The carvings on the table were etched with a pen's sharp end, each mark gouged deep into the wood, as if the writer had poured their anguish and desperation into every stroke. The words clustered tightly at the table's center, a chaotic tangle of pain that seemed to pulse with raw emotion. Chen Ge bent down, his flashlight casting a stark beam across the surface, illuminating the jagged lines of text. The intensity of the carvings spoke of a tormented soul, someone whose suffering had driven them to deface the table in a desperate bid to externalize their fear. His heart thudded in his chest as he leaned closer, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. The sealed classroom, with its heavy silence and dark history, seemed to amplify the significance of the words, as if the room itself was urging him to uncover the truth hidden in their depths.
The first inscription sent a chill through him: "The eyes on the toilet wall came alive! I saw it, the eyes were moving!" The words were frantic, their uneven strokes betraying the writer's terror. Chen Ge's mind flashed back to the peephole in the sixth cubicle, surrounded by those unsettling eye drawings, and he could almost feel the girl's panic as she described the sensation of being watched. The idea that the eyes had seemed to move, to come alive, was haunting, suggesting a supernatural presence that went beyond mere paranoia. The writer's fear was palpable, as if the act of carving these words had been a desperate attempt to make sense of an experience that defied reality, a cry for help etched into the wood of a classroom that held its own dark secrets.
The next line deepened the sense of dread: "I don't know why I would imagine that, but from that day onwards, I feel like a pair of eyes has been following me." The admission of doubt—questioning whether it was imagination—only made the statement more chilling. Chen Ge could imagine the girl, haunted by the constant sensation of being watched, her every moment shadowed by an unseen gaze. The words suggested a relentless pursuit, a presence that followed her beyond the confines of the toilet, infiltrating her daily life. The thought of such inescapable surveillance sent a shiver down his spine, the classroom's oppressive silence amplifying his unease. He wondered how long she had endured this torment, how many sleepless nights she had spent dreading the unseen eyes that seemed to track her every move.
The carvings continued, each one more desperate than the last: "They could be hiding anywhere, inside the drawer, under the bed, behind the pillow." The paranoia was vivid, the writer's fear extending to every corner of her world. Chen Ge's flashlight lingered on the words, his mind conjuring images of the girl checking every hiding place, her heart racing as she imagined those eyes lurking in the most mundane spaces. The idea that no place was safe—not her home, not her bed—painted a picture of a life consumed by terror. The classroom's eerie stillness seemed to echo her fear, as if the room itself was a witness to her suffering. Chen Ge felt a pang of sympathy, but also a growing sense of urgency to understand who or what was behind those eyes and how they had driven her to such a state.
The next inscription was a gut punch: "I've lost the courage to even look inside my bag, afraid that a pair of eyes will look back at me." The simplicity of the statement belied its horror, the everyday act of opening a bag transformed into a source of dread. Chen Ge could almost see the girl hesitating, her hands trembling as she reached for her bag, terrified of what might be staring back. The image was haunting, a testament to how deeply the trauma had embedded itself in her psyche. The classroom's heavy atmosphere seemed to press down harder, as if it were feeding on the fear etched into the table. Chen Ge's grip on his flashlight tightened, the beam wavering slightly as he absorbed the weight of her words, each one a step deeper into the nightmare she had lived.
The desperation escalated: "I'm afraid of being left alone. I don't dare enter tight spaces. I'm scared of the dark. The moment the lights are switched off, I scream, waking up from a nightmare! I believe I've lost my mind, and the pair of eyes is watching me slip down the spiral of insanity." The words painted a vivid picture of a girl unraveling, her fears consuming every aspect of her life. Chen Ge's heart ached for her, imagining the sleepless nights, the panic that seized her in darkness, the nightmares that tore her from sleep. The mention of insanity was chilling, suggesting she felt herself losing grip on reality, watched by those relentless eyes. The classroom's silence seemed to mock her suffering, its stillness a stark contrast to the chaos of her mind. Chen Ge wondered how long she had endured this torment before carving her pain into the table.
Another line followed, raw and pleading: "What should I do? A pair of eyes is following me." The simplicity of the question was heartbreaking, a cry for help that had gone unanswered. Chen Ge could feel the girl's desperation, her isolation as she grappled with a fear no one else seemed to understand. The classroom, with its history as the former morgue, felt like the perfect place for such a plea, a space where the boundary between the living and the dead was thin. The words echoed in his mind, each one a reminder of the girl's loneliness and the terror that had driven her to seek answers in this cursed place. Chen Ge's resolve hardened—he needed to find out who she was and what had happened to her, to give voice to the pain etched into the wood.
The carvings grew more frantic: "They must be hiding somewhere, and they look familiar, but I cannot place them." The mention of familiarity sent a jolt through Chen Ge, his mind racing to connect the dots. The eyes were not just a random terror but something—or someone—she recognized, yet couldn't identify. The ambiguity was maddening, suggesting a deeper connection to her tormentor, perhaps Teacher Fan himself. The classroom's oppressive atmosphere seemed to close in, as if the walls were listening, guarding the secrets of those eyes. Chen Ge's thoughts churned, the carvings pulling him deeper into the girl's nightmare, each word a clue to the tragedy that had unfolded at Mu Yang High School.
The next inscription revealed her attempts to seek help: "I have told my parents and the class teacher about this, but they brushed me off, saying that I probably need to lay off the heavy studying." The dismissal was infuriating, a stark reminder of how often victims are ignored. Chen Ge could imagine the girl's frustration, her pleas for understanding met with skepticism, her fear reduced to a symptom of academic stress. The classroom's silence seemed to echo the indifference she'd faced, its stillness a cruel reflection of the world that had failed her. Chen Ge's anger flared, not just at Teacher Fan but at those who had dismissed her suffering, leaving her to face her demons alone. The carvings were a testament to her isolation, a cry for help that had gone unheard.
The connection to the teacher grew clearer: "They are probably right. I'm probably too tired, or else why would I think the pair of eyes look so similar to the class teacher's eyes?" The revelation was chilling, tying the eyes directly to Teacher Fan, the mathematics teacher whose actions had scarred her. Chen Ge's mind flashed to the notes, the accusations against Teacher Fan, and the peephole in the sixth cubicle. The girl's suspicion, though dismissed as exhaustion, was a critical clue, one that confirmed Fan's role in her trauma. The classroom's eerie quiet seemed to pulse with the weight of this truth, as if the room itself was acknowledging the connection. Chen Ge's heart raced, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place, each carving bringing him closer to the heart of the mystery.
The carvings took a darker turn: "My parents told the teacher to keep a tab on me, and I know they meant well, but whenever I'm close to the respected class teacher, I just want to grab a pen and jab his eyes blind." The violent imagery was shocking, a raw expression of the girl's rage and fear. Chen Ge could feel her desperation, her proximity to Teacher Fan intensifying her torment, her instincts screaming to lash out against the source of her pain. The classroom's heavy air seemed to thicken, as if absorbing her anger, its silence amplifying the intensity of her words. Chen Ge's grip on his flashlight tightened, the carvings painting a vivid picture of a girl pushed to the brink, her emotions a volatile mix of fear and fury that threatened to consume her.
The girl's isolation deepened: "Have I finally gone off the deep end? I don't dare tell more people about this. I'm afraid, afraid of the eyes, and afraid that people might call me crazy." The self-doubt was heartbreaking, her fear of being labeled insane silencing her cries for help. Chen Ge could imagine her withdrawing, hiding her pain behind a facade of normalcy, terrified of judgment. The classroom's stillness felt like a judgment in itself, its silence a mirror to the world that had abandoned her. The carvings were a testament to her loneliness, each word a plea for someone to believe her, to see the truth behind her fear. Chen Ge's resolve strengthened, his determination to uncover her story growing with every line he read.
The facade of normalcy was crumbling: "I pretend to laugh and smile like I used to, but the appearance of the eyes has gotten far more frequent. I don't know who I can trust." The girl's attempt to maintain a normal life was faltering, the eyes' relentless presence eroding her ability to cope. Chen Ge could picture her forcing smiles, hiding her terror from friends and family, her trust in others shattered by the constant surveillance. The classroom's eerie atmosphere seemed to echo her isolation, its shadows hiding the same unseen eyes that haunted her. Chen Ge's heart ached for her, the carvings revealing a girl pushed to the edge, her world shrinking as the eyes closed in, leaving her with nowhere to turn.
The carvings grew increasingly desperate: "I feel like I'm breaking down. Horrible thoughts appear in my mind when I see needles or fruit knives. I find myself wailing for no reason. I want the tears to stop, but I can't control them. I know they are watching." The words painted a vivid picture of a girl unraveling, her mind consumed by violent impulses and uncontrollable grief. Chen Ge could imagine her staring at a knife, her thoughts spiraling into darkness, her tears a release she couldn't stop. The classroom's silence seemed to mock her pain, its stillness a cruel contrast to her inner turmoil. The carvings were a cry for help, a testament to the trauma that had pushed her to the brink, each word a step closer to the breaking point that had led her to this room.
The plea for release was stark: "This cannot go on any longer. I only seek release." The simplicity of the statement was chilling, a final declaration of a girl who could no longer bear her suffering. Chen Ge's heart sank as he read the words, imagining the girl standing in this very room, carving her desperation into the table as a last act of defiance. The classroom's heavy atmosphere seemed to close in, as if acknowledging her plea, its silence a witness to her final moments. Chen Ge wondered what "release" meant to her—escape from the eyes, from her pain, or something more final. The thought was haunting, the carvings a window into a soul pushed beyond endurance, seeking an end to her torment in this cursed place.
The final carving was a desperate wish: "I hope the rumors about this classroom are real. I am willing to give up everything just to destroy that pair of eyes." The words were a chilling confirmation of the classroom's role in her story. Chen Ge's mind raced, connecting the rumors of the sealed classroom's supernatural power to the girl's plea. She had come here, to the former morgue, believing its dark energy could grant her wish to be free of the eyes—Teacher Fan's eyes. The classroom's eerie silence seemed to pulse with the weight of her sacrifice, as if the room itself had answered her call. Chen Ge's skin prickled, the realization dawning that her actions in this room might have set the events of Fan Yu's parents' disappearance in motion, a desperate bargain with forces beyond her control.
Chen Ge didn't rush to leave after reading the carvings, his mind reeling from their implications. He meticulously recorded each inscription on his livestream, capturing every word as evidence of the girl's suffering and the truth behind Teacher Fan's fate. The carvings were almost certainly the work of the girl mentioned in the notes, the victim of Teacher Fan's actions in the sixth cubicle. Her trauma, etched into the table, was a testament to the horror she had endured, the eyes on the toilet wall a constant reminder of her violation. Chen Ge's heart ached for her, the weight of her pain pressing down on him as he stood in the silent classroom, the flashlight beam trembling slightly in his hand. The carvings were more than words—they were a cry for justice, a record of a girl pushed to the edge by a predator's actions.
The eyes in the toilet had left a deep scar on the girl, their relentless gaze driving her to the brink of madness. Combined with Teacher Fan's other actions—likely the voyeuristic invasion of her privacy—they had pushed her to seek help from the cursed classroom, a place rumored to hold supernatural power. Her desperate plea, carved into the table, suggested she had made a bargain, perhaps with the spirits that lingered in the former morgue. And it had worked, in a way—Fan Yu's parents had vanished, the eyes that haunted her dealt with forever. Chen Ge's mind raced, the implications chilling. The girl's actions had set off a chain of events that led to the tragedy, her desperation harnessing the classroom's dark energy to exact revenge. The thought was both awe-inspiring and terrifying, the classroom's silence a testament to its role in her story.
Chen Ge realized the sealed classroom was no ordinary room—it was the linchpin of the entire mystery, a place where the boundary between the living and the dead was dangerously thin. The carvings suggested that the true killer of Fan Yu's parents might not have been the students who wrote the notes, but the supernatural forces that resided within this classroom. The rumors of its power, its history as a morgue, and the stories of restless spirits all pointed to a place capable of granting desperate wishes—at a cost. Chen Ge's flashlight swept across the room, its beam catching the edges of the table, the textbook, and the paper, each object now imbued with a sinister significance. The classroom felt alive, its silence a watchful presence, as if the spirits within were waiting to see what he would do next.
The three paper notes, with their distinct handwritings, had pointed to three individuals who didn't appear on any student roster yet possessed the ability to kill. Chen Ge's mind latched onto a chilling possibility: what if the killers weren't human at all, but the ghosts that haunted this classroom? The spirits, perhaps those of the students killed in the rumored bus accident, would fit the criteria perfectly—undetectable, vengeful, and capable of supernatural acts. The notes, the carvings, the red shadow—all of it pointed to the classroom as the epicenter of the tragedy, a place where the girl's desperation had unleashed something far beyond her control. Chen Ge's heart pounded, the realization dawning that he was standing in the heart of a supernatural nexus, surrounded by forces he could barely comprehend.
As he stood in the sealed classroom, Chen Ge's resolve wavered, his flashlight beam trembling in the darkness. The group photo Fan Yu's aunt had shown him flashed in his mind, its eerie faces now taking on a new significance. He might not be dealing with just one or two ghosts, but an entire classroom of them, trapped in this cursed space, their anger and pain fueling the events that had consumed Fan Yu's family. The thought was overwhelming, the air growing heavier as if the spirits were closing in, watching him as they had watched the girl. Chen Ge's grip on his mallet tightened, his heart racing as he realized the true scope of the danger he faced. The sealed classroom was no longer just a mission objective—it was a battlefield, a place where the living and the dead collided, and he was standing at its center.
Chen Ge turned his attention to the other tables in the sealed classroom, his flashlight sweeping across their surfaces as he noticed something unsettling: each table bore its own set of carvings, etched into the wood with the same desperate intensity as the first. The discovery sent a chill through him, the realization that the girl's pain was not an isolated cry but part of a chorus of suffering etched into the room. The carvings varied in depth and style, some jagged and frantic, others slow and deliberate, but they all spoke of anguish, as if the classroom itself was a canvas for the school's darkest secrets. The air grew heavier, the silence pressing down as Chen Ge moved from table to table, each inscription a testament to the trauma that had taken root in this cursed place. His heart pounded, the weight of so many voices crying out through the wood amplifying the room's eerie atmosphere.
Every table is carved with words, but the handwritings are all different, Chen Ge noted, his mind racing to process the implications. The variety of scripts suggested multiple authors, each with their own story of pain or fear, yet the presence of so many carvings in one room hinted at a shared experience, a collective trauma tied to the sealed classroom's history. Were these the voices of other victims, or perhaps the spirits of the students killed in the rumored bus accident? The thought was chilling, the classroom's stillness seeming to pulse with the presence of those who had left their marks. Chen Ge's flashlight lingered on the tables, the beam trembling slightly as he considered the possibility that the room was a gathering place for restless souls, each carving a plea or a warning left unanswered by the living world.
As Chen Ge moved toward the next table, his elbow accidentally brushed against the central table, where the textbook, paper, and pen were meticulously arranged. The pen teetered on the edge before tumbling to the floor with a soft clatter that echoed in the silent room. Instinctively, he bent down to retrieve it, his fingers reaching for the pen in the dim light. But before he could grasp it, an arm emerged from beside the table, pale and unnervingly silent, picking up the pen and extending it toward him. The suddenness of the movement froze him in place, his breath catching as he stared at the outstretched hand. The arm was thin, almost ghostly, its presence defying the emptiness of the room. Chen Ge's heart thudded, the classroom's oppressive atmosphere amplifying the surreal horror of the moment.
"Thank you," Chen Ge muttered on reflex, accepting the pen as his voice trembled slightly in the heavy silence. But as he straightened up to place the pen back on the table, a wave of dread washed over him, freezing him in place. A surge of chills climbed up his spine, his skin prickling as the realization hit: Where did the arm come from? The classroom was empty—or so he had thought. His eyes darted to the spot where the arm had appeared, but there was nothing, just the shadowed space beside the table. The pen felt cold in his hand, its weight a reminder of the inexplicable encounter. The sealed classroom's eerie quiet seemed to mock him, as if the room itself was playing with his perception, teasing him with glimpses of the supernatural.
Instinctively, Chen Ge swung his mallet toward the spot where the arm had been, the weapon slicing through empty air with a faint whoosh. His heart raced as he scanned the room, the beam of his flashlight darting across the tables and chairs, searching for any sign of movement. The sealed classroom remained unchanged, its rows of desks and scattered chairs exactly as they had been when he entered. Yet, his gaze had shifted, sharpened by the encounter. The room no longer felt merely quiet—it felt alive, watchful, as if unseen eyes were tracking his every move. The carvings on the tables, the arm, the oppressive silence—all of it suggested that the classroom was more than a relic of the past; it was a nexus of the supernatural, a place where the dead lingered, waiting for their moment to act.
The mission description flashed through his mind, its words now chillingly relevant: There's a classroom at the end of the corridor that's always sealed. No one ever enters it, but every night, the classroom will come alive with activity, and it's almost midnight. The warning sent a shiver down his spine, the weight of its implications sinking in as he glanced at his watch. The time was dangerously close to midnight, the hour when the classroom was said to awaken. The thought of being trapped in a room filled with restless spirits was too much to bear, and Chen Ge's instincts screamed for him to flee. Surrendering the mission, he made a split-second decision to get out of the classroom as fast as possible, his resolve crumbling under the weight of the supernatural threat he now faced.
The closer Chen Ge got to the door, the more his anxiety spiked, his imagination conjuring terrifying scenarios. He pictured the door slamming shut at the last moment, trapping him inside as the classroom filled with spectral figures—ghosts of students, perhaps, or the girl whose carvings had revealed her torment. His heart pounded in his chest, each step toward the exit feeling like a race against an unseen force. He quickened his pace, almost running, his flashlight beam bouncing wildly as he rushed through the doorway. To his immense relief, the door remained open, and he stumbled into the corridor, his breath ragged. The fear of being locked inside with a classroom full of ghosts had been vivid, but mercifully, it hadn't come to pass. He paused just outside, his body trembling from the adrenaline, grateful to have escaped the sealed classroom's grasp.
Looks like this side mission is not accomplishable, Chen Ge thought, his gaze lingering on the closed door of the sealed classroom. The rumors about the room were likely true—the carvings, the arm, the oppressive atmosphere all pointed to a place haunted by the spirits of a lost class, perhaps the victims of the bus accident or others tied to the school's tragic history. The realization was chilling, the classroom's dark energy a palpable force that had nearly ensnared him. He had come close to uncovering its secrets, but the danger was too great, the presence of the supernatural too overwhelming. Chen Ge's resolve wavered, but he knew he couldn't linger; the school held other mysteries, and he needed to stay focused if he was to survive the night and complete his mission.
Before Chen Ge could catch his breath, he lowered his head and froze, a jolt of shock coursing through him. There, on the corridor floor beside his own muddy footprints, was another set of tracks—fresh, distinct, and unmistakably human. The prints, made by rubber shoes, suggested someone had stood outside the classroom for a long time, watching him through the window before leaving. The discovery sent his heart racing, the implications terrifying. Someone else had been here, observing him while he was inside the sealed classroom, unaware of their presence. The prints were clear, deliberate, as if the person had made no effort to hide their tracks. Chen Ge's mind raced with possibilities—was this a living person, or another manifestation of the school's ghosts? The thought of being watched added a new layer of dread to an already perilous night.
These look like the prints of rubber shoes; this person came prepared, Chen Ge noted, his eyes narrowing as he studied the tracks. The choice of footwear suggested someone who had anticipated the rain-soaked grounds, someone methodical and intentional in their actions. The realization that he had been watched while inside the sealed classroom sent a shiver down his spine. If something had gone wrong—if the ghosts had attacked or the door had sealed shut—this person could have easily locked him inside, trapping him with whatever horrors lurked in the room. The thought was chilling, the vulnerability of his situation sinking in. Chen Ge's grip on his mallet tightened, his instincts urging him to find this mysterious observer before they could pose a greater threat.
Steadying his nerves, Chen Ge resolved to track down the owner of the footprints. Footprints can't be hidden that easily, he thought, his determination returning as he focused on the trail. I'll need to find this person first before I decide what to do. The prints were clear, almost too clear, as if the person wanted to be followed. The trail led away from the classroom, winding through the corridor with a deliberate path that suggested confidence, not fear. Chen Ge followed cautiously, his flashlight illuminating the muddy tracks as they ascended to the third floor. His heart pounded with each step, the school's oppressive atmosphere amplifying his unease. When the trail led to the entrance of the third-floor toilet, he paused, his pulse quickening as he realized where the prints were taking him.
Chen Ge put away his phone, his hand steadying the mallet as he slowly pushed open the toilet door, the creak of the hinges echoing in the silent corridor. Inside, standing before the fifth cubicle, was a figure in a raincoat, their slender frame looking fragile, almost ghostly, in the dim light. The person appeared weak, as if they could collapse at any moment, their presence an unsettling contrast to the menacing atmosphere of the toilet. Chen Ge's heart raced, his mind flashing back to the red shadow he'd encountered here earlier. Was this another apparition, or something more tangible? He maintained a cautious three-meter distance, his mallet raised as he called out, "Whether you're a human or a ghost, you're not leaving here until you give me an explanation." His voice was firm, but beneath it lay a tremor of uncertainty, the school's mysteries weighing heavily on him.
After a long, tense silence, the figure slowly removed the hood of the raincoat, revealing a familiar face that sent a shock through Chen Ge. It was Fan Yu's aunt, her expression a mix of exhaustion and resolve. "I really didn't think you would come here," she said, her voice soft but steady. "I'm here to save you." The words caught Chen Ge off guard, his suspicion warring with curiosity. Fan Yu's aunt, here, in the middle of the night at Mu Yang High School? The coincidence was too great, her presence too convenient to be trusted fully. Her claim of wanting to save him rang hollow, especially given her earlier insistence on offering him that glass of water, a detail that still lingered in his mind as a potential red flag.
"Save me?" Chen Ge replied, his tone laced with skepticism. He hadn't forgotten the aunt's guarded behavior, her evasiveness when questioned about Fan Yu's parents, or the mysterious photo she'd shown him. She remained a suspect in his mind, her motives unclear despite her claim of goodwill. His grip on the mallet remained firm, his eyes locked on her as he weighed her words. Fan Yu's aunt reached into her raincoat and pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper, holding it up. "I saw Fan Yu's drawing," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "You are inside the drawing." The statement sent a chill through him, the implications of Fan Yu's eerie artwork taking on a new, personal significance. Was he now part of the haunting, drawn into the same cycle of terror that had consumed the boy's family?
"Place it on the floor and take a few steps back," Chen Ge instructed, his voice steady despite the unease creeping through him. He wasn't ready to trust her, not yet, not in this haunted place where nothing was as it seemed. The aunt's sudden appearance, the footprints, the drawing—all of it suggested a deeper connection to the school's mysteries, one that Chen Ge was determined to unravel. The toilet's dim light cast long shadows, the fifth cubicle looming behind her like a silent witness to their confrontation. Chen Ge's heart pounded, his mind racing with questions as he prepared to examine the drawing, knowing that it might hold the key to understanding not only the aunt's presence but his own role in the unfolding nightmare of Mu Yang High School.