The dorm room had grown unbearably cold. Clara pulled her thin blanket tighter around her shoulders, but the chill wasn't from the night air. It seemed to seep from the very walls, crawling beneath her skin like icy fingers. Shadows crept in the corners, stretching unnaturally long, twisting and curling as if they breathed on their own. The silence wasn't peaceful—it was waiting. Watching.
Maya sat beside Clara on the bed, clutching the diary like a lifeline. Her eyes were wide, flickering between hope and terror. "Clara... I don't think this is just some ghost story anymore. This is something darker."
Clara's throat tightened. "What do you mean?"
Maya hesitated, then reached into her bag, pulling out a crumpled sheet of yellowed paper. She smoothed it carefully, the shaky handwriting stark against the fragile paper.
Clara leaned closer, her heart pounding.
> "Beware the darkness that dwells behind closed doors.
Bargains sealed in blood and broken souls bind the lost.
Delilah's fate was sealed by a deal no one can break."
Maya's voice trembled. "This is from the old student council's minutes—documents from ten years ago when Delilah disappeared. They never talked about it openly, but there were rumors... whispers of a pact, some kind of deal with darkness."
Clara swallowed hard, feeling a cold sweat bead at her forehead. The idea that Delilah might have willingly made a pact—an agreement with something evil—sent a shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature.
Suddenly, the flickering overhead light sputtered, casting the room into brief moments of near darkness. The shadows pulsed, growing thicker and darker, swallowing the corners whole.
The door to their room creaked open slowly, a low, sinister groan that echoed off the walls.
Clara's breath caught in her throat as a thick shadow spilled into the doorway, coiling like smoke yet moving with a malevolent purpose.
"Leave..." The voice hissed, barely audible but soaked with menace.
Maya grasped Clara's hand, her fingers icy and trembling. "We should go. Now."
But Clara was frozen, eyes locked on the form emerging from the darkness. The shadow shaped into a tall figure, impossibly thin, with eyes like burning coals—red and alive with a hunger that made Clara's stomach turn.
It smiled—a cruel, cold smile that seemed to freeze the air around them.
"I am the price of the deal," it whispered, voice like dry leaves scraping on stone. "The debt collector."
Clara's hands clenched around the diary, heart pounding like a war drum. "What do you want from us?"
The figure stepped closer, and the room dropped to a freezing chill, breath visible in the cold air.
"Your soul. Your fear. Your obedience. Just as she gave." The words slithered from its lips like venom.
Suddenly, a scream tore through the dorm hallway—a sound filled with pain and terror. Maya's grip tightened as Clara turned toward the door, desperate to flee.
But the walls around them warped. The room stretched and twisted, the exit retreating like a cruel mirage.
"You belong to me," the shadow growled, eyes flashing brighter. "The deal is eternal."
Clara stumbled backward, panic swirling like a storm inside her chest. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of escape.
Then, a pale figure appeared in the corner—a girl in a faded dress, translucent and trembling. It was Delilah.
Her eyes, full of sorrow and pleading, met Clara's.
"Help me," she whispered, voice thin as spider silk.
Clara's heart cracked open. This wasn't just a haunting—it was a soul trapped, a prisoner of a terrible bargain.
"I promise," Clara whispered back, "I will help you."
The shadow laughed—a low, chilling sound that echoed through the room like a death knell.
"Promises..." it sneered. "Chains of the damned."
In an instant, the shadows retracted. The walls snapped back to their normal shape, the door solid and still. The warmth slowly returned, but the terror remained etched deep in Clara's mind.
Breathless, she looked at Maya. "We're not dealing with a ghost. This is something ancient. Something hungry."
Maya nodded slowly, face pale. "It feeds on fear, on desperation. And it's waiting for us to slip."
Clara's eyes drifted to the diary. The fragile pages felt heavier now—as if they carried not just memories, but warnings.
"This dorm," Clara said quietly, "is a prison. And we're caught inside."
That night, sleep was impossible.
Clara's dreams dragged her into darkness deeper than the night itself. She saw Delilah again, her pale face twisting in silent agony, trapped behind iron bars made of shadows.
A cold voice whispered in her ear, promising power, escape, freedom — all for a price.
She awoke gasping, the whisper still lingering.
Maya was already awake, sitting on her bed with eyes wide.
"You felt it too," Clara said, voice hoarse.
Maya nodded. "It's trying to get inside our heads."
For days, the shadows grew bolder.
Doors slammed open by themselves, icy drafts snaked through the hallways, and the faintest whispers teased promises and threats alike. The dorm's silence became deafening—a pressure in their skulls.
At night, Clara heard scratching behind the walls, as though something was trying to claw its way through.
They stopped eating much. Neither of them could concentrate. Their eyes were sunken, and they flinched at every creak, every whisper of wind.
Clara felt the pull—the temptation—to make a deal, to trade her fear for control, for safety.
But every time she thought of Delilah's pleading eyes, she found strength.
"We have to find a way to break the pact," Clara said one evening, determination burning in her chest.
Maya looked doubtful. "But how? If Delilah couldn't escape, how can we?"
Clara's fingers brushed over the diary's worn cover.
"We find the source," she said. "The devil behind the door."
And with that, the battle for their souls—and for Dorm 6A—had truly begun.
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