For a long moment, Amelia didn't move.
The hallway was silent, washed in the sickly yellow glow of the emergency lights that flickered every few seconds. The west wing of Davenport High was always cold, but tonight the air felt sharper—like the walls were breathing in instead of out.
The knock came again.
Soft. Rhythmic.
Patient.
Almost as if whoever—or whatever—was behind the wall knew she was standing there.
Amelia swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around her phone. The screen was black, though she hadn't switched it off. It simply refused to turn on. Typical. Always dying at the exact moment she needed light the most.
She stepped closer to the wall. It was blank, smooth, painted the same pale blue as every other hallway in the school. But something about it felt wrong. The air around that section was colder than the rest, like a patch of winter had settled into the concrete.
"…Leah?" she whispered.
It slipped out before she could stop herself.
The knock stopped.
Silence pressed against Amelia's ears. Her heartbeat was loud enough that she wondered if the whole hallway heard it. She leaned in, placing her palm flat against the wall.
Nothing.
Then—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Three knocks, right where her hand touched.
Amelia stumbled back, almost tripping over her own shoes.
"Okay… okay… this is not happening," she muttered under her breath. "This is definitely not happening."
She grabbed her backpack and turned around, ready to bolt.
"Amelia?"
She froze.
A voice—human, normal, alive—echoed down the hallway. She turned to see Ethan, holding a flashlight and looking just as nervous as she felt.
"What are you doing here?" she whispered harshly.
"I saw your message," he said. "You said something was happening in the west wing. I figured you'd come here alone and… well, I wasn't wrong."
Amelia blinked. "I didn't send you anything."
His brows knit together. "You texted me an hour ago. 'Meet me at the west hall. I need help.' That was you?"
"No," she said. "I didn't text you. My phone is dead."
He stopped walking, his expression shifting from confused to chilled.
"You're saying… someone else texted me from your phone?"
"I don't know," she said. "But something is behind this wall."
She pointed.
Ethan turned the flashlight toward the blank stretch, and Amelia watched his face drain of color as he stepped closer.
"That's not a wall," he murmured.
"What do you mean?"
He raised the light higher and knocked. Instead of the expected solid thud, the sound came out hollow. Almost… wooden.
"This is a covered door," he said.
Amelia's breath caught. "But why would the school cover a door?"
Ethan looked at her, his voice low. "You know why."
Room 308.
Leah's disappearance.
The warnings.
The voice whispering her name.
It all suddenly felt too real.
"Help me check the edges," he said. "If there's a door underneath, there must be a seam."
They ran their fingers along the wall, searching. After a minute, Ethan stopped.
"Here," he breathed.
Amelia crouched beside him. Under the chipped paint near the skirting, there was a thin, almost invisible line running upward—like the outline of a door covered hastily with plaster and paint.
Ethan stood and pushed lightly.
The wall groaned.
Dust drifted down.
Something inside shifted, as if it hadn't been touched in years.
Amelia braced herself. "Should we… open it?"
Ethan hesitated. "If Leah is really in there…"
That was all she needed.
She pressed her shoulder against the door.
It moved.
Just a crack, but enough for cold air to spill out—a wave of biting chill that made her eyes sting. Ethan helped, and together they forced it open wider until there was enough space to slip through.
Darkness waited inside.
Thick, heavy, suffocating.
Ethan lifted his flashlight. "Ready?"
"No," Amelia whispered. "But let's go."
They stepped through the hidden door and into a narrow hallway coated in dust. It smelled like old textbooks and something faintly metallic—like a room sealed since the last century.
As they walked deeper, the air grew colder.
The flashlight flickered.
"Not now," Ethan muttered, tapping it. The beam steadied, weak but enough to guide them.
Amelia stayed close behind him, trying not to stare at the peeling wallpaper or the abandoned shoe lying in the middle of the floor, as if someone had been dragged out of it.
She shook her head. Don't imagine things.
They reached a small intersection. Ahead were two doors:
307
308
Both rusted metal numbers were half-hanging, but there was no mistaking them.
Ethan's voice was almost a whisper. "This place shouldn't exist."
Amelia walked toward Room 308. Her legs felt heavy, her throat tight. She remembered the texts.
Leah isn't missing. She's in 308.
Her fingers hovered over the doorknob. It was ice-cold. Freezing, almost like touching metal left outside during snowfall.
"Wait," Ethan said, grabbing her wrist. "Listen."
They both fell silent.
Inside Room 308, something moved. Not footsteps. Not talking. More like… shifting fabric, or someone turning over in bed.
Amelia's heart pounded. "Someone is in there."
"Or something," Ethan said.
She glared. "Not helping."
He let go of her wrist but positioned himself beside her. "On three?"
She nodded.
"One…"
Her fingers tightened.
"Two…"
Her breathing quickened.
"Three."
She twisted the handle.
The door creaked open.
Darkness swallowed them.
Ethan raised the flashlight—and the beam landed on a small dorm room, untouched but coated in a layer of dust. A bed. A desk. A broken lamp. A closet door slightly ajar.
Nothing unusual.
At first.
Then the flashlight beam caught something on the bed.
A phone.
Still on.
Still glowing.
On the screen was a message draft, as if someone had been typing before they left—or before they were stopped.
The text read:
"Amelia, don't trust—"
The sentence ended abruptly.
"That's Leah's phone," Amelia whispered. "She has that exact case. It's hers."
Ethan moved forward cautiously. "Then where is she?"
Amelia approached the bed, reaching for the phone. Her fingers brushed the screen—
And the closet door snapped shut behind her.
She screamed, spinning around.
Ethan rushed forward, grabbing her arm. "It's okay, it's okay! It must've been the wind—"
"There is no wind in here!" Amelia shouted.
Before Ethan could respond, the phone lit up with a new message.
No one touched it.
No one typed.
"You shouldn't be here."
Ethan and Amelia stared at each other.
Another message popped up.
"Turn around."
Slowly—too slowly—they turned their heads toward the closet door.
Something moved inside it.
A quiet shift.
A soft scrape.
Like someone sliding their feet across the floor.
Ethan grabbed Amelia's hand.
"We're leaving," he whispered.
But as they took a step back, the closet door handle began to turn.
Once.
Twice.
Then it stopped.
Silence.
Amelia's voice shook. "We have to run."
"I know."
They moved toward the hallway, but then a voice—barely a breath—escaped from inside the closet.
A girl's voice.
Small.
Weak.
Terrified.
"Help… me…"
Amelia froze. "Leah?"
Ethan tugged her arm desperately. "Amelia, we need to go. Right now."
The voice came again, closer, trembling.
"Please… don't… leave me."
Amelia looked at the closet, at the shaking door handle, at the shadow beneath it.
Her vision blurred with panic and confusion.
"I can't leave her," she whispered.
But the flashlight flickered violently, and suddenly the entire room plunged into darkness.
And the last thing Amelia heard was a whisper brushing against her ear—
"You found me."