“Please,” Cedric said, voice soaked in scepticism as he leaned back lazily in his chair.

“I thought we were supposed to be crafting something terrifying,”.

The candlelight flickered against his sharp features, casting just enough shadow to make his smirk more irritating.

Alice bristled. “Shut up! The unknown is terrifying, you dimwit.”

The words snapped from her like a whip. Her face twisted in annoyance, nose crinkling, eyes narrowing like a thunderstorm ready to strike.

Cedric raised his hands, surrendering in mock amusement. “Alright, alright. I forgot you’re the high priestess of dramatic storytelling.”

“Anyway, it’s Beatrice’s tu—”

Bang.

A loud, deliberate knock crashed against the window, sharp and sudden, like bones rapping against glass.

The room fell still. Breath caught in throats.

The candle wavered violently.

For a moment, none of them moved.

Then the tension detonated — a wave of instinctive panic surging through the group.

“What was that?” Lilith whispered sharply.

“Cedric, check it!” Alice hissed, already halfway under her blanket, though trying to pretend she wasn’t afraid.

“Me? Why not you?” Cedric snapped back, backing toward the far wall. “You’re the one who believes in ghost girls and flesh-eating tulips!”

“Well, maybe they wouldn’t eat me,” she shot back. “I have charisma!”

The two launched into frantic bickering, their whispers growing louder by the second — as though volume could shield them from the creeping dread building in the room.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Lilith muttered, pushing to her feet with a dramatic sigh. “You’re both useless.”

She marched toward the window, but her steps weren’t as confident as her voice. Her spine was stiff. Her fingers curled nervously at her sides. Every footstep on the creaky wooden floor sounded like a countdown to something terrible.

The air grew colder.

She reached out, fingertips trembling, and parted the curtains.

Silence.

Outside, the night stretched wide and black, the moon hanging like a glass eye above the trees. The wind rustled the branches gently, as if pretending to be innocent.

Lilith squinted.

Nothing.

Just stars and dark silhouettes.

She let out a shaky breath. “It was probably the trees. Or a bird. Or… something.” She turned back, trying to brush it off. “Honestly, the way you all panicked—”

A pale hand slammed against the glass.

Lilith screamed.

The window creaked open — slowly, as if pushed by something ancient and curious.

And then:

“BOO!”

Jonathan exploded through the opening like a thunderclap, rain-drenched and wild-eyed, tackling Lilith in a blur of limbs and laughter.

The room erupted.

Alice screamed and flung a pillow. Cedric leapt so high he nearly kicked over the candle. Beatrice let out a startled yelp and dropped her notebook. Lilith, now on the floor beneath Jonathan, stared up at him in wide-eyed horror.

Then — “Jonathan!” she shouted, shoving him off. “What is wrong with you?!”

He laughed uncontrollably, hands on his knees, water dripping from his soaked coat. “You should’ve seen your faces!”

“You lunatic!” Alice shouted, but she was laughing too now, her heart still racing. “You nearly gave us all a stroke!”

“I thought you weren’t coming tonight,” Lilith said, voice still tight with adrenaline.

“Whoops,” Jonathan said with a wicked grin. “Guess I lied.”

He offered her a hand, pulling her to her feet with mock gallantry.

Beatrice shook her head, clutching her chest. “You’re going to be the death of me, Jonathan Johnson.”

“Put that on my tombstone,” he replied proudly.

Suddenly, another voice rang out — stern, unimpressed:

“I told you lot to keep it down.”

Everyone jumped.

Margaret stood near her bed, a flickering candle in her hand, its light throwing sharp shadows across her serious face. Sarah peeked over the blanket behind her, half-asleep, eyes narrowed with sleepy confusion.

“Sorry,” Beatrice said quickly. “It’s just… Jonathan being Jonathan.”

Jonathan gave a sheepish smile and waved. “Evening Ladies.”

“You boys should leave,” Sarah mumbled, sitting up slowly. “I heard a door shut just now.”

Silence fell again.

This one was different.

More ominous.

The footsteps came a moment later — heavy, deliberate, echoing faintly through the corridor like the ticking of a great grandfather clock. Getting closer.

“Oh no…” Cedric muttered.

“Quick, hide!” Alice snapped.

Jonathan dove for the wardrobe. Cedric looked around wildly, then crawled under the bed with such speed he might’ve broken a record.

Beatrice snatched the candle and blew it out. The room plunged into near-darkness.

Lilith yanked the curtains shut, grabbed her blanket, and flopped into bed just as the door handle began to turn.

Creak.

The door opened.

A sliver of pale light spilled into the room.

The housemistress stood in the doorway, a long nightgown dragging at her feet, her greying hair tied back in a hasty bun. Her expression was thunderous. She scanned the room slowly — eyes sweeping over each bed like a wolf counting sheep.

No one moved.

Not a breath.

Not a twitch.

Even the candle wax dared not drip.

After a long, agonising moment, she let out a soft grunt and slowly shut the door.

Click.

Silence.

A beat passed.

Then another.

Then the wardrobe door creaked open again.

Jonathan poked his head out, grinning ear to ear. “Well. That was exciting.”

Cedric crawled from beneath the bed, glaring. “I got a splinter.”

Lilith sat up and threw a pillow at him. “That’s what you get for making me deal with the window!”

“I wasn’t going near that thing!” he protested. “For all we knew, it was a ghost!”

“It was Jonathan,” Beatrice deadpanned, smoothing her hair back. “Obviously.”

Lilith sat cross-legged, frowning. “You’re going to give me heart palpitations.”

Jonathan grinned. “Is it wrong that I’m flattered?”

Beatrice sighed and gathered her notebook again. “Are we really going to keep going after that?”

Alice hesitated. The near-miss had rattled her more than she’d admit. Her heart was still racing, her hands slightly clammy.

But she looked around at the circle, at the candle’s gentle glow returning, at the shadows that still clung to the corners of the room.

The unknown was still there. Still waiting.

“We’ll be careful,” she said. “Quieter. But yes. We’re not done yet.”

“Good,” Jonathan said, flopping onto a pillow with a smug smile. “Because I have a story.”

“No,” Lilith snapped. “You’re banned from stories and entrances for the rest of the month.”

“Aww—”

“Jonathan,” Alice said sharply.

“…Fine.”

Margaret, now fully awake but far too tired to argue, rolled over and muttered, “If you make me lose sleep again, I’ll report every one of you.”

“We love you too,” Alice said sweetly.

The room settled again. The circle re-formed. Pillows arranged. Biscuits passed.

But the atmosphere wasn’t quite the same.

The storm had passed.

But the night was still young.

And something out there was still listening.