The classroom door creaked open, dragging on the floor.
A high-pitched screech echoed down the hallway, making my hair stand up. But it wasn't just the sound that froze me—it was the next noise. The unmistakable scrape of something large being dragged across the floor.
(What the hell is that?)
Sophie, standing next to me, turned pale. Her hands shook as she looked toward the door. Her confidence from earlier was gone, replaced by pure fear. She took a step back, almost tripping over her own feet.
"I—what is that?" Sophie whispered, voice trembling.
I didn't answer. My stomach turned. I could feel it—something was wrong, something was coming that shouldn't be here.
Before any of us could react, James was already standing, his movements quick and decisive. His eyes were sharp, his expression unreadable, but I could see the way his body tensed, like he had already anticipated something like this. He stepped forward, placing himself between Sophie and the door, his posture defensive but ready for whatever was coming.
My heart raced as I felt that sense of impending doom sink deeper into my gut. (This is it. This is the start of the novel's plot. This is where everything changes.)
Then, as if in response to the tension building in the room, the screeching sound suddenly stopped. Silence.
But then, it wasn't really silence. The faintest sound echoed from the chalkboard at the front of the class—the soft scrape of chalk against a blackboard, but there was no one standing there.
I turned, staring at the board. My stomach dropped.
The words "I will not speak when it is not my turn"appeared, written in faint, ghostly handwriting. The chalk was moving on its own, like an invisible hand was guiding it across the surface, scratching the board. It felt like the room had just dropped twenty degrees.
Sophie gasped, her hands trembling as she pointed. "What... what's happening?"
"We need to get out of here." Ryan, one of the quieter students, said, his voice cracking. He was sweating, his eyes wide with fear.
"You can't just run. It's too late for that." James said, his voice low and calm, though his eyes were scanning the room. His posture was rigid, defensive.
"What the hell is that?" Sophie asked again, backing away as if the chalkboard might leap at her.
Then the classroom door slammed shut—BANG—with a force that made everyone flinch.
The lights flickered. Then dimmed.
Shadows stretched along the floor, crawling toward us like fingers.
The room suddenly felt smaller. Tighter. Like the walls were closing in.
The chalkboard hadn't stopped.
The same sentence repeated, again.
"I will not speak when it is not my turn."
Etched deeper now. Angrier. Like the board was screaming through writing.
(Fuck. Fuck. This is Stage 1. It's really happening.)
The classroom. The board. The ghost—Mr. Chalk.
This wasn't some prank.
This was the story.
And I was inside it.
I swallowed hard, trying to calm my breathing.
The others were still fixated on the board—frozen, confused—but they didn't know what I knew.
They didn't know the rules.
If anyone responded to the board—if they spoke, wrote back, or even laughed—Mr. Chalk would appear.
And when he did, he would erase their mouth.
He would trap their voice in the chalkboard forever.
(I can't let them fall for it. I can't let them respond. They don't know. They don't understand how bad this is.)
Ryan had his hand half-raised toward the board, a desperate look on his face, as if he wanted to say something. My body reacted faster than my thoughts.
"No! Don't speak!" I shouted, louder than I expected.
Everyone jumped. Ryan froze mid-step, eyes wide.
My voice echoed against the walls. The lights flickered again. For a moment, I feared I had triggered something. But no—nothing changed. Not yet.
(That shout... it doesn't count. I wasn't answering the board. I was warning him. That doesn't count... right?)
Just as the room settled into an uneasy stillness, a ding rang in my head—mechanical, cold.
(+2 Attention Points)
My blood ran cold for the second time that minute.
(It's real. The system... it actually activated.)
(This... is the real start. This is where the horror game begins. No, the horror story. The one I read. Except now I'm inside it.)
The panic bubbling in my chest nearly spilled out of me, but I forced myself to stay calm.
James was still watching me, arms crossed. Not hostile, just cautious.
"You knew something," he said, his voice low. "Jake?."
"I read about this," I said, too quietly for most to hear. I stepped closer to James and Sophie. "Don't talk to the board. Don't respond. That includes writing or even laughing at it. Three responses total, and he comes."
"Who?" Sophie asked.
"Mr. Chalk," I whispered. "The ghost of this classroom."
She blinked, confused. "You're joking—"
"I'm not," I snapped. "Look around. Does this look like a joke?"
Lucas, Tommy, Lena—everyone was tense, all staring between me and the board. The message had faded slightly, as if waiting. Listening.
(I know how this works.)
Mr. Chalk's Rule:
If the chalkboard writes something after class hours… don't respond.Three total responses—verbal, written, or emotional—count as "answers."On the third, he appears behind the person who triggered it.He erases your mouth.He traps your voice in the board… forever.
Someone sniffled in the back. Lena. Tears in her eyes. I stepped forward quickly.
(If they answer him three times, we lose someone.)
Sophie looked like she wanted to scream. "So we're just supposed to—what? Sit here and do nothing?"
"Yes," I said, deadly serious. "No one talks. No one laughs. No one writes anything. Not even questions."
[+2 Attention Points — "Dramatic Warning."]
[Current Attention: 4/10]
I blinked as the system flashed again.
(It's counting… my dramatic moments. That shout. That explanation. I'm getting attention. That's good—no, that's the only way I stay alive.)
"Anyway… the rule isn't about who responds—it's about how many responses there are in total."
"Three reactions. That's the trigger."
"Doesn't matter if one person talks three times or if three different idiots laugh, speak, or write—it still counts as three."
"And Mr. Chalk doesn't punish the first... or even the second. He punishes the last one—the third."
"That's why when Ryan started muttering back at the board, I shouted. Not at the board. At him. So I'm safe—because I wasn't talking to Mr. Chalk. Because if I let him say another word...He would've been the third. And then... Mr. Chalk would've erased his mouth."
So when James looked at me and asked, "How did you know?"
It wasn't suspicion.
It was surprise.
Because somehow—I knew the rule before the horror even started.
…
[JAMES FOSTER'S POV]
(I can't read him.)
The thought struck James like a cold slap across the face. He glanced at Jake and tried again. Tried to slip into his thoughts the way he always did. Quietly. Subtly.
But there was... nothing.
Not silence. Not static.
Just a wall. Smooth, unbroken.
He couldn't even get a feeling—a flicker of emotion.
(That shouldn't be possible. Not unless he's been trained... or unless something else is in his head.)
James's breath tightened.
He looked over at Sophie, standing close, watching Jake with the same confusion.
He looked at Lena, still crying. At Ryan, gripping his knees in shock.
Everyone else was terrified. Predictable. Understandable.
But Jake?
Jake had stood up. Taken control. Given the rules of a curse they had just discovered.
And now the board was silent.
Because they listened to him.
(How the hell does he know this?)
James instinctively reached further—just a touch of telekinesis, pushing gently at the space around Jake's mind.
Still nothing. Like pushing on air that didn't want to exist.
Jake Coleman was James's best friend.
Not in the "we talk sometimes" way.
Not even in the "we're grouped for every project" way.
He was his best friend. His brother-from-another-mother kind of friend.
They met back in first year—James was the quiet new kid, awkward and careful, always reading people's expressions like puzzles. Jake? Jake was the loud one. The one who walked into the room like he owned it and tripped over a chair five seconds later. He made people laugh, even when they didn't want to.
He made James laugh—even when he couldn't remember the last time he had.
Jake was weird. Ridiculous. Chaotic. But loyal.
He made bad puns, wore a bucket hat for "fashion," and once tried to make a horror movie in the school bathroom with ketchup and a potato.
Jake was the guy who'd shout, "THIS CLASSROOM IS CURSED!" after someone dropped a pencil.
He was the one who dared the substitute teacher to arm wrestle him for an extra five minutes of lunch.
He was the one who couldn't go a single day without some kind of attention—and yet, never once meant harm.
He was the kind of friend who made even boring days feel like stories.
And that's why this Jake—the one standing in front of the classroom, became serious, eyes sharp like glass—scared the hell out of James.
Is this same guy who once tripped over a mop and got his hoodie stuck in a vending machine? No this is Like someone had flipped a switch.
(This isn't the Jake I know...)
(...or maybe this is the Jake I never really knew.)
James clenched his jaw.
When James finally asked, "How did you know?"
He didn't ask it because he suspected Jake of anything.
He asked it because he was genuinely stunned.
His friend—the fool, the loudmouth, the one who once tried to high-five a fire extinguisher for "saving lives"—was now speaking like someone who'd survived death.
Like someone who knew the rules of this horror.
And when Jake turned and looked at him—really looked at him—James felt the hairs on his neck rise.
There was no answer.
No smirk.
No silly comeback.
Just that cold, unreadable look.
….
(Why can't I hear your thoughts?)
(Why do you know the rules before anything started?)
(Jake… what are you not telling me?)
James felt his heart pound faster.
His fingers twitched with the urge to use his power. To reach deeper. To force his way in.
But something told him not to.
Something told him that even if he did…
He wouldn't like what he found.
System Notification:
[+4 Attention Points — James Thought about you.]
[Current Attention: 8/10]
To be continue