Crestfield University had a reputation for brilliance and shadows.
Founded in 1896, the campus sprawled across hills once occupied by colonial estates, rumored burial grounds, and in some corners — old hospitals no longer on record. Its gothic architecture stood tall and proud, cloaked in ivy and stories best left untold. Generations of students passed through its hallowed halls chasing ambition, but beneath the success and prestige, a quieter truth existed — some students didn't just leave after graduation. Some vanished.
And some were forgotten.
Nestled at the edge of the campus, Dormitory 6A stood apart — not just in distance, but in essence. Its architecture didn't quite match the others. It looked older, colder, as though time didn't flow the same way within its walls. While other dorms were lively and renovated, 6A seemed to resist modernization — like it didn't want to be disturbed.
Officially, the dorm was listed in the archives as a "special assignment building," originally a temporary structure during a campus expansion in the 1940s. But there were whispers, buried deep in forgotten conversations and hushed warnings. Some said it had been a government-funded psychology center; others spoke of sleep studies, psychic experiments, and sensory deprivation trials gone wrong.
Clara didn't believe any of it.
Until the knocking happened again.
It was her third night in Room 213, and the silence was no longer peaceful — it was thick, heavy, as if it was listening. Her lamp flickered even when unplugged. Her mirror fogged without steam. And the knocking… always three knocks. Always slow.
No one ever stood on the other side.
That morning, she left Maya half-asleep and trudged to the campus library. She needed answers. Her dreams had become strange — too vivid. One dream, in particular, had chilled her to the bone: a girl standing in their dorm hallway, her back to Clara, whispering something over and over. When Clara tried to get closer, the girl's head turned — too far — her neck cracking, her eyes hollow.
It was just a dream.
But it didn't feel like one.
Clara ran her fingers down a row of dusty books, unsure what she was even looking for, until a worn brown binder caught her eye. It was tucked away behind newer volumes and labeled Dorm Assignments: Historical Records. She pulled it out and flipped through its delicate pages.
That's when she saw it.
Dorm 6A: Restricted Access.
Underneath, in angry red pen: STAY AWAY. THEY NEVER LEFT.
A chill raced down her spine.
Clara took the binder to the front desk. The librarian, a woman with thin grey hair in a loose bun and thick glasses hanging from her neck, looked up slowly.
"Excuse me," Clara said. "Do you have anything else on Dorm 6A? Maybe floor plans, blueprints, or incident reports?"
The librarian's demeanor shifted instantly. Her lips tightened. "Why?"
"I'm staying there. Room 213."
The librarian stood up straighter. "That dorm was supposed to be condemned."
"I... didn't have a choice. It was the only room left."
The woman stepped from behind the counter and glanced around before leaning in. "Listen to me, sweetheart. You need to get out of there. Transfer. Sleep on someone's couch. I don't care what you do, but don't stay."
Clara blinked, taken aback. "Why? What happened there?"
"I've worked at this university for over thirty years," the librarian whispered. "That building used to be something else. Not officially. Off the books. They ran tests on students. Isolation experiments. Some say they opened... doors."
Clara's throat went dry. "Doors to what?"
"No one knows. Or if they do, they've stayed quiet. All I can tell you is — five students disappeared there in the 1950s. No bodies, no explanations. Just gone. Room 213 was always the common link."
"That's the room I'm in."
The librarian's expression hardened. "Then I hope you're good at running."
---
Back at the dorm that night, Clara couldn't sit still. The librarian's words echoed in her mind like a curse. She paced Room 213, glancing at the window, now sealed tight with the lock Maya insisted on. Outside, the moon hung low behind passing clouds, casting strange shadows that danced along the hallway outside their room.
Maya sat on the floor, headphones on, scribbling into her journal. Clara hesitated, then sat beside her.
"Can I ask you something?"
Maya nodded but didn't look up.
"Do you know anything about the dorm's past?"
At that, Maya stopped writing.
"I mean, really know. Not just rumors."
Maya closed the journal. "You've been digging."
"Wouldn't you?"
Maya looked at her, eyes colder than usual. "Most people get scared and leave. You're still here."
"I need to know."
There was a long pause.
Finally, Maya spoke. "There are rules. You've felt it already, haven't you? The energy. The cold. The knocking."
Clara nodded slowly.
"That's just the beginning," Maya said. "It starts small — flickering lights, dreams, voices. Then it gets worse. People see things. They go missing."
"Missing where? How?"
Maya glanced at the locked window. "They say this building doesn't belong fully in this world. It's a place between. A pocket of something else. People who stay too long become part of it."
Clara shivered.
"There's a reason I keep the light on," Maya added. "There's a reason I don't sleep near the door."
"Why haven't you left?"
Maya hesitated. "Because I'm looking for someone."
Clara's brow furrowed. "Who?"
"My sister. Rachel."
The room fell silent.
Clara's breath caught. "Wait... Rachel? The name you warned me about?"
Maya stood abruptly. "If you see her — don't speak to her. Don't believe anything she says. She's not... my sister anymore."
"Where is she?"
"I don't know. But she knocks."
---
That night, Clara couldn't sleep. Maya had left the room without explanation. The hallway light flickered outside their door. Clara lay still, listening.
And then — as expected — the knock.
Three times.
She didn't move.
But then came the whisper.
So faint. Almost childlike.
"Clara... it's me... I'm locked out."
Clara's blood froze.
She sat up slowly. The voice was familiar — her cousin's. But it couldn't be. It was impossible.
She glanced at the door. Shadows moved beneath it.
Then — the doorknob turned.
And stopped.
Silence.
When Maya returned an hour later, Clara was still awake, eyes wide in terror.
She didn't ask where Maya had gone.
Maya didn't ask why Clara was crying.
The silence between them said enough.
---