THE LAST BELL

The rain started as a mist before turning into a steady downpour. It clung to the iron gates of Saint Harrow Boarding School, making the carved motto — Discipline, Duty, Honour — gleam like something etched into a tombstone. Mara Kessey stepped out of the taxi and tightened her jacket around her. Her suitcase wheels scraped against the gravel drive as she walked toward the entrance, each pull heavy and uneven on the wet ground. The driver had offered to help, but she’d waved him off. She preferred it this way — to arrive quietly, unnoticed. Saint Harrow wasn’t supposed to feel like this. The photos on the school website had shown green lawns, bright hallways, sunlight flooding the dormitories. But up close, the place felt older, colder. The buildings looked like they’d been scrubbed of life. A security guard signed her in at the gatehouse, his face half-lit by a flickering fluorescent bulb. He checked her name, stamped her papers, and pointed toward the main hall without a word. Mara took a breath. She reminded herself why she was here — a fresh start, a clean slate. The incident at her old school wasn’t her fault. People would forget, given time. Saint Harrow was supposed to help her finish her last year in peace. The main building loomed above her, its arched windows like tired eyes staring through the rain. Inside, the air smelled faintly of polish and something older — damp paper, maybe, or the ghost of chalk dust. A large clock ticked from the wall above the reception desk, loud enough to fill the silence. A woman in a navy-blue suit looked up from a file. “You must be Mara Kessey.” Mara nodded. “I’m Ms. Rowan, the dorm matron. We’ve been expecting you.” Her tone was kind, but her eyes carried the wary politeness of someone used to trouble. She handed Mara a key labeled 4B. “You’ll be in the East Dormitory. It’s quieter there. I’ll have one of the prefects show you the way.” Something in the way she said quieter made Mara glance up, but Ms. Rowan was already back to her paperwork. A tall girl in uniform appeared from the corridor — Talia, the prefect assigned to escort her. She smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Come on,” she said. “It’s a bit of a walk.” They crossed the courtyard in silence. Rain beaded on the dorm’s windows like condensation on glass coffins. The lights inside flickered, fighting the storm’s gloom. “You’re in 4B,” Talia said as they entered the narrow stairwell. “That room hasn’t been used for a while.” “Why not?” Mara asked. Talia hesitated. “Renovations. Or… that’s what they said.” She laughed softly, but the sound was strained. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.” The hallway to 4B was dimly lit, the floorboards sighing underfoot. The air grew colder with every step. When Talia unlocked the door, it creaked like something waking up. Inside, the room was small — two beds, two desks, a single window with rain tapping softly against the glass. Everything looked untouched for years: folded linens, dust in the corners, a faint mark on the wall where a picture might have hung once. Talia set the key on Mara’s desk. “Curfew’s ten. Don’t wander after that. The east wing connects through this floor — it’s sealed off now, but still…” She trailed off, eyes flicking toward the far end of the corridor. “Still what?” Mara asked. “Nothing.” Talia forced a smile. “Welcome to Saint Harrow.” When she left, Mara unpacked in silence. The clock in the hallway ticked unevenly. Rain softened into a whisper outside. She lay down, trying to ignore the hum of pipes in the walls. Just before she drifted to sleep, she heard it — a faint, deliberate tapping from behind the plaster. Three slow knocks. Then silence.