Chapter 11: Sketches in Silence

The next day, the air felt... quieter.

 Not like the silence of peace.

 More like the stillness before thunder.

Hale walked the halls like someone walking across thin ice.

 Every step too loud. Every glance too long.

 But nothing cracked. Nothing shattered.

 Not yet.

Art class was quieter than usual.

 Rain tapped against the tall windows, slow and steady, like someone too patient to knock.

 The room smelled like old paper, wet wood, and paint thinner.

Everyone was focused on their sheets, pencils scratching like whispers across paper.

 Hale sat by the window. Second row. Near the corner.

He didn't know what he was drawing.

 His hand moved, almost on its own.

 At first, spirals. Then lines slicing through them. Torn. Reformed.

 His fingers barely felt real anymore.

It was like something had reached inside him, twisted his wrist gently—and whispered, draw.

 A quiet trance crept in.

 He didn't even notice until the lines stopped moving.

When he finally glanced down, his breath caught.

 A shape—round at the top, narrowing below.

 A keyhole.

Not just the symbol of one. It had depth.

 Shadow. Texture. Like something you could fall into.

 Or something could crawl out.

A cough cracked the stillness.

He looked up.

There she was.

 The new girl. Two rows ahead, left side.

 Hair loose. Shoulders hunched over paper.

Her hand was still. Pencil down.

 She wasn't drawing anymore.

She was staring.

Hale leaned forward, craning his neck just slightly.

 Her sketch—he could just barely make it out.

 It was a keyhole too.

Almost exactly like his.

A beat passed. Then she tilted her head—just slightly—like she'd heard him watching.

She didn't turn. Didn't smile.

 Just slowly ran her finger across the lines of her sketch.

 Like she was trying to remember how it felt to draw them.

 Like the memory belonged to someone else.

After class, Hale caught up with Barney near the vending machines.

He needed something normal.

 Something loud. Stupid. Human.

And Barney delivered.

"This kid in Chemistry dropped a beaker, right? Looked like he just watched his parents die. I told him—'Relax, man. Glass breaks. So do bones. So do families.'"

He cackled like it was a sitcom punchline.

Hale gave a half-smile.

 It was so Barney.

 Dark. Crude. Inappropriate.

 But… grounding.

He hadn't changed.

 Hale hoped he hadn't changed.

That night, Hale couldn't sleep.

The rain still hadn't stopped.

 Each drop felt like a second ticking off a submerged clock.

He flipped through his sketchpad—page after page of meaningless doodles.

Until he found it.

 The keyhole.

But now it looked… different.

The lines were deeper. Angrier.

 More jagged.

And inside it—something.

 A shadow.

 A shape.

 He couldn't tell what.

But it was looking back.

The next day, things almost felt normal.

No cold breath. No screaming silence. No phantom pain.

 Just an alarm clock. Too loud.

 Sheets, tangled.

 The soft ache of restless sleep.

Barney was back, launching paper planes and high-fiving kids like he ran the whole hallway.

"Yo," Barney shouted, spotting him. "You look like you just saw the ghost of your GPA."

Hale offered a thin smile.

Barney grinned and leaned in. "Don't worry, man. I'm not gonna vanish again unless I get abducted by those late-night Geometry problems. Those things are satanic."

Then he added, smirking, "Or maybe I'll fake another seizure in art class. Got me two free days last semester. Worth it."

Hale blinked.

 Yep. That was Barney.

But the chill stayed coiled in his spine.

Art class again.

He wasn't even supposed to be there.

 His elective got "rescheduled." Just like that.

 Instead, he was handed a slip: Room 204 – Visual Expressions.

The room smelled the same. Wet paper. Old paint.

 He slid into a seat near the back, quiet and unnoticed.

That's when he noticed her.

 Again.

Thin glasses. Sleeves pulled past her palms.

 Charcoal smudges darkening her fingertips.

The teacher's voice drifted through the hum of rain.

 "Draw something from your dreams. Or nightmares. Whatever feels real to you."

Hale stared at the blank page.

Then his hand moved.

Not like sketching. More like remembering.

Shadows. A windowless room.

 A staircase twisting inward like a serpent.

 At the center—a figure. Vaguely human. Faceless. Reaching.

He looked up.

 And saw her staring.

She turned her page slowly.

 Her sketch mirrored his.

Not identical. But right.

 Same spiral stairs. Same impossible geometry.

She said nothing.

 Then softly:

 "You saw it too?"

"…What?"

She studied him, then whispered, "Never mind."

After class, Barney bumped shoulders with him.

"So," he said, "you hitting it off with Nightmare Nia or whatever her name is?"

Hale frowned. "What?"

"The girl in art. She's got that 'cursed librarian from another dimension' energy."

Hale muttered, "Her name's Ivy."

 Though he wasn't sure how he knew that.

Barney grinned. "Well, Ivy's giving off forbidden prophecy vibes. Don't come crying when you start drawing ancient symbols in your sleep."

Hale didn't laugh.

 Not this time.

That night, Hale sat alone in his room.

Everything felt too still.

His sketch was folded in his backpack.

 He hadn't looked at it since class.

But when he opened it—he froze.

There was something new.

A faint black circle with a single line through it.

 Smudged into the charcoal spiral at the page's center.

The same symbol etched beneath his collarbone.

He hadn't drawn it.

 He knew he hadn't.

But there it was.

 Dead center.

 Like a seal.

 Or a curse.

3:00 AM.

Hale sat on the edge of his bed.

 Heartbeat steady but tight.

3:11.

 Still.

3:12.

 Still.

No lights flickering. No whispers. No bleeding walls.

Just silence.

3:13.

His clock ticked once.

And the room smelled faintly…

 of burned paper