The hallway beyond the mirror room felt longer than before. Min-Jae walked carefully, his flashlight flickering, its weak beam casting twisted shadows on the cracked walls. Each step echoed unnaturally, like something was mimicking his movements just a breath behind him. He kept glancing over his shoulder, but no one was there.
The silence wasn't empty—it was thick, humming with something unseen. As Min-Jae approached the old library at the end of the corridor, the faint scent of old paper and mildew grew stronger. He remembered this room—at least what it used to be before the school was abandoned. Now, the door was half-rotted, hanging crookedly on broken hinges.
He pushed it open.
The books had all fallen from their shelves, littering the floor like forgotten whispers. Dust curled in the air. But that wasn't what made him stop. There was someone standing in the far corner of the room.
A girl.
She was wearing a faded school uniform, her back to him, long black hair hanging down over her shoulders. She didn't move.
Min-Jae froze. "Hello?"
No response.
His throat tightened. "Are you okay?"
Still, the girl didn't react.
He took a cautious step forward. The wood creaked beneath his foot—and instantly, the girl's head jerked toward him, far too fast, neck twisting at an impossible angle. Her eyes were pitch black, empty like a void. And her mouth stretched open wide, far wider than humanly possible.
Min-Jae stumbled back, falling against a collapsed bookshelf. But the girl didn't follow. She just… watched.
Then she whispered.
"Don't open the door…"
Her voice wasn't her own. It was layered, like multiple voices—some male, some female, some screaming, some whispering—all bleeding together into a horrific harmony.
Min-Jae scrambled to his feet and bolted out of the room, his heart hammering. Behind him, the door slammed shut without being touched.
He didn't stop running until he reached the science lab.
Breathing heavily, he locked the door behind him and slid to the floor. The lab was eerily intact—beakers, broken microscopes, rusted metal stands. But no whispers. No shadows.
Min-Jae tried to steady his breathing. He pulled out the small journal he'd found earlier in the school, the one tucked in the principal's office drawer. Flipping through its pages, his eyes landed on a name scrawled again and again.
Seo-Hyeon.
He muttered the name aloud, then suddenly, a sharp knock echoed from the lab door.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
He didn't move.
The doorknob rattled.
Then stopped.
Min-Jae swallowed hard and reached for his phone. No signal. Of course. He sat in the corner, gripping the journal like a shield, waiting, listening.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours.
When he finally dared to look out the lab window, the hallway was empty again.
But the school wasn't.
Something was awake now. Watching him.
Waiting.
And Min-Jae wasn't sure he could survive until morning.