The old high school on the edge of town had long been abandoned, its rusted gates creaking in the wind like a warning. No one really knew why it closed, but the stories that followed were enough to keep most people away. Some said the principal was found dead in his office with no visible wounds, others whispered about students who vanished without a trace and were never seen again. But the most persistent tale was about the ghost girl. She was said to be a student who had died during a fire that burned down the library in the 1970s. Her name was never recorded, only her appearance: a pale girl in a tattered white dress, with dark hair that seemed to float around her head like smoke. She was seen wandering the empty halls, whispering to herself, sometimes laughing in a way that made the air feel colder. Every year, on the anniversary of the fire, the school would come alive with strange occurrences. Lights flickered in classrooms that hadn’t been powered for decades. The sound of footsteps echoed through the corridors when no one was there. And every so often, someone would find a single red rose lying in the middle of the courtyard, untouched by time or weather. A group of teenagers from the nearby town decided to investigate one October night, drawn by the rumors and the thrill of the unknown. They were curious, not scared—until they arrived. The gate creaked open as if expecting them, and the air inside felt thick, like walking into a dream. The windows were fogged over, and the silence was too complete, as if the building itself was holding its breath. They split up to explore different sections of the school. The first thing they noticed was the smell—old paper, dust, and something sweet, like burnt sugar. In the gymnasium, they found a chalkboard covered in scribbles, some of which looked like names. One read *“I’m sorry”* in shaky letters, and another had a drawing of a girl with a broken heart. The boys laughed it off, saying it was just kids’ stuff, but the girl in the group, Lily, didn’t say a word. She kept looking at the walls, her eyes wide. In the science lab, they found a locked cabinet. It wasn’t broken into, but the door was slightly ajar. Inside were old textbooks, some still intact, others turned to dust. Among them was a journal, its pages yellowed and brittle. As Lily flipped through it, she found entries written in a child’s hand, describing the fire, the screams, and the girl who disappeared. The last entry was dated the day before the fire, and it ended with a single line: *“She’s still here.”* Back in the main hallway, the group reunited. They heard a soft melody, like a lullaby, drifting from somewhere deep within the building. It wasn’t music, more like a voice singing without sound. The temperature dropped, and their breath became visible in the air. The lights above them flickered violently, then went out completely. Lily suddenly screamed. She pointed to the end of the hallway, where a figure stood, silhouetted against the faint glow of the moonlight coming through the broken windows. It was the girl from the stories, her face pale, her eyes hollow. She didn’t move, but the teenagers could feel her staring at them, not with malice, but with something else—something like sorrow. They ran, stumbling over debris and broken glass, until they reached the front doors. When they finally burst outside, the air felt normal again, the silence broken by the wind. They didn’t look back, but the girl’s voice lingered in their minds, a whisper that wouldn’t leave. Days later, the local newspaper reported that the school had caught fire again, this time without any explanation. Firefighters found nothing, no cause, no evidence of arson. Only the smell of burnt sugar and a single red rose sitting in the center of the courtyard. No one ever returned to the school after that. But sometimes, on quiet nights, people claim to hear the lullaby, and see a shadow moving through the ruins, always watching, always waiting. And in the back of their minds, a question lingers: did the girl truly vanish that night, or was she just waiting for someone to listen?