Jane looked back at the mirror. It was normal again. No ghost. Just her.
She rubbed her eyes, heart racing.
First day and I'm already losing it.
But the name he whispered — her name — echoed in her ears.
The closet door. She remembered the note she found earlier. She faced towards the closet. Curiosity got the better part of her, she couldn't help but move towards the closet. She had a lot of strange thoughts running through her mind. The closer she was, the more her fear. Finally, she was at the closet door, she opened it slowly and there he is, he was there waiting for her. The boy was standing there with his arms folded at his chest. He looked no older than seventeen. Messy dark hair. Hollow, yet strangely gentle eyes. He wore an old styled Springdale uniform. Jane had the chance to see him clearly, though, he looked ghostly, he still possesses some charming looks.
Jane couldn't move, she held her breath, fidgety and sweating, anticipating a deadly response from the ghost. However, the boy made a simple and calm expression, which shocked Jane. Shouldn't ghost be mean?, aren't ghost known to be aggressive?, but the one standing before me was making a friendly face, could he be trying to lure me in and finally.....
"You shouldn't be here" the boy said. His voice pierce through Jane's heart, interrupting her thought. His voice wasn't loud. It echoed faintly, like wind through a cracked window.
She tried to speak, but her voice didn't come out. Her fingers trembled.
He tilted his head. His expression more softened. "You can see me… That's new."
Jane finally managed to whisper, "Who… who are you?"
A sad smile. "Name's Jamie. Or… was." He took a step closer to the mirror. His image flickered, as though his presence strained the boundaries of the room. "This school isn't safe. You need to leave."
Jane swallowed hard. "Why me?"
"Because you're in Room 3." A pause. "Because you're alive." He looked at her—not through her, not around her, but at her. "And because I don't want you to end up like the others."
Jane's lip quivered. Her mind raced with questions, but they tangled in her throat. "The others?"
Jamie's eyes darkened slightly. "There are more like me. Lost. Angry. Damned. They don't talk. They don't warn. They just wait."
She backed toward her bed, fear pulsing in her chest.
"I—I don't understand," she said shakily.
"You will. But by then, it may be too late." He sounded bitter now, as if he had failed this conversation many times before.
Jane forced a step forward. Her curiosity, her instinct to understand, just slightly outweighed her terror. "Why… are you telling me this?"
Jamie looked at her with something that resembled pain.
"Because not all ghosts are monsters. Some of us… remember what it's like to care."
He moved slightly away from the closet and looked transparent, like he was about to disappear
"Wait," Jane said, louder this time. "Don't go. What happened to you?"
Jamie's eyes met hers one last time. "That story isn't for tonight." He faded like smoke into darkness.
And he was gone.
Jane stood alone, shaking. Her palms were clammy. Her chest rose and fell quickly. She glanced at Amara, who snored away, peaceful and clueless.
Her heart refused to slow down.
She didn't sleep that night. Not really. Every creak of the bed, every shifting shadow on the wall kept her frozen. She lay in bed, wide-eyed, the ghost's voice echoing in her head:
"This school isn't safe…"
The next morning, Students were preparing for school. Some were rushing out, some were seen entering one room or another. Everybody was busy with their business. Queen's Hall felt different that morning. Heavier. Tense.
One could feel the sadness in the atmosphere due to the fresh memory of Cindy been missing and hasn't yet been found.
Jane stood by her closet mirror, adjusting the collar of her new school uniform. Navy and gray plaid. Crisp white shirt. Her eyes were sunken from lack of sleep, her mind still swimming with the ghostly encounter she had lived through just hours ago.
She didn't tell Amara.
Not because she didn't want to—but because she couldn't explain it in a way that made sense. Instead, she shoved the memory into a dark corner of her mind and hoped it would stay there.
Amara was already up and braiding her hair in front of the shared dresser, humming a tune Jane didn't recognize. Her energy was the usual—vibrant and full of humor. As if the strange atmosphere of the dorm didn't touch her at all.
"You okay?" Amara asked, noticing Jane's vacant stare. "You look like you saw a ghost."
Jane flinched.
She quickly forced a smile. "Yeah. Just didn't sleep much."
"First-day nerves?"
"Something like that…"
Amara eyed her suspiciously. "You sure?"
Jane nodded but couldn't help asking, "Hey, uh… did anything weird ever happen to you here? Like… in this dorm?"
Amara paused mid-braid, then chuckled. "Define weird. This is Queen's Hall. The old place creaks like it's been through four lifetimes."
"No, I mean… really weird," Jane insisted. "Like, things you can't explain?"
Amara raised an eyebrow. "Jane, are you seriously asking about ghost stories before breakfast?"
"I'm just curious."
"Alright, Sherlock. You want rumors? We got plenty. Room 3's haunted, remember? But nothing's ever actually happened to me." She paused, her smile slipping slightly. "Well, not to me… but Cindy went missing two nights ago."
Jane's heart skipped.
She tried to sound casual. "Cindy?"
"Yeah. She was in Room 6. Real quiet girl. Bit twitchy. People said she'd talk to herself when she thought no one was watching. Spooky, right?"
Jane blinked. "She's… still missing?"
Amara hesitated. "Still missing, yeah. No one's saying it officially, but people think she ran off or something happened."
Jane's stomach sank. She thought about the scream she'd heard. The note. The boy in the mirror.
"But don't stress it," Amara said, waving it off like a summer fly. "First days are for surviving algebra, not unsolved disappearances."
Jane didn't argue. But something about Cindy's name stuck in her mind like a splinter.
—
Later that morning, the corridors buzzed with life as students poured into their classrooms. Laughter, chatter, shoes tapping against the marble floors—Springdale looked like any other elite school on the surface. But Jane kept scanning every hallway, every corner, half-expecting to see something… off.
Her first period was English Literature. She found her assigned seat near the middle row and quietly unpacked her books.
Before the lesson started, Mr. Halbridge cleared his throat and gestured toward the front of the class.
"Everyone, let's welcome a new student. Jane Matthews, from Briarview."
Jane stood, her palms slightly damp.
"Hi," she said, then added nervously, "Please go easy on me. I still haven't memorized the map of this castle."
A few students chuckled. Someone whispered, "Welcome to the jungle," and another quipped, "Watch out for the bathrooms—they echo with dead dreams."
Even Mr. Halbridge gave a faint smile. "Alright, that's enough. Let's focus."
Jane took her seat, a bit more relaxed, and the lesson began.
Mr. Halbridge, a sharp-dressed man in his forties with tired eyes, began lecturing about Shakespeare's tragedies and the psychology behind Hamlet's indecision.
Jane tried to focus. Really, she did.
But every now and then, she glanced at the windows. At her classmates. At the faint reflection of the mirror on the opposite wall.
Her pen slipped from her fingers.
"Miss Matthews?" Mr. Halbridge said. "Everything alright?"
She nodded quickly. "Sorry."
He moved on.
But just ten minutes later, there was a sharp knock at the door.
A woman from the admin office stepped in, whispering something into Mr. Halbridge's ear. His expression shifted. His already-tired eyes now looked hollow.
A murmur passed through the room. Students leaned toward each other, whispering.
"Is it about Cindy?" someone muttered behind Jane.
Jane turned slightly, heart pounding.
Mr. Halbridge cleared his throat, trying to maintain order. "Students, please remain calm. There's been… an incident. Classes are being paused for the morning. Please head to the main assembly hall immediately."
The class erupted in confused chatter. Chairs scraped. Backpacks were slung over shoulders.
Amara, seated two rows over, made her way to Jane. "I told you! This school runs on drama," she whispered. But her grin was weak this time.
Jane followed the crowd, her thoughts spinning.
As they exited the classroom, they passed a few students.
"It's true," one said. "They found her. Cindy."
Another girl gasped. "Where?"
"Near the forest trail. Her body… they said it was like she'd seen something horrible. Like she died screaming."
Another voice cut in, low and shaken. "She didn't just die. Her body was… grotesque. Badly cut into pieces. Like someone—or something
g—ripped her apart."
Jane's vision swam. The scream. The mirror. The ghost. It wasn't just her imagination.
Something was terribly wrong at Springdale High.