The frosted window:

The school were deserted for years, its walls cracked, its hallways plagued by dust and damaged desks. but one room remained strangely intact.

Room 12.

Every season, no matter the weather, its single window become included in frost. summer warmness ought to melt asphalt outdoor, however the glass stayed white and frozen, as if winter lived inner it.

Locals whispered about the room. students who as soon as studied there claimed the frost wasn’t regular—it carried words. Names, dates, warnings. some swore they saw their very own handwriting appear on the glass.

A vacationer arrived one evening, decided to discover the reality.

The corridors smelled of mould and silence. A flashlight beam cut via the dirt, revealing faded posters and damaged lockers.

Room 12 turned into on the quit of the corridor. Its door changed into locked, however the lock became rusted. A single push opened it.

interior, the air turned into less warm than outside. The frost-included window glowed faintly in the dim light.

The tourist approached. The frost changed into thick, swirling like smoke trapped in ice. A sleeve wiped the glass.

words regarded.

“we are nonetheless here.”

Breath stuck in the throat. extra letters fashioned, jagged and choppy, as although scratched from the internal.

“keep in mind us.”

The room creaked. A desk shifted slightly, although no wind blew. Shadows stretched unnaturally long.

The frost shifted once more. This time, it spelled a call.

The traveler’s call.

“you will write us.”

Palms trembled. A whisper escaped: “What do you imply?”

The frost thickened, protecting the entire window. Shapes appeared—faces pressed against the glass, hole-eyed, silent.

They had been familiar. antique pics from the school data flashed in reminiscence. students who had vanished decades in the past.

The frost spelled every other line: “We had been erased.”

The flashlight flickered. The room grew darker, colder.

The frost continued: “Our classes in no way ended. Our voices in no way carried. You need to remember.”

Breath fogged in the air. It have become clean—the frost wasn’t just ice. It become memory, trapped and desperate to be seen.

A hand pressed against the glass. It burned with bloodless. The faces leaned nearer, whispering with out sound.

, the frost shifted into a final message: “the following day makes a decision the entirety.”

Pulse raced. The vacationer stumbled lower back, the room last in, frost spreading throughout the walls, the ground, even the pocket book clutched tightly.

Walking become the only preference.

The hallway became darker than earlier than. The flashlight slightly worked. windows along the hall frosted over, spelling fragments of words:

“Names forgotten.” “instructions unfinished.” “We wait.”

Bursting out of the school into the night time air, lungs gasped for breath. The building loomed in the back of, silent, its home windows sparkling faintly white.

At home, the notebook became protected in frost. words etched themselves into the paper: “Write us. convey us. Do now not permit silence win.”

A candle changed into lit. Writing began—now not a private story, but theirs. every sentence carried weight, each phrase felt alive. Writing endured until hands ached, until the frost melted from the pages.

the following morning, the faculty’s Room 12 window became clear for the first time in decades.

But throughout town, any other window started out frosting over—the traveller’s very own condo window.

And on it, a single line regarded: “Your lesson starts tonight.”