She opened her eyes and cautiously took in the room she'd woken up in. She was lying on a cold, wet floor, surrounded by rough brick walls. The main corridor stretched ahead, with narrow tunnels branching off to either side. The only light came from a single old bulb swaying gently on a cable just above her head.
The place was eerie and gave her the creeps.
She glanced down and saw she was wearing pajamas, her feet bare. A sharp chill ran through her. She had no idea how she had ended up here. She couldn't explain it. For days now, she'd been haunted by a recurring dream—phantoms dragging her down to the bottom, watching her die among human skeletons.
Since the night she almost drowned, strange things had been happening. She saw things that made no sense, could no longer tell nightmare from reality, and today she had woken up somewhere completely unknown, with no memory of how she got there.
Pinching her hand, she confirmed she wasn't dreaming. Biting her lip, she accepted the harsh truth—she was really here.
Panic fluttered inside her chest as she scanned the corridor, desperate to find an exit. She stood in the main passage from which narrow tunnels stretched out, and at the far end stood a large grille. She approached and peered inside.
Her stomach churned when she saw a decomposed corpse slumped against the wall. She quickly turned away, fighting the urge to vomit.
She darted back to the other side of the corridor.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply and pressed her back against the cold brick, trying to quiet the panic rising in her.
Suddenly, the light bulb went out.
Her heart seized, and cold sweat broke out on her skin. Hands trembling, she pushed back the strands of hair falling into her face. She stood frozen, listening intently. From the tunnels came faint tapping and footsteps—someone was approaching.
Her breathing sped up, but her body refused to move. She was paralyzed by fear.
"What is happening to me?" she whispered, eyes straining to see in the darkness. The footsteps faded, but the tapping grew louder. She was so terrified she couldn't focus on anything else. She didn't know where to go, especially since she couldn't see a thing.
Then the bulb flickered back on—and there, standing right before her, was a figure.
She opened her eyes wide.
A black void gaped where the phantom's face should have been, emitting a piercing, shrill screech that made her feel like the ground was slipping away beneath her.
She didn't know how long she'd been unconscious when she came to again—in the same cold, wet corridor.
This time, no terrifying vision greeted her. She was soaked and chilled to the bone. Water dripped from rusted pipes overhead, pooling in small puddles on the floor.
She couldn't stay here.
Summoning what courage she had left, she chose one of the dark tunnels and plunged in, hoping to find a way out.
She splashed through the water, searching for any sign of light. A sharp pain shot through her hand as it caught on something jagged. She bit her lip hard and touched the wound, tears pricking her eyes.
She'd been a coward all her life, afraid to take risks. But now, a strange strength surged inside her. She would get out of here, no matter what, and find peace again.
Relief flooded her as she spotted light filtering through cracks in the ceiling. An exit. A narrow ladder led up to it.
She climbed, then struggled to open the trapdoor. She pounded on it and screamed, hoping someone would hear her. She wobbled precariously but caught her balance.
When the trapdoor finally opened, a blinding light hit her eyes, forcing her to shield them with her hand.
"What are you doing here?" a voice asked.
She froze.
Squinting, she recognized a blond man extending a hand to help her out.
She took it, and he pulled her to her feet. Looking around, she realized they were behind a building. The sun was just rising. He wore sweatpants, and around his neck hung large headphones playing hip-hop. He must have been out for a run. If it hadn't been for
Though he was the last person she wanted to see like this, she was grateful.
"I... I just..." she stammered, as he studied her carefully. His eyes lingered on her bare feet and the bloodstain on her pajama sleeve.
"Did someone lock you up again? Last time I helped you out of a weird place too," he said, and she blushed. Not only was he the boy she'd admired from afar, but now he found her in an embarrassing state again. Shame flushed through her.
"You don't look good today. Are you okay? You should see a doctor."
"No!" she shook her head quickly. "I've been to his office so many times it'd be strange if I went again." She trailed off, and he noticed her bare feet.
Without warning, the seventeen-year-old blinked in surprise as the boy slipped off his white sneakers and crouched beside her. He placed them on her feet—several sizes too big—but she immediately felt warmer, even inside.
She looked at him, shocked but touched by his kindness. Not only had he caught her attention the first time they met, now he was unexpectedly good to her. He helped her, and her heart pounded harder. She hadn't needed to make the first move—he did it for her. In her eyes, he was perfect.
"Better?" he asked. She nodded shyly. Though he hadn't smiled once, she thought he was the nicest guy alive.
"You shouldn't let them treat you like this. I get the feeling you don't belong here either—that you ended up here just because your parents wanted it. Looks like we're on the same level," he said, emphasizing the last words. "But seriously, you should see a doctor. You look pale."
He started to leave, but Sara blurted out something that embarrassed her.
"There are corpses down there! I swear, I saw them!"
He turned back to face her. She felt like collapsing. She'd just revealed something crazy about herself—right after he had taken a step toward getting to know her. What else would he think of her now?
"A corpse?" he repeated, his voice curious. She closed her eyes and saw the look on his face—it was as if he wanted to laugh but was holding it back.
Embarrassed, she nodded and turned away.
"When you're better, we can play CSI—if those corpses really exist," he teased. For a moment, she thought she saw a smile—the first one since they met.
He walked away, disappearing behind the building's wall.
She punched herself lightly in the head.
Humiliation—that was the first word that came to mind.
*
When Sara finally returned to her room, Laura was still asleep, completely unaware of her roommate's mysterious disappearance in the middle of the night.
Sara stepped into the warm shower, letting the water wash away the cold and damp from her skin. She carefully cleaned the wound on her hand—the one she'd gotten during her frantic escape from that terrifying place. When she emerged from the bathroom, she found Laura just waking up, stretching in every direction while grumbling softly about how the night was far too short.
Sara wished she could do the same—just skip sleep altogether. If she hadn't fallen into that pond and nearly drowned, maybe she wouldn't feel so unhinged now.
But that was still missing—her peace of mind, her grip on reality.
Not only did people already tease her for being "different," but now she was seeing things no one else could. Things she wasn't sure were real.
"It's so early, and you're already awake?" Laura asked, propping herself up on her elbows, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.
Sara forced a small smile.
"I haven't been sleeping well lately."
Laura gave her a pointed look. "I can tell. You're pale and have bruises under your eyes. You should cover those up with makeup—you look like a zombie."
Her mischievous grin made Sara roll her eyes. Laura was blunt sometimes—sometimes to a fault.
"I will," Sara said softly, digging through her makeup bag for concealer. She moved to the mirror and applied just enough to hide the tiredness. "Would you believe me if I told you that ever since I almost drowned, I've been seeing ghosts? And that something bad is happening to me?"
There was a long pause. Then Laura snorted, breaking the silence.
"Sara, you were close to death. You probably had temporary brain hypoxia or something. So it's not crazy if your mind's playing tricks on you. But please—never talk about this again, or I'll think you're nuts."
That was all Sara needed to hear to drop the subject. Laura was different from her; some things were better kept secret. She didn't expect to confide everything in her roommate.
Changing gears, Laura suddenly asked, "Have you heard about Julia's strange behavior?"
Sara shook her head, interest piqued as Laura slipped out from under the covers.
"Apparently, the principal arranged extra sessions with some psychologist for her. There's been rumors about this guy working with really difficult kids. Julia disappeared for two days and came back acting weird—barely speaking, even to her closest friends. I wonder what those sessions are all about, if they're so effective." Laura rubbed her hands together, eyes gleaming. "I hope this painted zebra has finally seen the light."
Before Sara could respond, the door slammed open and Simon burst in, eyes wide with panic. He looked pleadingly at Laura and folded his arms.
"You have to hide me. I'll explain everything later, but protect me, Laura."
With a nod, Laura told him to get under the bed.
Simon crawled beneath with difficulty and muttered, "I bet I know what you mean."
The door swung open again, and a pretty blonde woman stomped in.
"Where is Simon? I'm sure he's hiding in here!" she demanded angrily.
Laura didn't flinch. "I'm counting to five. If you don't leave, I'm kicking you out myself. And trust me—it really hurts."
The blonde froze when she saw who she was dealing with, and without another word, backed out.
Simon emerged from under the bed, shooting Laura a grateful look before turning to Sara.
"Hi. You look tragic. Seriously pale," he said, then glanced at Laura. "…And you look beautiful, even with uncombed hair and no makeup. Thanks for covering for me."
Sara raised an eyebrow. "Why was she chasing you? What did you do this time?"
Simon smirked. "I stole her moisturizer. She's the only one who uses the same brand as me, and I ran out. What choice did I have? My face is too handsome to neglect." He gave a sly look at Laura. "Besides, I'd rather not look like your roommate."
With that, he left the room.
Sara blinked in surprise. Laura just laughed loudly.
"I'm friends with him for a reason," she said with a shrug.
*
Throughout the lesson, Sara fought the relentless pull of sleep. Her eyelids drooped involuntarily, and Oliver, who sat beside her, kept shooting her disgusted looks. He probably hated how she kept squirming in her seat. But she had to move—stillness meant surrendering to exhaustion. She didn't need any more trouble, especially not from this strict teacher.
"You're wriggling like you've got worms. You're driving me crazy. Calm down, or you'll be sitting on the floor," Oliver hissed. Sara froze instantly. She exhaled nervously and took a pen, twisting it between her fingers. Oliver scowled even harder. "What a pathetic ninny. Ever since you showed up here, I've been on edge all the time."
She tucked her hair behind her ear, feeling the weight of his hostile gaze. She didn't understand what he wanted from her, but sharing a bench with him was downright intimidating.
Sara wondered why Oliver was even here—he was a difficult case for sure. No doubt his parents had given up on him after too many problems. The only person he tolerated was Matthew, his roommate. It must've taken huge effort for Matthew to break through Oliver's walls. Sara admired that.
Her eyes wandered around the classroom. Laura was pinching Simon on the thigh. Simon's face flushed with anger, but he stayed silent—he didn't want to betray his friend. Matthew, sitting beside his ex-girlfriend, was sketching absently on a scrap of paper. Julia sat apart, her eyes vacant, fixed on nothing in particular.
Something was definitely wrong with her.
"We don't play with cell phones in my classes," the teacher announced, pausing by Alan's desk. "In fact, I think they should be taken away from everyone. Here, you don't need them. The director's office has a phone you can use to contact your families."
The classroom murmured its displeasure.
"Then why don't you chain us up? That'd be best," Alan sneered. "What do you get money from your parents for? To torture us? But I guess parents don't care—they just want to get rid of us and save themselves the trouble."
The teacher shot Alan a piercing glare.
"I suggest you watch your attitude," the man said sharply, glancing sideways at Matthew. "One student acted just like you, and after a few sessions with me, he understood his mistakes. Maybe I didn't break him completely, but at least he stopped snorting."
"I won't let anyone tell me what to do. I'm not here by choice. I decide for myself. If you don't like it, you can kick me out of this stupid place, where teachers are just as lost as we are," Alan shouted.
Suddenly, the teacher's hand came down hard across Alan's cheek.
The class fell utterly silent. Sara gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. Alan lunged from his seat, but Matthew caught his arm before he could do something reckless.
"You can't win with him," Matthew whispered, a bitter smile on his lips. "Been there, done that."
Alan clenched his fists, fury blazing in his eyes.
"I don't care that you're the prime minister's son. To me, you're just another spoiled brat whose parents dumped him here," the teacher spat.
Alan pointed a finger at the man. "You'll regret this."
With that, he stormed out of the classroom, slamming the door behind him. Whispered conversations rippled through the room, but one glare from the teacher silenced everyone instantly.
This man was terrifying. No one had the right to hit a student. Especially not with someone like Alan's connections—he could be in serious trouble.