The last bell

Chapter one: The unusual Bell Sound

Chapter One: The unusual Bell Sound

Clara's POV

We arrived at Heights Academy at exactly 6:13 p.m.

I noticed the time because the clock on the dashboard ticked louder than my heartbeat, and because the fog swallowed the road the moment we stopped, as if the world beyond the gates no longer mattered.

I looked at my stepmother.

She didn’t look back.

She stayed in the car, hands folded neatly on her lap, lips curved into a smile that felt rehearsed. The engine was still running. She had never planned to stay long.

I gripped the handle of my suitcase until my knuckles burned, then shoved the car door open harder than necessary. It slammed shut with a satisfying bang that echoed across the iron gates.

“Be good,” my stepmother said through the open window, her voice light, almost amused. “This school is special.”

Special indeed.

I almost laughed as I turned away from her, dragging my suitcase toward the gates. I didn’t look back. If I did, I was afraid I’d see relief on her face, and I wasn’t ready for that kind of truth.

The gates creaked open on their own.

Heights Academy rose before me like a corpse that refused to be buried. The stone walls were cracked and darkened by age, ivy strangling the windows, the bell tower looming overhead like a warning finger pointed at the sky. The place looked ancient, abandoned by time itself.

I wondered why wealthy parents still sent their children to a school that looked like it might collapse under the weight of its own secrets.

Then again, my stepmother had always been good at pretending not to know things. Not to know of how students in this school have been disappearing almost every single night.

Inside, the air felt suffocating, cold, strange but heavy like the building was breathing slowly, waiting.

“Welcome to Heights Academy.”

The voice startled me.

A thin woman in a long black coat stood behind a narrow desk near the entrance. Her hair was pulled back so tight it seemed painful. She didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. She simply slid a rusted key across the desk toward me.

“Room 104,” she said, still not looking up.

I hesitated before taking it. The metal was ice cold against my palm.

“Lights out at ten,” she continued. “If you hear the bell, don’t move. Don’t speak. And don’t look.”

Something in her tone made my curiosity grew.

“What happens if I do?” I asked.

For the first time, the woman lifted her head and met my eyes.

Her gaze wasn’t angry or cruel.

It was tired.

“You won’t be here long enough to regret it,” she said.

I swallowed hard.

“Hmmmm,” I muttered, forcing indifference I didn’t feel.

Room 104 was at the end of the hall.

Of course it was.

The corridor stretched longer than it should have, the lights blinking overhead. As I walked, I noticed the doors lining the hallway, each one scarred with faint scratches, deep enough to leave grooves in the wood. They weren’t random.

They were desperate.

Some rooms stood empty, doors slightly ajar, dust thick on the floors. Others still had nameplates screwed into the wood, names half erased by time, letters peeling like skin.

I wondered how many of those students had heard the bell.

I didn’t unpack.

I changed quickly into the stiff dorm uniform and joined the other students in the dining hall. No one talked much. Conversations died the moment I approached. Forks clinked too loudly. Eyes darted toward the ceiling every few seconds, like they were waiting for something to fall.

When I asked a girl across from me how long she had been here, her hand shook so badly she dropped her spoon.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

At 9:58, the lights began to go off and on.

Once.

Twice.

Then again.

At exactly 10:00, everything went dark.

Silence flooded the academy so completely it felt like pressure against my ears. No footsteps, no whispers, no nothing.

Just waiting.

I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks above me. Sleep wouldn’t come. My thoughts circled my stepmother, her wicked smile, her eagerness to leave, the way she had avoided my eyes when the acceptance letter arrived.

By midnight, my body was exhausted, but my mind refused to rest.

Then.....

GONG.

The bell rang once.

The sound was massive, ancient. It shook the walls, rattled the bedframe, and burrowed straight into my skull like a scream trapped in metal.

Somewhere nearby, a sudden breeze flung open a door.

I clamped my hands over my mouth.

Footsteps running. A voice whispering please, please.

I turned my head and looked at the girls in my dorm. They slept peacefully, their breathing slow and even, as if drugged. As if whatever the bell took had already passed them by.

Then everything went silent.

The bell faded.

My heart hammered so violently I thought it might give me away.

Minutes passed. Maybe probably hours.

I almost convinced myself it was over.

Then.....

GONG.

The bell rang a second time.

Screams tore through the rooms. Doors flew open as students ran into the corridors, crying, shouting, breaking the only rule that mattered.

I didn’t think.

I stepped outside.

Every student froze.

Every eye turned to me.

The lights shattered into darkness, and the bell tower clock began to spin backward, its hands screeching like nails on glass.

Then the bell spoke.

Not in sound.

In thought.

You are late.

A hand closed around my wrist.

I spun, expecting a teacher.

Instead, I saw a girl my age, looking so pale, hollow eyed, wearing an old Heights Academy uniform, its fabric faded with time.

“I disappeared last year,” she whispered. “You took my place.”

The bell began to ring again.

Not once.

Not twice.

But calling.

And this time, I knew....

It wasn’t calling for me to leave.

It was calling for my attention....

It was calling for my help ...