In the quiet town of Eldergrove, nestled between misty hills and whispering pines, stood the old Eldergrove High School. It had been abandoned for over thirty years, its windows dark and its halls silent, save for the occasional creak of wind through broken glass. Yet every autumn, a strange tradition took root among the students—telling ghost stories around bonfires, each one more chilling than the last. No one knew where the tradition began, but it was said that the school held secrets, buried deep beneath layers of dust and time. The stories varied from year to year, but one tale always returned: the story of the girl who never left. It started with a girl named Clara. She was a student in 1982, known for her quiet demeanor and love of poetry. One cold October evening, she was seen walking alone through the woods behind the school, her breath visible in the air like smoke. No one saw her again after that. The next morning, her classroom was empty, her desk untouched, and her name vanished from the roll. The school closed shortly after, and the town moved on, but the legend remained. Each year, as the leaves turned red and the air grew thin, students would gather and tell the story of Clara. They spoke of her pale face, her eyes filled with sorrow, and the way she would appear at the edge of the forest, watching the school with an expression neither sad nor angry, but something in between. One autumn, a group of teenagers decided to investigate the old school. They were curious, not afraid, and they brought flashlights and cameras, convinced they would find nothing but rusted lockers and peeling walls. They entered through a shattered window, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous hallways. The air was thick with the scent of damp wood and something else—something faintly sweet, like perfume mixed with decay. As they explored, they found a classroom still preserved in time. The desks were neatly arranged, the chalkboard still covered in faded equations. In the corner, a small desk sat untouched, as if waiting. On it, a single notebook lay open, its pages filled with delicate handwriting. The words were poetic, full of longing and mystery. One passage read: "I wait for someone to hear me. I do not wish to be forgotten." The group exchanged uneasy glances. “Maybe she’s just a kid who got lost,” one said, trying to sound brave. But the others didn’t speak. Something about the room felt wrong, not scary, but heavy, as if the air itself was holding its breath. They left quickly, the flashlight beams shaking in their hands. As they emerged into the night, the trees seemed taller, the shadows deeper. The bonfire they had planned to build had already gone out, and the firelight flickered strangely, casting elongated shapes on the ground. Back at the gathering, the story was told again, this time with more urgency. The younger kids listened with wide eyes, while the older ones muttered about the old legends. But no one could explain why the notebook had appeared, or why the classroom had been so perfectly preserved. Years passed, and the story evolved. Some claimed Clara’s spirit walked the halls, searching for someone to understand her. Others believed she had never been real, just a myth created by bored students. But every autumn, the stories returned, and with them, the feeling that something was watching. One night, a new student arrived in Eldergrove, fresh from the city. He had heard the stories, dismissed them as folklore, but he was drawn to the school nonetheless. He wandered the grounds, his boots crunching on fallen leaves, his breath visible in the cool air. He found the classroom, the same one the others had described. The notebook was still there, and now it was open to a new page. The writing was different, more frantic, more desperate. It read: "You found me. You are the one. Please, don't leave. I have waited so long." He stepped back, heart pounding. The door behind him slammed shut. The lights flickered. And in the darkness, a voice whispered, not loud, but clear: "Thank you for coming." The next morning, the boy was missing. His backpack was found near the school, his phone still working, but no one answered. The town searched, but he was never found. The story of Clara changed once more, now including a new name, a new question: Who was truly waiting? And who was truly being watched?