Chapter 2: Ghost in the Group Chat

Rachel’s eyes widened, the lines on her face deepening as she scrolled through her phone. "That can't be right. Didn't I remove her from the group? How could she be in the class group?" Phones flashed as everyone double-checked. Thirty-four names—every one familiar, except there it was: Lillian Carter, clear as day.

Someone near the window whispered, "I never saw her added back. Did anyone?" Faces grew pale, sweat beading on brows. The air pressed in, thick and stifling.

A memory flashed: Lillian Carter, quiet, always on the fringe. The vote to kick her out. The guilt hung in the air, silent and heavy.

A bold guy slammed the table. "Who the hell is messing with us? Pulling this crap on New Year’s—are you trying to curse us all?" He tried to sound tough, but his voice cracked. Another student said, “Probably her roommate still has her password or something. People do that for closure, right?” Heads nodded, but no one looked convinced.

I pulled my hoodie tighter, trying to steady my hands. Goosebumps prickled my arms. Was this fear, or that sick curiosity you get when you know you should run? I tried to laugh, but it came out hollow. My stomach twisted. The last time Lillian’s name showed up in chat, it was her memorial. Now it was a threat.

Suddenly, Aubrey jumped up, her face pale. She stumbled, pink sneakers squeaking, and threw herself at Rachel, crying, "What kind of game is this? I've read this kind of story—could it actually be real?" Her voice broke. "I've seen this in movies—like that one where the first person always gets axed as a warning. I don’t want to be the opener! You have to save me, Ms. Rachel!"

Aubrey clung to Rachel’s sleeve, sobbing, her makeup smearing. The panic spread, catching like fire. A couple of guys started pacing, chewing their nails. Someone else grabbed a stress ball from the couch and squeezed it until their knuckles turned white.

Everyone looked to Rachel, the fear growing sharper. After all, it was her idea to keep everyone on campus tonight. Eyes narrowed. Someone muttered, "She’s always been weird about holidays. Maybe this was her plan all along."

Aubrey’s panic shifted. She fixed Rachel with a sharp, suspicious glare. "Ms. Rachel, I think something's off. Why did you call us here in the middle of the night to watch the show, when everyone else is out celebrating?"

My heart hammered. My Apple Watch buzzed, the pulse reading off the charts. I scrolled back through the chat, rereading Rachel’s earlier message—her invitation had felt off, forced, like a script. Other advisors always ducked out early on holidays. Rachel was different, but this was too much.

I tried to remember replying, but it was a blur. My reply—Received—sat in the chat, staring back at me. Goosebumps rose on my skin. I broke out in a cold sweat.

Suddenly, someone grabbed my arm. I yelped, the sound bouncing off the cinderblock walls. "Jeez, damn, there's a ghost!" someone shouted, backing away. My scream set off a chain reaction—girls sobbing, guys knocking over chairs in a scramble for the back door.

The exit sign glowed red above the door, mocking us. Hands twisted the knob, but it wouldn't budge. Someone banged on it until their palm went numb. The panic grew, the room falling dead silent. You could hear the vending machine humming out in the hallway.

A girl raised her hand, voice shaking. "We've all been sitting here, no one left..." She pointed around, but no one had left, no one had locked the door. So how was it locked?

Aubrey wailed, "There's a ghost! Help!" Her cry set off another wave of panic. More students rushed for the front door, only to find it locked too. Someone dragged a desk to the window, trying to climb out, but the glass wouldn’t budge. It was like being trapped in a fish tank.

You could smell the sweat, the fear, the metallic tang of panic. Someone whispered, “We’re trapped.”

Rachel forced herself to the center of the room, straightening her blazer. She tried to sound strong, "Students, quiet down, listen to me." But her voice shook. Murmurs blamed her—“If she hadn’t kept us here…”

Marcus slammed his fist on the table, the room falling silent. "What, you're all panicking now? Running around like headless chickens—will that solve anything? Rachel is our advisor. We should listen to her. If you keep panicking, you're just being stupid."

His words stung. Some boys rolled their eyes. One rolled up his sleeves. "Marcus, why are you acting all high and mighty? Who made you the boss? Just because you're Rachel's boyfriend?" The accusation landed hard. Rachel blushed, ducking her head.

Marcus’s anger boiled over. He lunged at the boy—Derek—and the two started fighting. Chairs scraped, fists flew. Someone shouted, "Stop!" but no one moved. "You’re just sucking up to Rachel for extra credit. Everyone knows you two are tight."

Rachel tried to break them up, but no one helped her. Instead, she got knocked down, her glasses skidding across the floor. She blinked, dazed, pain and humiliation battling for space on her face.