The Silent Class Room:

The college became empty whilst she arrived. The corridors stretched long and hollow, their walls echoing with the faint hum of fluorescent lights. It was a ways too early for college kids, but some thing compelled her to liberate the study room door.

The deal with became cold. The door creaked open.

Interior, each table was crammed. no longer with college students, but with notebooks—loads of them, stacked smartly, every one open to a web page covered in handwriting. The ink changed into sparkling, the words alive. yet the classroom were locked all night. no one may want to have entered.

Her breath stuck. She progressed, the silence urgent in opposition to her ears. the first pocket book examine: “we're here, even though unseen.” She moved to some other desk. The words have been exclusive: “Do no longer ignore us. the following day decides the entirety.”

Her heart raced. The handwriting various—some neat, a few jagged, a few trembling—but all carried the same eerie message. The classroom turned into silent, but the notebooks spoke louder than voices.

She attempted to convince herself it became a prank. perhaps students had sneaked in, perhaps it changed into a cruel shaggy dog story. however the air became too heavy, too charged. The silence turned into no longer empty—it become looking. The clock ticked. every second grew louder, pounding like footsteps. She turned to leave, however the door slammed close in the back of her.

The notebooks rustled. Pages flipped on their very own, as though invisible arms have been writing faster, tougher. She froze, her eyes darting across the room.

One notebook slid across the desk, preventing at her ft. The phrases glared up at her: “You cannot leave until you concentrate.” Her throat tightened. She picked it up, her fingers trembling. the next line appeared as she watched, the ink bleeding into the paper: “we're the forgotten. we are the silenced. we are those who in no way spoke.”

The study room grew chillier. Shadows stretched across the walls, lengthy and distorted. She backed away, clutching the pocket book, but the silence observed her like a predator.

Another desk shook. any other pocket book opened. The phrases scrawled themselves violently: “you will carry our voices.” Her pulse hammered. She wanted to scream, but the silence swallowed her sound. handiest the scratching of invisible pens crammed the air.

She compelled herself to read. each notebook informed a tale—college students who had vanished, names by no means recorded, lives erased. some observed injuries, others of secrets and techniques buried with the aid of the school itself. each page dripped with sorrow, anger, and unfinished truths.

The silence become no longer empty. It become full of them—the unseen, the unheard, the forgotten.

Her imaginative and prescient blurred. The lecture room spun. She dropped the pocket book, but the phrases burned into her thoughts: “the next day makes a decision the entirety.” The lighting flickered. The chalkboard screeched as words carved themselves into its floor: “Will you remember us, or will you be a part of us?”

Her knees weakened. She stumbled toward the door, however it refused to open. The silence pressed harder, suffocating, disturbing. She found out then: the lecture room became now not haunted via ghosts—it turned into haunted by silence itself. The silence of voices by no means spoken, tales never told, lives in no way stated.

She fell to her knees, whispering into the void: “I can do not forget you.”

The notebooks stilled. The pages closed. The silence eased, although it did not vanish. The door unlocked. She staggered out, the corridor stretching for ever and ever before her. at the back of her, the study room remained quiet, but she knew it turned into no longer empty.

That night, she lit a candle at her table. She started to jot down—not her personal story, but theirs. each word carried weight, every sentence carried sorrow. She wrote till sunrise, until her hands ached, until the silence in the end allowed her to relaxation.

The next morning, the study room became empty. The notebooks had been long gone. simplest one remained, on her desk, with a unmarried line written inside: “tomorrow’s track is yours now. Do now not allow silence win.”