The old stone building stood like a darkened monument to forgotten times, its ivy-clad façade shrouded in the fading breath of dusk. The clock tower, long unmoving, struck midnight with a deliberate slowness, as though the hands themselves hesitated to acknowledge the hour. It was at this very hour that the ritual would unfold—one steeped in the somber tradition of those who came before, an invitation to the spirits that lingered, reluctant to depart.

The College of St. Gerald’s, a place where learning was as much about the ghosts of the past as it was about the theories of the present, had long been a haven for those who sought to transcend the mundane. It was a place where knowledge, history, and memories intermingled with something far darker. Rumors whispered in the shadowed corners of campus—rumors that spoke of an old club, one whose members had long since vanished, leaving behind only their cryptic legacy.

It was the Alumni Society, a fellowship of former students, who had once partaken in an obscure tradition—a tradition that, over the years, had morphed into an unspoken legend. The Alumni Séance. This ritual, shrouded in secrecy, was said to commune with the spirits of the college’s departed graduates. But this night, something was different.

As the moon hung heavy and pale in the sky, a group of current students, intrigued by the lore, gathered in the cavernous basement of the old building. The room was thick with the smell of damp stone and dust, the very air seeming to pulse with a weight that bore down on them. They formed a circle, hands clasped in a ritualistic clasp that seemed both unnatural and inevitable. Candles flickered in their midst, casting long, trembling shadows that danced upon the walls like specters from the past.

One of them—Sarah, an eager young student with a fascination for the occult—spoke first. Her voice trembled, but not from fear. No, her voice was steeped in a quiet, obsessive desire for answers. “We summon those who walked these halls before us,” she intoned, her words thick with gravity. “Let your spirits speak to us.”

At first, nothing happened. The candle flames steadied, the air grew still. But then, as if an unseen force stirred beneath the earth, the temperature plummeted. Sarah’s breath clouded before her, as though the room itself had exhaled a chill.

And then came the voice—soft, like the rustle of ancient parchment, but unmistakably clear. “You dare call us back?”

The voice came from the shadows—no body, no form, only a whisper that seemed to pervade the very fabric of the room. The students froze, their minds struggling to comprehend what their ears had heard. The air seemed to warp around them, as though the very laws of reality had bent to accommodate the presence of something otherworldly.

Another voice followed, this one deep and rumbling, like the murmur of an unseen crowd. “You seek answers from those who have gone, but answers they are not ready to give.”

The circle trembled as the candle flames flickered violently. The room felt smaller, as though the walls were closing in, forcing them together in a suffocating unity. They had opened a door—one that should not have been opened—and the spirits that answered were not benevolent.

The room darkened, the shadows growing longer, swirling around them like ink spilling from an open vial. The students could no longer see one another. The space they occupied had become an abyss, and each breath they took was a struggle against the weight of unseen forces.

Sarah gasped, feeling an invisible hand brush across her face—cold, clammy, and impossibly old. The sensation sent a jolt through her, but before she could react, the voices came again, this time louder, almost a cacophony of voices from every direction.

“You seek to understand,” they intoned, their voices weaving together in a discordant harmony. “But some truths are not meant to be understood. Some fates are sealed.”

And in that moment, it was as if the very foundations of the room shuddered, echoing with a final, resounding cry. The walls seemed to expand, contracting back again with a force that knocked the students off their feet. And then, as suddenly as it began, everything stopped.

The room was silent. The candles, once flickering with desperate urgency, had gone out. The students lay scattered, disoriented, gasping for air, the remnants of the séance echoing in their ears. But when they tried to speak, when they tried to stand, the words would not come. The knowledge that had once been so alluring, so tantalizing, had become a burden too great to bear.

The spirits of St. Gerald’s had spoken. And now, they were gone.