The children in room 7

Chapter four

Ten Minutes Ago

Avery stared at the photograph until her eyes began to hurt.

She zoomed in.

Then out.

Then in again.

There was no mistake.

The woman standing beside Claire had her face.

Not similar.

Not close.

The same.

The same dark eyes.

The same small mark above the left eyebrow.

The same expression Avery had seen countless times when she looked into a mirror.

Her mother.

Alive.

Avery looked at the timestamp again.

6:21 p.m.

Her phone showed 6:31.

Ten minutes.

Only ten minutes had passed.

She immediately called Claire.

The phone rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then the call ended.

Avery called again.

This time, it went straight to voicemail.

"Claire, where are you?" Avery whispered. "Please pick up."

She ended the call.

Her hands were shaking.

She looked at the photograph again.

Behind Claire and Evelyn stood an old brick building.

Avery recognized it immediately.

The same building from the photograph of the seven children.

The same windows.

The same cracked wall.

And above the entrance—

ROOM 7.

Avery's heart began racing.

She opened her browser and searched the address written on Claire's map.

The results were confusing.

The building had once been part of Brighton Hills School.

According to the records, the school had closed seventeen years ago.

But the address still existed.

Avery grabbed her jacket.

She was going.

Not because she was brave.

Because she had run out of reasons to stay.

She slipped the old key marked 7 into her pocket and left the house.

Before closing the door, she looked back.

The empty hallway seemed to stare at her.

Claire's keys were still on the floor.

Avery couldn't leave them behind.

She picked them up.

Then she noticed something attached to the keyring.

A tiny silver charm.

A letter.

E.

Evelyn.

Avery closed her fist around it.

Outside, the evening air was cold.

She walked quickly.

The address wasn't far, but the neighborhood changed as she approached it.

The houses became older.

The streets quieter.

Eventually, she reached a rusted metal gate.

Beyond it stood the abandoned school.

Avery stopped.

The building looked exactly like the photograph.

Her phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

YOU CAME.

Avery stared at the message.

She typed:

Where is my mother?

Three dots appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then:

YOU'RE ASKING THE WRONG QUESTION.

Avery frowned.

She typed again.

Where is Claire?

This time, there was no response.

She pushed open the gate.

It groaned loudly.

Avery stepped onto the overgrown path.

Every instinct told her to turn around.

She continued.

The front doors of the school were chained shut.

But there was another entrance around the side.

Avery found it after several minutes.

The door was already open.

Inside, the air smelled of dust and damp wood.

Her footsteps echoed through the empty corridor.

Old classroom doors lined both sides.

Room 1.

Room 2.

Room 3.

Avery continued.

Room 4.

Room 5.

Room 6.

Then she stopped.

At the end of the corridor stood a door.

ROOM 7.

The number was scratched into the metal.

Avery reached into her pocket.

The key was still there.

She inserted it into the lock.

It turned immediately.

Avery slowly pushed the door open.

The room was dark.

She reached for the light switch.

Nothing.

Her phone flashlight illuminated the room.

Seven desks stood in a perfect line.

Seven.

Not six.

Not eight.

Seven.

Each desk had a name carved into it.

Avery approached the first.

DANIEL.

The second.

SOPHIE.

The third.

LUCAS.

The fourth.

MAYA.

She stopped at the fifth.

There was no name.

Only a deep scratch across the wood.

The sixth desk had another name.

EVELYN.

Avery's breathing stopped.

She walked toward the seventh.

There was no name.

Instead, there was a small photograph taped to the desk.

Avery picked it up.

It was a picture of herself.

Not an old picture.

A picture from that afternoon.

She was standing outside her house.

Someone had been watching her.

On the back of the photograph was a handwritten message.

YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED HOME.

Avery slowly lowered the photograph.

Then she heard a noise behind her.

A chair scraped across the floor.

She spun around.

Nothing.

Her phone light moved across the room.

Seven desks.

Seven empty chairs.

She swallowed.

Then one of the chairs moved again.

Not much.

Just enough for the legs to scrape against the floor.

Avery backed toward the door.

"Who's there?"

Silence.

Then a child's voice came from somewhere inside the room.

"Avery?"

She froze.

The voice came again.

Soft.

Almost a whisper.

"Avery Collins."

Avery's hand found the doorknob.

The voice spoke one final time.

"You finally came back."

The door slammed shut behind her.

And somewhere in the darkness, a child began counting.

"One..."

Avery couldn't breathe.

"Two..."

The counting continued.

"Three..."

She pulled desperately at the door.

"Four..."

The room seemed to grow colder.

"Five..."

Avery turned toward the seven desks.

"Six..."

Every chair was now occupied.

"Seven."

Seven children sat silently in the darkness.

And every one of them was looking directly at her.