip.


    “Thank you," Jane said.


    Principal Waite nodded and said, "Have a good day, Ms. Campion" before sauntering off.


    Jane shivered, entered the room, and found an empty desk. Like the town in which it was located, Arkham High wasn’t that big, and Jane was confident she could find her way around. She was glad Ms. Waite had left. Something about that woman gave her the creeps.


    Her first class was English. The class was in the middle of reading The Scarlet Letter, which Jane had already read and hated. Too much authorial intrusion for her taste, though she enjoyed Hawthorne''s short fiction, like The Artist of the Beautiful and Rappaccini''s Daughter.


    Next was Massachusetts History, which Jane new little if anything about. They were covering the Salem witch trials, which Jane found interesting. At several points during the lecture, Jane found herself thinking of the impossible room in the attic of the house, and the round window with its painted constellations. She was touching the silver key under her blouse, tracing its outline with her finger, when she felt someone staring at her. Jane turned to her left and saw a boy with dark hair and a high forehead. He looked away self-consciously before returning and holding her gaze. He was nice-looking, with brown eyes and barely present dimples.


    “Can anyone tell me a proposed theory about what caused the Salem panic?” asked Mrs. Armstrong from the front of the room.


    The boy raised his hand. “Ergot poisoning,” he said. “From bread mold. It can cause hallucinations.”


    “Very good,” said the teacher. “Thank you, Mr. Chalker.”


    “Thank you, Mr. Chalker,” someone repeated in a derpy voice, eliciting a chorus of laughter.


    Before Mrs. Armstrong could admonish them, the bell rang, and Jane gathered her things. When she turned around once more, the boy–Mr. Chalker–was already gone.


    The morning had passed without incident, and for once Jane thought she might just get through this first day at a new school unnoticed, a feeling that only lasted until lunch.


    She found an empty table and sat down, inspecting her lunch of Salisbury steak and green beans, when three girls appeared.


    “Hey, New Girl.”


    Jane slumped in her chair. Here we go. “What?”


    “This is our table.” The speaker was a tall, athletic girl with strawberry-blond hair and green eyes. She wore a t-shirt with the school’s coyote mascot and the word Cheer emblazoned across it. Her friends wore matching shirts and sardonic glares.


    “I’m sorry,” Jane said. “I didn’t see your names on it.”


    “Well that’s the thing, sweetheart. It doesn’t need our names on it for everyone to know it’s ours. Now get lost.”


    Jane’s heart hammered in her chest, but not from fear. “Last I checked, it was a free country and I can sit anywhere I want.”


    This got a giggle from Strawberry-Blond’s two friends, but she was not amused. “Listen, I know you’re new here so we’ll cut you a break. This time. But you better not let it happen again. You out-of-town girls need to learn your place.”


    Strawberry-Blond kicked the chair across from Jane for emphasis and then the trio stalked off to find another place to sit.


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Jane suddenly felt she was being watched, and glanced around to find many pairs of eyes staring back at her.


    Hating the sudden attention, and liking the looks of the Salisbury steak even less, Jane took her tray to the return window and left the cafeteria.


    Her next and last period was study hall, so Jane went to the library, found a quiet corner, and played on her phone. She had gotten a few texts from friends back home and took the opportunity to fire off a few quick missives about what an awful place Arkham, Massachusetts was.


    When she looked up, the boy from her history class was sitting at a nearby table in front of an open laptop. But he wasn’t looking at the screen. He was looking at her.


    Bemused, Jane got up and went to the table, pulling out the chair across from him. “You’re in my history class,” she said.


    He nodded. “Yeah. Name’s Luke. Luke Chalker.”


    “Hi, Luke Chalker, I’m–”


    “Jane Campion. Yeah, I know.” Then, fearing he sounded creepy, he added, “It’s a small school.”


    Now it was Jane’s turn to nod. “Right. Of course. So what are you working on?”


    Luke frowned at his laptop screen. “Well, I’m supposed to be working on a story for the school paper, but instead I’m writing up some notes for the next episode of my podcast.”


    Jane stifled a laugh. “You have a podcast? What’s it about?”


    He fixed her with a sheepish grin. “About how weird Arkham is.”


    Jane smirked. You have no idea, she thought, remembering the impossible room in the attic. “If by weird you mean boring, I’m right there with ya.”


    “No, I mean weird. You haven’t noticed it yet. But you will. Especially with you being from out of town and all. I noticed it right away, the first week I moved here.”


    “Well, maybe I’ll have to let you give me a tour. How weird are we talkin’? Is it weird as in the janitor’s a serial killer, or weird as in toxic runoff is giving the fish three eyes?”


    Luke laughed. “Well, I haven’t seen any three-eyed fish or janitorial serial killers. I–It’s better if I show you. I guess. I mean, if you want.”


    Jane shrugged. “Hey, I like to know what I’m up against.”


    “Great. Meet me by the flagpole after school and I’ll give you the grand tour. Oh, and don’t let Audrey get under your skin.”


    “Audrey?”


    “Yeah, that showdown in the caff was pretty major.”


    “Oh. Her. So that’s her name.”


    “Yeah. Don’t let her bother you. She’s all bitch and no bite.”


    “What’s their deal anyway?”


    Luke shrugged. “They’re seniors. Audrey’s dad is some head honcho over at the University. Her two bulldogs are Cassie and Ruby. They think they rule the school and by extension the whole town.”


    “Ah, I see,” said Jane. “And everyone who isn’t from here is just garbage. I love a good shunning as much as the next girl, but I left my scarlet letter at home.”


    Luke laughed again, and it made Jane smile.


    “Well, you’ve got a podcast to do and a newspaper story to write. I’ll get out of your hair.”


    “Don’t forget,” said Luke. “Flagpole. After school.”


    “I won’t forget,” Jane said.


    * * *


    Luke Chalker was true to his word. He was standing by the flagpole when Jane left the building after final bell.


    “Ready?” he said. “I hope you don’t mind walking.”


    “Nah. It’s a small town, right?”


    As they walked across the front of the campus Luke went into full tour guide mode, telling Jane the strange, sordid history of this weird New England town she, through no fault of her own, found herself in.


    “The town was founded in the late 1600s,” Luke said. “By 1750 it had become a thriving seaport. A group of the wealthiest families donated money and books to help found Miskatonic Liberal College, which became Miskatonic University.”


    "Names after the river that runs through town," said Jane.


    Luke smiled. "Right."


    “My dad teaches there,” Jane said. “Literature.”


    The high school was now a block behind them, Luke moving in long, quick strides as he pointed out various landmarks, each with its own dark history. “That’s the old Bennett place,” he said, pointing to a ramshackle clapboard house with boarded-up windows. “Josiah Bennett was a fishing boat captain from Rhode Island who came here for the abundant fishing in the waters between here and Innsmouth. That way,” he said, pointing north to indicate the direction of this other town.


    “You know,” said Jane. “I’d never heard of this place before coming here.”


    Luke nodded. “I’m not surprised. Neither had I. That’s one reason I started researching it. I wanted to know more about it, about why it isn’t more widely known. Turns out this place has a spooky history.”


    “Do tell,” said Jane. “Like what?”


    “Well, the witchcraft hysteria of Salem reached all the way here. There was also a bought of madness that affected half the town in the early 1700s.”


    “Madness? Like everyone went crazy?”


    “Yeah. More or less. It lasted a few months, then kind of just…went away. But I was telling you about the Bennett place. Josiah Bennett had three daughters. He married them off one by one to a couple of wealthy families over in Innsmouth. No one ever saw them again, but the youngest, Eleanor, would come back to visit sometimes, with her husband, an Innsmouth fisherman, and their two kids, who always went heavily covered and never came out except at night.”


    “That’s weird,” said Jane. “What else?”


    “Well,” said Luke, clearly warming up to the subject. “Supposedly old Josiah was into some kind of devil worship. He and a few others held meetings in his house late at night, and there was an odd chanting at all hours. This went on for years, until one night. Something got out of hand, because a fire erupted, almost completely consuming the place. Josiah and his wife, and about six other townsfolk, were never accounted for, apparently burned up in the flames. The house was rebuilt, and a new family moved in. But they didn’t stay long. People lived there on and off over the intervening century, up until the late 1970s, when a whole family went crazy from living there. It’s been boarded up ever since.”


    “That is weird,” said Jane.


    “What’s weird is that’s not the only weird thing I uncovered in my research,” said Luke. “That’s what my podcast is about. Every week I recount a different bit of this town’s bizarre history. I’m sorry. I’m freaking you out, aren’t I?”


    “No,” said Jane, smiling. “It’s very interesting. I had a feeling Arkham was weird, but I thought it was just me.”


    “It’s most definitely not you,” said Luke. “You’re the most normal thing that’s happened to this town in quite a while.”


    They walked along in silence for a time, neither of them knowing quite what to make of the other. Then Jane said, “I found something weird too. At the house we’re staying in.”


    “The old Campbell place, right?” said Luke. “Near the University?”


    “Yeah. How’d you know?”


    “Just a guess. I know the school lets visiting faculty stay there. What about it?”


    “Well, do you know anything about it?”


    Luke shrugged. “Not really. Should I?”


    Here Jane hesitated. Should she tell him? She hadn’t even told her father yet, but more than that, showing the impossible room to someone else would just make it…more real.


    “What is it?”


    Jane stopped and look at him. “Like you said, it’s best if I show you. Come on.”


    * * *


    The room was right where it had been the previous night, inside the outer wall of the front of the house. Luke’s eyes widened as Jane opened the secret door. “That’s…”


    “Weird,” Jane finished.


    “Yeah.”


    Jane followed him inside. She had retrieved a bulb from downstairs and replaced the room’s failing light source. She stood in the center of the room as Luke explored, moving out in a widening circle to take in everything, the lecturn, the five-pointed star painted on the floor. He moved to stand behind the lecturn, places his hands on each side, looking around.


    “So I’m not crazy, right?” Jane said after a long moment. “You see it too.”


    Luke nodded.


    “And this room shouldn’t be here.”


    Luke shook his head. “No it should not.”


    “I can’t figure out this design on the floor,” Jane said. “It looks like a pentagram, but–”


    “It’s an Elder Sign,” Luke said.


    Jane looked at him in surprise.


    “From my research. Some kind of protective ward or something. Apparently, the things people in these parts used to worship only take a pentagram as some kind of challenge.”


    Jane didn’t know what to say to that, so she stayed silent as a cold chill fled up her spine and buried itself in the relative safety of her brain stem.


    Luke fingered a nail where Jane had found the key. "Is this it?"


    Jane had told Jake the story of the silver key as they climbed the attic stairs.


    "Yeah. That''s where I found it. I should have left it where it was. I don''t know why I put it on."


    "Can I see it?"


    Jane pulled it from inside her blouse and held it out for Jake to examine.


    “What do you suppose it goes to?” Jane asked.


    “I don’t know,” said Luke. But it’s pretty. I think it belongs to you.”


    “Thanks,” she said. “I think. Hopefully I can find the door this belongs to.”


    “Could be for any door in this town. Or an old door long gone. Looks good on you, though.”


    Jane blushed. Luke shifted uncomfortably.


    “Well, I need to go. I’ve got a story to write for the paper.”


    “Yeah, sure. Of course. I’ve got homework.”


    “Sure, yeah. Well, we’ll call it a day then. See you around, New Girl.”