The classroom smelled like burnt cafeteria pizza, cleaning chemicals, and something faintly rotten—though nobody could pinpoint exactly what. Finn rubbed his eyes and muttered, "Seriously, do they clean this room, or is the smell part of the punishment?"
Lucy, sprawled across two chairs like she owned the place, didn't even look up from her phone. "I read somewhere that certain bacteria can become sentient if left in enclosed spaces long enough. We might be the experiment."
Hawk groaned dramatically, clutching his script like a life raft. "I can feel it already. My emotional state is collapsing under the weight of mold and injustice."
Sophie flicked a pencil across the room. It ricocheted off the wall and hit the ceiling fan. The fan shuddered but stayed put. "Honestly, the décor is offensive," she said, deadpan. "Neon walls? The chairs are all different heights? Somebody call the aesthetic police."
Finn rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, we get it. You're goth, superior, and apparently the school critic. Can we move on before the ghosts start taking notes?"
Lucy finally looked up, her eyes narrowing. "Speaking of ghosts… did anyone else feel that? Like… the lockers weren't quite in the right place?"
Finn squinted at the row of lockers behind them. They looked normal. Maybe a little crooked. Maybe… not. He shook his head. "You're imagining things."
Then the first "incident" happened.
A pencil rolled across the floor, seemingly of its own accord, and stopped perfectly at Hawk's feet. Hawk screamed. "I didn't move that! That pencil is haunted!"
Finn raised an eyebrow. "Or… maybe it just rolled?"
"Nope!" Hawk shot back. "Definitely haunted. I've seen horror movies. That pencil is possessed by the spirits of failed homework assignments!"
Sophie groaned. "Honestly, if pencils had feelings, they'd all be tired of you failing to use them properly, Hawk."
The pencil rolled again, this time bumping against Finn's shoe. He picked it up, and for a split second, it felt… warm. Not just room-warm. Like… alive-warm.
"Uh…" Finn's voice faltered. "Maybe it's… friendly?"
Lucy snorted. "Friendly? Or sarcastic. Definitely sarcastic."
Just then, a loud BANG came from the back of the room. The supply closet door had swung open violently, as if someone—or something—had kicked it. A stack of books tumbled out, narrowly missing Hawk's head. He screamed and dove under the nearest table, flailing like a fish out of water.
Sophie sighed and calmly walked over, picking up one of the fallen books. "Huh. Surprisingly heavy for a book. Must be cursed or… overpriced."
Finn and Lucy exchanged a glance. "Okay," Finn said slowly, "maybe the school is… alive? Or at least… mildly mischievous."
Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Mildly? That was a flying pile of textbooks."
Before Finn could respond, the lights flickered again, plunging the room into brief darkness. When they returned, the chalkboard had new writing on it:
"WELCOME, DETENTION OF THE DAMNED."
Hawk shrieked, knocking over a chair. "I told you! I TOLD YOU!"
Finn tried to calm him down. "Okay, okay. Maybe it's someone pranking us."
Lucy shook her head. "Nope. No prankster could write that without being seen. That was… something else."
Sophie arched an eyebrow. "This is officially interesting," she said. "And not in a good way."
Finn leaned back in his chair, trying to act brave. "Alright, team. Looks like we're stuck here for a few hours. Our mission is survival, documentation, and if possible, humor."
Hawk peeked out from under the table. "Humor? Are you kidding me? We're going to die! The haunted pencils alone are planning a coup!"
Lucy rolled her eyes. "Relax, drama queen. We just need to figure out what this 'something else' is. And if it's harmless, maybe we prank it back."
Finn grinned. "Pranking a ghost. I like where this is going."
Sophie muttered, "Or we could die in style."
The room grew colder. The lights flickered again, and for a brief moment, Finn could swear he saw a shadow pass behind the windows—long, thin, and… grinning. Not malicious. Not terrifying. But mischievous.
Finn whispered, "Okay… maybe this isn't going to be that boring."
Lucy smirked. "You have no idea."
And somewhere, deep in the school's walls, the first small trick of Ridgewood High's after-hours haunted mischief began—a whisper of movement, a rattle of papers, and the faintest sound of laughter, echoing from lockers that shouldn't move.
The real horror—and hilarity—was only just getting started.