The midterm season was approaching, and I suppose I should have been nervous. Yet, there was a flicker of excitement simmering inside me after my transfer to the prestigious Haneul Ridge High School. At sixteen, I was entering my first day as a new student, and the halls of this elite school seemed both intimidating and alluring at the same time.
Stepping down from the car, balancing boxes in my arms, I immediately felt the weight of dozens of eyes on me. Students lined the driveway, glancing my way with curiosity—or perhaps judgment. My steps faltered under the weight of my belongings, and my heart thumped faster.
A firm, cold hand suddenly brushed against mine, startling me. Looking up, I saw a tall, lean figure with a pale, almost unreadable face bending down to help me with the boxes. His eyes were sharp, icy, and unreadable, yet there was something strangely compelling about his presence.
"I can manage, thank you," I started, trying to refuse his help, but he insisted. There was an authority in the way he moved, a quiet insistence that made me relent.
Together, we walked toward the long staircase leading to the hostel. His movements were graceful, almost predatory, and the silence between us was thick, punctuated only by the soft echo of our steps.
"I'm Raven Soo," he said finally, his voice low, controlled, and chillingly calm. "I'm a final-year student. And I suppose you're the transfer student."
I nodded, trying to steady my racing heartbeat. "Jina Park," I replied. "I'm also in my final year. And yes, I'm the transfer student."
"You're welcome," he said curtly, though his eyes lingered on mine a moment longer than necessary.
As we ascended the stairs, a sudden gust of wind swept through the corridor. It was unusual—there were no windows open, no doors ajar. The chill made me shiver involuntarily, but I dismissed it. Raven, however, didn't seem to ignore it. His gaze flicked sharply toward me, almost as if warning me to notice the breeze, though I pretended not to see.
When we reached the hostel, Raven stopped at the door. "Thanks, Raven. I'll take it from here," I said, attempting to sound casual.
He gave a curt nod but didn't look at me. His face hardened, his eyes distant, as if he was seeing something beyond the walls of the building. I followed his gaze, but there was nothing—just the quiet dormitory corridor. Then, in a sudden movement, he turned and rushed down the stairs, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I lingered at the door, my emotions a strange cocktail of relief and unease. Slowly, I slid the key into the lock, and the door creaked open.
Inside, the room was dim and dusty. The walls bore faint patches of old plaster, evidence of years of neglect. The mistress had explained that the student who was supposed to occupy this room had fallen ill months ago and hadn't returned. It seemed I would be staying alone—for now.
I picked up a brush and began to dust, my movements slow, deliberate, almost ritualistic. Then, without warning, a black bird burst out from the open window. Its wings flapped wildly, startling me so much that I stumbled backward, my heart hammering against my ribcage.
I froze for a moment, staring out the window. The bird had vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving only the swaying branches of the trees and students passing by on the grounds below. When I looked straight ahead, my breath caught. A figure stood at a distance, watching me.
He was dressed in a black uniform, and his eyes were sharp, unreadable, and full of something I couldn't name—something cold. Panic clawed at my chest, and I blinked, trying to focus, but when I lowered my gaze for a moment and looked again, he was gone.
I shook my head, telling myself it was just my imagination. The room, despite its dust and shadows, was empty. But before I could settle down, a knock at the door jolted me from my thoughts.
I approached cautiously, my hand trembling as I reached for the doorknob.
"Hello?" I called softly. "Who's there?"
No answer came, just the faint sound of shuffling footsteps on the other side. My pulse quickened. I hesitated, then opened the door.
No one.
The hallway stretched before me, silent, unnervingly quiet. A draft of cold air brushed past my face, sending a shiver down my spine. As I stepped out, I felt a shadow move at the edge of my vision. I spun, but again, nothing was there.
I returned to my room, locking the door behind me. My hands were clammy, and my breathing came in shallow, uneven gasps. I tried to reassure myself. New school, new people—it was all just nerves.
Then I heard it: a faint scratching, like claws on the wooden floor. I froze. The sound moved closer, creeping along the floorboards toward my bed. My heart raced as I strained to see in the dim light, but the room was still empty.
Suddenly, the window rattled violently, as if struck by an unseen force. The wind howled through the cracks, carrying a strange, almost whispering sound that made the hairs on my neck stand on end.
I stumbled backward, my hand catching on the edge of the desk. My brush fell to the floor with a clatter. I bent to pick it up—and then I saw it. A note, folded neatly, lying atop my desk. My heart skipped. I hadn't left it there.
I picked it up with trembling fingers. The paper was yellowed, as though aged, and the words were scrawled in uneven, almost jagged handwriting:
"Some things are best left untouched. Beware the locker that should've stayed closed."
A cold chill ran through me, and I realized the words were more than a warning—they were a threat.
My eyes darted around the room. The shadows seemed to deepen, stretching across the walls, reaching for me. I swallowed hard and tried to steady myself.
And then I saw him—at the window. The boy from earlier. His uniform dark against the dim light, eyes fixed on mine. He wasn't moving, yet I could feel his gaze piercing through me, chilling me to the bone.
I backed away, my body trembling. The note slipped from my fingers and fluttered to the floor. My eyes never left his. Then, as suddenly as he appeared, he was gone. The window was empty, the room silent again, but the sense of being watched remained, heavy and oppressive.
I sank to the floor, my back against the wall, trying to calm the storm of fear inside me. Questions swirled in my mind: Who was he? Why was he watching me? And what did the note mean?
A second knock at the door jolted me upright. My pulse raced, my body frozen. I hesitated, then slowly approached the door, gripping the handle.
"Who is it?" I called, my voice trembling.
A familiar voice replied—soft, low, but commanding: "It's Raven."
Relief flooded me, but it was short-lived. The door creaked open, and he stepped inside. His eyes, usually unreadable, softened slightly, though the underlying intensity never left them.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice calm but firm. "You seemed… unsettled."
I opened my mouth to reply, but words failed me. My hands shook, and I could barely nod.
He didn't push further. Instead, he glanced at the window, then at the note lying on the floor. His expression darkened.
"Locker three," he muttered under his breath. "
He merely fixed me with that intense, unreadable gaze, and for a moment, I felt as though he was trying to communicate something beyond words.
Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, he turned and left the room, closing the door with a soft click that seemed to echo through the empty hostel.
I sank back onto the bed, clutching the note to my chest, my mind swirling with fear, curiosity, and an uneasy fascination.
Something about this school was off. Something about that boy—Raven—was dangerous, but I couldn't look away. And that locker… that locker was a secret someone had gone to great lengths to protect.
I didn't know it yet, but my first day at Haneul Ridge High had already marked me. I was no longer just a transfer student trying to survive—something far darker had begun, and there would be no turning back.