Chapter Four – Delilah. She lived in Dorm 6A ten years ago. She vanished after hearing her own voice calling to her in the night." Maya spoke gently. "Look at her other hand." Clara did. Delilah was pointing — not at the camera, but past it. To a door. To their room. Clara's breath caught in her throat. "She was trying to warn us." The old woman gave a single slow nod. "That door… It wasn't always part of the room. It used to be sealed." "Why?" Maya asked. "Because something lives behind it." Clara blinked. "Lives? Like… a person?" The old woman looked at her, eyes grave. "Like a memory that refuses to die. A haunting that needs a body to speak again." Maya glanced at Clara. "That door in our room — we've never even noticed it before." "That's because it doesn't always want to be seen," the woman whispered. "Delilah did. She noticed. And it noticed her back." The room seemed to pulse around them with something unseen. Clara clutched the photo tighter. "So she disappeared because she opened it?" "She disappeared because she listened to her own voice… and followed it." Maya's voice was tight. "Have others gone missing?" The old woman sighed. "Delilah was the last. But not the first. Some left behind bloody handprints. Some left behind whispers. Some left… nothing." Clara stepped back, the photo still in her hand. Her voice came out shaky. "Why does no one talk about this?" "Crestfield doesn't talk about things it can't explain," the woman said bitterly. "They renamed the dorm. Painted over history. But ghosts don't care about paint." Maya's phone buzzed suddenly, and they both jumped. A message appeared. "Don't open the door." No sender. Clara's heart dropped. "Was that…?" The woman moved quickly now. "You need to go. That door… it's waking up. You've looked at the picture. That's the first step. It knows you now." Maya stood frozen. "What happens if we open it?" The woman turned toward the chapel ruins. "Then you'll hear the voice. And when you answer…" She looked back, her expression solemn. "…you may not come back." Clara didn't speak again until they were back in their room. The dorm felt too quiet now — not peaceful, but expectant. The photo lay between them. The image of Delilah. Her eyes filled with warning. Her hand, forever pointing. Clara turned toward the small door in the corner of their room — the one they'd always thought led to a broom closet. It looked different now. Older. Hungrier.
Clara didn't speak again until they were back in their room. The dorm felt too quiet now — not peaceful, but expectant. The photo lay between them. The image of Delilah. Her eyes filled with warning. Her hand, forever pointing. Clara turned toward the small door in the corner of their room — the one they'd always thought led to a broom closet. It looked different now. Older. Hungrier. Maya crossed her arms, keeping her eyes on it. "Did you ever think it was strange how none of the cleaning staff ever uses it? Or why we've never seen it open?" Clara sat on her bed, her hands trembling. "I just… assumed it was locked. Or empty." "It's not empty." Maya's voice was cold. "It's waiting." A sudden gust of wind swept through the room, rattling the blinds though the windows were shut. Both girls froze. Then came the soft sound. Three taps. From the door. Clara jumped to her feet. "Did you—?" "I heard it." They approached the door slowly, drawn by something that felt part fear, part curiosity. Another tap. Then a whisper, muffled but clear. "Clara…" She gasped. Her name, spoken in her own voice. Shaky. Terrified. Maya reached for her arm. "Don't listen. That's what the woman said. That's how it starts." Clara backed away. "But it sounded like me. How could it sound like me?" "Because it learns you," Maya whispered. "It copies you. That's what happened to Delilah, right?" The room dimmed, the lightbulb flickering overhead. The air grew cold. Clara could see her breath. Tap. Tap. Tap. "Clara…" her voice echoed again, this time laced with pain. Maya pulled the desk chair in front of the door and wedged it under the knob. "We're not opening it. Not tonight. Not ever." Clara sank to the floor, burying her head in her knees. "Why us? Why now?" "Because we saw the photo. We asked questions. We know now — and it knows we know." Hours passed in silence. They didn't sleep. Every time they closed their eyes, they heard it. Whispering. Tapping. Mocking. By morning, the tapping had stopped. But the door remained. Clara stood slowly and stepped toward it again. She pressed her ear to the surface. Silence. Then, so faint it could have been imagined: Help me… A new voice. Not hers. Not Delilah's. A third girl. She jerked back, heart pounding. "Maya… there's someone else." "What?" "I heard her. She's still behind there." Maya looked at her. "What if it's a trick?" Clara's gaze stayed fixed on the wood. "And what if it's not?" Outside, the sun shone brightly, but their room felt untouched by warmth. The door stood still — plain to anyone else. But not to them. Not anymore.