The corridors of the abandoned school groaned under the weight of silence. Dust danced in the beams of moonlight slipping through the shattered windows, and every shadow seemed to stretch longer than it should.
Min-Jae held the flashlight tightly, his knuckles white, as he followed the faint sound of footsteps echoing from the direction of the teacher's lounge. Beside him, Soo-Min whispered, "Did you hear that? Someone's walking… But we're the only ones here, right?"
"No," Min-Jae said quietly, "not anymore."
They had returned to the school the next night. The curiosity was stronger than fear, especially after Min-Jae found an old photograph tucked inside the textbook they took home. It showed a classroom—but there were too many students. One boy's face was scratched out, and the edges of the photo were burnt.
That boy wore the same uniform as Min-Jae.
The deeper they went, the colder it became. It wasn't just the chill of an old building—it was something unnatural. A dampness that clung to their skin, a pressure in the air like the moment before a scream.
As they reached the teacher's lounge, Soo-Min pushed open the creaking door. The flashlight flickered once—then again.
And then they heard it.
A faint whisper. Just a breath.
"Gajima…"Don't go…
Soo-Min jumped back. "Did you hear that? That wasn't the wind."
Min-Jae's mouth went dry. He turned the light toward the corner of the room—and saw nothing. But the mirror on the far wall had fogged up. And scrawled across the fog, in trembling letters, were the words:
"You shouldn't have come back."
They both froze. Neither had touched the mirror.
A sudden knock came from the hallway—sharp and deliberate.
Knock.Knock.Knock.
Three times.
They rushed out, but the corridor was empty. The temperature dropped again, and their breaths came out as visible fog.
"Let's leave," Soo-Min said, tugging Min-Jae's arm. "This isn't fun anymore."
But something about the hallway changed. The exit behind them looked… different. Longer. The signs on the doors were now written in old script. The floor beneath their feet was wooden, not tiled.
"What the—?" Min-Jae whispered. "This isn't how it looked before."
The school had changed.
Like it had taken them back in time.
They heard giggling from a nearby classroom. Children's laughter—but it wasn't joyful. It was broken, like a scratched record. The sound repeated, echoing unnaturally.
Min-Jae slowly pushed open the classroom door. The chalkboard was covered in red marks—not chalk. Desks were overturned, and in the back corner sat a girl in an old school uniform, her long hair hiding her face.
She was humming.
And writing something on the wall with her fingers.
As they stepped closer, the humming stopped. The girl turned slowly—and her face was blurred. Not just hidden—blurred, as if someone had smudged it from reality.
Min-Jae's heart pounded. "Who are you?" he asked.
The girl tilted her head. Her voice came like a whisper from everywhere at once.
"I'm waiting… for the one who opened the door."
Soo-Min backed away. "Min-Jae, let's go. Now."
They turned to run—but the door had vanished. The hallway was gone. Only the classroom remained, stretching endlessly in all directions like a twisted maze.
Min-Jae reached into his pocket and pulled out the photograph.
It had changed again.
Now, only two people were in the image—Min-Jae and the faceless girl.
The other students were missing.
Soo-Min grabbed his hand. "There's something wrong with this place. It's like it wants to trap us."
A low groan came from beneath the floorboards.
Then a hand shot up from a crack in the wood.
It was pale and wet, fingers too long, nails chipped and black.
Min-Jae screamed and pulled Soo-Min back just in time.
The hand clawed at the floor, and another began to emerge.
"RUN!" he shouted.
They dashed through the wall—it bent and shimmered like water—emerging into the hallway again, gasping and soaked in cold sweat.
The school was back to normal.
But now, the door to the teacher's lounge was gone.
In its place was a smooth, blank wall.
They didn't wait.
They ran.
Out of the school, into the night, not stopping until the city lights returned.
But Min-Jae still clutched the photograph.
And now, beneath the faded image of the classroom, new words had appeared:
"One has seen. One must return. The eyes behind the door are waiting."