5

I hadn’t been back to the science wing since the accident.
They closed it off for months — yellow tape, padlocks, “under maintenance” signs. But last week, they quietly opened it again. No ceremony. No announcement. Just… open.
Like they wanted us to pretend nothing ever happened.

I told myself I was just curious. That I wanted to see it for myself.
But the truth? I needed to know if what I’d been feeling — those whispers, the unease — was real.
So after class, when the halls were almost empty, I went.

The door creaked when I pushed it open. The smell of smoke still lingered, faint but unmistakable.
Desks were overturned, glass scattered across the floor. Burn marks on the walls, black and uneven, like shadows frozen in time.
And then I saw it — the corner where they said it started.

Something shiny caught my eye beneath one of the broken tables.
I knelt down and reached for it — a silver bracelet, half-melted but still engraved with a name.
Emily.

My breath caught in my throat.
And just then, from behind me, a sound — soft, almost like breathing.
When I turned around, the door was closed.