The bell rang as Anya stepped through the gates of Ravenswood Academy.

The sound was wrong.

It wasn’t the bright, lively tone of a school calling its students. It was deep, metallic, almost funereal, echoing across the empty grounds as though the building itself were mourning.

Anya stopped in the courtyard, clutching the handle of her suitcase. Ravenswood was huge—three sprawling wings built of black stone, their windows narrow and dark. The center building loomed taller than the rest, crowned by a crooked clock tower whose hands pointed stubbornly at twelve. She shivered, realizing it looked less like a school and more like a mausoleum.

The other students moved quickly past her, eyes lowered, lips sealed. No one smiled, no one welcomed her. The courtyard was full of bodies, but the silence made her feel utterly alone.

“New girl?”

The voice made her jump.

She turned. A girl stood a few feet away, uniform collar buttoned too tightly around her throat. Her skin was pale, and her gaze sharp—too sharp, like she was sizing Anya up for something.

“Y-yes,” Anya stammered.

The girl’s lips curled into the faintest smile, but her eyes didn’t soften. “Then you should know the rules.”

“Rules?”

“Never walk the east hallway after dusk,” the girl said flatly. “Not unless you want to meet her.”

Anya blinked. “Meet who?”

The girl didn’t answer. She simply turned and walked away, her shoes clicking sharply on the stone path until the sound dissolved into silence.

Anya tried to shake off the chill creeping up her arms. It was just a scare tactic, she told herself. Every school had its urban legends, didn’t it?

Dragging her suitcase inside, she was swallowed by the academy’s dim corridors. The air smelled faintly of dust and old stone. Light bulbs flickered overhead, their glow too weak to push away the shadows.

She followed the brass numbers along the walls, searching for her dorm. The silence pressed against her ears until she thought she could hear her own heartbeat.

Then—whispering.

She froze.

It came from behind a classroom door, soft and rhythmic, like a group of voices murmuring in unison. She leaned closer, pressing her ear to the wood. The words were muffled, indistinct, but the tone was unmistakable: chanting.

Her skin prickled. Were the teachers holding some late meeting?

Curiosity won. She pushed the door open.

The room was empty.

Desks sat neatly in rows. Chalk dust drifted lazily in the stale air. The blackboard was blank.

But the whispering hadn’t stopped.

Her eyes darted around the room, searching for the source.

Then she saw it.

On the far wall, above the windows, words were appearing on the cracked plaster. Faint at first, like scratches. Then darker. Carved into the stone by no visible hand.

GET OUT BEFORE THE NEXT BELL.

Anya stumbled back, heart pounding. The whispering grew louder, filling her skull.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.

The message on the wall faded as though it had never been there.

But the air still carried a low vibration, as if the building itself was holding its breath—waiting for her to disobey.

Anna stood frozen in the empty classroom, staring at the wall where the words had burned themselves into the plaster.

GET OUT BEFORE THE NEXT BELL.

They had been carved there—dark, jagged, impossible—and now, just as suddenly, they were gone. Only the faint cracks and peeling paint remained. No proof. No evidence.

Her pulse thudded so loud she thought it would shake the windows. The silence pressed on her ears until she almost screamed just to hear her own voice.

She backed toward the door. The knob felt like ice against her palm. For a moment, she thought it wouldn’t turn, that she was trapped. Then, with a reluctant squeal, it gave way.

The hallway outside yawned before her—long, dim, and suffocating. The flickering bulbs above buzzed like insects, shadows twitching with every sputter of light.

Anna pressed her back against the wall, trying to breathe slowly. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been real.

But deep down, she knew it was.

She walked quickly, footsteps echoing far louder than they should have in the empty corridor. Each step sounded like it belonged to someone else, someone following just behind.

When she dared to glance over her shoulder, the hallway stretched long and empty. Yet the prickling at the back of her neck refused to fade.

Halfway down the corridor, she stopped.

There.

Just ahead, where she knew there had never been anything but bare wall, a door now waited.

It was massive, ancient compared to the rest of the school’s doors. Thick wood, swollen with age, marked with scratches too deep to be accidental. The handle was iron, rusted to a dull red, like dried blood.

Anna’s breath caught. She had passed this hallway twice earlier in the day. This door had not existed.

A cold ripple ran through her chest. She should turn around. She should leave. Yet something deeper than fear tugged at her, urging her forward.

The closer she came, the more her skin prickled. The air around the door pulsed faintly, like a living heartbeat.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the handle. It was slick, almost wet.

The hinges shrieked as the door opened.

A narrow spiral staircase revealed itself, winding upward into shadow. Dust fell like ash from the rafters.

Anna knew where it led. Everyone did.

The bell tower.

Her stomach turned to ice.

Every student at Ravenswood whispered about the bell tower curse. How the bells never rang unless someone was about to die. How, once the toll began, the sound followed you until you were dragged to the top.

And still, she climbed.

The first step groaned beneath her weight, echoing up the narrow shaft. The smell of damp stone and old wood closed around her, suffocating.

The whispering started again.

Not from below. Not from above. From inside the walls.

It was soft, at first. Urgent. Then sharper, layered—many voices speaking over one another, until the words tangled into a roar that made no sense.

She clutched the railing, forcing her shaking legs upward.

Then, it began.

DONG.

The sound of the bell slammed through the tower, rattling the walls, vibrating in her ribs.

Anna gasped, stumbling on the steps. Dust rained from above, drifting across her face like snow.

The whispers swelled, desperate, shrieking.

DONG.

The second toll shook the staircase. She gripped the rail until her knuckles whitened, ears ringing with the thunder of it.

Her heart hammered wildly. Get out before the next bell.

She tried to stop. Tried to turn back. But her body wouldn’t listen. Her legs carried her higher, as though invisible hands were pushing her forward.

DONG.

The third toll nearly split her skull. Her vision blurred, the narrow stairwell twisting like a snake. The whispers were louder now—so many voices layered together, chanting in some unknown tongue.

She wanted to cover her ears, to scream, to shut it all out. But her hands refused to let go of the railing.

Step after step. Higher. Higher.

At last, she reached the top landing.

A heavy wooden door stood ajar, blackness seeping through the crack.

Anna froze.

The whispers stopped.

The silence was worse.

And then, she saw them.

Two eyes.

Not glowing. Not human. Just there. Too wide, too dark, too perfectly still. They floated in the shadow beyond the door, watching her.

Her breath caught, a strangled sound breaking in her throat.

The fourth toll roared through the tower.

The door creaked open.

Her breath caught, a strangled sound breaking in her throat.

The fourth toll roared through the tower.

The door creaked open.

It was not loud, but the sound felt impossibly sharp, cutting straight through the marrow of her bones. The hinges moaned as though the wood itself had not been disturbed in centuries.

Beyond the gap was only blackness. A void that seemed to devour the faint glow of the corridor lamps. Cold air seeped out, brushing against her skin like a hand.

Anya’s body screamed to run. But her legs refused. The air around her pressed heavy, every breath a battle. She half expected something monstrous to crawl through the opening.

Nothing moved. Nothing came. The silence stretched, suffocating.

Her heart hammered.

She told herself: It’s just a door. It’s just a door.

But then she realized—this door hadn’t been here before. She had walked this hallway yesterday, and the stone wall at the end had been solid.

Now, that wall had split open.

The whispering started again. Soft. Insistent. Curling around her mind like smoke.

“Anya…”

Her blood iced over. It was her name. Whispered from the darkness within the door.

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she staggered back.

“Who’s there?” Her voice trembled, thin and desperate.

No answer. Only the echo of her name again, stretching long and warped, as though dragged through water.

She couldn’t breathe. The shadows inside the room stirred—no shape, no figure, only the shifting suggestion of movement, like smoke alive.

And then—

A hand gripped her wrist.

Anya yelped, spinning around, eyes wild.

A boy stood there.

His grip was firm but not cruel, his skin cold against hers. His face was partly hidden in the dim light of the hallway, features cut with shadow. Dark hair fell over his forehead, and his gaze—sharp, unblinking—was locked on the open door.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice was low, steady, carrying something between warning and command.

Anya’s throat felt dry. “I—this door—it wasn’t here before—”

“I know.” He cut her off, still staring at the blackness inside. “That’s why you need to leave. Now.”

Something stirred in the darkness again, louder this time, as though their voices had roused it. A scraping sound against stone. A faint, wet drag.

The boy’s hand tightened on her wrist. His eyes finally flicked to hers, cold and certain. “If you stay past the fifth toll, it won’t let you go.”

Anya’s chest constricted. “W-what are you talking about? What is it?”

He shook his head once. “No time.”

The fifth toll began.

The sound split the air, shaking dust from the rafters. The shadows inside the door writhed, surging forward like smoke pouring from a fire. Faces flickered in the black haze—distorted, screaming, gone again in an instant.

The boy yanked her backward. “Run.”

Her legs finally obeyed. Together they tore down the corridor, the fifth toll reverberating like thunder, the air behind them thickening with whispers and the stench of damp stone.

Anya risked a glance back. The blackness was spilling out of the door now, flooding the hallway, swallowing portraits and lamps in its path.

She almost screamed.

They turned a corner, feet slamming against the floor. The boy pulled her faster, his grip never loosening. They didn’t stop until the sixth toll rattled the windows.

Only then did he push her against the wall, one hand braced beside her shoulder as if shielding her from whatever might come around the bend. His chest heaved, but his voice was steady when he spoke again.

“You have to stop wandering alone.”

Anya’s heart pounded so loud she barely heard him. “Who—who are you?”

He looked at her, finally meeting her gaze fully. His eyes were a strange mix of sharpness and something unreadable beneath—grief, maybe, or fear carefully hidden.

“Elias.”

The name lingered between them, heavy.

Before she could say more, before she could ask why he knew about the door or what the shadows were—

The hallway behind them groaned.

Stone cracked.

And faintly, from the direction they had fled, came a sound that didn’t belong to any living throat. A laughter, hollow and echoing, carried through the walls.

Anya’s blood froze.

Elias’s jaw tightened. “It knows your name now.”

Her stomach dropped. “What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer. His silence was worse than any truth.

The seventh toll began.