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Out on the far side of Lake George, just far enough off campus to allow apparating for those that could, was an old, abandoned boathouse. Many, many years ago it had been used by one of the families in the area but over time it fell into disrepair, forgotten by all. Except for the enterprising troublemakers of Dresden Academy, that is.
What had once been an elegant exterior was now covered in vines and graffiti, windows shattered and boarded up against the snows and rain. The upstairs had been a small apartment, presumably for the family to stay overnight on fishing trips. Now it was a gutted series of connected rooms and a dirty (but functional) ensuite that provided an ideal party venue for the kids who wanted freedom and mayhem all in a conveniently sheltered location. The downstairs had been storage for the boats, leading into the lake via a gently sloping ramp. The exterior doors had long since been sealed, and the dark, dank, cobweb-filled cavern of a basement had sat empty ever since-- save for the brave young lovers from every party who would take any opportunity for privacy.
No one was really sure who organized the secret afterparty for Halloweenfest every year. It was almost as much of an institution as Halloweenfest itself, and had been going on for far too long for it to have been planned by any current student. Some speculated that the details were handed down from class to class, but nobody ever seemed to have any exact details. Others held the suspicion that one of the cooler professors must have a hand in it, but no one dared ask lest they blow the cover and find themselves blacklisted from all future events.
On the morning of Halloweenfest, a flock of bats burst forth from the woods acting as messengers, delivering little scrolls with a simple message. You have been chosen. No one knew who sent them, or how the scrolls worked, but without the tiny invitations the boathouse became impossible to find on Halloweenfest Night. Presumably it was the same magic that kept the location cloaked from suspicious teachers, but it made the invites all the more valuable. They could not be traded, or kept for future use. For that one night only, they were the most precious things in the world.
At any rate, by the time the first student arrived at the old abandoned boathouse, little jack-o-lanterns and candles had already been set up all over the top floor, and the tub in the bathroom had been filled with ice awaiting donations of drinks. Someone would bring a laptop to pump music through the building until the battery died or everyone sneaked home, and although nobody ever stayed behind to clean up, the following day the house would be empty and dusty again; as though no one had set foot in it since the year before.
This year promised to be no exception. The decorations were effortlessly spooky, the music impossibly loud, and by midnight the place was already packed.
What had once been an elegant exterior was now covered in vines and graffiti, windows shattered and boarded up against the snows and rain. The upstairs had been a small apartment, presumably for the family to stay overnight on fishing trips. Now it was a gutted series of connected rooms and a dirty (but functional) ensuite that provided an ideal party venue for the kids who wanted freedom and mayhem all in a conveniently sheltered location. The downstairs had been storage for the boats, leading into the lake via a gently sloping ramp. The exterior doors had long since been sealed, and the dark, dank, cobweb-filled cavern of a basement had sat empty ever since-- save for the brave young lovers from every party who would take any opportunity for privacy.
No one was really sure who organized the secret afterparty for Halloweenfest every year. It was almost as much of an institution as Halloweenfest itself, and had been going on for far too long for it to have been planned by any current student. Some speculated that the details were handed down from class to class, but nobody ever seemed to have any exact details. Others held the suspicion that one of the cooler professors must have a hand in it, but no one dared ask lest they blow the cover and find themselves blacklisted from all future events.
On the morning of Halloweenfest, a flock of bats burst forth from the woods acting as messengers, delivering little scrolls with a simple message. You have been chosen. No one knew who sent them, or how the scrolls worked, but without the tiny invitations the boathouse became impossible to find on Halloweenfest Night. Presumably it was the same magic that kept the location cloaked from suspicious teachers, but it made the invites all the more valuable. They could not be traded, or kept for future use. For that one night only, they were the most precious things in the world.
At any rate, by the time the first student arrived at the old abandoned boathouse, little jack-o-lanterns and candles had already been set up all over the top floor, and the tub in the bathroom had been filled with ice awaiting donations of drinks. Someone would bring a laptop to pump music through the building until the battery died or everyone sneaked home, and although nobody ever stayed behind to clean up, the following day the house would be empty and dusty again; as though no one had set foot in it since the year before.
This year promised to be no exception. The decorations were effortlessly spooky, the music impossibly loud, and by midnight the place was already packed.