Chapter 2: The Witching Hour

Wang Chenghao pressed down on Qin Ye’s backpack and shot him a sideways glance. “What are you doing? Want the teacher to yell at us tomorrow? There are still two rows left—clean them up before you go!”

Zhang Yilong exhaled a puff of smoke. “What’s your problem? Have I been too nice to you usually? Don’t like what I have to say now?”

Qin Ye hardly registered what they were arguing about. The chill around him only deepened, making the hairs on his arms stand on end. It was the kind of instinctive fear that seizes a rabbit when it senses a prowling tiger—the ears prick, the body tenses, and every sense screams danger.

He believed in such things, whether it was all in his mind or truly something more. He considered himself sensitive to the unexplainable, and now a creeping dread urged him to flee, as far and as fast as possible.

“Move!” He yanked hard at his backpack, tearing it free with a loud rip. Wang Chenghao’s face darkened instantly and, without warning, he kicked out savagely.

Qin Ye cried out, sent sprawling over a meter away by the blow, crashing into three desks in a clatter that sent textbooks and stationery scattering across the floor. All their cleaning efforts were undone in an instant.

“Damn you!” Wang Chenghao kicked again, his face twisted with rage. “You’ve got some nerve! I’ve been too easy on you! Damn it!”

Another desk toppled with a loud crash, nearly simultaneous with a thunderclap from the sky.

Boom!

The sky, once clear, was now shrouded in thick, oppressive clouds, like the upturned bottom of a cauldron, jagged streaks of blue-white lightning writhing between them. The three boys’ shadows stretched long and distorted across the classroom.

“Bzzzt… bzzzt…” The lights flickered as if plagued by a sudden power surge, stuttering several times. Wang Chenghao, still fuming, glared as Qin Ye clutched his aching waist, rage rising anew. He snatched up a stack of books, ready to hurl them, when suddenly, a shrill burst of ringtones erupted.

Three different melodies, three phones blaring at once.

All three froze—Wang Chenghao, Zhang Yilong, and Qin Ye alike.

At that moment, the open window and the classroom door slammed shut, bang, bang, bang, as if an invisible force had shoved them.

For a heartbeat, the classroom fell silent, so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

An empty school. An empty classroom. Doors and windows sealed tight, darkness gathering outside beneath thunderclouds, inside, the dim lights barely holding the night at bay. Nothing but the relentless, shrieking phones, pursuing them like the hounds of fate.

It was so silent they could hear each other breathe, and yet the cacophony pounded at their eardrums, threatening madness.

Without a word, Wang Chenghao and Zhang Yilong exchanged a glance, swallowing hard.

The tiny sound of a gulp rang out, so clear that even Wang Chenghao startled at his own fear. He fumbled with his phone and gasped, nearly dropping it.

Qin Ye checked his own phone, staring, stunned.

It was an ancient Nokia, the kind you could use as a brick. On the monochrome screen, a string of seven digits glowed: 4444444.

Death, death, death, death, death, death, death.

“Who… who’s playing this kind of joke…” Zhang Yilong’s voice trembled, his hand slackening until his phone thudded to the ground.

“Let’s go!” Goosebumps prickled over Wang Chenghao’s skin. This was too strange—what the hell was happening? He didn’t care for explanations and spun toward the door.

But Zhang Yilong grabbed his sleeve. “Wait, wait, wait for me, Wang!” The bravado had drained from his face, leaving him pale as ash. Mechanical, voice quivering, he glared at Qin Ye, trying to sound fierce but barely concealing his terror. “You—you! Go pick it up!”

“Why don’t you?” Qin Ye, clutching his throbbing waist, scrambled to the door and rattled the handle desperately. First he shook it, then pounded with his fists—thud, thud, thud—the door didn’t budge an inch.

“Qin Ye, please… don’t scare me,” Wang Chenghao stammered, now huddled with Zhang Yilong, lips quivering.

“Who’s scaring you!” Qin Ye turned, eyes bloodshot with panic. “The door won’t open!”

“What do we do?! What do we do?!” Wang Chenghao’s voice rose sharp with panic. He had never, in all his life, encountered anything this bizarre. His earlier fury had vanished, replaced by cold dread crawling up his spine.

Terror? Perhaps. But more than that, it was the fear of the unknown. Could it be… that those things really exist in this world?

“Shut up!” Qin Ye dug his fingers into his hair, clutching the roots as he forced himself to think. After three seconds, he said in a low voice, “Break the window!”

The other two blinked, and then Wang Chenghao’s eyes lit up. He seized a chair and swung it at the window, but just then—

Bzzzt!

Every light in the classroom went out.

Dead silence.

A silence as profound as death itself.

The entire school was plunged into darkness. No one dared make a sound. It was as if someone was squeezing their hearts, the only noises in the dark their shallow, trembling breaths.

“Do it!” Qin Ye gritted his teeth, whispering fiercely. “Unless you want to spend the night here!”

Wang Chenghao’s mouth hung open, teeth chattering. He gave a strangled cry and stood, but as he picked up the chair again, he suddenly screamed and collapsed, clutching his head.

“Aaaah!” His wails echoed through the classroom, hands over his ears. Qin Ye seized his collar. “What’s wrong with you? If I were as strong as you, I’d have done it! Is breaking a window really so hard?”

“There’s a ghost… a ghost!” Wang Chenghao shrieked, his voice cracking with sobs. “I saw it… I saw it! I really did!”

“What did you see?” Qin Ye pried Wang Chenghao’s hands away, his own voice taut with fear.

But the only answer was sobbing. The big, burly student was reduced to tears, utterly broken. It took two full minutes for him to stammer, trembling, “I—I just stood up, picked up the chair… and saw, outside the dim glass, a deathly pale child just staring at me… just standing there, staring straight at me!”

The Ghost Festival, when spirits roam.

Qin Ye released him. Now he was certain: they were truly encountering something unclean.

Why had the school broadcast that message?

Beep, beep, beep!

Suddenly, a piercing sound shattered the silence. Both Wang Chenghao and Zhang Yilong jumped, yelping in fright. A faint glow flickered to life.

It was Zhang Yilong’s phone, fallen to the floor.

No one dared retrieve it.

It had skittered four rows away, and now, huddled together, their only comfort was each other’s presence.

But the phone didn’t care if it was picked up.

One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes.

The shrill, insistent ringing filled the dark, empty classroom, echoing around the three boys, pressed together in a corner, eyes wide with terror.

This wasn’t normal.

This… this was no call a human could make.

No matter what phone, the ringtone should stop after a while, but this one—three minutes and counting, relentless!

“That—that’s not my ringtone…!” Zhang Yilong wailed, breaking down in sobs.

If only… if only they’d left at 5:30, none of this would have happened. Who could have imagined they’d witness such horrors?

To see what none had seen.

To hear what none had heard.

And as Zhang Yilong broke down, Qin Ye and Wang Chenghao clamped their hands over his mouth. He stared at them, eyes wild with terror.

The classroom quieted. Outside, a torrential rain hammered down, but beneath the cacophony, a faint, chilling sound emerged, unnervingly distinct against the backdrop of storm and silence.

Heh… heh… heh…

Laughter.

A child’s laughter.

Hollow, eerie, echoing endlessly down the deserted corridors. The three boys shuddered uncontrollably.

Not one dared utter a word. Wang Chenghao’s face was wet with tears, his lips bitten bloody, fists knotted in his hair. Zhang Yilong’s gaze was vacant, his body shaking, eyes red and wild. The two clung together, only Qin Ye retaining a shred of composure.

Thud… thud… his heartbeat thundered in his ears. Qin Ye’s palms were slick with sweat, his back drenched. Was this… an invitation to answer the phone?

Beep, beep, beep! The sharp, monotonous ringtone stabbed through the silence. After dozens of seconds, Qin Ye clenched his jaw, crouched down, and peered quietly under the desks. In the next instant, he jerked his head up, clapping a hand over his mouth.

A cry almost escaped him.

Just now… a pair of deathly pale child’s legs had run past the row where the phone lay, thumping across the floor in the dark, stormy classroom, illuminated only by the faint glow of the phone.

A ghost…

There really was a ghost!

It was here, in the classroom, with them!

A ghost conversing in the night.

As if sensing his movement, the ringing grew even more violent, so intense that the phone trembled on the ground. Qin Ye pressed a hand to his chest, drew several deep breaths, and then, resolute, crouched low and made his way toward the row.

It was only four rows, but it felt like an eternity. By the time he reached the phone, he was drenched in cold sweat. As he picked up the phone, the screen abruptly went black—

And in the reflection, he saw, behind him, the face of a child.

Featureless, with black hair, eyes and mouth gaping like three bottomless holes, the face twisted in a silent scream.

His heart nearly stopped. Sweat poured down his face as he whirled around, shining the phone’s meager light.

Nothing. No one.

His fingers trembled as he checked the messages. There was only one line:

“Look up.”

Drip.

At that moment, a droplet fell from above, trailing icy cold down his neck and splashing onto the floor.

He was crouched between the rows of desks.

The droplet was red.

Thick.

Blood… Qin Ye’s whole body shivered. There was something—something—right above him.