[If you’re reading this, do whatever it takes to wake yourself up immediately—because it’s watching you.] Content A blaring alarm jolted me awake. Maybe it was because I stayed up too late last night finishing assignments, but waking up today felt particularly hard. Reluctantly, I got up and smacked the alarm clock. April 11th. 6:00 AM. Time for school. The curtains were drawn tightly, leaving the room dim. Mom and Dad had probably already left. I shouted a few times, but the house was empty. It looked like they didn’t have time to make breakfast today. I sighed at the bare dining table. Guess I’d have to eat at school. A gloomy, overcast sky greeted me through the faint light at the edges of the curtains. Unusual for a town like ours—Will it rain? I reached into the side pocket of my backpack and found the crimson umbrella. Thankfully, Mom always prepared for things like this. Breakfast at Meadowfield High was the usual: a carton of milk and a packet of peanut butter cookies. Everyone seemed to love it. The classroom was eerily silent as my classmates ate, completely absorbed in their meals. By the time I finished, the bell for morning study rang. Today’s reading was for English Lit: Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. I don’t know why, but my mind kept wandering. I normally loved Lit class, but today I just couldn’t focus. While my classmates recited in perfect unison, I glanced around, restless. That’s when I noticed someone slip quietly into the back row, taking a seat. It was Daphne Collins. She usually kept to herself, and as far as I knew, she was a model student. Why was she late today? The teacher didn’t seem to notice. When Daphne glanced at me, confusion flickered in her eyes before she quickly looked away. Everyone was reading aloud in perfect synchrony—so much so that it felt unnerving. Maybe it was the pressure of upcoming finals? After morning study, Mr. Eric Stone, our homeroom teacher, called me to his office. The English teacher had called out sick, so English class would be a self-study session. As the class rep for English, I went to pick up the worksheets and brought them back to the room. Avery Carter, the class president, kindly helped me hand them out. Lunch at the cafeteria was stew. It was my favorite, so I grabbed an extra serving. In the first period after lunch—Math class—I noticed Daphne was absent. For PE, I had an excuse ready. I stayed in the nurse’s office due to cramps, though Dr. Rachel Monroe wasn’t there. Then, during evening study, something bizarre happened. Daphne’s parents showed up. They said she wasn’t feeling well and needed to take her home. Midway through the session, Mr. Stone came into the classroom with Daphne’s parents and Mr. Thomas Griggs, the security guard. The room fell silent as everyone kept their heads down, scribbling on their papers. When Daphne saw them, she suddenly began screaming and tried to run, but Mr. Griggs grabbed her. Her parents covered her mouth and dragged her out of the classroom, kicking and struggling. Yes, dragged her out. Something felt off. When I turned to look, the rest of the class was acting as if nothing had happened, heads down, furiously writing. My seatmate, Mia Porter, turned to me, smiling. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her lips curled into a grin, though her eyes remained strangely still. A shiver ran down my spine. I shook my head and returned to my work. From outside the window came a faint, scraping sound—difficult to describe. I pretended not to hear it. Finally, school let out. I practically bolted for the door, but as I passed by the back exit, a crumpled piece of paper lying in the corner caught my eye. Something told me it was Daphne’s. Making sure no one was around, I quickly pocketed it. The rain started on my way home. Just my luck—I’d forgotten the umbrella. Soaked, I made it home. Mom and Dad still weren’t back. The living room was pitch black. The ceiling light was broken and wouldn’t turn on no matter what I tried. I gave up and went to my room. Remembering the note, I pulled it out of my bag. Under the dim light of my desk lamp, I saw words hastily scrawled in red pen: “Wake up now!” I didn’t understand what it meant. The next moment, everything went dark. A blaring alarm jolted me awake. I felt drained, like I hadn’t slept at all. Was it because of last night’s homework? I glanced at the clock on my desk— April 11th. 6:00 AM.
Breakfast was the same today: milk and peanut butter cookies. But I wasn’t hungry, so I only took a couple of bites. Something felt off, like I was forgetting something. I couldn’t focus during morning study, either. The English teacher was still out sick, so we had another self-study session. Avery helped me pass out the worksheets. But when we finished, there was an extra copy left. Shouldn’t there be 46 sheets? Was I mistaken? Did I count wrong? Wait—how many students were in our class? 46 or 45? My head spun with confusion. Lunch was stew again. I wasn’t in the mood, so I barely touched it. In Math class, Mr. Stone’s lesson kept everyone fully attentive. But something kept nagging at me. I glanced at the back row, where an empty seat stood out. Someone used to sit there, right? Daphne wasn’t here. My mind felt like it was trying to remind me of something, but the thought slipped away before I could catch it. Wait… who is Daphne? “Wake up now!” Those words suddenly flashed in my mind. Daphne Collins! She was my classmate, and she’s missing! Our class has 46 students. I didn’t count wrong! Today is April 11th. Yesterday was too! A chilling realization hit me, and my body broke out in a cold sweat. Something is wrong. Very wrong. I turned to Mia and whispered, “Where’s Daphne? Why isn’t she here today?” Her face was expressionless as she replied, “Who’s Daphne?” My heart sank. Daphne was gone. The atmosphere was suffocating. I sat frozen in my seat, barely daring to breathe. When class ended, everyone headed to PE. I feigned cramps again and snuck back to the classroom. Daphne’s desk was shoved into the corner, covered in dust. It looked like no one had touched it in ages. Was this a dream? Or was my memory the dream? What day was it yesterday? Was there ever a Daphne Collins in our class? A tangle of questions clawed at my mind, each one tightening like a noose. My trembling hands reached for her desk. It was empty inside, except for a layer of dust. As I pulled my hand back, it brushed against something taped to the underside of the desk. A black leather journal, worn and frayed. I ran to the girls’ restroom and locked myself in a stall, flipping through its pages. The first few had been torn out, leaving jagged edges behind. The most recent entry read: “Today is April 11th. Again. This is my 87th April 11th. I know it’s watching me, but no matter what I do, I can’t find it…” The entry ended abruptly. A chill crept down my spine. My fingers trembled as I flipped to the back cover and found a piece of paper tucked inside. Scrawled across it, in dense, chaotic handwriting, were a series of rules: 1. If you’re reading this, do whatever it takes to wake yourself up immediately—because it’s watching you.
“My name is Daphne Collins. If you’re reading this guide, please—please—make sure to follow these rules to the letter!” … [2] Do not eat the school’s food. If you’re hungry, go to the snack bar in the cafeteria on the first floor. But whatever you do, don’t buy the milk or peanut butter cookies. [3] Do exactly as the teachers say. Don’t stand out or behave differently. Blend in. Don’t let it notice you. [4] Make sure to get home before it gets dark. Home is safe. If it traps you, the science lab might be a secure fallback. [5] If you’re alone in a classroom, the nurse’s office, the lab, or any space, double-check that the door is locked. If the door suddenly opens, something has come in. [6] When passing the 7th-floor staircase in Founders Hall, don’t look at the mirrors on the wall. [7] The faucet in the sinks will always drip. Do not try to turn it off. If the dripping stops, lock the stall door, close your eyes, and count to 100. No matter what touches you, don’t make a sound—and do not open your eyes. [8] Some students and teachers have been replaced by “those things.” Find a way to identify them as soon as possible. [9] Don’t trust anyone. [10] And most importantly, find whatever extra presence is among us—and kill it. If you don’t, it will kill you. … The writing grew increasingly frantic as it went on. I strained to make out every word, but my anxiety and panic only grew stronger with each line. If this was real, it meant I was trapped in some kind of unknown loop. And at any moment, I could end up like Daphne Collins… My eyes lingered on Rule #10. Did Daphne disappear because “that thing” killed her? That’s when I noticed something—something I had been vaguely aware of but hadn’t fully realized until now. The dripping from the faucet had stopped. My mind went blank, like an explosion had gone off in my head. “Lock the bathroom door.” The rule from the journal flashed vividly in my mind.
“23… 24… 25… 26…” I squeezed my eyes shut, holding my breath as I counted silently. The air around me seemed to grow colder with every passing second. My heart pounded uncontrollably. Something was here. My legs felt weak, and my entire body froze. A sickening, putrid stench hit me like a freight train, sharp and overwhelming. Then came the sound. Something was dragging itself across the tiled floor. A wet, sticky, squelching noise that made my stomach churn and bile rise in my throat. My mind conjured up the image of decaying flesh. “48…” The sound stopped suddenly, just outside my stall door. Then—THUD. It pressed itself against the door. It was listening. My breathing hitched, and I clamped my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming. “63… 64…” Each second dragged on for an eternity. The silence stretched so long that I started to believe it was gone. Then, a cold droplet hit the top of my head. Followed by another. Drip… drip… The sound was rhythmic. Was it just the faucet again? Or… Or was it the thing—right above me? “…89… 90…” I could feel it.
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