The old high school on the edge of town had been abandoned for over thirty years, its rusted gates and broken windows a silent testament to forgotten days. Students still whispered about it, though most dismissed the stories as just that—stories. But there were always those who believed, and they would gather in the dark corners of the library or the back of the classroom, sharing tales that made the air feel colder. One such story was about the third-floor girls’ restroom. It was said that if you entered at exactly midnight, you could hear the whispers of the girl who had died there decades ago. No one knew her name, but she was always described as wearing a white dress with a red ribbon tied around her neck. The rumors claimed she had been pushed into the toilet by her classmates, and the water had never stopped running since then. Mara was one of the few who actually went to check it out. She wasn’t scared, just curious. She had heard the stories all her life, from her grandmother and her friends, and she wanted to see if there was any truth to them. On the night of the full moon, she climbed the creaking stairs to the third floor, flashlight in hand, heart pounding with excitement rather than fear. The hallway was eerily quiet, the only sound the echo of her footsteps against the cracked tiles. The doors were all locked, but the restroom door was slightly ajar, as if someone had left it open just for her. She stepped inside, the smell of mildew and old paper filling her nose. The lights flickered, and the temperature dropped instantly, making her breath visible in the dim light. She looked around. The mirrors were cracked, the sinks rusted, and the toilet seat was stained with something dark. As she turned, she noticed a figure standing in the corner, just beyond the reach of her flashlight. It was a girl, no older than twelve, wearing a white dress with a red ribbon. Her face was pale, her eyes hollow. Mara froze, not sure if she was dreaming or if this was real. The girl didn’t move. She just stood there, staring at Mara, as if waiting for something. Mara took a step forward, but the girl vanished, leaving only a faint chill in the air. The toilet began to gurgle, and the water started to flow, though no one had turned it on. Mara ran out, her heartbeat racing, and didn’t stop until she reached the safety of the street. She told no one what she saw, but the next day, she found a red ribbon on her doorstep, tied neatly around a piece of paper that read: “You’re next.” That night, the stories changed. People began to say that the girl wasn’t just a ghost—she was a curse. Anyone who entered the school after dark would be taken, their bodies never found. Some claimed they had seen the girl walking through the halls, smiling as if she knew something others didn’t. Others swore they had heard her whispering their names in the dead of night. But the most unsettling part was the red ribbon. It appeared in different places—on the lockers, in the classrooms, even on the desks of students who had never set foot in the school. It was always tied the same way, as if placed there by an unseen hand. One morning, a group of students decided to investigate the school themselves. They brought flashlights and cameras, determined to prove the stories false. They walked through the empty hallways, past the dusty lockers and peeling posters. At first, everything seemed normal. Then, as they approached the third-floor restroom, the temperature dropped again, and the lights flickered. Inside, they found the same scene as before—the girl in the white dress, the gurgling toilet, the cold air. But this time, when they turned around, the girl was gone, and the room was empty. No one spoke as they fled the building, hearts pounding, unsure whether they had imagined it or not. After that, the school became a place of hushed conversations and cautious glances. Some students began to avoid the area altogether, while others tried to find more information about the girl. A local historian discovered an old newspaper clipping from 1962, mentioning a student who had gone missing without a trace. The article was brief, almost dismissive, as if the incident had been swept under the rug. But the more people searched, the more they realized that the girl’s story was never fully told. No records of her name, no family members coming forward, no police reports. Just a ghost, a ribbon, and a school that refused to let go of its secrets. And so, the legend continued. Every year, new students would hear the tale, some believing, some dismissing it as nonsense. But every now and then, a red ribbon would appear, and the whispers would start again. The question lingered: Was the girl really a ghost, or was she something else entirely? And if she was real, why did she choose those who came to find her? No one ever found the answer. Only the silence of the school, the echo of footsteps, and the memory of a girl in a white dress, forever waiting.