The bus rattled to a stop in front of Franklin High, its brakes squealing like something alive. Maya Torres stayed in her seat until the aisle cleared. She always preferred the back—fewer eyes on her, fewer people brushing too close.

The driver’s gaze caught hers in the rearview mirror. “You new?”

Maya nodded.

“Stay clear of the east wing,” he said, then looked away like he hadn’t spoken at all.

Outside, the November air was sharp enough to bite. She pulled her hood tighter and joined the slow stream of students toward the main doors. Franklin High was bigger than her last school, but older. The bricks looked tired. A line of windows on the right side was boarded up, the wood warped from rain.

She was halfway up the steps when someone bumped her shoulder.

“Watch it,” a girl snapped. Tall, blonde, perfect. She swept past with two other girls trailing like satellites. Maya said nothing. She’d learned in her last school that talking back was the fastest way to get noticed, and being noticed was dangerous.

---

The main hall smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and paper. Lockers stretched in both directions, some dented, most coated in chipped paint. A bulletin board displayed club flyers, announcements, and a yellowed newspaper clipping taped in the corner:

> “Franklin High Student Dies in Tragic Accident”

October 17, 2002 — Lila Martin, 16, was found…

The rest of the text was torn away.

“Hey,” a voice said. Maya turned to find a boy with messy dark hair and an oversized hoodie leaning against the lockers. “You’re new. I’m Eli.”

She offered a short nod. “Maya.”

His gaze flicked to the clipping. “That’s Hallway B’s girl.”

“Hallway B?”

He tilted his head toward the far end of the hall, where a double door stood under a faded EAST WING sign. One door was chained shut. The other hung slightly ajar but blocked by a metal gate.

“They sealed it after she died. Supposedly dangerous. But…” He grinned. “Some say she never left.”

Maya raised an eyebrow. “And you believe that?”

“I believe in good stories.” His grin widened. “Hallway B’s full of them.”

---

First period was history. Maya took the seat in the back, ignoring the sideways looks from a few students. The teacher, Mrs. Vega, handed out a syllabus, her eyes lingering on Maya a beat too long.

When the bell rang, Mrs. Vega called her over.

“Franklin High has its quirks,” she said quietly. “Avoid the east wing. Not just because of the rumors. The building’s unstable.”

Maya nodded, but Mrs. Vega’s tone was heavy, like the words carried more weight than they should.

---

By lunch, Maya had memorized the basic layout: main hall, science wing, gym to the west, cafeteria in the center. But her eyes kept drifting to that locked gate at the east end. Something about it pulled her—like the way a bruise begs to be pressed.

She was headed that way between classes when a group of boys blocked the hall. The tallest, with a smug smirk, stepped forward. “New girl. Heard you’re looking for Hallway B.”

“I’m not.”

He ignored her. “We do dares. You make it to the last locker in the hallway, you win. Fail, you buy lunch for a week.” His friends laughed.

Maya stepped to the side, but he moved with her. “Scared?”

She met his gaze, flat and steady. “Not interested.”

The smirk faltered, but before he could speak, a shrill clang echoed from behind the locked gate. Everyone froze. It wasn’t the kind of sound an empty hallway should make—it was deliberate, sharp, like a locker door slammed with force.

“Probably the janitor,” one boy muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

Maya walked away without looking back. But she felt eyes on her—not the boys’, not any student’s. Something else.

---

That night, at home, Maya unpacked the last of her boxes. She’d moved here with her mother after the… incident. They didn’t talk about it. She wasn’t sure they ever would.

Her phone buzzed—a text from an unknown number:

> You heard me.

No name, no follow-up. She frowned, set the phone down, and returned to unpacking.

Another buzz.

> Step into Hallway B.

She stared at the screen. No one here had her number—except the school office, and she doubted they sent creepy dares to students.

She deleted the texts.

---

The next morning, she found Eli waiting by her locker.

“You live close to school?” he asked.

“Why?”

“Because I saw the lights in Hallway B flicker last night. And I swear I saw someone inside.”

Maya didn’t reply.

“Most kids think it’s just ghost stories,” Eli continued, “but things happen there. People hear their names whispered. Some swear they’ve been touched. And…” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “…a kid went missing in 2014. Last seen near that hallway.”

Before she could respond, a shriek cut through the air from the east end. Students spilled into the hall, drawn by the sound.

At the gate to Hallway B stood a girl Maya recognized from her first morning—the blonde who’d bumped her. She was pale, shaking, her hands clutching the metal bars.

“It’s in there,” she whispered, eyes wild. “Something’s in there.”

Teachers rushed forward, pulling her away. But as they did, Maya’s gaze slid past the girl, through the small gap between gate and wall.

In the dim light beyond, she saw it: the shadow of bare feet, wet and pale, stepping slowly toward the gate… before vanishing into nothing.

---

Maya told herself she imagined it. Shadows play tricks. The mind makes shapes out of fear.

But later, in the cafeteria, she noticed something strange.

Her tray sat on the table untouched. Across from her, Jade Kim—the blonde—was staring, eyes cold.

“You saw it too,” Jade said. Not a question.

Maya hesitated. “…No.”

Jade’s lips curled into something almost like a smile. “Lying won’t save you.”

Before Maya could ask what she meant, Jade stood and walked away.

---

That night, the texts came again.

> Step into Hallway B.

You’re already halfway there.

Maya shut off her phone and lay in the dark. But sleep wouldn’t come. In her mind, she heard it—the sound from the gate. Not the clang. Not the shriek.

Footsteps.

Slow. Steady. Coming closer.

She pressed the pillow over her ears, but it didn’t help. Because the sound wasn’t in her head anymore.

It was in her hallway.

The footsteps stopped.

Maya lay rigid in bed, barely breathing. For a long moment, the silence pressed heavy against her ears. She told herself it was nothing—old plumbing, maybe, or the wind against the hallway window.

Then came the whisper.

Not a word at first, just the shape of breath curling into sound.

“Maya…”

She shot upright, heart pounding. The room was dark except for the thin strip of streetlight leaking through her blinds. Her eyes darted to the door. It was closed.

She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, ready to call her mother—then froze. The screen lit up, a new text flashing.

> Why are you hiding?

Her thumb hovered over the screen. She typed, Who is this? and hit send.

The three dots appeared. Then—

> Come to Hallway B.

She shoved the phone under her pillow like that would make the words disappear.

---

The next morning, Maya was the first one off the bus. The air was colder than yesterday, sharp enough to sting her lungs. She made straight for her locker, avoiding eye contact.

Eli appeared beside her, leaning casually against the wall. “You look like you didn’t sleep.”

“I didn’t,” she said flatly.

“Nightmares?”

“Something like that.”

He studied her for a beat. “I saw them again last night. The lights. Flickering in Hallway B.”

Maya shoved her books into her locker. “Maybe the janitor was working.”

Eli smirked. “You’d think that. Except the janitor doesn’t have bare feet.”

She froze.

Eli tilted his head, reading her expression. “You saw something, didn’t you?”

Before she could deny it, a group of students shuffled past, their voices low but urgent.

“—Jade’s freaking out again—”

“—said she heard it whisper her name—”

Jade Kim stood at the far end of the hallway, pale as chalk. She was surrounded by two of her friends, both talking to her in hushed tones. Her eyes, though, were fixed on Maya.

---

Second period was a blur. Maya sat at her desk, doodling mindlessly in the margin of her notes while the teacher droned on about cellular respiration. She kept replaying last night in her head—the whisper, the footsteps, the text.

By the time the bell rang, she’d convinced herself it didn’t matter. She was here to keep her head down, graduate, and get out. No ghosts, no drama, no trouble.

But the universe had other plans.

---

She was cutting through the main hall between classes when Jade stepped into her path. The blonde’s expression was tight, almost brittle.

“You saw it,” Jade said quietly.

Maya sidestepped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jade followed, her tone sharp. “Don’t play dumb. You think if you ignore it, it’ll leave you alone?” She leaned closer. “It won’t.”

Maya stared at her. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it chooses people. And once it chooses you, you can’t undo it.”

The bell rang overhead, and Jade slipped away before Maya could respond.

---

By lunch, Maya was done pretending not to notice the gate at the east end.

It stood like it always did—chained, padlocked, untouched. The light above it flickered once, briefly, before steadying. A faint hum filled the air, so low she almost mistook it for silence.

She stepped closer. The metal bars were cold under her fingertips. Through the gap, the hallway stretched into darkness.

Something moved.

It was quick, a shadow darting just out of sight. But she knew it was there.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The voice behind her made her flinch. Mr. Lowell, the janitor, stood with a ring of keys in one hand and a mop bucket in the other.

“This wing’s off-limits,” he said.

“I wasn’t—”

He cut her off. “No excuses. You keep walking. You don’t stop at this gate again.”

His tone wasn’t angry, exactly—but it carried weight. Like he was trying to keep her alive.

---

That afternoon, Eli caught up with her at the bus stop.

“You went near the gate, didn’t you?”

She shot him a look. “Why do you care?”

“Because every time someone does, weird stuff starts happening to them.”

“Like what?”

He ticked off on his fingers. “Lights flickering. Hearing your name when no one’s around. Missing stuff from your locker. And…” He hesitated. “…seeing her.”

Maya didn’t ask who “her” was. She already knew.

---

That night, Maya did her homework at the kitchen table while her mother worked late. The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the fridge.

Her phone buzzed.

> You’re closer than you think.

She set the phone down, refusing to answer.

Buzz.

> Do you hear me now?

The hum from the fridge seemed louder. It wasn’t the fridge anymore—it was a voice, low and steady, just on the edge of recognition.

Buzz.

> Three steps from the gate. One step from me.

The lights flickered once, twice, then went out.

---

Her breath caught. The apartment was pitch black, the kind of darkness that felt thick, almost physical. She fumbled for her phone, its screen casting a faint glow over the table.

The reflection in the screen wasn’t hers.

It was a girl’s face—wet hair clinging to pale skin, eyes too wide, mouth curled into something between a smile and a snarl.

The lights snapped back on. The face was gone.

---

The next morning, Maya almost didn’t get on the bus. Her pulse hadn’t slowed since the night before. She considered skipping school, but that would mean explaining things to her mother—and explaining meant talking about things she wasn’t ready to admit.

At Franklin High, Eli was waiting again. He looked unusually serious.

“You’re in it now,” he said.

“In what?”

“The Hallway B game.”

Maya frowned. “This isn’t a game.”

“Not to you. But to her, it is. And she likes to play long.”

Before Maya could press him, Jade appeared at the end of the hall, eyes locked on Maya. She lifted her hand, curling two fingers in a slow come here motion.

Against her better judgment, Maya followed.

---

Jade led her through the science wing, out of sight of most students. They stopped by a supply closet, the smell of ammonia thick in the air.

“She’s watching you,” Jade said. “She’ll make you hear things. See things. She’ll pick at you until you break.”

“Why me?” Maya asked.

Jade’s expression faltered. “Maybe because you’re already broken.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Maya wanted to demand answers, but Jade was already walking away.

---

The rest of the day passed in fragments. Teachers’ voices blurred. Locker doors slammed too loud. Shadows stretched wrong in the corners of her vision.

When the final bell rang, Maya found herself walking—not toward the bus, but toward the east wing.

The gate was there, silent and waiting.

She stepped closer. One step. Two. Three.

The air grew colder. Her breath misted in front of her.

From the darkness beyond the bars, something whispered.

“Maya…”

And this time, it wasn’t just a whisper. It was followed by the sound of footsteps—slow, deliberate, coming closer until they stopped just on the other side of the gate.

Maya’s hands gripped the cold bars of the gate.

The footsteps had stopped, but the silence on the other side felt alive, thick enough to press against her chest.

She forced herself to lean forward, peering through the gap.

The hallway beyond was still, lined with dented lockers that seemed to lean toward her like eavesdroppers. The light overhead flickered once, twice, then died completely.

Something moved in the dark.

A shape—small, human—slid into view. Bare feet, pale against the cracked tiles. They took a single step forward. Then another.

“Maya…”

The whisper curled through the air, and before she could pull back, something brushed her fingers. Cold. Wet.

She jerked away, her breath ragged. The bars clanged against the chain.

When the light sputtered back on, the hallway was empty.

---

“Maya!”

She turned to see Eli rushing toward her, his hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes wide. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I…” She stopped. Her brain scrambled for a lie, but the truth tumbled out instead. “Something touched me.”

Eli glanced at the gate, then back at her. “That’s how it starts.”

---

They walked to the bus stop together. Eli kept his voice low, as if the wind might be listening. “Most people just hear her. Some see her. But once she touches you…”

“What?”

“She won’t stop.”

Maya almost laughed, but it caught in her throat. She could still feel the damp chill clinging to her skin.

---

That night, she sat at her desk with her history book open but unread. The apartment was quiet—too quiet. Her mother was working late again.

Her phone buzzed.

> How did it feel?

She didn’t answer.

Buzz.

> Want to feel it again?

She shut the phone off and dropped it in her desk drawer. Then, from the hallway outside her room, she heard it—the same slow footsteps as before.

One.

Two.

Three.

They stopped outside her door.

She stared at the shadow under the frame. For a second, it looked like a pair of bare feet were standing there, motionless.

Then they vanished.

---

Morning came with a dull, leaden sky. The bus ride was a blur. Maya walked into Franklin High feeling like she hadn’t slept at all.

Jade was waiting.

“You’re seeing her now, aren’t you?” Jade asked, stepping into her path.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jade’s voice was almost a hiss. “Don’t lie. She touched you. I can see it in your face.”

“Why do you care?” Maya shot back.

Jade’s expression twisted—anger, fear, something else she couldn’t name. “Because I told her to choose you instead of me.”

Before Maya could respond, Jade walked away.

---

Third period was a blur. Maya tried to focus on the teacher, but her gaze kept drifting to the classroom window.

At first, it was nothing—just the grey sky beyond the glass. But then, a reflection appeared.

A girl stood just behind her. Wet hair clung to her cheeks. Her eyes were hollow and dark, her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.

Maya spun in her seat.

No one was there.

---

At lunch, Eli slid into the seat across from her. “You look like crap.”

“Thanks,” she muttered.

“You need to stay away from the gate.”

“That’s not going to help anymore.”

Eli’s brows pulled together. “Why?”

“She touched me.”

His expression darkened. “Then you’ve got two choices. Ignore her and hope she gets bored—”

“And the other?”

He leaned in. “Find out what she wants and give it to her.”

---

That evening, Maya stayed late at school under the excuse of “making up lab work.” The halls were mostly empty by the time she made her way toward the east wing.

The gate was there, same as always, but the light above it was dead.

She took a step closer. Her breath clouded in the air.

From the dark beyond the bars came a whisper.

“Maya…”

She swallowed hard. “What do you want?”

The whisper turned into a low laugh. Then came a voice, soft and clear:

“Find me.”

The chain rattled—not from her touch, but from something on the other side.

And then, from the far end of the hallway, she saw her.

A girl in a soaked school uniform, hair dripping down her shoulders, walking toward her with slow, measured steps. Each one echoed too loud in the silence.

Maya couldn’t move. Her feet felt nailed to the ground.

The girl stopped just short of the gate, her head tilting, eyes fixed on Maya’s.

“Don’t let him lock me in again.”

Before Maya could ask who he was, the light overhead blinked on—and the hallway was empty.

---

She ran all the way to the bus stop, the echo of wet footsteps following her in her head.