Chapter 1 – The Last Bell

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.

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