Chapter 21: Whispers of the Past: “Some doors are best left unopened.”
A sharp gasp rang through the room.
The words were scrawled in crimson. Not chalk. Something thicker, something darker.
Blood.
Several students screamed. Chairs scraped against the floor as people stumbled back, knocking over textbooks and bags. Meen's pulse pounded in her ears as she locked eyes with Pim, who was deathly pale. Ploy had been breathing in a manner not steady seeming stunned to even move.
Mr. Phatcharawan Boonmee staggered backward, the chalk slipping from his fingers. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, unmoving.
"Teacher! "
Praew rushed forward, but before she could reach him, the classroom lights flickered wildly. The overhead bulbs exploded one by one, glass shards raining down like jagged stars. A deafening hum filled the air—like static, like a whisper just beyond comprehension.
The walls trembled. The windows slammed shut on their own, trapping them inside.
The presence in the room was undeniable. It was watching. It was angry.
A hand gripped Meen's wrist. She turned sharply—it was Tan. His face was taut with fear, but his voice was steady. "We need to get out. Now. "
The other students were already scrambling for the door, shoving past desks in their desperation. But the door wouldn't budge.
Praew tried the windows, but they refused to open, as if an invisible force held them in place.
The air grew colder. A mist curled along the floor, licking at their ankles like ghostly fingers.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.
The temperature returned to normal. The mist dissipated. The pressure in the room lifted, leaving behind only the lingering scent of something metallic—something unmistakably wrong.
The door clicked open.
No one hesitated. The class poured out into the hallway, still shaken, whispering among themselves. The scene in the classroom had left them rattled, and it wouldn't be long before the entire school heard about it.
Meen turned back. The words were still on the board.
The warning remained.
---
It didn't take long before the incident reached the ears of the school administration. Within the hour, an emergency announcement crackled through the speakers, instructing all students to gather in the main hall immediately.
As they filed into the assembly room, the murmurs grew. Whispers of ghosts, of curses, of Kanya's wrath. Some dismissed it as a hoax, but others—especially those who had witnessed it firsthand—knew better.
The principal, Mr. Sombat Anantrakul, stood at the front of the hall, his face carefully composed. But Meen noticed the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his jaw clenched too tightly.
The teachers lined the stage behind him, their expressions grim. Mr. Phatcharawan Boonmee was not among them.
He cleared his throat. The murmurs died instantly.
"I understand that today's… incident has caused distress among students and faculty alike." His voice was calm, practiced. "However, I want to assure you all that what occurred in classroom 10B was an unfortunate accident. There is no cause for alarm."
A ripple of disbelief spread through the crowd. An accident?
Meen's fists tightened. They were covering it up.
"Furthermore," the principal continued, his gaze sweeping the students, lingering for just a second too long on Meen and her friends, "I must insist that there will be no further discussion of ghosts, hauntings, or any other nonsense. Spreading false rumors will result in severe consequences."
A heavy silence followed.
Meen felt Pim shift beside her, barely containing her anger. Tan's eyes were dark with suspicion. Praew bit her lip, holding back words she clearly wanted to say.
They weren't being silenced. They were being warned.
As the meeting ended and students were dismissed, Meen couldn't shake the feeling that something far more sinister had just begun.
The past was unraveling, and the school's secrets were clawing their way to the surface.
---
The threads of the past had been pulled loose, but something darker had just begun. The message on the board was clear: *STOP INVESTIGATING.* But for Meen and her friends, stopping was no longer an option. Something—or someone—didn't want the truth to be found.And the deeper they dug, the more dangerous it became.
Would they uncover the truth before the next warning turned into something far worse?
---
The air in the abandoned music room was thick with tension. Meen, Pim, Tan, Ploy, and Praew stood in a circle, their breaths shallow, as Chawin Phattharawut adjusted the old lantern, its glow flickering ominously against the cracked mirrors.
"This is where it all started," Chawin murmured, brushing his fingers along the dusty piano keys. "And this is where it must end."
Pim clenched her fists. "We freed Naree, but Kanya… she's still angry. Still vengeful. She wants more than just justice."
A gust of wind slammed the windows shut, and the group spun around as a whisper floated through the air. "You have not avenged me…"
Meen swallowed hard. "We need to find out what truly happened to her. We need to dig deeper."
Ploy nodded and then added, "Maybe the missing puzzle piece is right under our noses,"
Tan nodded. "And we have to be ready for whatever Kanya throws at us."
The group exchanged determined glances, knowing the worst was yet to come.
---
That night, they found it. Nestled in the forgotten depths of an old locker, hidden beneath a pile of crumbling papers—Kanya's diary. Its cover was pristine, untouched by time, yet when they opened it, every page was blank.
Praew frowned. "It's empty? "
Tan flipped through the pages, shaking his head. "Then why hide it? "
Hours later, when Pim opened it again, something had changed.
Her own words stared back at her. Words she had never written.
*I feel like I'm being watched. Like something is crawling beneath my skin. We shouldn't have come here tonight.*
Her heart pounded as she shoved the diary away. "It… it just wrote my thoughts."
A chill ran through them all. The diary wasn't just a relic of the past—it was watching them.
---
At first, it was subtle. The diary would record moments of fear, of hesitation. But soon, it grew bolder. It captured anger, doubts, insecurities.
Meen saw her own frustration scrawled across the pages: *Why does no one trust me? Why am I always the one doubted?*
Tan's paranoia surfaced in ink: *What if we're all being used? What if Kanya is playing us against each other?*
Ploy saw his own thoughts on the paper: *What if I'll end up like Kanya because of digging deeper?*
Praew's fear bled into the paper: *What if we never leave this place?*
The diary wasn't just reflecting their minds—it was feeding on them.