That day at school, I tried to act normal. But normal was impossible. Every time I passed by the old wing, a cold shiver ran down my spine. The other students avoided it too, eyes wide and voices hushed.
In history class, Mrs. Harper handed out old newspaper clippings about Ashford High. I almost dropped the paper when I saw the headline: "Deadly Fire Claims Seven Lives in School's Old Wing."
The article was brief, almost clinical, but there was a handwritten note in the margin, faded and nearly illegible: "They never left. We are their voices."
I couldn't stop staring at those words.
After school, I met up with Sarah and Mike, two kids who'd been kind to me since I arrived. They were the only ones who believed me when I told them about last night.
"I don't know why, but I feel like something's connected to you," Sarah said, eyes serious. She sighed.
Mike nodded. "It's like the school… it's feeding on you." Mike looked at me for a while before looking away. "We need to find out why." He said.
We made a plan to investigate the old wing together that night. I was scared—terrified, actually—but I knew I couldn't do this alone.
That evening, armed with flashlights and a camera, we slipped back to the old wing.
The air was heavy, thick with dust and something far worse—an invisible weight pressing down on our chests.
The iron doors groaned as we forced them open.
Inside, the whispers returned, louder now, almost urgent.
"Help us… find the truth…"
We explored the wing room by room, each one a tomb of frozen memories—burned desks ,scarttered desks, scarred walls.
In the last classroom, the one where I'd nearly lost my mind, Sarah found something—a small wooden box tucked under a broken desk.
Inside were old journals, fragile and yellowed with age.
I opened the first one and began to read aloud.
The journal belonged to a girl named Emily, one of the students who died in the fire.
Her handwriting was shaky, the pages filled with frantic notes about strange noises, shadows moving on their own, and a growing fear she could never explain.
Emily wrote about a figure she called "The Watcher"—a shadow that stalked the wing, whispering secrets and promising to set things right.
She ended with a chilling line: "If you find this, beware The Watcher. It does not want us freed."
Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind us.
The temperature dropped sharply.
Our flashlights flickered.
A low, guttural growl echoed through the hall.
We were not alone.
Figures appeared in the shadows—dark shapes with glowing eyes, moving closer and closer.
I felt frozen, trapped between terror and disbelief.
The voices whispered all around us—some begging, some warning.
Then, out of the darkness, a pale hand reached for me.
I screamed, and everything exploded into chaos.
We ran, barely escaping the old wing as the doors slammed shut behind us once more.
Breathless, we stood outside, hearts pounding.
Sarah looked at me with wide eyes.
"We have to find out who The Watcher is," she said.
Mike nodded, pale but determined.
That night, I lay awake, haunted by the faces in the shadows and the voice that called my name.
Ashford High's dark secret was far from over.
And The Watcher was coming for me. But why? What did I do so to anger it or catch its interest?
Is searching for the watcher a good idea..? But what if.. The watcher.. Caught us first?