Daniel wasn't supposed to be there.
It was well past school hours, the corridors dim under flickering overhead lights, and the
silence thick like wet wool. But something had drawn him to the east wing—an old part of the
school that smelled of mold, dust, and forgotten things.
He passed the rows of rusted lockers until he reached one in particular: #306.
It hadn't been opened in a year. Not since Amara vanished.
His fingers hesitated at the lock. It was broken, dangling like a snapped bone. Slowly, he
pulled the locker open.
Inside, there was nothing but a folded sheet of paper.
It hadn't yellowed with time. The corners were sharp, the ink fresh.
His pulse began to race.
He unfolded it.
"Daniel, I know you still hear me.
I'm trapped, but I'm not gone.
Don't tell anyone. Not yet.
Come back. Alone. — A."
He dropped the note like it had burned him.
How?
Amara had been gone for a year, missing, they said. A suicide, others whispered. The school
swept it under the rug so fast it barely left a stain. Daniel had tried to forget, but something
about her disappearance never sat right.
And now this.
He took a shaky breath, slid the note into his hoodie pocket, and shut the locker.
As he turned to leave, a soft click echoed behind him.
He stopped.
His eyes flicked back.
The locker was slightly open again.
Curiosity, or something darker, made him open it one more time.
A second piece of paper sat there, where nothing had been moments ago.
"You opened the door.
Now you have to listen."