Chapter 1
The alarm screamed in Sarah's ear.
SARAH: "Ugh… already?"
She rolled over, long black hair spilling across her pillow, then forced herself to sit up. Her oversized black hoodie hung from the chair where she left it last night, sleeves too long, fabric worn soft from constant use. She grabbed it and pulled it on, letting it swallow her frame.
For a moment, her eyes passed over the mirror on her wall.
In the glass, her reflection stared back—same hoodie, same messy hair—but as she turned away, the reflection stayed still one second too long.
Sarah didn't notice.
She tugged on her baggy jeans, slung her backpack over one shoulder, and opened her bedroom door.
Scene: Kitchen
Her mom stood at the stove, flipping eggs in a pan. Her dad sat at the table, scrolling on his phone, a mug of coffee steaming in front of him.
MOM: "Morning, Sarah. First day at the new school. You excited?"
SARAH: "More like… trying not to throw up."
Her dad snorted without looking up.
DAD: "You'll be fine. Just stay out of trouble."
Sarah dropped into her chair. For a heartbeat, the kitchen light flickered. A tall shadow stretched behind her chair, long and wrong, like someone else was standing there.
It vanished when the light steadied.
Sarah froze, fork halfway to her mouth.
SARAH: "…Did the lights just flicker?"
MOM: "Old wiring. Your dad keeps saying he'll fix it."
DAD: "I will. Eventually."
A whisper brushed against Sarah's ear.
WHISPER: "Sarah…"
She jolted and twisted around. No one stood there. Just the empty hallway.
MOM: "You okay, honey?"
SARAH: "Yeah, just… thought I heard something."
Her mom gave her a quick, worried look, then forced a smile.
MOM: "Nerves. That's all."
Sarah swallowed the last bite of eggs and stood.
SARAH: "I'm gonna head out."
MOM: "Text me when you get there."
DAD: "And don't be late on your first day."
She grabbed her backpack and stepped out the front door.
Scene: On the way to school
The morning air was cool and gray. Sarah tucked her hands into the long sleeves of her hoodie, head down, walking the cracked sidewalk.
She passed rows of ordinary houses—lawns, cars, trash cans lined up for collection. Then she reached that house.
Every window was covered from the inside with newspaper. The paper was yellowed and wrinkled, like it had been there for years. No lights, no sound.
Sarah slowed.
SARAH: "…Creepy."
As she walked past, a pale handprint slowly pressed out on the inside of one window, fingers wide and desperate. The shape smeared across the newspaper.
Sarah turned her head sharply.
The handprint was gone. Just layers of paper again.
She stood there, heart thudding.
SARAH: "Get it together. It's just paper."
She forced herself to keep walking.
Scene: School gates
The school loomed up ahead, tall and brick, buzzing with students. Laughter, yelling, the clatter of lockers and doors.
Next to the main building stood an older structure, its windows boarded up, rusted chains twisted over the front doors. A crooked sign hung there:
"NO ENTRY."
Sarah stared at it.
SARAH (thought): "Why even keep it if no one can use it?"
Two guys shoved past her, laughing, and she flinched back into motion.
Inside the front courtyard, clustered groups of students stood around talking. Near the entrance, four boys—they looked a little older than her—stood together like a separate island: Kevin, Noah, Aaron, and Abraham.
Kevin kept his hands jammed in his pockets.
Noah's eyes flicked around like he was waiting for something.
Aaron stared at the ground.
Abraham clenched his jaw, fingers twitching at his side.
As Sarah walked past them toward the doors, the guys' conversation died.
She felt it—their eyes on her.
SARAH (thought): "Okay… that's not weird at all."
Just for an instant, in the reflection of the glass door, a fifth shape stood with them. A boy, blurry and dripping water, shoulders hunched.
When Sarah blinked, the shape was gone.
Scene: Classroom
The classroom buzzed with noise. Sarah stepped inside, heat rising in her cheeks. Everyone already seemed to know where to sit, who to talk to.
She slid toward the back, dropping into the last row near the window. She pulled her hoodie sleeves over her hands and stared at her desk.
A voice popped up beside her.
LUCY: "Wow. Brave."
Sarah looked up.
A girl with messy ponytail and bright eyes flopped into the seat next to her, grinning.
SARAH: "What?"
LUCY: "You picked that seat."
SARAH: "…What's wrong with this seat?"
Lucy leaned in, lowering her voice dramatically.
LUCY: "People say it's cursed."
Sarah blinked.
SARAH: "Okay. That's… not weird at all."
Lucy smiled wider.
LUCY: "Last year, a girl sat there. She was fine for, like, three weeks. Then she stopped coming. The school says she 'transferred,' but no one knows where to."
Sarah shifted uncomfortably. The chair felt colder all of a sudden.
SARAH: "You're messing with me."
LUCY: "I wish I was. This school is full of creepy stories. I'm Lucy, by the way."
SARAH: "…Sarah."
Lucy's eyes flicked over Sarah's hoodie and baggy jeans.
LUCY: "Nice style. You look like you could be in a band."
SARAH: "I look like I lost a fight with my laundry basket."
Lucy laughed.
Behind them, the empty desk creaked, as if someone had just put their weight on it.
Both girls turned around at the same time.
No one was there.
Lucy shivered.
LUCY: "…Okay, that was good timing. I'll give the ghost that."
Scene: Group work
Later, the teacher clapped hands for attention.
TEACHER: "All right, everyone. Group activity. I'll assign groups."
Name after name came and went. Sarah tapped her pen, eyes on her notebook.
TEACHER: "Sarah, Lucy… Kevin, Noah, Aaron, Abraham. You six will work together."
Lucy made a face.
LUCY (whisper): "Oh. Them again."
The four boys dragged their desks closer. The air seemed to tighten.
KEVIN: "Let's just get this over with."
NOAH: "Yeah."
Aaron fumbled with his pen, almost dropping it. Abraham sat down slowly, his hand slipping into his pocket like he was checking something.
Lucy leaned toward Sarah.
LUCY (whisper): "They used to be five. Last year. There was another guy with them. Then he just… stopped showing up. No explanation."
Sarah swallowed.
SARAH (whisper): "You mean like the girl in this seat?"
Lucy nodded slightly.
LUCY: "Maybe this school just… eats people."
Aaron glanced up, eyes quickly darting from Lucy to Sarah.
AARON: "Can you two not joke about that?"
Kevin glared at him.
KEVIN: "Ignore them. Let's just do the assignment."
Sarah's gaze dropped to Abraham's hand. For a split second, she saw what he was gripping inside his pocket—a small, old metal key, edges rusted, something dark dried in the grooves.
Abraham noticed her looking.
ABRAHAM: "…What are you staring at?"
Sarah snapped her eyes back to her paper.
SARAH: "Nothing."
Her skin prickled, like someone was looking over her shoulder.
She glanced back at her cursed seat.
For one heartbeat, a wet handprint smeared across the desktop. Then it was dry again.
Scene: Bathroom
The bell rang. Class ended. Students scattered.
Sarah slipped out, saying nothing, her head buzzing.
Lucy called after her.
LUCY: "Hey, where are you going?"
SARAH: "Bathroom. Be right back."
The hallway was almost empty, footsteps echoing against the floor. The lights overhead hummed.
Sarah pushed open the bathroom door. The room smelled of cheap soap and disinfectant. Three stalls stood in a row; all doors were closed.
She moved to the sink, dropping her backpack on the counter, and turned on the faucet. Water splashed into the basin.
She stared at herself in the mirror—hood up, dark hair spilling out, eyes dull with tiredness.
SARAH (thought): "It's just a story. Just a stupid rumor. Seats don't get cursed—that's not a real thing…"
Behind her reflection, one stall door eased open with a soft creak.
Sarah's eyes widened.
She spun around.
All three stall doors were closed.
The faucet kept running.
Her heart thumped harder now. She turned it off. The room fell too quiet.
A wet slap sounded behind her.
She looked down.
A bare footprint had appeared on the tile a few feet away. Dark, wet, as if someone had stepped out of water. Another footprint appeared closer. Then another, each one forming slowly on the dry floor, walking toward her.
SARAH: "No… no, no…"
Her back hit the sink.
The lights flickered once, twice, then steadied.
In the mirror in front of her, a boy stood in the bathroom doorway.
His clothes dripped water, hair plastered to his forehead, skin pale with a bluish tint. His eyes were clouded, unfocused, like they were looking through her.
Water pooled around his bare feet, spreading across the tile—only in the reflection.
Sarah's breath hitched.
SARAH: "…Who are you?"
He didn't move.
A drop of water fell from his chin and hit the mirror, running down the glass like a tear.
Then he spoke, voice distorted, like it was coming from underwater.
BOY: "You took my seat."
Sarah spun around.
The doorway was empty. The tiles behind her were dry. No water. No footprints.
But on the mirror in front of her, smeared across the glass where her reflection's shoulder should be, was a dark, dripping handprint. The fingers were long, pressed hard, as if someone was still there, holding on.
Sarah stared, eyes wide, heartbeat in her throat.
SARAH (whisper): "…What is this place?"
The bathroom lights flickered again.
Fade out.