I, Zach, never believed in ghosts. Not really. Sure, I liked a good scary story like anyone else, but I always thought those were just tales made up to scare kids, or maybe a few old legends twisted over time. That was before I started attending Ashford High.
Ashford High wasn't like the other schools in town. It was old—older than anyone could remember. The building looked like it belonged in a different century, all creaky wooden floors, dark hallways, and strange, narrow windows that barely let in any light. The kind of place that made you feel like the walls were watching you.
I transferred there halfway through the school year because my family had to move for work. The first day I arrived, something felt… off. Not just because I was the new kid, but because the whole school seemed to breathe a quiet tension, like it was holding its breath and waiting for something.
They warned me before I started — teachers and students alike — to keep to the main corridors, not to wander near the old wing. "The old wing's been closed for decades," one of the seniors told me, eyes wide. "Bad things happened there. It's better to stay away."
Naturally, that was the first place I wanted to see.
The old wing was a long, narrow stretch on the far side of the school, sealed off by heavy iron doors covered in rust. They were chained shut, and the chains looked thick enough to keep out anything or anyone. Yet, I'd catch glimpses of movement from the corner of my eye when I walked past—shadows that weren't there, or faint whispers that died as soon as I tried to listen.
One afternoon, curiosity finally got the better of me. The halls had emptied for lunch, and I found myself standing in front of the old doors. I reached out, running my fingers along the cold metal chain. The whispers were louder here—soft, almost like children calling my name. I blinked, and for a brief second, the chains looked like they were… shifting.
I shook my head, trying to convince myself it was just the wind or my imagination.
Classes were a blur after that. My mind kept drifting back to the old wing. I began to ask around discreetly—students who seemed less wary. They told me stories, fragments of something terrible that had happened there years ago.
There had been a fire, they said, one that gutted the entire wing and killed several students. The cause was never fully explained. Official records spoke of an electrical fault, but rumors hinted at something darker—something supernatural.
Some even claimed the spirits of those students never left. They wandered the halls at night, whispering secrets and warnings to anyone brave or foolish enough to listen.
That night, I couldn't sleep. The school was etched into my mind, its dark corridors calling to me. I felt drawn there, as if something was waiting, wanting me to find it.
I grabbed my flashlight and slipped out of the house, my heart pounding in the cold night air. The school looked different at night — eerie, silent except for the creaks and groans of the old building settling.
I crept toward the old wing, the beam of my flashlight cutting through the darkness. The iron doors were still chained, but as I stepped closer, the chains rattled slightly.
"Hello?" I whispered, half hoping, half terrified.
The whispers returned. This time, clearer. Not just voices, but words.
"Help us…Zach.."
The chain suddenly snapped. I stumbled backward, heart racing. The doors creaked open, revealing the pitch-black hallway beyond.
I debated running, but something compelled me forward.
The hallway was long and narrow, the floor covered in ash and debris. Faint moonlight seeped through broken windows, casting twisted shadows on the walls.
Then I heard footsteps behind me.
I spun around. Nothing.
Just the silence, thick and heavy.
I walked deeper into the wing. The air grew colder, almost biting.
I found a room at the end of the hall—a classroom frozen in time. Desks overturned, papers scattered, and on the chalkboard, words written in smudged white chalk:
"Don't trust the walls."
The hairs on my neck stood up.
Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind me. I whipped around, pounding on the wood.
"Let me out!" I shouted.
A voice echoed softly in the darkness, "You're not supposed to be here."
The flashlight flickered and died.
In the darkness, I felt something brush past my arm — cold and wet like a touch from beneath the grave.
I fumbled for my phone to use the screen as a light, but it was dead too.
Panic set in.
Then a whisper—right beside my ear—so close I could feel the breath:
"Stay… with us…Zach.."
The room grew colder still, and I could see faint outlines—figures, transparent and pale—standing silently around me, their hollow eyes locked onto mine.
I collapsed to the floor, heart pounding in terror. I tried to scream, but no sound came out.
The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me was a single, ghostly hand reaching out.
When I woke up, it was morning.
I was lying on the floor just outside the old wing, the doors locked tight again.
My head throbbed, and my clothes were damp with something cold and sticky. I staggered to my feet and ran home, not looking back.
Since that night, the whispers never left me. At school, in class, even in my dreams. The walls seem to watch me, the shadows twist a little too long, and the silence in the old wing calls me back.
I don't know what I saw in that dark classroom, or what those spirits want from me.
But I do know one thing:
Ashford High is alive — and it's hungry. Maybe the start of a new adventure like those movies shown on TV?