The old high school stood at the edge of town, its windows broken and ivy creeping up the brick walls like fingers trying to pull it down. Most people avoided it, but a few students still whispered about the stories that had been told for decades. The most famous was the tale of the girl who walked the halls after dark, her face pale and her eyes empty, searching for someone she never found. No one knew her name, only that she had died in the school years ago, and her ghost still wandered the building, lost between the living and the dead. Some said she was a student who had been bullied, others claimed she was a teacher who had gone mad. But no one could agree on the truth. Lena was one of the few who didn’t believe in the stories. She was a curious girl, always looking for something new, and when her friend Marco told her about the ghost, she laughed. “It’s just a story,” she said. “A way for people to scare each other.” But Marco wasn’t so sure. He had seen things. Late at night, when the halls were empty, he swore he heard footsteps echoing from the second floor, even though no one else was there. He also said the lights flickered sometimes, as if something was passing through them. Lena decided to prove him wrong. She planned to spend the night in the abandoned gymnasium, where the ghost supposedly appeared. She brought a flashlight, a notebook, and a small camera, determined to capture proof of the supernatural. As the sun set, the school grew quiet. Lena sat on the wooden bleachers, her breath visible in the cold air. She flipped through her notes, reading the same stories over and over, trying to find some pattern. Then, she heard it—a soft rustling, like fabric moving in the wind. She turned, but the room was empty. She tried to shake it off, telling herself it was just the wind. But then the lights flickered, and the temperature dropped. A chill ran down her spine, and she felt something brush against her shoulder. It wasn’t real, she told herself. It couldn’t be. Then, she saw her. A figure stood in the far corner of the gym, silhouetted by the dim light. Her face was pale, her hair long and tangled. She didn’t move, just stared at Lena with hollow eyes. For a moment, Lena couldn’t breathe. Her instincts screamed at her to run, but her feet were rooted to the ground. The girl stepped forward slowly, her movements unnatural, like a marionette being pulled by invisible strings. Lena’s heart pounded. She reached for her camera, but her hands trembled too much to focus. The girl stopped just a few feet away, tilting her head as if trying to understand Lena. Then, she spoke. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it echoed through the gym. “Why are you here?” Lena opened her mouth, but no words came out. She wanted to scream, to run, but she couldn’t. The girl tilted her head again, and for a moment, Lena thought she saw something familiar in her expression—like a memory she couldn’t place. “I don’t know,” Lena finally managed to say. The girl looked surprised. She took another step closer, and Lena noticed something strange—her feet never touched the floor. She floated just inches above the ground, as if she was not entirely of this world. “You’re not afraid,” the girl said, her voice laced with curiosity. Lena shook her head. “I’m scared, but I don’t want to believe in ghosts.” The girl smiled, and it was both beautiful and unsettling. “You should have listened to the stories,” she said. “They weren’t just stories. They were warnings.” Before Lena could ask what she meant, the girl vanished, leaving only a cold breeze in her wake. The lights flickered once more, and then everything went silent. Lena stumbled out of the gym, her legs shaking. She didn’t look back. She didn’t want to see if the girl was still there, watching her. In the days that followed, Lena changed. She stopped laughing at the stories. She started paying attention to the little things—the way the windows rattled when no one was near, the way the clocks sometimes ticked backward. She began to wonder if the girl had been trying to tell her something, or if she had simply been a warning. And then, one morning, Lena found a note in her locker. It was written in shaky handwriting, and the words were simple: *“You’re next.”* She didn’t know who had left it, or how. But as she stared at the note, she felt a presence behind her. She turned, but the hallway was empty. And yet, she could swear she heard the sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate, echoing from the second floor.