I used to believe schools were safest at night, quiet, harmless, asleep. But on the night of our encampment, as the laughter of my friends faded into distant echoes, I learned that silence can breathe… and darkness can watch. In the unlit hallway of the oldest building, where the moonlight died before it touched the floor, I felt it, a presence that was not human. The air grew colder, the shadows pressed in, and before I even saw her, I already knew I was not alone… and something was smiling in the dark.
There was an old building in our campus that everyone avoided, the earliest structure ever built there. Older than the rest. Darker than the rest. Even in daylight, that building felt… aware. Like something inside it never left.
It was midnight during our Boy Scout encampment. The teachers were asleep, the lights were out, and we were running across the campus, playing hide and seek in total darkness. Our laughter echoed through hallways and gardens, fearless and excited.
There was no danger in our minds.
Not yet.
When I wandered near the oldest building, the energy changed. The air felt heavier, colder, like the place had been waiting. I walked through the corridor, guided only by moonlight from the broken windows. My footsteps echoed, but strangely, there were no crickets, no wind.
Just silence.
Then my eyes caught something at the far end of the dark hallway.
A girl.
Standing alone.
She wore a yellow school uniform with a checkered skirt, a uniform that didn’t belong to our school. She stood in the center of the corridor, her face blank and her posture stiff, as if someone had placed her there.
This was an all-boys encampment.
No visitors. No girls. No reason for anyone to be there.
And yet she was.
Staring.
Unmoving.
Unblinking.
My body froze, my breath turning cold. I wanted to shout or run, but my limbs refused to move. I told myself it wasn’t real, just my imagination, just tricks of the dark. I forced myself to walk away, joining the others, pretending nothing happened.
Later that night, we held a ghost storytelling session near that same building. One of the seniors shared a story… about a girl who roams that corridor at midnight.
My heart began to race.
Every detail matched.
I raised my hand and asked quietly, “Was she wearing a yellow uniform with a checkered skirt?”
The senior’s face turned pale.
His voice dropped to a trembling whisper.
“Yes… but she wasn’t alone.”
I felt an icy chill crawl up my spine.
He continued, “There were two figures when I saw them. A boy and a girl. Standing together. On that same spot.”
Before anybody could react, a sharp, dragging sound echoed from the old building, like a desk being pulled across the floor.
We didn’t wait.
We ran. All of us. No screams, no questions, just pure instinct and terror. We didn’t look back. We didn’t breathe until we reached our tents.
I never walked near that building again at night.
And here’s the thought that still haunts me:
I saw only the girl.
But the senior saw two.
Which means…
The boy was there.
Watching me.
Closer than I realized.
I just didn’t see him.
