Claimed by the Alpha and the Vampire Prince: Masquerading as a Man Chapter 149: Horror Town

CLARK POV:

The campus was massive.

And when I say massive, I an get-lost-and-die-of-old-age-before-you-find-the-dorms-again kind of massive. The buildings were arranged like soone had handed an architect a puzzle with missing pieces and told them to just wing it. Halls twisted and turned like a literal maze. If I’d been alone, I probably would’ve ended up in a basent broom closet thinking it was the library.

But thankfully, Sara was a genius with directions. Seriously. She didn’t just rember where places were—she actually started pointing out shortcuts and alternate exits like she’d been here for years thanks for the map. anwhile, I was ntally marking trees and doors like a lost five-year-old at the mall.

Our first stop: the library.

The place was huge. Colossal. It had multiple floors—each stacked with rows and rows of books like they were trying to win a Guinness World Record. It wasn’t just a library; it was a monunt to paper. As I stared up the spiral staircases, I couldn’t help but wonder: Has anyone ever actually made it to the top floor? Do you win a prize if you do? Do you see God?

Sara whispered sothing about wanting to co back here later, and I just nodded, still dazed by the sheer size of it. I liked books—well, sotis—but this felt like the kind of place that expected you to be smart just to breathe the air.

Next stop: the laboratory wing.

Good lord. NASA would’ve felt underdressed in there. Sleek surfaces. Monitors humming quietly. Machines with lights that blinked like they were talking to each other in robot code. I half expected to see soone walk by in a hazmat suit, holding an alien fetus in a jar.

"This place is insane," I muttered, peeking into one of the glass-walled rooms. "If I accidentally press a button in there, I bet I’d launch a satellite."

Sara just laughed. "Better not touch anything. You might start a new Cold War."

She wasn’t wrong.

After that, we wandered through the campus gardens. Honestly? I thought it’d be the chillest spot so far. A little nature, a breeze, maybe so benches. And yeah, it looked like a place made for couples to sit and read poetry to each other. Vines curled around wrought-iron benches, and flowers were so perfectly arranged it looked artificial.

But sothing about the place felt... off.

Like the quiet was too quiet. The air was thick with this weird tension, like the trees were listening or watching. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it didn’t feel like a study spot. It felt like a place that pretended to be one.

"Do you feel that?" I asked.

Sara gave a weird look. "Feel what?"

I shook my head. "Nothing. Must be in my head."

But then—just as we were about to leave—we saw them.

A couple tucked behind a tall hedge, the guy clearly kissing the girl’s neck like they were in a vampire movie. Both of us just froze.

Sara gasped. I felt heat rush to my face. We bolted like we’d caught a cri in progress, laughing awkwardly all the way to the main road.

"Okay," Sara said between breaths, still half-laughing, "that was not the kind of tour I expected."

"Right? Who does that in broad daylight?" I shook my head. "That wasn’t even subtle. I think she moaned."

"Stop," she said, laughing harder. "I’m already traumatized."

We both agreed: it was lunch ti. And we needed a break from the weird.

"Let’s eat outside the university," Sara suggested. "Might as well explore the town while we can. Orientation part two can wait till later."

I nodded, grateful for the excuse to escape. Whatever this school was hiding—whether it was creepy roommates, vampire couples, or haunted libraries—it could wait till after food.

And maybe dessert.

You know how people say "don’t judge a book by its cover"? Yeah—well, if the town outside our university was a book, I’d have burned the cover and run the other way.

I’d thought the campus was creepy—huge halls, ghostly gardens, overly handso seniors with unsettling eyes—but this town?

Straight out of a horror movie.

The streets were way too quiet for a college town. I an, this was supposed to be a place full of life, right? Students, bars, traffic, drunk laughter, the usual. Instead, it looked like soone had hit "pause" on reality. The buildings were old—like, really old—stonework worn down by ti and neglect. Signs were faded. Curtains in windows were drawn. Doors creaked. Creaked. In broad daylight.

Even the sky looked duller here. I didn’t even know that was possible.

Sara walked beside , her steps a little slower than usual. "Is it just ," she whispered, "or does this place feel... weird?"

"Oh good," I said. "I thought I was the only one expecting a zombie to lurch out of an alley."

She chuckled, but it was more nervous than amused. "It’s like the town’s watching us."

"Yeah," I muttered. "And it doesn’t like what it sees."

We passed a grocery store with broken neon letters that buzzed even though it was dayti. A hardware shop with rusted tools in the window. A pharmacy with dust on the shelves—inside. Who doesn’t clean their display shelves?

Then there were the people. Not many of them, but the ones we did see?

Let’s just say they weren’t handing out welco cookies.

A middle-aged man in overalls sweeping his shopfront froze when we walked by. His eyes followed us, wide and unblinking, like we were ghosts. A woman pushing a stroller literally crossed the street when she saw us coming. A teenager leaned on his bike and stared without blinking until we turned the corner.

I looked at Sara. "Do we have signs on our foreheads that say ’sacrifice us to the corn god’?"

She gave a strained laugh. "I was hoping it was just my imagination. But this place gives serious The Mist energy."

Finally, we found a restaurant—a tiny one with a flickering "OPEN" sign in the window and two tables visible from outside. It didn’t look like much, but we were hungry, and the idea of heading deeper into the ghost town was... not appealing.

When we walked in, everything stopped.

Literally.

Conversations died mid-sentence. Spoons froze midair. Chairs creaked as people subtly turned to look at us. All eight of them. The restaurant wasn’t packed, but it might as well have been a courtroom with two criminals walking in.

Sara gave a tiny wave.

I smiled awkwardly.

No one smiled back.

A tall waitress in a plain red apron approached us, wiping her hands on a towel. She looked about late twenties—pretty in that sharp, angular way—but her expression wasn’t welcoming. It was tight, like her face didn’t know how to form warmth anymore.

"You two from the university?" she asked, voice flat.

We nodded.

Her lips pressed into a line before she exhaled and muttered, "Figures."

"What figures?" I asked, trying not to sound defensive.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she gave us a slow once-over, her gaze lingering just a second too long, like she was evaluating how long we’d last here. Then her face shifted slightly—not exactly softening, but turning... sympathetic.

That was sohow worse.

"Oh," she said. "Freshers."

Sara glanced at . "Yeah," she said slowly. "We just started."

The woman sighed, nodded like we’d just confird a bad diagnosis, then motioned for us to follow her. "Sit wherever you want," she said. "I’ll bring so nus."

We sat in the farthest booth by the window. I figured if sothing jumped through the glass, at least I’d die with a full stomach.

As she walked away, Sara leaned closer. "Did you see her face?"

"Yeah," I said. "She looked like soone just told her we’ve got three days to live."

"Exactly!" Sara hissed. "Why do they all look at us like that? It’s like... they know sothing."

I sighed, trying to shake the unease off. "Maybe they just hate students. We probably raise rent prices or bring in too much noise."

"Or maybe we’re the noise they’re trying to keep out," she said.

Before I could answer, the waitress returned with two stained nus and a pitcher of water that tasted like tal. The options were basic—fries, sandwiches, weirdly specific at dishes that didn’t clarify what at.

I picked the safest thing I could: a grilled cheese and soda. Sara ordered tomato soup and so kind of pie that sounded suspicious but slled amazing from the next table over.

While we waited, we tried not to keep looking at the people around us. But it was hard.

One woman whispered sothing to her husband, who turned and stared at us. A man at the counter kept glancing at the door like he expected soone—or sothing—to walk in behind us. Even the cook in the back, visible through a cracked kitchen window, paused mid-chop to frown our way.

By the ti our food arrived, I was half-convinced we’d been accidentally dropped into a cursed simulation.

Still, I took a bite of the sandwich. It was surprisingly decent. But the taste didn’t settle my nerves. Not when I saw the waitress glance at us again, her expression unchanged, like she was waiting for us to realize sothing.

Sara ate in silence for a bit, then leaned in, whispering, "Clark, if I go to the bathroom and I’m gone for more than five minutes, co find ."

"Okay," I whispered back. "And if I start foaming at the mouth, don’t hesitate to stab . I give full permission."

She snorted. "Deal."

We paid in cash—didn’t even bother asking if they took cards—and practically power-walked back to campus.

As we passed the sa streets, sa people, sa stiff silence, I couldn’t help but feel like we’d walked into sothing much bigger than a town that hated outsiders.

Sothing was off here.

Not just the creepy looks or the ghost-town vibes—but a sense that everyone knew a rule we weren’t told. Like they were following an ancient ritual, and we were already breaking it by just existing.

And the worst part?

I had a feeling things were only going to get weirder from here.