Chapter 3: The Breaking Point

Josh’s low growls echoed down the hallway, making my skin crawl.

The sound was guttural, animal—like something had crawled out of a horror movie and set up shop in our building.

I saw him with my own eyes, scratching at his skin with both hands, digging in like he was trying to rip himself apart.

Blood covered him, flesh torn open everywhere. Every new wound bled, red rivers running down his arms and splattering on the floor. The wet slap of skin against tile made my stomach churn. Brian gagged, clutching his stomach. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the sound of skin tearing wouldn’t leave my ears.

But worst of all, his face twisted into a smile—like tearing himself up was the only relief.

Tyler, usually silent, whispered, "Maybe it’s itchy."

We paused as Tyler explained: "Sometimes itchiness drives people crazier than pain. You all know how mosquito bites get—you scratch until you bleed."

It made sense, in a sick way. I remembered muggy summer nights, digging my nails into bites until they bled. What Josh was doing was that, times a thousand.

Still, he was literally peeling his skin off. There wasn’t a patch of healthy flesh left. Blood and pus dripped everywhere, smeared across the walls, turning the hallway into a crime scene.

How bad did the itch have to be for this?

Honestly, I couldn’t imagine it.

We weren’t the only ones watching. From the sounds of footsteps and whispered voices, half the floor was pressed to their peepholes, seeing the same nightmare.

Someone in the group chat asked, "Are we sure this is just a disease? Why does it look so messed up?"

The RA replied with a copy-paste: "Everyone stay inside. Leave the rest to the college."

But then a senior from 503 sent: "This is too creepy. What if it’s supernatural?"

That was all it took. Someone dropped a Scooby-Doo GIF, another posted a Reddit thread about haunted dorms, but nobody was really laughing. The chat was a mix of memes, ghost stories, and real panic.

"Maybe the college is covering something up."

"This place only cares about tuition. When stuff hits the fan, they bail."

The distrust of authority was classic. Someone even tagged a conspiracy subreddit.

We kept checking our locks, glancing at each other. The room felt even smaller, suspicion and fear thickening the air.

The RA came back, all official: "503, don’t spread rumors. Believe in science."

"If you keep stirring things up, the college will punish you."

503 shot back with a bitter smile emoji: "Just saying—make your own guesses. I want to keep my grad school rec, not get in trouble."

That hit home. Someone replied, "If they drop your grad school spot over this, we’ll all help you sue."

Someone else posted a link to the campus law clinic. For a second, the mood lightened.

But 503 didn’t say anything else.

Then, suddenly, the hallway went silent. The absence of noise was scarier than the howling.

I peeked through the peephole and saw Josh had ripped open his own stomach—his guts spilling out onto the floor. My knees buckled. I grabbed the doorknob to keep from collapsing.

My hands shaking, I tagged the RA: "Hey man, go take a look! He’s dying—his guts are out!"