The door creaked open.
The barricade I had stacked against it—my desk, my chair, my books—hadn't moved. They were still there, still blocking the entrance. And yet, something had entered my room.
My breath came in short, shallow gasps. The air was thick, heavy, suffocating. I could feel it—a presence standing at the foot of my bed.
I didn't dare move.
The only sound in the room was my own breathing, ragged and uneven. But then—
A whisper.
"You're late."
Cold fingers brushed against my arm.
I jerked upright, my pulse hammering against my ribs. My room was empty. The door was still shut, my barricade untouched. But the air—the air felt wrong.
Something had been here.
Something had touched me.
---
The Empty Desk
The next day at school, I barely spoke. My head throbbed from lack of sleep, and my body felt heavy, like I was sinking into the floor.
No one noticed.
No one ever noticed.
I kept my gaze locked on Rika's empty desk, waiting—for what, I wasn't sure.
Maybe for someone to acknowledge it.
Maybe for someone to say her name.
Maybe for proof that I wasn't going insane.
But nothing changed.
The teachers continued their lessons, skipping over her seat as if it had never been occupied. The students laughed, whispered, passed notes—all while a faint, suffocating presence clung to the air.
I wasn't the only one who felt it.
Even though no one spoke about Rika, they all acted differently.
Some students shifted uncomfortably whenever they passed her desk.
Others refused to look at the window, as if something outside scared them.
A girl in the front row flinched whenever the wind moved the curtains.
They didn't remember her. But something in them knew that a piece of reality had been cut away.
And then, just before lunch, something changed.
The door to the classroom creaked open—and someone walked in.
My breath caught in my throat.
It was a girl. Her uniform was crisp and clean, her long black hair neatly tied back. She stepped into the classroom without hesitation, without a single glance at the teacher.
Then she walked over to the empty desk.
And sat down.
The room fell silent. The teacher didn't look up. The students didn't react. No one acknowledged her.
Except me.
Because I knew that face.
Sano Rika was sitting in her seat, like she had never left.
---
The Girl No One Sees
I couldn't breathe.
This wasn't possible. She was dead. I saw the blood on the pavement, the way her body twisted at impossible angles.
And yet—she was here.
Sitting perfectly still, hands folded neatly on her desk.
My fingers dug into my uniform. This had to be a trick, a dream, a hallucination. I shut my eyes, counted to ten, forced myself to breathe.
When I opened them again—
She was still there.
Her gaze flickered to me. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
I swallowed hard. My body screamed at me to look away, to pretend she wasn't there.
But I couldn't.
I wasn't the only one staring.
In the very back row, someone else had noticed. A boy I had never spoken to—Matsuda, I think his name was.
He was pale, his eyes wide with the kind of terror you only see in people who have witnessed something they weren't supposed to.
Then, slowly—deliberately—he raised his hand.
"Sensei," he said, voice trembling. "Who… who is that sitting at Rika's desk?"
Silence.
For a moment, the classroom felt wrong.
Like the air itself had stopped moving.
Then—the teacher turned to face Matsuda.
And smiled.
It wasn't a normal smile. It was too wide, too stiff. His eyes—his eyes were empty.
"Matsuda-kun," he said, voice eerily calm. "There's no one there."
Matsuda's face drained of color.
"But—"
The teacher's smile widened.
"There's no one there," he repeated.
Matsuda's mouth opened—then snapped shut.
His body jerked violently forward. His hands flew to his throat, his eyes bulging as if something invisible had wrapped around his neck.
He choked. Gasped. Clawed at his skin.
Then—he stopped.
He collapsed onto his desk, limp and unmoving.
The teacher turned back to the board.
The students resumed their conversations.
Like nothing had happened.
Like Matsuda had never existed.
I gripped the edge of my desk, my vision swimming. My whole body trembled.
I turned to Rika.
She was still looking at me.
Still smiling.
"You're late," she whispered.
And then, just like that—
She was gone.
Like she had never been there at all.
---
The Stairs That Shouldn't Be There
I didn't go home after school.
I couldn't.
Instead, I wandered the halls, my mind replaying what happened over and over.
No one remembered Matsuda. His desk was empty, as if he had never existed. His name was gone from the attendance list. His bag, his books—all gone.
And Rika…
Rika was back.
Or maybe she had never left.
I felt sick.
I kept walking, my footsteps echoing through the empty corridors. The school was strangely quiet—too quiet.
Then I noticed something strange.
At the end of the hallway, past the third-year classrooms—there was a staircase.
A staircase that had never been there before.
It led downward.
Somewhere deep, beneath the school.
I should have walked away. I should have turned around, gone home, pretended I had never seen it.
But I didn't.
Something was calling me.
My feet moved on their own.
Step.
Step.
Step.
The light above me flickered.
And as I descended, I heard it again.
A whisper.
"You're late."