Chapter Four - The Broken Circle

Morning came gray and damp, the sky pressing low against the bell tower as though it wanted to crush the school beneath its weight. Lina had barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that cracked reflection, that twisted smile.

But the bell would not wait for her fear. It tolled at dawn, pulling her from bed like a chain.

She dressed in silence, listening for whispers. None came, but the wardrobe still loomed in the corner like an open mouth waiting to swallow her whole. She averted her eyes and hurried out into the corridor.

The other girls were already on their way to the Great Hall, their chatter sharp and brittle. Lina fell into step behind them, clutching her books to her chest.

Inside the hall, the air was colder than the day before. She slid onto a bench, Daniel a few rows ahead, glancing back briefly with a look that was half-warning, half-concern.

Headmistress Blackwood stood at the lectern. The chalk rested in her hand like a weapon.

“Adams,” she began.

“Present.”

The roll call began again, mechanical and steady. Each name answered in turn, the scratching of chalk a metronome of obedience.

Then—

“Julia Ashworth.”

The pause was sharper this time.

A whisper coiled through the hall.

Present.

It was louder than yesterday, a little more insistent.

Lina’s skin crawled. The girls in front of her shifted uncomfortably, and one stifled a sob. Blackwood’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t erase the name. She simply closed the roll book with a snap.

“Dismissed.”

The students spilled into the corridors, whispering nervously. Lina followed, her pulse hammering. Julia was growing stronger.

---

The first lesson of the day was English Literature. The classroom smelled of ink and damp paper. Students hunched over their desks, pretending to focus as the teacher droned about Shakespeare.

Lina sat near the back, her eyes drifting to the window. Outside, the fog writhed, twisting into shapes that looked too human to be natural. She blinked, and they dissolved.

When the class ended, she gathered her books and slipped into the hall.

That was when she heard them.

The three girls from before.

“Winters,” the tallest one drawled, blocking her path. Her hair was a glossy black curtain, her smile sharp. “Our little transfer student. Enjoying her stay?”

Lina clutched her books tighter. “Yes. Excuse me.”

The girl stepped closer. “Oh, don’t run off. We’re only being friendly.”

Her companions laughed, cold and cruel.

“Careful,” another said. “Julia might like her too much. She’s already calling names.”

The third girl smirked. “Maybe Lina will answer for her. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Something in their eyes chilled Lina. It wasn’t just cruelty—it was fear, sharpened into mockery. They knew.

She shoved past them, her heart pounding. Their laughter followed her down the hall like claws on her back.

---

She found Daniel waiting near the stairwell.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he said, falling into step beside her.

“I’m fine,” Lina muttered, though her hands still trembled.

“You’re not. I heard what they said.”

Her jaw tightened. “What do they mean by answer for her?”

Daniel glanced around, lowering his voice. “There’s a story. They say that if Julia calls your name during the roll call, and you don’t answer…” He hesitated. “She’ll take you. Make your answer for her instead.”

Lina froze. “Has it happened?”

He nodded once. “Three students in the last ten years. All gone. The staff says they transferred, but everyone knows better. Julia marked them.”

Lina’s stomach turned. “And no one does anything?”

“What can they do?” His voice was bitter. “The staff pretends she doesn’t exist. The students live in fear. And the headmistress—” He cut himself off. “Just be careful. She doesn’t forgive easily.”

---

By evening, the weight of the day pressed hard on Lina’s shoulders. She tried to read in her dormitory, but the words swam on the page. Every creak of the building made her flinch.

The other girls whispered across the hall, their voices carrying through the thin walls.

“…her name again this morning…”

“…sound clearer…”

“…what if she starts calling us?”

Lina pressed the pillow over her ears. She couldn’t listen. Not tonight.

But the building had other plans.

At midnight, the bell tolled.

She sat upright in bed, her breath sharp. The sound rolled through the walls, deeper than before, vibrating in her bones.

And then came the scratching.

Not from the blackboard this time.

From the floor beneath her bed.

Lina’s skin prickled as the sound grew louder—nails dragging across wood.