DORM 6A
Chapter 11
the silence that followed Father Emma's disappearance was not just eerie—it was wrong. It clung to the dorm like a sickness, thick and heavy, pressing against the windows, sneaking through the cracks beneath the door. Clara stood in the center of the room, her breath shaky. Maya sat on the edge of her bed, fingers gripping her own arms tightly. Outside, the once-distant whispers had grown louder. They no longer drifted—they crawled, slithered, pressed against their minds. The exorcism had failed. Worse, the priest who had come to cast out evil had vanished in the most twisted way imaginable. Blood had soaked the chapel floor, but there was no body. Only his crucifix, bent backward, and the Bible he'd held—now blackened and smoking. "He wasn't even a real priest," Maya muttered. "Did you see his eyes? They weren't human." "Then why did the school bring him?" Clara asked, though her voice lacked strength. "Because they're in on it," said a voice. It wasn't Maya's. Clara's blood froze. Rachel stood in the doorway. Her skin was pale, her eyes glassy, but it was her. Maya's sister, gone for weeks. Her voice was too calm, too steady, and yet it cracked the silence like a thunderclap. "They thought they could keep it hidden," Rachel continued. "Dorm 6A was sealed for a reason. But they opened it again." Clara blinked. "Who did?" Rachel tilted her head slowly. "The Dwfilt doesn't need a welcome. Just a doorway. And the school gave it one." The lights flickered. Somewhere beneath the floor, something groaned—wood or bone, they couldn't tell. Shadows moved without light. Then came the laughter—soft at first, like a child playing hide and seek. But it rose, layered and echoing, like dozens of voices all laughing at once. Maya stood. "Rachel, we have to leave. Now." Rachel didn't move. "I can't. I belong to it now." The door slammed shut. Clara screamed. The walls began to bleed. Not paint—blood. Real, red, dripping in thick lines from the corners of the ceiling. Words formed in the streaks, letters scratched into plaster by unseen claws: WELCOME HOME. Maya dragged Clara toward the window. It wouldn't open. Rachel's body convulsed. Her spine bent backward at an unnatural angle, and from her mouth came not a scream—but a growl, deep and guttural. The windows cracked. The mirror exploded. The lights went out. Darkness. Then a whisper—low and close, inches from Clara's ear. "Tell me your name." She spun. No one. Maya's phone flashlight clicked on. Her face was pale, soaked in tears. "We're not alone anymore," she said. The air was cold. Not normal cold—but the kind that bites, that numbs fingers and slows breath. Something brushed past Clara's shoulder. She yelped. A hand? A breath? The beds began to shake. Drawers flung open. From beneath the floor, a scream built—one long, mournful, soul-tearing wail that didn't stop. It echoed through their bones. "We need to get out!" Clara yelled. But the door was gone. Gone. Where it should've been was now a wall, smooth and seamless. They turned to Rachel—but she was laughing. Her eyes now pure black, her feet no longer touching the floor. "You're part of it now," she whispered. "Just like me." Then she vanished—right before their eyes, disintegrating into ash that curled in the air like smoke. Maya grabbed Clara's hand. "We go down the hall. Someone has to help us." They ran. The dorm was darker than it had ever been. Lights that had worked hours ago were shattered. Paintings on the wall now showed scenes of torture and fire. Every door they passed—slammed open, then shut again, as if mocking them. They heard it coming. A dragging sound, like chains pulled across concrete. And footsteps—heavy, slow, methodical. They turned a corner—and froze. At the far end of the hallway stood a figure. Tall, wrapped in darkness. Its face hidden beneath a veil of black mist. Horns curved like knives from its skull, and in one clawed hand it held something writhing—still alive. The Dwfilt. It raised its head. And spoke. "Welcome, Clara." It knew her name. Then it dropped the thing in its hand. It hit the floor with a sickening sound. It was Danielle. Her face twisted in pain, blood pouring from her ears and eyes. Maya screamed. The Dwfilt stepped forward—and every light behind them burst at once. They ran. Doors opened, hands reached from within, grasping, clawing. One pulled Maya's shirt. Another scratched Clara's arm. They broke into the stairwell—empty. Cold. The whispers followed. "Stay with me!" Clara yelled. Maya didn't answer. Because she wasn't behind her anymore. Clara spun. The stairwell was empty. "MAYA!" Her scream echoed. Only the whispers answered. And the laughter. And the name. "Clara…" The Dwfilt was coming.