The school gates creaked as Mia stepped inside, her flashlight trembling in her hand. The once-proud building now looked like a corpse—windows shattered, walls smeared with dried, rust-colored stains. A suffocating silence wrapped around her, broken only by the sound of her own heartbeat.

Rumors had spread for years: students disappearing, teachers vanishing without a trace, classrooms locked forever. Yet no one dared to confirm the stories. Tonight, Mia had no choice. She had to find the truth.

The moment she crossed the hallway, the air turned cold. Desks lay overturned, papers scattered like forgotten screams. On the blackboard, written in blood-red letters, were the words: “WELCOME BACK.”

Mia froze. She hadn’t touched the chalk. She wasn’t alone.

A faint sound echoed—a child’s laugh, sharp and broken. She turned, but the hallway was empty. Then came the bell. Ding… Dong… Slow. Hollow. A bell that should have been broken years ago.

Her breath quickened as footsteps echoed behind her. She spun around, but saw nothing. Shadows danced along the walls, stretching like claws reaching for her. The smell of iron filled the air.

Then, she saw it. A figure, standing at the end of the hallway—its face hidden, its hands dripping with blood.

“Why did you come back?” the voice asked, low and chilling.

The flashlight flickered, and when the light returned… the figure was gone.

But the message on the blackboard had changed.

Now it read: “YOUR TURN.”

Mia stumbled back, her flashlight trembling. The words on the blackboard—YOUR TURN—burned into her mind like fire. Her legs felt weak, but she forced herself to move, the beam of light sweeping across the hallway. Every shadow seemed alive, slithering along the walls, waiting for her to fall.

She whispered to herself, “It’s not real… it’s just my imagination.” But even her own voice sounded foreign, swallowed by the heavy silence.

Her phone vibrated suddenly in her pocket. She yanked it out with shaking hands. The screen lit up, but there was no signal. Instead, a notification appeared.

Unknown sender: Don’t run. It’s already inside.

Mia’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart hammered as she dropped the phone to the floor, the screen cracking. The hallway stretched before her like a tunnel with no end.

Then she noticed it—one classroom door slightly open. Room 3-B.

Her body screamed at her to leave, to escape while she could, but her feet betrayed her, dragging her toward the door. She pushed it open with a trembling hand.

Inside, the classroom was worse than the hall. Desks were overturned, blood smeared across the walls, and the floor was sticky with dried stains. On one of the desks sat an old yearbook. Its cover was torn, but the title was clear: “St. Claire High – Class of 2005.”

Mia opened it, flipping through the yellowed pages. Faces of smiling students stared back at her. But halfway through, she froze. Every single picture had been slashed through with deep red ink—except one.

Her mother’s face.

Mia’s eyes widened. Her mother had never told her she studied here. The pages beneath were stuck together. When she forced them open, more writing appeared. Names. Lists. And at the bottom:

“Revenge begins with blood.”

The classroom door slammed shut behind her.

Mia spun around, panic rising. She rushed to the door, pulling at the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Then, from behind the teacher’s desk, came the sound of footsteps—slow, deliberate, heavy.

The air turned suffocating. The windows darkened as though night itself pressed against the glass.

And then… a voice whispered right into her ear, though no one stood near her.

“Your family started this… now you’ll finish it.”

The lights went out .

(The night after Ana’s death. James lies awake in bed, restless. The silence of his room presses down on him like a heavy blanket. He hears faint noises, but convinces himself it’s only his imagination.)

James: (thinking) Esther… you really think there’s something dark happening? No. No, that’s ridiculous. Ana’s death… it had to be an accident. Nothing more.

(He turns to his side. The clock ticks louder than usual. Each tick makes him clench his teeth. He remembers Esther’s warning—her trembling voice, her eyes filled with fear—but he shakes his head violently.)

James: (muttering) No. I won’t believe that. Ghosts? Curses? Revenge? It’s nonsense. People die. That’s life.

(A faint knock echoes in the silence. He sits up sharply. His heart races. He stares at the door, waiting. But no one is there. He exhales shakily, then laughs bitterly.)

James: (to himself) See? Just my nerves. Nothing more. Esther’s words are crawling under my skin, that’s all.

(He forces himself back to bed, though sleep never comes. His eyes burn until morning light creeps in.)

(The next day. James walks into the office building. The air feels strange—too still, too quiet. Most employees whisper among themselves, avoiding eye contact. Some look pale, shaken from the news of Ana’s death.)

James: (thinking) Everyone looks like they’ve seen a ghost. Damn it. Esther’s poison is spreading. She’s making everyone paranoid.

(As he walks, his footsteps echo. He notices the conference room door slightly ajar. He hears the faint scrape of a chair. Curious, he peeks inside. The room is empty—except for a single glass of water left on the table. The water is murky, with something swirling faintly in it. James frowns.)

James: (thinking) Hm. Strange. Did someone spill something?

(Before he can step inside, Zoey suddenly appears behind him, startling him. She carries a small flask, quickly hiding it in her pocket.)

James: Zoey… you scared the hell out of me.

Zoey: (smiling faintly, but her eyes look distant) Did I? I didn’t mean to.

James: What are you doing here so early?

Zoey: (calmly) Just… making sure everything is in order. After what happened to Ana, we all need to be careful, don’t we?

(James studies her. Her hands are trembling slightly. He notices a faint reddish stain near her fingers again. She hides them quickly.)

James: (thinking) She’s nervous. But then again… who wouldn’t be? Ana’s death shook us all. No. I can’t start imagining things. Esther’s paranoia is rubbing off on me.

Zoey: (softly, almost to herself) Some people get what they deserve… sooner than later.

James: What did you say?

Zoey: (snapping out of it, smiling) Oh—nothing. Just… talking to myself.

(She brushes past him. A faint metallic smell lingers in the air. James frowns, unsettled, but shakes his head.)

James: (thinking) No. I won’t believe Esther’s nonsense. Zoey’s just… grieving. That’s all.

(Later that day. James sits at his desk, trying to work. His computer screen flickers. His mind drifts back to Ana. He sees her smile, then suddenly her pale face the way she was found. He shivers and shakes his head violently.)

James: (thinking) Stop it. She’s gone. It’s over.

(Esther walks past his desk, her eyes heavy with warning. She leans closer, whispering just enough for him to hear.)

Esther: James… please. Open your eyes. Something isn’t right here.

James: (irritated) Not you again, Esther. Enough of your ghost stories. You’re scaring everyone.

Esther: (firmly) I’m not lying. Can’t you feel it? Haven’t you noticed Zoey? Haven’t you seen the way she—

James: (cutting her off) That’s enough. Zoey is grieving. We all are. You’re making up things because you’re afraid.

Esther: (voice low, trembling) No, James. I’m making sense because I don’t want to be next.

(James looks away, refusing to meet her eyes. Esther shakes her head, defeated, and walks away.)

James: (thinking) She’s lost it. She’s letting fear control her. I won’t. I refuse to.

(Evening. Most employees leave. The office grows quiet. James stays behind, pretending to finish work. He sees Zoey at the far end of the hall, pouring something from her flask into another glass of water. She hums faintly, a soft, eerie tune.)

James: (thinking) …What is she doing?

(He watches. She stirs the glass slowly, then places it on a desk and leaves. James approaches. The liquid smells faintly bitter. He frowns.)

James: (thinking) Medicine? …Poison? No. Don’t be stupid, James. Don’t start thinking like Esther.

(He steps back, shaking his head. His hands tremble, but he convinces himself it’s just exhaustion.)

James: (muttering) Zoey wouldn’t… she couldn’t…

(But the memory of Ana and Zoey’s heated argument flashes in his head. He remembers Ana shouting, “I’ll never forgive you, Zoey! Never!” He remembers Zoey’s silence, her clenched fists. The image makes his skin crawl.)

James: (thinking) No… I’m just tired. That’s all. Esther’s words are poisoning me. There’s no curse. There’s no revenge.

(He packs his things and heads toward the elevator. The halls are dark. His footsteps echo unnaturally. A faint whisper brushes his ear. He freezes.)

Ana’s Voice: James…

James: (spinning around) Who’s there?!

(The hallway is empty. His chest heaves. Sweat drips down his temple. The whisper returns, softer, closer.)

Ana’s Voice: It’s only the beginning…

James: (shaking his head violently) No! No, you’re not real!

(The elevator dings. He rushes inside, pressing the button repeatedly. As the doors close, he sees Zoey at the end of the hallway, staring at him with a faint smile. She doesn’t move. She only watches. The doors shut. Darkness surrounds him in the elevator. His reflection in the steel door flickers for a second—not his own face, but Ana’s pale, hollow-eyed glare.)

James: (whispering to himself, terrified) Esther… you’re wrong. You have to be wrong.

(The elevator descends into silence. James grips his fists, trembling, denying the truth even as the shadows close in around him.)