-------------------------(个_个)-------------------------
༎ຶ‿༎ຶ.…....
[The Dining Hall Confrontation]
"Umm… finally, the tension's out!" I sighed, sinking into my chair.
Lucas stretched his arms and smiled. "Yeah, I can finally focus on my studies now."
Everyone laughed, clinking spoons and plates, the air finally light again.
Anny grinned. "Well, it was because of my idea that we're all safe today, okay?"
Draven chuckled. "Yeah, yeah—all credits go to you. Want me to throw a party for that?" He playfully pinched her cheek.
I watched them quietly. Something in my chest ached—that sharp, heavy kind of ache you don't want to admit even to yourself. When Draven's eyes almost met mine, I quickly looked down at my plate, pretending to be busy with my food.
I cleared my throat. "So… tomorrow morning, we'll put that box back in the old storeroom of the school. Then maybe, finally, the mystery chapter ends."
Lyric nodded. "Yeah."
Draven leaned back with a smirk. "Aww, so sad. I can't even get one proper look at the entity's face."
He's the kind of guy who'd probably walk into a haunted house just to get a selfie. Zero survival instinct, I thought silently.
Then Lyra turned to him with that cruel little smile she wore too easily. "You don't need to look for the entity, Draven. Just stare at Elina for a few seconds—her face is scary enough to summon one."
The words hit like a slap. Sharp. Public. Meant to sting.
And when I heard Amara laugh—my best friend—it cut deeper. Something inside me shifted. The hurt turned cold.
I looked up at Lyra, a small smile tugging my lips. My voice came out soft, but edged—a dangerous calm.
"Well, Lyra," I said, my tone light, "if I really do resemble a ghost, then at least I'd be useful. I could deal with them—maybe even be their partner." I tilted my head slightly, eyes steady on hers. "Better than playing the pretty and shallow girl act, don't you think? At least ghosts don't pretend to be nice."
The table went quiet for a second. Her smirk faltered.
I leaned back in my chair and added softly, "Sorry if that sounded cruel—guess I've been learning from the best."
A hush filled the space. Even Draven stopped grinning.
The group's laughter returned, weaker, forced—and soon we all excused ourselves for the night. But the silence that followed me back to my room felt heavier than ever.
As I walked toward the guest room, the corridor dim and quiet, my thoughts wouldn't stop spinning. Did I say too much? But then again… Lyra always mocks me. Ugh… why am I such an overthinker? I just don't like those jokes—not again and again. Sometimes they're fine… but not every time.
I sighed softly and pushed the door open. Maybe I overreacted, but her words hurt. Ughhh, let's just sleep for now.
Midnight: The Awakening
The moonlight slipped faintly through the curtains, touching the wooden floor in a silver glow. The room was empty—no one was sleeping there tonight.
But something else was awake.
The box. It sat silently on the corner table—small, cold, and still.
Then—tap… tap… tap.
The wood beneath it began to crack. A low hum echoed—deep, like a voice buried under the floor. Dark, smoke-like tendrils began to spill from the cracks of the box, crawling along the floor like living shadows.
The air grew cold—not just cold, wrong. The kind that freezes your bones, not your skin.
The shadows grew thicker, climbing the walls, choking the light. The window glass began to rattle violently—clink… clink… CLANG!
A soft laugh, low and broken, echoed from within the box. The sound was wrong—too human to be a ghost, too hollow to be alive.
The bulb flickered once, twice, and burst with a sharp pop!
The darkness inside the room started to move—alive, breathing, whispering. Faint shapes formed within it… long fingers, bending in directions bones shouldn't. The box twisted—the wood splintered open as if something inside was clawing to get out.
Then came the sound—a guttural hiss, almost a growl.
From inside the darkness, a voice murmured: "You fed me well… now, I feed back."
The walls trembled. Books flew off the shelf. The table split in two with a thunderous crack.
And in the blink of an eye—a black hand slammed against the mirror, leaving behind trails of blood and soot, as if it had crawled through it.
The whisper turned into a scream—not human, not animal—something between agony and laughter.
The room was no longer a room. It was a throat—swallowing the light, devouring the silence.
The box lay open.
And in the shattered reflection of the mirror, two glowing red eyes stared back—smiling.
The entity had begun its hunt.