My legs burned as I burst through the art room door, my stomach twisting with dread. The hallway stretched before me, its dull emergency lights casting everything in sickly shades of yellow. Overhead, the cracked fixtures crackled and groaned with each breath of wind that slithered through shattered windows. No voices, no footsteps, no movement—just me and the rhythmic drip of a leaky ceiling.
Panic slammed into me. I bolted forward, weaving past overturned trash cans and gaping classroom doors, my heart pounding in my ears.
If I can't even trap that monster, staying here is a death sentence—I have to get out of this place.
I stumbled across the cracked concrete courtyard, scanning for any sign of life. A stray cat. A crow. Even a rat. But the world was still. No flapping wings, no rustling leaves. No trickling water. Not even a whisper of life.
My eyes darted toward the school gate at the far end. If I could get it open—if I could just push through it—maybe I could escape this nightmare. But I needed the key. I remembered the janitor's office, tucked away near the supply closets. He always kept a spare.
Driven by desperation, I spun around and sprinted back into the school, my shoes slapping against the tile. I reached the janitor's door and yanked the handle—locked. I banged my fist against it, frustration boiling up. Then I noticed the side panel: the small emergency window he used to air out cleaning fumes. I grabbed a broken broomstick and smashed the glass. Reaching carefully through the jagged edges, my fingers brushed a ring of keys hanging just beyond.
Got it.
Fingers trembling, I snatched the keys and dashed back to the gate. Most of them were old and rusty, mismatched shapes and sizes. I tried one—it jammed. Another—it turned halfway, then stopped. Finally, a third clicked into place. The gate creaked slightly, but didn't budge. I pushed harder. Still nothing. It may as well have been welded shut.
Then the dizziness hit. The courtyard spun around me, the building swaying like a mirage. Emergency lights flickered. Windows moaned under invisible pressure. My chest seized up. No air. I dropped to my knees.
And just before everything went black, I looked up and saw the school through the gates—silent, still, and lifeless. The sun wasn't even visible. Just a pale, empty sky.
The sharp scent of bleach and floor wax punched me awake.
I blinked against the sterile fluorescence. No cracked concrete beneath me—just polished tile. I was back in the main hallway. My backpack lay beside me, straps splayed awkwardly like limbs.
I struggled upright, gasping. The lights overhead buzzed cheerfully. Lockers gleamed like nothing had happened. Doors hung open. Laughter trickled in from outside.
A test bell rang, light and melodic.
I turned to the nearest window. Blue skies. Puffy clouds. Students walking across the schoolyard. Life moved on like normal. Like I'd never left.
I reached for my phone. It buzzed to life with notifications—texts from Marisol, school chat groups laughing about a weird blackout, a headline confirming the power flickered for less than three minutes.
Three minutes.
My chest squeezed. Had all that terror been compressed into three minutes? I turned from the window, heart hammering. I'd tried to escape just after the lights went out, around 2:05. That's when everything had started.
It was 2:08.
My palms went clammy. I stared down the corridor, toward the art room. If I'd really knocked over that cabinet, there'd be signs. A mess. Damage. Proof I wasn't losing my mind.
But when I reached it, the room was pristine. Cabinets lined up. Paint jars capped. Brushes clean. The trap—gone.
Like I'd dreamed it.
Then the lights went out again. Darkness swallowed everything. Silence returned.
To my horror, it was happening again.
"Damn it, what's going on?"
My fingers curled into fists. Is this mean that monster is here again? How doyou fight something that—that not human? How do you escape when the loop resets the moment you resist?
I turned away—and froze.
She stood at the end of the hall, beneath the flickering emergency light. Just like before.
A wide-brimmed hat shadowed her face. A long coat flowed to the floor. White gloves folded neatly at her waist.
She hadn't moved.
She hadn't changed.
Every muscle in my body locked up. She tilted her head, curious. Recognition in her stance. Fingers twitched—just once. A delicate, knowing twitch.
Then she stepped forward.
One smooth, gliding movement. Now she was ten feet away.
My breath hitched. My legs refused to respond.
The light above her flickered again. And for one split second, the hallway behind her rippled—morphed into the dead courtyard. Brown grass. Broken trees. Empty silence.
Then it snapped back.
A warning? A glimpse of what lay beneath this illusion?
She knew. She remembered.
And I realized—I wasn't waking up from this.
My trap had vanished. My escape meant nothing. And there she stood, smiling silently, the warden of my prison.
I turned slowly. No more bathroom stalls. No more hiding. I needed tools. I needed answers. And I needed a plan.
"Damn it... is this really a loop? I can't leave the school!"
Because if I was going to break this loop—I had to face her.