After Hours

The gate wasn’t locked.

I pushed it open slowly, the creak echoing through the stillness. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as I stepped inside. The school was always creepy after hours—empty halls, flickering lights, and that heavy silence that pressed down on your chest.

But tonight, it felt different.

Colder.

Like the building itself was watching me.

I walked toward the office wing, my fingers brushing the envelope in my jacket pocket. I had questions—too many—and none of them had answers. Not yet.

The hallway leading to the principal’s office was dim, lit only by the faint glow from the room at the end. His door was open just slightly, like he’d left it that way on purpose. My feet moved on their own, slow and quiet, like I was afraid to disturb something.

When I reached the door, I hesitated.

I could still walk away. Pretend I never saw the photo. Pretend I didn’t care.

But I did care.

I knocked once, gently.

His voice came almost instantly. “Come in.”

I stepped inside.

Principal Blackwood looked up from behind his desk. He wasn’t wearing his usual tie—just a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looked less like a principal and more like a man who hadn’t slept in days.

“I knew you’d come back,” he said.

I frowned. “Why do you have that photo?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he nodded to the chair. “Sit down, Leah.”

“No. Not until you tell me the truth.”

His jaw tightened, just slightly. “That photo was taken fifteen years ago.”

“I know how old I am,” I said sharply. “I want to know why you have it.”

He stood slowly, walked around the desk, and leaned against the edge. “Because I was there.”

My heart skipped. “What?”

“I was there the day that photo was taken. I took it.”

I stared at him. The edges of my thoughts blurred. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It will,” he said softly. “But not all at once.”

I backed away slightly, my fingers curling into fists. “Are you saying you knew me? When I was a kid?”