In the quiet town of Eldergrove, where fog clung to the streets like a forgotten memory, there stood an old school building that had long been abandoned. The students called it "The Hollow School," a name whispered only in hushed tones after dark. No one knew exactly when it had closed, but the rusted lock on its iron gate had never been touched for decades. Still, every year on the first night of autumn, a strange phenomenon occurred—students would find themselves drawn to the school, as if pulled by an invisible force. It began with the whispers. At first, they were faint, like wind through broken windows. But as the nights grew colder, the voices became clearer. They spoke in languages no one recognized, yet somehow, the words felt familiar, as though they had always been part of the world. Some claimed they heard laughter echoing from empty hallways, while others swore they saw shadows moving without a source. One autumn evening, a group of teenagers—Lila, Ethan, and Mia—decided to investigate. They had heard the stories all their lives, but none of them believed in ghosts. They were curious, not afraid. Armed with flashlights and a sense of adventure, they approached the school, its windows glowing faintly in the twilight. As they stepped inside, the air turned colder. The floor creaked beneath their feet, and the scent of damp wood filled their lungs. The halls were lined with faded portraits, each one staring back at them with eyes that seemed to follow. Lila pointed to a door labeled "Classroom 3B." It was slightly ajar, as if someone had just left. Inside, the room was untouched. Desks sat neatly arranged, chalk still smudged on the blackboard. A single chair sat in the front, facing the class. Ethan ran his hand over the desk, and a chill ran down his spine. "This place is... wrong," he muttered. Suddenly, the lights flickered. A low hum filled the air, vibrating in their bones. Mia gasped as a shadow moved across the wall, then vanished. "Did you see that?" she asked, her voice trembling. Lila stepped forward, her flashlight beam sweeping the room. Then she froze. On the blackboard, written in perfect handwriting, was a message: "You should not have come." The three of them stared at it, their breaths shallow. "That's not possible," Ethan said, shaking his head. "No one's been here in years." They backed out of the room, hearts pounding. As they reached the entrance, the doors slammed shut behind them. The hallway was now pitch black, the only light coming from their flashlights. They tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. A sound echoed from the other end of the hall—a slow, deliberate tapping, like a footstep on the floor. "Someone's here," Mia whispered. Then, a voice. Not loud, but clear. "You shouldn't have come." The tapping stopped. The silence was suffocating. Lila’s flashlight flickered, and in the brief moment of darkness, she saw something. A figure standing in the hallway, watching them. Its face was blurred, but its eyes were unmistakable—empty, yet full of knowing. The door suddenly swung open, and the three stumbled outside into the cold night air. They didn’t speak as they ran, their footsteps echoing through the empty streets. By the time they reached the edge of town, the school was gone. Or at least, it wasn’t there anymore. The land was just an empty field, overgrown and silent. They never told anyone what happened. But every year, on the first night of autumn, they found themselves standing before the same field, unable to move. And sometimes, when the wind blew just right, they could hear the whispers again—soft, patient, waiting. What if the school wasn’t abandoned? What if it was waiting for them to return?