Mindreader in a Nightmare Game

I examined the rope and ran it through my hands inch by inch. However, I found nothing unusual. Since the problem wasn't with the rope, it must be with the ghosts.

I looked up and scanned the circle of ghosts sitting around me, including three hanging and 17 jumper ghosts, and one especially unusual ghost.

Grimmie's injuries were catastrophic. She looked like she'd been hit by a car and repeatedly run over.

Who would commit such insanity in a school? What exactly happened here that left students dying in every horrific way imaginable?

Before I could connect the dots, Grimmie sat beside me. She finally seemed calmer now, and though her face was still flushed, at least she'd stopped rapping in her head.

She brought me a new clue. It was a class attendance log, recording details of daily class matters.

But the ghosts had searched every nook and cranny of the classroom looking for clues earlier… So why had the log only appeared now?

Before I could probe, Grimmie grabbed a pen and began writing swiftly on paper.

It must have been a long time since she'd held a pen because she struggled and looked strained. However, even through the uneven strokes, I could see the neat, careful handwriting she must have had when she was alive.

"I don't remember anything… I don't even remember why I hid this log and was too scared to let anyone see it. I have no idea…"

She stopped writing. Her eyes were clouded with confusion and fear.

A sharp pang hit my chest.

Grimmie had died as a teenager, and her whole life had stayed frozen at that age.

"You did fine," I murmured reassuringly. I gently brushed her hair. "It's all in the past now, so forget whatever should stay forgotten."

She obediently bowed her head and gathered her thoughts for some time before picking up the pen again. "In that case… could you nuzzle me?"

I was utterly speechless. What kind of weird obsession was this?

"It's fine if you don't want to. It's my fault for being too greedy, so I'm really sorry…"

Damn it. I couldn't possibly say no, could I?

By imitating how a cat nuzzled, I gently brushed my head against Grimmie's.

"...Happy now?"

Grimmie fainted on the spot with a strange smile still on her face.

…

I quickly flipped through the attendance log. The early pages mostly contained formulaic records of duty assignments and class discipline notes.

Then, the homeroom teacher's signature changed.

Starting in January, Wyatt Prescott began serving as the class' homeroom teacher. Soon after he took over, the log began filling with more notes, some by Wyatt and some by a female student named Erin Miles.

I was deeply familiar with Erin's handwriting. She was Grimmie.

As I kept turning pages, the name Peggy Clark began to show up frequently in the log's notes.

"...Peggy has recently had poor academic performance. You're the class president, Erin. Please provide additional supervision."

"Understood, Mr. Prescott. I'll pay close attention to her studies."

"Peggy is jealous and undisciplined. Erin, correct her behavior."

"What exactly should I do, Mr. Pescott?"

"You must fulfill your obligations in your position. As class president, you must always keep the class in line. Otherwise, removal from position or even expulsion are common consequences."

"Mr. Prescott, could you explain in more detail? I'm not sure I understand."

…

The same exchange continued through the pages.

Wyatt never answered Erin's questions, yet each time, he would write similarly vague, cautionary remarks in the log the next day.

Judging from the looks of it, she received evasive answers even when she approached Wyatt in person.

Time and again, he'd casually mention drop hints about Erin's vulnerabilities, including her financial aid, enrolment status, and even her parents' jobs.

Though he never left any direct evidence, he was driving Erin to the brink of madness.

I flipped dozens of pages further in the log.

"I did everything, Mr. Prescott. I did everything you asked."

"Good child."