Morning light crept through the dorm window like a ghost unsure if it was welcome. Amelia hadn't slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard that same soft rhythm—tap, tap, tap—echoing in her mind.
Harper's bed was empty when she woke. The clock read 6:45. Breakfast started at seven.
She got dressed slowly, still half-lost in the unease of last night. Her fingers brushed her collar pin—Saint Vincent Academy. The gold lettering gleamed, innocent and ordinary, like it didn't belong to a place that hid missing rooms.
Down in the dining hall, chatter filled the air. Students laughed over coffee and toast, the sound too bright for how gray the sky looked outside. But something felt off. The teachers' table was quieter than usual, and a low murmur ran between them like a secret being passed hand to hand.
Harper waved her over. "You look like you saw a ghost," she teased.
Amelia tried to smile. "Did you hear anything weird last night?"
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Knocking. Voices. Something."
Harper blinked, then shrugged. "Nope. I slept like the dead."
Amelia almost said maybe that's what worries me, but she didn't. Instead, she took a bite of toast she didn't taste.
Halfway through breakfast, the principal's voice echoed through the speakers. "All students, please report to your first period classes immediately. Attendance will be taken."
A murmur rippled through the hall—odd timing for an announcement like that.
---
Literature class began quietly. Mrs. Ford looked distracted, shuffling her papers with tight lips. The empty seat beside Amelia caught her eye—it belonged to Leah Morgan, a cheerful girl from Harper's group who had a habit of doodling hearts in her notebook.
"Has anyone seen Miss Morgan today?" Mrs. Ford finally asked.
A few heads turned. No one spoke.
"She's probably late," someone muttered.
Mrs. Ford hesitated. "Perhaps." But her tone didn't sound convinced. Her hand trembled slightly as she marked the register.
Class dragged on, the words blurring in Amelia's notebook. When the bell finally rang, Mrs. Ford stopped her at the door.
"Miss Brooks," she said softly. "If you happen to see Leah Morgan around, please tell her to come to my office."
"Yes, ma'am."
As Amelia turned to leave, Mrs. Ford added quietly, "And stay away from the East Wing after dark."
Amelia froze. "Why?"
Mrs. Ford's eyes flicked up. "Because curiosity is dangerous here." Then she walked away before Amelia could ask anything else.
---
By afternoon, whispers filled the halls.
"Leah's missing."
"Her bed wasn't slept in."
"Maybe she ran away."
But Amelia saw Harper's face when the rumor reached her—pale, uncertain. "She wouldn't run away," Harper whispered. "She had plans this weekend. She was fine yesterday."
Amelia's stomach twisted. "What was her last class?"
"Literature," Harper said slowly. "Same as us."
"In the East Wing."
They looked at each other, neither wanting to say what both were thinking.
---
After classes ended, Amelia slipped back toward the East Wing. The corridor was empty, the air faintly cold, the fluorescent lights humming overhead.
307… then the blank wall… then 309.
She hesitated at the gap, her heart pounding. The wall looked the same—plain, smooth, white. But something felt different. The silence was heavier, deeper.
Then she noticed it.
A book bag lying on the floor.
Leah's. She recognized the little keychain—a silver star with a missing tip.
Amelia crouched and picked it up. The zipper was torn, the inside empty except for a folded piece of paper.
She unfolded it slowly. A page from a school map. Someone had circled a room number.
308.
Her breath caught.
Behind her, the light flickered.
Then a faint whisper brushed against her ear—soft, almost gentle.
"Amelia…"
She spun around. No one. Only the corridor stretching out, endless and still.
Her pulse thundered. She took a step back, clutching Leah's bag to her chest.
"Amelia…" The voice came again, clearer now, from behind the wall.
Every instinct screamed at her to run—but she couldn't move. The wall seemed to pulse faintly, as if it were breathing.
Then, just as suddenly, the whisper stopped. The light steadied. Everything looked normal again.
She stood frozen for a long moment before finally forcing herself to leave.
As she reached the end of the corridor, she dared one last look back. The book bag was gone.
---
That night, she wrote in her journal for the first time since arriving:
«Day 2. Leah Morgan is missing. Everyone acts like it's normal. The wall where Room 308 should be feels alive. I keep hearing my name. I don't think it's in my head anymore.»
Outside, the bell tower rang once—soft, hesitant—like it, too, was afraid of what would answer.