The morning light that slipped through the dorm curtains felt too clean—like it didn't belong in a place that smelled faintly of dust and lemon polish.
Amelia dressed in her uniform, still stiff from being new, and pinned her name tag to her collar. Saint Vincent Academy, it said underneath in gold letters. Her reflection in the mirror looked calm, but she could still hear that faint whisper of wind from last night—the one that seemed to breathe through the locked door across the hall.
She tried to shake it off. Maybe it was just the pipes or an open window. Every old building had its noises.
The hallway outside buzzed with the soft chaos of morning—students rushing with toast in their mouths, the click of shoes on polished wood, someone laughing too loudly. Everything felt normal enough, until the sound came again.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
It was faint, like fingernails brushing wood. She turned, scanning the empty end of the corridor. The sound stopped immediately, leaving only her heartbeat echoing in her ears.
Amelia forced a smile when her roommate, Harper, joined her.
"First day of class," Harper said, clutching her books. "You ready?"
"Yeah," Amelia lied. "Totally ready."
---
Classes began after assembly in the chapel. The stained glass windows spilled colored light over everyone's faces—green, red, blue—like tiny masks. The principal gave a warm welcome, the choir sang, and for a brief moment Amelia thought maybe she'd imagined everything strange about this place.
Then the morning announcements began.
"Literature classes will be held in the East Wing," the teacher said. "Groups A and B in Rooms 301 to 309."
Amelia's eyes flicked down at her schedule. Literature – Room 308.
A cold trickle ran through her stomach. 308 again.
She must have stared too long, because Harper leaned closer. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Just thinking."
When classes started, they split off down the long hallway of the East Wing. Amelia noticed how the ceiling lights flickered slightly, like they couldn't make up their minds whether to shine or not. The walls were lined with portraits of past headmistresses, their eyes painted a little too realistically.
At the corner stood an elderly janitor mopping the floor. He looked up when Amelia passed. For a second, his gaze lingered on her schedule card in her hand. Then his brows furrowed.
"Where you headed, miss?" he asked, his voice rough like gravel.
"Room 308," she said.
He stopped mopping. "You sure?"
Amelia gave a nervous laugh. "That's what's written here."
He glanced toward the end of the corridor, then back at her. His lips parted as if to say something, but he just nodded and went back to his mop.
---
Room 301, 302, 303… the numbers climbed neatly as she walked.
Then she stopped.
307.
A small gap of wall.
309.
Amelia blinked. Looked back. Checked again.
No door in between. No hidden handle. Just a stretch of pale wall where 308 should've been.
Maybe she misread her schedule. She checked again—no, it clearly said 308.
Her fingers brushed the cool wall where the next door should've been. She could've sworn it felt colder there, like the air itself held its breath.
Harper caught up behind her, her voice breaking the silence.
"Amelia? What are you doing?"
"Nothing. Just…" She hesitated. "Looking for 308."
Harper frowned. "There's no 308 here. Never has been. That space is the janitor's closet or something, I think."
"But—" Amelia swallowed. "The schedule says—"
"Probably a typo. Come on, Mrs. Ford hates latecomers."
Reluctantly, Amelia followed her into Room 309. The teacher, Mrs. Ford, greeted everyone with a too-tight smile. She was in her forties, with silver hair pinned up and glasses that flashed sharply in the light.
As she marked attendance, she paused on one name.
"Amelia Brooks?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Mrs. Ford's expression didn't change, but she hesitated for half a second before moving to the next name.
Later, during class, Amelia tried to focus on the lecture about classic British poetry, but her attention kept drifting. The sound returned—faint but steady—tap… tap… tap. Like someone knocking from inside the wall behind her.
She turned around. Everyone else seemed oblivious.
"Do you hear that?" she whispered to Harper.
"Hear what?"
"The tapping."
Harper frowned, listening. "No. Are you sure it's not the radiator?"
Amelia nodded quickly, pretending that made sense, but her hands stayed tight around her pen. The sound faded only after class ended.
---
After lunch, she returned to the East Wing alone. The corridor was quieter now, almost hollow. The gap between 307 and 309 still stared at her like a missing tooth.
She pressed her ear to the wall.
At first, there was nothing—only silence. Then, faintly, she heard it again.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Three times. Then a pause. Then one more.
Her heart thudded.
It almost sounded like a pattern.
Amelia stepped back. "Hello?" she said softly, feeling ridiculous.
No answer.
But when she turned to leave, something caught her eye. The brass number plate of Room 307 was slightly loose, tilted at an angle—as though someone had tried to pry it off. And right beneath it, etched faintly into the paint, was a small scratch that looked like a number.
308.
Her breath hitched. She reached out to touch it—but the moment her fingertip brushed the mark, the light above her flickered violently.
When it steadied again, the scratch was gone.
---
She ran all the way back to her dorm.
That night, Harper found her sitting by the window, hugging her knees.
"Okay," Harper said, sitting beside her. "You've been weird all day. What's wrong?"
Amelia hesitated. "If I told you, you'd think I'm crazy."
"Try me."
"There's… there's supposed to be a Room 308. But it's not there. And I heard someone knocking from inside the wall."
Harper blinked slowly, then gave a nervous laugh. "You're right. That does sound crazy."
Amelia didn't laugh back.
Harper's smile faltered. "Okay, maybe you just need sleep. Saint Vincent's old—pipes make noises, lights flicker. You'll get used to it."
Amelia nodded, but deep down she knew what she heard.
And just as she turned off her lamp, the faint tapping came again.
Soft. Patient. From somewhere behind the dorm wall.
---
Outside, the wind swept through the courtyard, carrying the sound of the old bell tower.
It rang once, twice… then stopped halfway, as if something unseen had silenced it.