“Shhh,” Lilith whispered, her breath fogging in the frigid corridor air. She glanced over her shoulder, her wide eyes catching the flickering light of the hallway lanterns. The dim flames sputtered in their iron sconces, casting long, warped shadows that stretched and shrank with each shiver of flame — like the hallway itself was breathing.

Every creak of the old wooden floor beneath their feet felt deafening.

Alice, Lilith, and Beatrice moved like ghosts through Ashbury’s north wing, robes swishing softly, slippered feet barely making a sound. The stone walls loomed high around them, glistening faintly with moisture. Paintings of stiff, unsmiling benefactors watched in silence as the girls passed — eyes that always seemed to follow.

This was no ordinary midnight stroll. They were on a mission — bold, foolish, and entirely exhilarating: to sneak Cedric into the girls’ dormitory for their very first Friday night storytelling session.

Getting caught wasn’t just forbidden. It was dangerous.

The punishment wasn’t a scolding or a stern letter home — it was the isolation room.

No windows. No light. Locked from the outside with no way to track time. Some students came back quieter. Others came back jumpy. One girl refused to speak at all for three weeks.

And worst of all were the rumours: voices in the dark, cold fingers brushing across your cheek, scratching sounds beneath the bed. Some whispered that the ghosts of Ashbury’s past lived in the walls — and that the isolation room belonged to one of them.

Lilith shook the thought from her head.

“Faster,” Alice mouthed, her curls bouncing as she glanced toward the looming shape of the main lobby. Her movements were quick and fluid, like someone born to mischief.

Alice crouched low beneath the brass doorbell mounted high on the frame — a cruel relic from another era, designed to alert the entire building if the front door so much as dared to open. Beatrice, lips pressed tightly, climbed carefully onto her back. Her hands were shaking as she reached up, pressing both palms hard against the bell’s round metal mouth, muffling it with her fingers.

Lilith reached out and slowly turned the handle.

The door groaned.

A gust of rain-washed air burst into the corridor, icy and wild. It carried the scent of wet leaves, mud, and far-off pine from the forest edge. Their lantern flickered violently.

There he was.

Cedric stood just outside, soaked from head to toe, raindrops clinging to his curls, his coat plastered to his tall frame. Despite his drenched state, he grinned.

A cocky, devil-may-care grin.

“Evening,” he whispered, stepping inside the moment the gap was wide enough. He slipped past Beatrice, boots sliding slightly on the polished floor. He caught himself on the wall, still grinning.

The bell didn’t ring.

The housemistress didn’t stir.

For a heartbeat, they all froze — eyes wide, lungs still — listening.

Nothing.

Not a creak. Not a shout. Just the distant, rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock near the stairwell and the soft drumming of rain on the windows.

They moved.

Silent as shadows, the four of them crept down the corridor. They passed the housemistress’s door — a thick oak slab with a brass handle and a faded nameplate. From inside came the unmistakable sound of snoring. Deep and even. Beatrice exhaled in relief, then immediately clamped her hand over her mouth.

When they reached Room 101, they slipped inside one by one, and finally, finally, let their bodies relax.

Their room — their little sanctuary.

“Margaret and Sarah are still asleep,” Beatrice whispered, pointing to the drawn curtains around two beds. Their roommates, thankfully, were deep in dreams, unaware of the secret world that came alive when the rest of the school slept.

Curtains were pulled tighter. Lamps were dimmed to almost nothing. The girls rearranged their little circle in the centre of the room — a patchwork of mismatched cushions pilfered from common rooms, a stubby, half-melted candle perched on a chipped saucer, and a battered tin full of stolen biscuits resting like treasure between them.

Cedric peeled off his coat and dropped it with a squelch onto the floor.

“Someone better tell a bloody good story tonight,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his dripping hair. “I nearly drowned out there. My boots are a pond.”

“You’ll live,” Lilith said, but she crossed the room and passed him a blanket she’d left warming on the windowsill. He took it with a small, grateful smile and flopped onto the cushions.

He looked different by candlelight. Quieter. Softer.

“This place is dull beyond belief,” he continued, tugging the blanket around his shoulders. “My mother wants me to start writing business letters. Business letters. As if I’m some tired old man in an office, not sixteen. I swear, if I don’t sneak out now and then, I’ll combust.”

“Well,” Beatrice said gently, settling beside him, “you made it tonight. That’s what matters.”

Alice was already on her knees, bouncing with barely contained excitement.

“Right!” she whispered. “Who’s going first?”

Beatrice raised an eyebrow. “You really have to ask?”

Alice grinned. “Me, obviously.”

She ducked under her bed and pulled out a worn, scuffed notebook wrapped in a silk ribbon. The edges were curled and soft from use, the pages within filled with inky scribbles and furious crossings-out. She flipped it open slowly, reverently, like it was a holy text.

But she didn’t start reading.

Not yet.

Outside, thunder cracked somewhere deep in the woods. The wind pressed against the windows like a restless spirit trying to get in.

The circle hushed.

Each of them leaned in toward the flickering candle, its small flame dancing in the draft. Shadows stretched long across the floor, joining together like ink spilled across parchment.

Alice looked up from her notebook — eyes glowing with mischief, thrill, and something else. Something older. Like she wasn’t just a girl anymore, but a storyteller summoning something ancient.

“All right,” she whispered. “This one’s called Through The Rotten Glass”.

The storm raged on.

And so their tradition began — with secrets, shadows, and stories whispered in the dark.