Chapter 13 — Part 4
Autumn's POV
Fear changes flavor depending on the situation.
When we first stepped into that stairwell, it tasted like *ghost stories and student gossip*.
Now — looking at the trembling girl inside the closet — fear tastes like *breathing danger*.
Human danger.
The kind you can't run from by turning on the lights.
The kind that wears a real face.
The kind that stalks.
She clings to her knees, breaths shaky, like every inhale costs something.
Theo kneels immediately, hands out, palms visible — gentle. "You're safe now. We're students too. We found you."
Her eyes dart around like she expects shadows to start walking.
Rhea crouches, voice low and steady. "What's your name?"
"…Carina," she whispers, voice tiny and hoarse.
Carina.
A normal name.
A normal girl.
In a nightmare.
"Carina, did someone hurt you?" I ask, heart hammering.
She nods — barely. "He… he keeps appearing everywhere I go. Outside my dorm. Near my classes. Here. I just— I just needed somewhere to hide until morning."
"Do you know who he is?" Liam asks quietly.
Carina squeezes her eyes shut. "I think so. He used to be a senior. Years ago. He was expelled. But he's back. He keeps saying—" her voice cracks, "—saying he never left."
A chill crawls up my spine.
Quinn whispers, "Expelled? For what?"
Carina swallows. "…someone went missing. People said he was involved."
Silence hits harder than a scream.
This isn't just a campus rumor anymore.
This staircase isn't haunted by ghosts.
It's haunted by a memory.
By *someone who might never have left*.
My brain flashes through news clippings, whispered hallway gossip, old scandal stories…
A student vanished three years ago. No body found. Campus swept it under the rug. Whispered about in forums and abandoned campus rumor threads.
I remember overhearing seniors:
> "The one who disappeared… people say it was here."
>
> "They said someone used ghost rumors to hide movement—"
My fingertip tingles like I'm touching electric wire.
Carina looks at us like we're the last safe thing she has.
"We're not leaving you alone," I say. My voice sounds braver than I feel.
Quinn nods wildly. "We literally hunt mystery men for fun. Well— not fun fun. But you get it."
Dorielle, ever blunt but soft underneath, pats Carina's shoulder awkwardly. "Anyone stalks you, we stalk them back harder."
Carina blinks — a confused, fragile attempt at a laugh.
We move back to the clubroom — safe, bright lights, warm space, the faint scent of air freshener trying to overpower nerves.
Carina sits between Quinn and me, fingers twisting her sleeve. She flinches at every hallway sound.
Rhea writes on the board — sharp strokes, structured like she's building a fortress from chalk.
> *OBJECTIVE: CARINA'S SAFETY*
> *INVESTIGATE MISSING STUDENT CASE*
> *IDENTIFY STALKER*
> *ANALYZE "GHOST" MOVEMENT ON STAIRCASE*
Theo hands Carina a warm water bottle from the club fridge. Liam adjusts the blinds. Dorielle locks the door.
Everyone moves in silent choreography — practiced, protective.
Quinn squeezes my hand under the table. "This got real, huh?"
"Ghosts don't stomp around campus hallways," I whisper back. "but humans do."
Rhea clears her throat. "First: the missing student. Any memory?"
Theo nods. "Female. Arts department. Disappeared without a trace. Case went cold."
"Rumors said she was seen crying near this staircase before she vanished," Dorielle adds.
Carina's breath stutters. "He… always whispers her name sometimes. Like he's talking to her. Like she's still here."
Goosebumps roll down my arms.
Liam taps his phone screen. "Pulled archived campus news. Name: Celeste Star. Age nineteen. Last seen near—"
He stops.
Everyone looks at him.
"Near the science wing staircase," Liam finishes quietly.
The room drops to hush.
Rhea underlines *Celeste Star* on the board.
"We need to check campus forum archives, maintenance logs, old student lists, library news clippings," she says. "If an expelled student came back, there must be traces."
"And security cameras," Theo adds. "Campus archives store footage long-term."
"We'll request it," Rhea nods. "And check for entries by someone returning without ID."
Carina whispers, "He wears a hoodie. Always. And he hums sometimes. Like… a lullaby."
A lullaby.
Why does that make it worse?
The air shifts — heavy.
A sound.
A soft, dragging footstep outside our door.
Not fast.
Not casual.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Carina freezes like a rabbit.
We all go still.
Quinn slides her chair closer until our shoulders touch.
Theo tenses — protective posture activated.
Dorielle's grip tightens on her pen like she'll stab a ghost if she has to.
Liam looks toward the windows, assessing escape routes.
Rhea signals silence.
Another footstep.
Like someone is listening.
Like someone knows.
My heartbeat pounds against my ribs. It feels too loud. Like someone could hear it through the walls.
Then—
A soft hum floats through the hallway.
A lullaby.
Carina shatters into quiet tears.
My entire body goes cold.
Rhea's voice is a whisper but sharp as a knife.
"Do not open the door."
The humming fades after a few seconds — or maybe a lifetime.
Footsteps retreat.
Then silence.
The clubroom breathes again.
Quinn exhales shakily. "Okay. So. That wasn't a ghost. That was worse."
Carina shakes. "He's always there. He watches."
I wrap an arm around her shoulders instinctively. She buries her face against me, shaking.
Theo looks like he's about to hunt someone down. "No one terrorizes a student on our campus."
Rhea nods once — final, firm.
"We don't panic. We investigate. We protect. We expose the truth."
Her tone anchors us — heavy, steady. The kind of voice that knows fear but stands anyway.
Carina eventually falls asleep curled on the couch — exhaustion defeating fear. Quinn covers her gently with her scarf. Theo dims the lights. Liam checks the hallway through the blinds every few seconds. Dorielle writes notes with precision. Rhea stays near the board like a guardian, planning routes and roles.
And me?
I watch Carina breathe.
I listen to the hum of the fluorescent lights.
I feel the night breathing around us, thick and tense and alive.
Someone out there is using fear like camouflage.
Like a stage curtain.
Like a ghost story mask.
This campus doesn't need exorcists.
It needs truth.
It needs light.
It needs us.
And if that means walking into darkness — then fine.
We'll bring flashlights.
Better than ghosts, I guess.
(…maybe.)
As I look at Carina's tired face, one quiet promise settles into my bones:
> *We will not let her disappear.*
Not like Celeste.
Not like the staircase whispers.
Not while we're here.
The mystery just changed shape.
And we're not running from it.