Rain fell in thin silver lines as Natalie drove through the outskirts of town. The school loomed in the distance like a skeleton — windows blacked out, hallways gutted, half-swallowed by vines.
They'd shut it down a month after the accident. Rumors spread: strange noises, flickering lights, a shadow in the gym. Natalie never returned. None of them did.
Felix arrived first, leaning against his car with a nervous grin that didn't reach his eyes. He looked older, sharper, but the charm was the same.
"Didn't think you'd show," he said.
"I almost didn't," Natalie replied. "Who started this group chat?"
He shrugged. "Not me. Thought it was you."
A car door slammed. Alex stepped out, cigarette in hand, trench coat soaked. She used to be the wild one — impulsive, always the one daring others to cross the line. Now, she looked like someone trying too hard not to remember.
"Let's make this quick," she said. "I don't want to spend the night here."
Anne came last, small and quiet, clutching her old camera. She used to document everything — their inside jokes, their hallway adventures, their final night before graduation. That night, the lens had captured something none of them had the courage to rewatch.
They gathered at the entrance, four ghosts revisiting their crime scene.
Felix smiled weakly. "So, what now?"
Alex smirked. "We play, apparently."
The doors groaned as Natalie pushed them open.
The air inside was heavy with dust and memory.