The letter floated.
Not high, not wildly — just enough to defy every rule of the world they knew. It hovered above the desk, spinning slowly in the dim yellow light, the broken seal twisting like it had a life of its own.
The others stumbled back in shock.
Jet's flashlight flickered in her trembling hands.
Tony dropped his cube; it clattered against the floor and rolled into the corner.
Samy's voice came out in a whisper. "It's… floating… it's really floating—"
Tin grabbed her arm. "Don't move," he hissed. "Just—don't."
But Roger and Kim didn't step back.
They didn't even flinch.
Roger's expression stayed calm, eyes scanning every inch of the desk. "Something's holding it," she said quietly. "Something we can't see."
Kim nodded, jaw tight. "Then we need to understand what. Panicking won't help."
The letter twirled faster now, papers fluttering as if caught in invisible wind. The diary beside it remained still, half-open on a page stained with dark smudges — maybe ink, maybe something else.
Roger glanced at it again, steady as ever. "Whatever this place is… whoever wrote this diary… they knew what was happening."
She sat down, brushing dust from the chair, and continued reading aloud despite the terror thickening around them.
"…They whisper to me through the hallways now. They say it's their turn to live again. I think the school itself is remembering what happened… and it won't stop until it's complete."
Samy whimpered softly, pressing her back against the wall. "Roger, please stop reading that…"
But Roger ignored her. Her eyes were locked on the words as if they were pulling her in.
"If anyone enters the other side, they will see what they shouldn't. The moment the letter opens, the gate to the past begins to breathe again."
"'The gate to the past'?" Kim murmured. "What does that even—"
Before he could finish, the letter snapped open midair.
Pages fluttered like wings. The air grew thick, swirling, full of dust and static. The lights dimmed until the whole room seemed to pulse with a dull red glow.
The others backed away, shielding their faces, coughing as the air turned heavy with dust.
Only Roger and Kim stood their ground, eyes fixed on the floating letter.
"Can you see that?" Roger asked softly.
Kim nodded. "Yeah… there's… something behind it."
For a split second, the light from Jet's dying torch flashed across the far wall — and they saw it.
A shape.
Tall. Still.
Like a shadow cast by no one.
It didn't move. It didn't breathe.
But its presence filled the room.
The air felt alive — too alive.
The whispering started again, soft and broken, coming from everywhere at once.
Words without shape, sound without meaning.
Just a presence pressing into their thoughts, crawling under their skin.
The diary's pages flipped on their own, faster and faster, until they stopped at one final line scrawled in jagged handwriting:
"If it's looking at you — don't look back."
Roger froze. "Kim…"
"I see it," he said quietly. His eyes were locked on the dark corner near the desk. "It's right there."
Tony swallowed hard, voice trembling. "Wh-what is?"
Kim didn't answer. He didn't move. Neither did Roger.
The air grew colder again — so cold their breaths turned white.
And then, without a sound, the letter dropped onto the desk.
Everything went still.
No more whispers.
No more wind.
Just silence.
For a long moment, none of them spoke.
Then, from the corner where the shadow had stood, came the faint sound of slow, deliberate footsteps.
One step.
Two.
Closer.
Roger set the diary down carefully and stood.
Her face was calm.
Her voice steady.
"Whoever — or whatever — you are," she said, staring into the dark,
"we didn't come to harm you. We came to understand."
The footsteps stopped.
The silence stretched until it felt like the world itself was holding its breath.
Then, in a voice like cracked glass and whispering dust, the thing finally spoke:
"Then you must remember what your school forgot."