The Girl in Room 13

Amelia had never liked being the new kid, especially at Blackwood Academy. The school was over a century old, built from weathered red brick and perpetually wrapped in thick, damp fog. Its endless corridors were lined with dark wood paneling that creaked with every step.

During lunch break, while the other students gathered in the cafeteria, Amelia decided to explore. She wandered down a narrow, forgotten staircase near the library that led into the old west wing. The air grew noticeably colder with every step she took.

At the very end of the shadowy hallway stood a single, ominous door. A tarnished brass plate on the frame read *13*. A heavy, rusted padlock bound the handle to an iron latch, sealing the room tight.

Amelia stepped closer, drawn by a sudden chill. "Why would they padlock a classroom?" she murmured to herself.

Just as she reached out to touch the cold metal lock, a faint sound drifted through the wood. It was a soft, dry whisper, like autumn leaves scraping across stone. Amelia jumped back, her breath catching in her throat.

The voice was tiny, weak, and unmistakable. It was calling out from inside the locked room.

By late afternoon, heavy rain basted the tall glass windows, darkening the academy into deep shadows. Amelia stayed after classes to finish a project in the science lab. When she finally packed her bag, the school was completely silent, save for the rhythmic drumming of rain.

As she walked down the central corridor, a sharp metallic clatter echoed from the west wing.

Amelia froze. She knew she should leave and head straight home, but a strange pull nagged at her mind. "I am going to regret this," she whispered, turning toward the forgotten staircase.

She tiptoed down the chilly hallway of the west wing. The heavy padlock no longer secured Room 13—it lay fractured on the floor, snapped clean in half. The heavy wooden door stood open just an inch, revealing pitch blackness within.

From the dark slit of the doorway, the whispering returned, louder now, shimmering with a strange, sorrowful echo.

*Amelia...* the voice murmured from the shadows. *Help us... Amelia...*

Her heart hammered violently against her ribs. The door slowly glided inward on silent hinges, inviting her into the dark.

Amelia took a trembling step across the threshold into Room 13. The temperature plummeted instantly, turning her breath into thick white plumes in the freezing air.

She let out a faint, nervous laugh to try to calm her racing heart, but the sound was quickly swallowed by the oppressive silence. The room was frozen in time. Row upon row of ancient wooden desks sat covered in thick white dust and draped in delicate cobwebs.

Suddenly, the cold grew unbearable. A soft weeping sound echoed from the far corner of the room.

Amelia watched in sheer horror as the shadows merged together, forming a silvery, glowing figure. It was the phantom of a young girl wearing a retro school uniform from decades ago. Her eyes were hollow, filled with ancient sorrow, and her pale, translucent form hovered inches above the floor.

The ghost raised a trembling, spectral hand, reaching straight toward Amelia. Amelia screamed, the sound tearing through the silent room. She turned on her heel and bolted frantically out the door, her boots skidding across the slippery wooden floorboards of the corridor.

Amelia burst out of Room 13 into the main hallway. Behind her, the heavy oak door slammed shut with a thunderous bang, locking itself with a loud, final click.

She collapsed against the wall, chest heaving as she swallowed hard to catch her breath. Safe in the hallway, she clicked on her phone's flashlight, its beam shaking violently in her trembling hand.

As she swung the light toward the doorframe, something on the plaster wall caught her eye. Beneath thick layers of dust and peeling yellow paint, strange markings were carved into the stone beside Room 13.

Amelia leaned in, wiping away the grimy dust with her sleeve. They were names, neatly etched into the plaster, accompanied by dates from long ago.

*Eleanor Vance - 1942*

*Thomas Reid - 1968*

*Clara Finch - 1995*

Amelia remembered reading about those names in the local library—students who had mysteriously vanished from Blackwood Academy without a trace decades ago.

Slowly, her flashlight beam drifted down to the very bottom of the carved list. The plaster dust there was fresh, pale, and damp. Freshly scratched into the wall, right beneath the missing children, was a single new name:

*AMELIA*