Founded in 1922 by the Great Sir. Arnold Foster, Willow Falls Academy has been committed to excellence, promoting creativity, and fostering success in talented adolescents. Constructed by Sir. Foster himself on 310 acres of land, roughly an hour north of Rocky Mountain National Park, Willow Falls was aptly named for its main attraction: the 20-foot waterfall right outside the main entrance. Students can enjoy pursuing their areas of expertise on a lush, gorgeously green open campus. Willow Falls is currently headed by Dean Dr. Robert Foster (PhD), the great-grand nephew of Sir. Foster, and assistant dean Dr. Camilla Trejo (PhD). Admissions to Willow Falls are limited and highly competitive due to the campus’s small size and enduring commitment to supporting individual success. Applications begin each spring and are open to any student who is:
- Currently enrolled in any high school or secondary school.
- Passionate about or skilled in a specific area.
Whether it be STEM, the arts, athletics, or entrepreneurship, Willow Falls is dedicated to servicing each student’s area of expertise. All applications consist of two written essays, a detailed resume, a recorded video of the student explaining their desire to attend Willow Falls, and at least 1 letter of recommendation.
Applications close on June 10th, no exceptions. International students must complete the separate International Application for proper consideration. We invite YOU to join our long list of successful alumni at one of the top-ranked private academies in North America. Apply here today.
Andre Deneuve was obsessed with dead people.
Not that he killed. Nor did he enjoy seeing corpses. Rather, he was addicted to poking around unsolved murders. Anyone who knew him would readily attest to this.
Yet, as he gazed up in awe at his new residence, Addams Hall at Willow Falls Academy, he couldn’t believe his once innocent hobby had devolved to him receiving house calls.
Well. School calls.
If someone told Andre two years ago, when he solved his first homicide, that he would eventually uproot his life in the name of a case? He would’ve thought they were crazy. Maybe he was the mad one.
“This is it, no?” Andre’s uncle asked. Andre snapped out of his momentary daze, nodding. He began dragging his suitcases up the stairs leading to the door, and after a quick breath to gather himself, he stepped inside.
New school. New people to meet. New murder to solve.
Thoughts every teenager had.
The murder in question came about through a proposition from one Dr. Camila Trejo; referring to herself as the assistant dean of Willow Falls, a supposedly elite boarding institution.
Andre had almost deleted the email at first glance. Thanks to his contact information being public, he was used to true-crime podcasters looking to make easy money off of his name. It didn’t help that “Willow Falls” sounded like a fake school.
But Dr. Trejo was serious. She wanted to transfer him to the academy so he could investigate a death that occurred last year. In her words, it would be ‘under the radar’.
It was crazy. Grossly dishonest, and certainly could’ve gotten her fired. Probably illegal, too.
In other words, all the best parts of sleuthing.
And so, here he was, standing in an empty, dimly lit hallway thanks to several of the light fixtures being blown out. Everyone else must have moved their stuff in already–perks of being on time. Andre was only about two hours late. What a way to kick off his senior year.
“Where the hell is everyone?” He half-muttered to himself. He turned to his uncle, who only shrugged.
“Don’t look at me. You’re the detective.”
Andre rolled his eyes. That quip had gotten old years ago.
He started down the hallway, looking for any open rooms and general signs of life. It didn’t take long before he found an ajar door with a placard labelled LOUNGE on it. The sound of someone talking from inside drifted faintly into the hallway. Jackpot.
Andre stepped closer and tried to see inside the room, but the crack wasn’t large enough. It sounded like the person talking was giving an orientation. Great, Andre was about to crash it. He swallowed.
“Go in already, you’re late enough,” his uncle muttered behind him.
Andre shot a glare at him. Meeting new people his age always struck more than a little fear into his heart, but he didn’t fly two and a half hours from Santa Monica just to succumb to social anxiety.
“Fine.” He grasped the handle with a shaky hand. Cringed a bit at the creaking sound as he pushed it open. He poked his head inside and saw five bored-looking kids sitting around on couches while a chipper woman talked at them. Immediately, he noticed a few people he’d managed to contact before the semester started. Putting the investigation aside, there was no way he could live with other people without knowing something about them beforehand. Hell no.
He locked eyes with one of the girls, and judging from her confused stare, he definitely looked like a creep. It didn’t help that he recognized her.
“Uh, hi,” he said.
The woman abruptly stopped talking and turned to face Andre. She was of average height, and her smooth, radiant dark skin placed her probably somewhere in her 30s. Judging from her “Girls Who Code” t-shirt, Andre guessed she taught something computer-related. She gave him a huge smile.
“Hi there! You must be the last student, right?”
Andre nodded and smiled back, though her enthusiasm kind of freaked him out.
“Yes. Andre. So sorry I’m late; traffic was really bad getting out of the airport.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it! You barely missed anything.”
Except for the first two hours.
According to the schedule, the day was supposed to start with an hour-long new student orientation, including a full tour of the campus. The school's complexity and size, more akin to a small college, confirmed to Andre that he was screwed when it came to finding his classes. He and his uncle had gotten lost twice just trying to find the hall.
“We were just having a little meet and greet here, nothing serious yet.” Her eyes landed on Andre's uncle, who was still awkwardly standing in the hallway, looking like a deer caught in headlights.
“Hi! Are you Andre’s dad?”
“His uncle,” he corrected, and finally stepped into the room.
“I’m Kiara Scott, nice to meet you.”
“Dresden.”
Andre watched his uncle closely, just to make sure he didn’t do anything embarrassing. The guy was even more introverted than Andre, and similarly, not a fan of introductions. He just prayed his uncle wouldn’t come off as too brash in front of these aimless-looking kids who were watching oh-so intently.
“Andre’s been looking forward to this for a while. I’m sure he’ll love it here. Let me get out of your way, he probably wants me to leave, anyway.”
Kiara, or Mrs. Scott, laughed. Andre just smiled awkwardly.
“Oh, no, no, I’m sure he’ll miss you!” She looked at Andre, still wearing that overzealous grin. “But I agree, you’ll definitely love Willow. Did you wanna go put your bags down in your room? I have your key right here.” She fished out a key from her pocket and handed it to Andre.
“Yes, thank you. I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time! We’re in no rush.”
The half-alive faces of everyone else in the room said otherwise. Oh well.
“The male rooms are upstairs. This key is for room three; the third room on the right. Stairs are just down the hallway.”
Andre thanked Mrs. Scott once again and left the lounge. Once he grabbed his suitcases, he hurried down the hallway like he was competing in a speed walking tournament. His uncle was left behind to eat his dust.
“Jesus, you really do want to get rid of me quick, huh?” He called out in French.
“Well, keep up,” Andre called back. He reached the staircase, which looked… well, just about as dated as the rest of the hall. He just prayed it wasn’t on its last leg. “Try not to pull anything getting up here.”
For as smug as he sounded, Andre struggled greatly as he dragged the two medium-sized pieces of luggage up. Had they always been so heavy? All he had packed was… oh, right, his entire closet.
His uncle grumbled something about how such a rich school should be able to afford goddamn elevators, and about how it was definitely sexist to make the boys sleep upstairs. Andre ignored both complaints.
“Why did you need to transfer here, again?” His uncle asked, for officially the third time today. Andre’s excuse was practiced, and with so many repetitions, came automatically.
“Good forensics program, remember? I’ll probably get to touch dead bodies.”
His uncle shot back something about how disgusting he was. Andre only smiled. It wasn’t a lie at all; part of why he’d accepted the offer to attend was the supposedly phenomenal science and English programs the school boasted.
When they finally made it to the top, Andre took in just how old everything looked. The room doors were all polished oak with visible wear and tear. The carpet was dark, but not dark enough to hide the large, suspicious stains throughout. Not pungent enough to be old blood, thank Christ, but the smell wasn’t exactly fresh. The chandelier hanging precariously from the ceiling was missing half its lights.
Oh. Good lord.
“Holy shit, this place looks like a dungeon. Jesus Christ.”
Andre wished he could disagree.
“It’s just vintage. Kind of reminds me of my old house. Just a little…different.”
His uncle muttered several curses under his breath as Andre slid his key into the lock. It took several confused turns before it clicked open. To Andre’s pleasant surprise, the inside of the room looked good. At least, it did in comparison to the hallway.
The interior was more modern than the rest of the hall and had clearly been updated recently. The carpet was thankfully free of any stains. A twin XL pushed against the far wall, with a wooden desk and chair on the opposite end. Maybe his expectations had been lowered beyond repair, but he thought the room was perfect for only one person.
“Hm. A bit small. The window doesn’t have curtains or anything.”
Andre shrugged as he rolled his luggage against one wall, resting his gig bag next to it.
“In exchange for no roommate? I’d sleep in a cardboard box. No complaints from me.”
His uncle only hmmed again, now inspecting a random wall. He pushed on it as if expecting it to give way.
“Sure, it’s fine. But I prefer your room back home. Less risk of bed bugs, or rats–and god knows what else is crawling around here. Maggots, I bet.”
Andre clicked his tongue, crossing his arms. He’d been doing this since yesterday.
“You know, you can just say I love you and I’ll miss you like a normal person, instead of being a dick.”
His uncle sighed, rubbing at his face with his palm. Andre suddenly felt bad; that was pretty harsh.
After a brief silence, he replied, “No, I know. It’s me. I’m just worried about you. I mean, you’ve never left home since… you know.”
As usual, he didn’t say “since that shitty time your parents got killed”. He could never really talk about it. Not that Andre blamed him.
“I’ll be fine. You always worry, and I always end up fine, don’t I? I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can,” he said, partially under his breath. After a moment, he uncrossed his arms, then beckoned for Andre to come closer. He placed a large hand on Andre’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. When he finally met his gaze, Andre was thoroughly shocked, and a bit disturbed, to see his eyes a bit glazed.
“Jeez, you’re actually going to miss me?”
His uncle laughed at that, though it was half-hearted.
“I won’t miss your attitude or your mouth, that’s for sure. Come, don’t make me look like an idiot.” He outstretched his arms for a hug, and Andre bounced into his arms with more enthusiasm than he’d intended. Physical intimacy was a rarity between them. Maybe that was why this was more sentimental than Andre had anticipated.
“You’ll call us every day, yes? You promise you won’t get into any trouble?” Andre gave a muffled ‘yes,’ but, well…Trouble and himself seemed to be synonymous–part of why he was fine leaving his old school behind. One would be surprised at how many enemies a nosy journalism kid could make at a posh public school.
“Vic and I love you, alright? Just… be smart.” His voice was fairly choked up now, which only made Andre feel worse. His aunt had sobbed all over him before he’d left for the flight, but he hadn’t been able to reciprocate even though he’d miss her terribly. Hell, he didn’t even cry bidding his adored, fat little cat goodbye. He certainly didn’t expect tears to be ready to fall now, with his uncle, whom he hadn’t seen cry in years.
“I love you, too. Don’t worry about me; your biggest concern should be who’s going to do all my chores now.” His uncle released him, a small, almost sad smile on his face.
“Of course. I’ll get out of your hair now. You’re not forgetting anything, right? Your meds, your amp? Books?”
“I have everything. I’ll be okay. Promise.”
His uncle nodded and squeezed his shoulder once more.
“Good. That’s good. I’ll find my way out. Don’t piss anyone off here. I mean it.”
Andre replied, “No promises,” before one last goodbye. Then, his uncle was gone.
Alone in his new room, Andre couldn’t describe how he felt. Sad to see his uncle go, nervous to be away from home, but also excited to start fresh. Itching to get to work.
All he had to do now was walk downstairs.
Solve the case. Fit in. Don’t get caught.
Thoughts every teenager had.
About the Author
Kene Wachuku is a first-year student at Michigan State University, studying Political Science and Public Health. In her free time, she can be found reading a gothic novel, lurking on true-crime websites, or people-watching in public libraries.
Instagram: @kene.wachuku
Cover design made using Canva design tools.