It was an extremely cloudy day when Ethan West got to Harrington High School.
The grey clouds were hanging low over the lines of red brick buildings and casting long shadows on the pavements of the broken concrete between them. The breeze was chilly and although it was almost late spring, the trees in the old courtyard outside swayed with a suggestive whisper to one another.
Ethan pulled his jacket firmly while he made his way through the school garden. Ethan was no stranger to new schools, now this is the third in two years, but there was something about Harrington that was not quite right. It wasn't just unfamiliar, it was almost wrong, like entering a deserted building with lights on and doors open.
The lobby of the front office appeared cozy and unusually quiet to him. The receptionist hardly looked up, but she placed a student guide and a tightly folded piece of paper on the counter. Neither of them said anything.
Shortly after, he was guided to the counselor's room, which had under-maintained blinds and a strong smell of fresh lemons. Mr. Denning was a skinny man with thinning hair and glasses.
"You're Ethan West?"
"Yes, that's me."
You moved from Lincoln High School in Chicago, isn't it?
"Exactly."
Mr. Denning nodded, almost absentmindedly. "Well, we're happy to have you here."
He stopped for a brief second, drumming his fingers softly on the directory in front of him.
"Just one more thing," he said. "You are assigned to Room 4A for your first class and all of your core subjects."
Ethan looked a little puzzled. "4A? I don't remember seeing that on the school map."
Mr. Denning blinked for a moment before smiling. "Oh, that's right. You probably haven't received it on the updated schedule. Your room is room 4A. It's on the third floor of building C. It's a bit difficult to get to, but the class size is small, so you'll be fine."
Ethan's stomach felt strange when he heard the man's voice, but he nodded and tried to remember the instructions.
Building C was... different.
While the rest of the school was excited with scholars rushing between courses and talking in groups, Building C felt eerily quiet. The walls were a dull yellow, with old flyers still hanging on, corners peeling away. As he climbed the stairs, the lights blinked overhead, barely lighting the path.
Upon his entrance to the third level, he was met with a rush of emptiness that filled the room.
No other students were seen around and no lockers could be seen, only a long hallway stretching out with a door at the end, an old oak wood frame with a tarnished brass plaque that displayed "4A".
The hallway was chillier in this region. His feet echoed too much against the wall. Each part of him was shouting to go back.
He paused, inhaled and then stretched his hand for the door's grip. Next, the door was pushed.
The room was… just right.
Maybe too right.
Desks were arranged in straight lines. The floor was clean and though the windows outside were weathered, the inside windows shone brightly. Sunlight poured in through the tall panes of glass, but it stopped halfway — almost as if the shadows in the room had decided where the sunlight should end.
There were seventeen students inside, all seated and gazing.
When Ethan entered, no one uttered a single word. No smiles were exchanged. No waves. Merely watching, that was all they did.
A woman with brown hair that fell just past her shoulders came to the front. She wore an ordinary dress and had a silver chain around her neck. Although her smile felt kind, her eyes were guarded.
Hey everybody. This is Ethan West. He's joining the class full-time.
No response.
"Kindly assume the empty seat located at the rear, just behind Irene."
She gestured towards the solitary table, by the window, where a student was not placed.
Approaching leisurely, conscious of being a center of attention, it was Irene who sat at the desk right in front of me. Irene with the long black hair that cascaded over her shoulders and the uniform that looked a bit more worn than the rest. Her gaze was outside the window, and even from the back, it seemed that there was something off with her posture.
Slowly, he took a seat.
Bent over slightly, he murmured softly, "Sup. Ethan here."
The girl turned to him, slowly.
Pale was her complexion not sickly however but akin to porcelain. Eyes in colour faded gray, distant were they as smoke from a fire of long ago.
No smile.
"Irene Mayfield," she replied softly.
Ethan greeted the man, attempting to appear at ease.
She looked at him for a long moment.
"You can see me?"
The question was unexpected. "Uh … sure. Isn't that typical?"
Irene didn't reply. She just turned to the window, and that was the end of the talk.
Lunchtime
The cafeteria was alive with hustle and bustle- the stark opposite of the quiet of Room 4A. Ethan collected a tray ready to order his lunch and sat down with fellow schoolmates who were already tucking in to their meals.
But when he arrived at the place, all the talking stopped at once.
Liam, a slender boy with disheveled blonde hair and a sort of jittery attitude, edged up closer. His eyes darted around the room before he murmured:
"You talked to her, didn't you?"
Ethan frowned, confused. "Who?"
"The girl. By the window."
"Irene?"
"Don't mention her name," Liam murmured, looking over his shoulder nervously. "Not
"Why? What's going on?"
It was in a hushed tone that Liam spoke. "She's gone, dude. It happened fifteen years ago when we were in a fire. We all were."
Ethan looked at him trying to make sense of it. "Are you kidding?"
"Negative. Verify. You will not encounter evidence of the existence of Room 4A in the existing rosters. The establishment was closed following the fire outbreak, but by strange means… It is restarted annually. Furthermore, they manage to enroll unenlightened learners."
Ethan's throat felt parched. "What on earth was the school doing?"
"It's just not talked about. Not by anyone. But if you even acknowledge her, talk to her... you're part of it. The class. The curse.
That Night
Ethan lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling.
He was doing his best to shrug it off as a part of the hazing or some twisted initiation of newbies. However, Irene's question remained stuck in his head:
"You can see me?"
She did not utter them as a person playing. It was in the context of her desire to be seen.
Despite his reservations, Ethan snatched his laptop and went to the web:
"Harrington High fire 2010 Room 4A."
Only one result popped up.
In 2010, there was a huge fire that started at the third floor of C building. 18 students and one teacher from Room 4A were missing, and no remains were recovered. The classroom was sealed forever. Officially, the cause is an electrical malfunction.
But he had just been in that room.
He gazed at the monitor, a shiver travelling down his back.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three slow, deliberate knocks on his dorm door.
Ethan's heart beat like a drum. He hadn't informed anyone about his room number.
He stood up and went to stand in front of the door and put his ear on it.
Silence.
With a deep breath, he opened the door slowly.
No one was there.
But lying at his feet was a folded piece of paper.
He retrieved it and expanded it with quivering fingers. The borders were discoloring, as though it had been in seclusion for many years.
In neat handwriting, it read:
"You shouldn't have answered me."