The old high school had been abandoned for over thirty years, its windows shattered and ivy crawling up the rusted metal gates. Most people said it was cursed, that the students who once walked its halls never truly left. But no one ever stayed long enough to find out. Lila had always been curious about the stories. She was a quiet girl with a fascination for the forgotten, and when she heard whispers of the ghostly presence in the school, she decided to investigate. It was a rainy afternoon when she slipped through the broken gate, her boots crunching on broken glass as she stepped onto the cracked asphalt of the parking lot. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decay. The main building loomed ahead, its red brick walls streaked with mildew. Inside, the silence was oppressive. Her flashlight cast flickering shadows across the peeling paint on the walls, revealing faded murals of students who hadn’t been there in decades. She passed by the old gymnasium, where the basketball hoops still swayed slightly in the draft, and then the library, where books sat untouched on dusty shelves. She found the classroom she was looking for near the back of the building. The door creaked open as she pushed it, revealing a room frozen in time. Desks were neatly arranged, some with ink stains and pencil marks. A chalkboard at the front was covered in an incomplete equation, as if the teacher had been interrupted mid-lesson. Lila ran her fingers along the desk, feeling the grooves of initials carved into the wood. As she stepped further in, she noticed something strange. The air felt colder, and the light from her flashlight seemed dimmer than before. Then, she heard it—a soft whisper, like someone breathing just behind her. She turned, but the room was empty. The sound came again, this time louder, and closer. It wasn’t a voice she recognized, but it wasn’t entirely foreign either. It was familiar, like a memory she couldn’t place. Lila’s heart pounded, but she forced herself to stay calm. She remembered the stories—how the ghosts of the school didn’t harm the living, only watched. Still, she felt their eyes on her, unseen but present. She backed toward the door, but as she reached for the handle, the lights flickered and died. The room plunged into darkness. In the blackness, she heard the whisper again, but this time it was not just one voice. There were many, overlapping, speaking in a language she almost understood. It was not English, nor any language she knew, but it resonated deep in her chest, stirring something ancient and forgotten. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. Her breath caught in her throat as the shadows around her began to shift, forming shapes that moved without sound. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the darkness lifted. The lights came back on, and the classroom was empty again. Lila stumbled out, her legs shaking, and collapsed on the steps outside. The rain had stopped, and the sky was clear. She looked back at the school, now silent and still, as if nothing had happened. But something had changed. She could feel it in her bones. That night, she dreamt of the classroom again, but this time, the voices were clearer. They weren’t just watching—they were calling. And though she didn’t understand what they were saying, she knew one thing: the school was waiting for someone to return. Not to haunt, but to remember. The next morning, Lila went back, but the school was gone. No building, no gate, just an empty field where the old high school had once stood. The townspeople said it had been demolished years ago, but Lila knew better. She had seen it, felt it. And though she never spoke of what she had experienced, she often wondered—had she really left, or had the school taken her instead?