She who must not be named
The next day, the clubroom of The Veil buzzed with the usual energy of an investigation in progress. Papers were scattered across the long wooden table, laptops hummed, and the faint aroma of coffee mixed with the musty scent of old books and printed documents. Sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains, casting streaks of gold across the walls cluttered with case notes, pinned photographs, and red strings connecting theories.
Aiah sat at the edge of the table, arms crossed, fingers drumming lightly against her elbow.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
The words echoed in her head, bouncing off every rational thought she tried to put in its place.
She had barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her—the girl from the polaroid, the girl from the yearbook. Transparent, smirking, standing right in front of her as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Maybe I imagined it.
It was the only logical explanation. She had been exhausted, overloaded with too much information, too many unanswered questions. The brain could play tricks, especially in a dimly lit library full of eerie silence and the weight of a missing person’s mystery.
It wasn’t real.
And yet… she could still hear the ghost’s voice as clear as day.
“What are you doing?”
The memory of the ghost’s voice sent a cold prickle down Aiah’s spine. She exhaled sharply, shaking off the thought. I imagined it. I must have.
“You good?”
Colet’s voice snapped Aiah out of her spiraling thoughts. Aiah blinked, turning toward her friend, who was leaning over the table, watching her with a raised brow. The rest of the group was engaged in various activities—Sheena and Mikha flipping through old newspaper clippings, Gwen cross-referencing notes, Maloi scrolling through some forum, and Stacey adjusting a conspiracy board they had started on the wall. But Colet had noticed her silence. Of course she did.
Aiah forced a nod, sitting up straighter. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
Colet’s skeptical expression didn’t waver. “Thinking so hard you look like you’re about to fight God?”
“Maybe I am,” Aiah muttered, reaching for a cup of coffee she had yet to drink. It had long gone cold. Perfect. Just like my sanity.
Colet squinted at her. “Uh-huh. Well, when you’re done, the rest of us would love to hear what’s in that overworked brain of yours.”
Aiah let out a small breath, forcing herself to focus. Right. The case. The box. The missing girl. That was what mattered. Not ghosts, not hallucinations.
She was pulled out of her thoughts by a loud, familiar bickering.
“Oh, please,” Maloi groaned, slapping her notebook down on the table. “Like you, of all people, could solve this before me.”
“Uh, excuse me?” Sheena shot back, leaning back in her chair with an exaggerated scoff. “I was literally the one who found the first lead last time. You were too busy scrolling through your phone.”
“I was doing research!”
“Yeah, sure, looking up conspiracy theories about underground tunnels beneath the campus is totally useful to this case.”
“Hey, those theories are valid,” Maloi argued, pointing a pen at her. “One day, you’ll thank me when we find out there’s an entire hidden room full of secrets.”
“That’s called the janitor’s supply closet, Maloi.”
Their back-and-forth was quickly escalating, with Gwen and Mikha now attempting to mediate while Colet casually took notes as if recording evidence for a case study on ‘When Chaos Meets Stubbornness.’ Stacey, meanwhile, was flipping through a newspaper, looking completely unbothered by the entire scene.
Aiah couldn’t help it—she smiled.
This was normal. This was reality. Not ghosts. Not impossible things.
She pushed the thoughts of last night aside and leaned forward. “Alright,” she said, cutting through the noise. “Enough of your rivalry. Let’s focus.”
“She started it,” Sheena and Maloi both said at the same time, pointing at each other.
Aiah rolled her eyes, but there was an undeniable warmth in her chest. Reality.
She would stick to that.
A few moments later, the air inside was thick with anticipation, though a creeping sense of frustration loomed over them like an unshakable fog. Papers rustled, fingers tapped against keyboards, and the occasional sigh punctuated the silence as the group sat gathered around their usual table, their brows furrowed in deep concentration.
Colet exhaled sharply, pushing away from her laptop and raking a hand through her hair. “Nothing. Nada. Zilch. I tried accessing all the university’s online database, archives, old student records—anything that could have even a remote trace of her. It’s like she never existed.”
Aiah leaned forward; fingers laced together. Her mind was still clouded by what had happened last night—the girl in the library, the ghost. But she bit the inside of her cheek and chose to stay quiet. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
“You mean you couldn’t find her under the name we reconstructed?” she asked instead, trying to focus.
“I mean I couldn’t find anything remotely close to her at all,” Colet clarified, spinning the laptop screen towards them. “I even tried using partial names, different search parameters, checking any and all journalism students from four years ago. But it’s like someone went in and erased every single trace of her from the system.”
The weight of her words settled uncomfortably in the room.
Maloi groaned, throwing her head back against her chair. “Same here. I scoured all the old student gossip sites, forums, even deep-dived into old student council group chats that I still have access to.” She crossed her arms, shaking her head. “There’s nothing. No rumors, no whispers, not even some random post about a missing girl. It’s like no one ever talked about her.”
“That’s impossible,” Gwen muttered. “Someone should have at least posted something. It’s not like people just disappear without anyone noticing.”
Sheena, who had been flipping through a notepad, added, “And yet, no one seems to remember her. Stacey, Mikha, and I went around asking people—friends, classmates, even some professors. We made it sound casual at first, then a little more direct.” She exchanged glances with Stacey and Mikha before shaking her head. “Nothing. No one remembers a girl going missing four years ago.”
Mikha frowned, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “Which is weird, right? Like, even if it was covered up, people still talk. There’s always someone who remembers at least a rumor.”
“But here? It’s like she was completely wiped out of existence.” Stacey’s tone was flat, but her brows were furrowed in deep thought.
Gwen tapped her fingers against the table, her face deep in thought. “What if… it’s not just a cover-up? What if someone deliberately removed all traces of her? Not just digitally, but socially, like—made sure no one even remembers her?”
“That’s insane,” Maloi scoffed, but there was hesitation in her voice. “You’re saying someone brainwashed the entire university?”
“Not brainwashed,” Sheena corrected, flipping her pen between her fingers. “But maybe… people were made to forget.”
A heavy silence followed. Aiah hesitated. Should she tell them? Should she say she had seen the girl? Heard her voice?
But the logical part of her brain was already tearing the experience apart, convincing her she had imagined it. And the last thing she wanted was to sound like she was losing it.
Instead, she cleared her throat. “I found something,” she said, making everyone look at her. “Last night, I was in the library, and I found an old yearbook. It had her photo.”
She reached into her bag and pulled out the heavy book, placing it on the table. The others leaned in as she flipped through the pages, finally stopping at the grainy black-and-white image.
There she was. That same smirk. Those same eyes.
The group leaned in closer, scrutinizing the photo. “Well, at least we know she was real,” Stacey muttered, tilting her head. “But…”
“Her name,” Mikha pointed, her voice sharp with realization. “It’s scratched off here, too.”
Gwen felt a chill creep up her spine. “Just like in the polaroid.”
“Okay, now that’s creepy,” Colet mumbled. “That’s not just bad luck—that’s deliberate.”
Maloi huffed, sitting back. “So, someone didn’t just erase her from the internet. They erased her from physical records, too.”
Sheena ran a hand through her hair. “This is bigger than we thought.”
Aiah swallowed. And I think I saw her.
But she still didn’t say it. Not yet.
“Well,” Aiah said after a long pause, exhaling slowly. “Looks like we’re dealing with more than just a missing person case.”
She wasn’t sure why, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t just investigating the past anymore.
The past was starting to investigate them back.
----------------
The Veil was running in circles.
It had been hours of discussion, theories bouncing back and forth, but nothing new had emerged. The group sat huddled around their usual table in their club room, papers, printouts, and their collective frustration scattered across the surface. Every attempt to dig deeper had led them to the same dead ends—no records, no mentions, no digital footprint of the girl in the photo.
"This is driving me nuts," Maloi groaned, dragging her hands down her face. "It's like she was wiped off the face of the Earth, we have her picture, we know she was a student here, but we don't even have a name. We’re stuck."
Sheena stretched her arms above her head and let out an exaggerated yawn. "Maybe the real mystery is who keeps erasing her from history. What if she never existed at all?" she teased, grinning.
Stacey shot her a pointed look. "That’s not helping."
Aiah sat with the yearbook open in front of her, her fingers idly tracing the glossy pages. They had to find something—someone—who could give them answers. The silence stretched between them as each member of The Veil pored over the faded photographs and lists of names.
"We’re missing something," Gwen said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "There has to be another way to find out who she was."
Aiah, who had been skimming absentmindedly suddenly paused. An idea sparked in her mind; a flicker of possibility that made her sit up straighter. "What if we ask someone who was already here four years ago?"
The room fell silent as they processed her words.
Sheena frowned. "Like, a ghost? Because I’m not into that, Aiah."
"No, you idiot," Aiah huffed, rolling her eyes. "I mean an actual person. A student or a professor who was around when this girl was here. Someone has to remember her."
That snapped everyone out of their slump.
"That’s actually a solid idea," Colet admitted, leaning forward with renewed interest. "We might not find anything online, but people who were here at the time might know something that didn’t make it to the records."
Stacey was already reaching for the yearbook. "Alright, let's start looking for familiar names."
"Start with faculty," Gwen suggested. "They’re more likely to still be here."
"And staff too," Colet added. "Custodians, admin officers, even librarians—people who’ve been in the university for years."
The group huddled around the book, flipping through the pages carefully. Every so often, someone would mutter a name under their breath, only for another to shake their head in dismissal. The process was slow, their fingers tracing over photographs of students long since graduated, faculty members who may or may not still be around.
Maloi, being in the journalism department, suddenly let out a small gasp. "Wait! I think I know someone." She tapped the page excitedly, pointing at a stern-looking woman with thick-rimmed glasses and a sharp, no-nonsense expression. "Professor Rivera! I had her last semester for Investigative Journalism. She’s been here for ages, definitely more than four years. If anyone remembers weird campus happenings, it’s her."
Aiah felt a flicker of hope. "That’s a great lead. Do you think she’d talk to us?"
"I mean…" Maloi shrugged. "She’s chill. If I ask her the right way, maybe."
Gwen, who had been silent for a moment, suddenly perked up. "Oh, and since I’m a student assistant at the facilities office, I talk to the older school staff all the time. Some of them have been working here way longer than four years. I could try asking around discreetly."
Sheena gave a teasing grin. "Discreetly, huh? Like how you ‘discreetly’ asked if the cafeteria lady was single last time?"
Gwen turned red. "I was just being friendly!"
Mikha laughed. "Sure, sure. But okay, we have two potential sources now—Professor Rivera and the school staff. That’s a solid start."
Excitement bubbled in the air as they solidified their plan.
"Alright," Aiah declared. "Maloi, Stacey, Mikha, and I will talk to Professor Rivera. Gwen, Sheena, and Colet, you guys focus on the staff."
Stacey crossed her arms, smirking. "And what if the professor calls us out for snooping?"
Maloi grinned. "Then I’ll charm my way out of it, obviously."
Sheena snorted. "Yeah, because that always works."
"Hey! I’ll have you know, I got an extension on my final paper because of my charisma."
"Or because you begged," Gwen corrected.
"Same thing," Maloi shot back, flipping her hair dramatically.
Colet rolled her eyes. "Alright, alright, enough flirting. Let’s get this done. We hit these leads tomorrow. We meet back here after. No matter what we find."
"Finally, a real lead!" Stacey said, fist-pumping the air.
"Hopefully," Mikha said, though she couldn’t hide her excitement. "If this doesn’t work, I don’t know what else we can do."
"Then we better make sure it does," Sheena grinned.
Aiah glanced down at the yearbook again, her thoughts still half-stuck on the eerie feeling from last night. The girl’s smirking face in the polaroid haunted her. She still hadn’t told anyone about what she saw. Or thought she saw. But something told her that whatever they were about to uncover, it was only the beginning.
The team gathered their notes, their first real breakthrough igniting a renewed sense of determination. It was time to chase the next clue.
With their plan in place, The Veil was back in action.
---------
University of San Antonio’s Journalism Department was tucked away in one of the older buildings on campus, its hallways lined with framed newspaper clippings from the university’s own publications over the decades. The walls were a faded cream, slightly yellowed with age, and the scent of old books and ink lingered in the air.
Aiah, Maloi, Stacey, and Mikha made their way through the crowded halls of the building, their steps purposeful yet uncertain. The weight of their mission loomed over them, thick with unspoken tension. Maloi led the way, her usual confident stride faltering just slightly as they neared Professor Leticia Rivera’s office.
It was at the end of the corridor, a small but cozy space crammed with bookshelves overflowing with journalism manuals, biographies of famous reporters, and stacks of old newspapers. Her desk was littered with papers, two coffee cups—one fresh, one long forgotten—and a small potted plant that struggled to survive among the chaos.
The four of them stood outside, gathering their nerves before knocking. Maloi, who had taken Professor Rivera’s class the previous semester, was the one to step forward and give a light tap on the wooden door.
“Come in,” came a voice from inside.
Maloi pushed the door open, and the four of them stepped in, greeted by the sight of Professor Rivera sat behind her desk, typing something on her laptop, glasses perched low on her nose. She barely looked up before waving them in.
"Yes? What is it? I'm assuming this is important if you’re here without an appointment," she said, her voice even but carrying a note of curiosity.
Maloi, ever the smooth talker, started first. "Good afternoon, Ma’am! We’re sorry to disturb you, but we wanted to ask you a few things about—"
"If this is about next semester’s electives, my syllabus is already finalized, and I won’t be changing my grading criteria for anyone," Professor Rivera interjected, barely sparing them a glance. "Unless you’re here to discuss an article, in which case, be quick about it."
Maloi chuckled nervously. "No, no, it’s not about grades. Though, that would be a good conversation too."
"Then what?" Professor Rivera finally lifted her gaze, eyes darting between them, noting their hesitation.
Maloi chuckled. “It’s actually… about something else. A bit of campus history, I guess?”
The professor’s brow quirked, but she gestured for them to continue. “Alright, start talking.”
“We, uh, just wanted to ask you something about an old student," Maloi started, her usual cheerful voice carrying a note of hesitation.
Professor Rivera arched an eyebrow. "An old student? You’re going to have to be more specific. We’ve had thousands pass through here."
Aiah cleared her throat, gripping her bag strap tightly. "We’re actually researching something—something that happened four years ago. A missing students case."
The shift in the professor’s demeanor was almost immediate. Her hands, which had been poised above her keyboard, stilled. Her previously casual posture stiffened as she leaned back in her chair. “A missing student?” she repeated, feigning mild confusion. “That’s odd. I don’t remember anything about that.”
Maloi leaned on the desk slightly. “She was in the Journalism Department. We found an old yearbook, but her name was scratched off. We were hoping you might remember her.”
The professor’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but she kept her tone even. “You’re really asking me about a student from four years ago? I’m afraid my memory isn’t that good. I’ve taught too many students to keep track of every single one."
Stacey crossed her arms. "But you were a professor here back then, right? Surely, you’d remember something? A case like that would’ve been big news, right?”
The professor shifted in her seat. “Not necessarily. Some things slip through the cracks.”
Mikha, who had been quiet, finally spoke up. “Or maybe some things were made to slip through the cracks.”
Professor Rivera leaned back in her chair, her movements slow and deliberate. "Where did you hear about this?" she asked, her voice measured. "Who told you to look into this?"
The four girls exchanged glances before Aiah responded, keeping her tone casual. " No one. It was just… something we came across. The yearbook, some old news clippings. We just found it strange, that’s all."
"Strange how?" Professor Rivera asked, her gaze sharpening.
Mikha hesitated. "Well, it’s like she’s been erased. No name, no records, no mentions online. It’s like she never existed."
Professor Rivera’s expression turned unreadable. "And why exactly are you so interested in this?"
"We’re just curious," Maloi said, her usual confidence dimming under the professor’s stare.
Professor Rivera scoffed, shaking her head. “Whoever put you up to this, tell them to let it go.”
Aiah pressed forward. "But, Ma’am, there’s barely any information on the case. No official reports, nothing in the school archives. It’s like she was erased. We just want to know why."
Professor Rivera’s jaw tightened. She took a deep breath before standing, pushing her chair back. "You don’t want to know why. And you don’t want to be involved in this. Drop it. That’s not a request."
Aiah leaned forward. "So, you do know something."
Professor Rivera’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I’m telling you to stop while you still can. Whatever you think you’re looking for—it’s not worth it. You don’t understand what you’re stepping into."
A heavy silence fell over the room. The air felt colder, heavier, like the weight of an unspoken truth pressing down on them.
"Ma’am, what happened to her?" Stacey asked, barely above a whisper.
The professor’s jaw tightened. She exhaled sharply, motioning toward the door. "This conversation is over. You should all leave now."
Left with no choice, the group slowly filed out. But just as Aiah stepped through the doorway, the professor spoke again, her voice quiet but urgent.
“Stop whatever you’re doing.”
Aiah turned slightly, catching the way the professor’s fingers trembled as she gripped the edge of her desk.
“You don’t understand what you’re stepping into,” Professor Rivera said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s dangerous.”
"Forget about her. Forget you ever found that picture. Some things… should remain buried."
A chill ran down Aiah’s spine.
Then, before anyone could say another word, the professor looked away, refusing to acknowledge them further.
The weight of her words hung in the air as they exited the office, a deep unease settling in their chests.
“Well,” Stacey exhaled, trying to shake off the tension, “that went well.”
“She definitely knows something,” Mikha said.
Maloi ran a hand through her hair. “But she won’t tell us anything. Not yet.”
Aiah remained silent, the professor’s last words looping in her mind.
It’s dangerous.
What had they just gotten themselves into?
---------
On the other side, Gwen, Sheena, and Colet—walked together through the dimly lit hallways leading to the faculty lounge, their footsteps echoing against the tiled floor. Despite it being daytime, the corridor had an eerie stillness, the kind that made Gwen’s skin prickle with unease. The air inside the building felt heavier than usual, or maybe it was just their paranoia setting in after all the dead ends they had been hitting.
"You know, the more we dig into this, the weirder it gets," Sheena muttered, shoving her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. "I mean, how does a whole person just... vanish? No witnesses, no body, no nothing?"
"It’s like she was erased from earth," Gwen mused, arms crossed as she walked beside them. "Even digital records have nothing. Maloi’s checked every forum she could think of, and Colet’s been digging through the university’s database like a maniac."
Colet sighed dramatically. "And found nothing. Which, by the way, should not be possible. Every student who's ever set foot in this school has some kind of footprint—course registrations, event participation, even dumb club newsletters. But her? Nada."
"But why? Who would go to such lengths? And how is it that no one even remembers her? There had to be friends, classmates, professors—people who should at least recall something." Gwen exhaled.
Sheena exhaled, shaking her head. "So, what are we thinking? Massive cover-up? University conspiracy? Ghost erasing her own existence?"
Colet shot her a look. "We are not doing the ghost thing."
Gwen chuckled, but the thought lingered in the back of her mind. After all, they were dealing with something unlike any of their past cases.
As they rounded the corner, they spotted a staff member near the faculty lounge, they exchanged glances and approached casually. The woman, dressed in a neat blue blouse and slacks, was organizing a stack of documents on a cart.
Gwen, always the most approachable, smiled as she took the lead. "Good afternoon, ma’am. We were wondering if you could help us answer a quick question."
The woman looked up with a practiced smile. "Yes? What is it?"
Colet, careful not to sound too suspicious, spoke casually. "We’re looking into some old campus incidents for a project. Nothing serious, just some old news. Have you ever heard about a missing student case from four years ago?"
The woman visibly stiffened, her hands pausing over the documents. "I—I'm sorry, I don’t know anything about that," she said quickly. "You should probably ask the admin office."
Colet tilted her head. "You’ve worked here for a while though, right? Four years ago isn’t that long. You must have at least heard something."
The woman shook her head, forcing a chuckle. "I don’t think I can help. I really have work to do."
And with that, she wheeled the cart away, almost too quickly, disappearing around the corner. The three girls exchanged glances.
"That was weird," Sheena muttered.
"Super weird," Gwen agreed. "She reacted like we asked about a murder."
"Well…" Colet trailed off, the implication hanging in the air between them.
They continued down the hall, spotting another staff member—a janitor wiping down a bulletin board near the stairwell. He was an older man with graying hair and a tired expression.
"Let’s try again," Gwen whispered.
She stepped forward, putting on her friendliest smile. "Hi, sir! Sorry to bother you, but we were wondering if you remember anything about a missing student case from four years ago?"
The janitor froze mid-wipe. His grip on the rag tightened before he turned to them, his face carefully neutral. "No idea what you’re talking about."
Colet narrowed her eyes. "Really? Not even rumors?"
"I just clean," the janitor muttered. "I don’t get involved in student affairs."
"But sir, if something like that happened, you’d at least hear about it, right?" Sheena pressed, stepping closer. "A whole person vanishing without a trace? People would talk."
The janitor exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "If I were you girls, I’d stop asking questions like that. Some things are better left alone."
Without another word, he gathered his supplies and walked off in the opposite direction, leaving the three staring after him.
"Okay, that was even weirder," Colet said.
Gwen nodded. "It's like they do know something, but they’re too scared to say it."
"Or they’ve been told not to say anything," Sheena added darkly.
They huddled together, their voices hushed. "Two different people, same reaction," Gwen murmured. "It’s not a coincidence."
"If they’re too scared to talk, then that means there’s definitely something worth hiding," Colet reasoned. "We just have to find someone who will talk."
Before they could dwell on it, a familiar figure walked past them. An older man, carrying a stack of folders, dressed in a crisp but slightly worn uniform. His graying hair and lined face made him look every bit as wise as he was experienced. Gwen recognized him instantly.
“Sir Mateo!” she called out, causing the man to halt and turn toward them. His sharp eyes softened as he recognized her.
“Ah, Gwen. How are you, hija?” he asked warmly, gaze flickered to Sheena and Colet. "You three aren’t causing trouble, are you?"
Sheena grinned. "Never, sir. We are the picture of well-behaved students."
“Actually, we were just... working on a research project,” Gwen said carefully. “You might be able to help us.”
Sir Mateo quirked a brow, intrigued. “Oh? What is it about?”
"We were actually looking into some old university cases, and we were wondering if you knew anything about a student who went missing four years ago."
The change in Sir Mateo’s expression was almost imperceptible—but they caught it. His face didn’t pale like the other staff members, but his eyes darkened, lips pressing into a thin line. His grip on the folder tightened, his fingers whitening at the knuckles. He was silent for a long moment, looking at each of them carefully as if assessing whether he should say anything at all.
Then, his voice came out quieter than before. "Where did you hear about that?"
Colet frowned at his sudden shift in demeanor. “We... found some old clippings,” she said vaguely. “We’re just trying to learn more.”
Sir Mateo let out a long breath, then darted his gaze around, as if checking for eavesdroppers. When he spoke again, his voice was firm but tinged with something else— fear.
“Listen to me, all of you,” he said, his tone dropping to a whisper. “You need to stop this. Right now.”
The three girls stiffened.
“Why?” Gwen asked, swallowing the lump in her throat. “What happened?”
Sir Mateo shook his head, stepping back. “You’re stepping into something dangerous,” he warned. “Some things are meant to stay forgotten.”
Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, his retreating figure blending into the dimly lit corridor, leaving them rooted in place, the weight of his warning pressing down on them like a thick fog.
Sheena exhaled loudly, rubbing her arms. “Okay. That was... unsettling.”
Colet nodded, still staring after the man. “He knew something. They all did.”
Gwen clenched her jaw, gripping her notebook tightly. “And that just means we’re getting closer to the truth.”
As they left the building, a lingering chill settled over them, an eerie reminder that they were now treading dangerous waters— and there was no turning back.
-------------
As the group gathered again, the atmosphere inside The Veil’s clubroom was thick with an unspoken tension. The seven members sat around their usual table, the space illuminated only by the dim yellowish light overhead. Papers and notebooks lay scattered across the table, yet no one moved to touch them. The weight of their separate investigations lingered between them, the silence stretching until it became unbearable.
Aiah exhaled sharply, leaning forward in her chair. “Okay,” she said, voice breaking through the silence. “Let’s go over what we found.” Her gaze flickered between the two groups, waiting for someone to speak.
Gwen shifted in her seat, exchanging glances with Colet and Sheena before speaking first. “We talked to a few of the school staff,” she began carefully, fingers absentmindedly tapping against her notebook. “Two of them completely shut down the moment we asked about a missing girl four years ago. One of them barely let me finish my question before mumbling something about ‘not knowing anything’ and walking away like we just summoned a ghost.” She paused, then let out a dry laugh. “Honestly, he looked scared. Like, actually terrified.”
Sheena nodded. “Same thing happened with another staff member. At first, they seemed fine chatting with us, but the moment we mentioned anything remotely close to a missing student, they went pale and made some excuse to leave. Said they had work to do, but they looked like they wanted to bolt before we could ask more.”
“That’s… weird,” Stacey muttered, frowning. “Like, if it was just a forgotten campus incident, people would probably just say they don’t remember or brush it off. But this? It’s like they were afraid to even acknowledge it.”
Gwen inhaled deeply. “That’s not all. We ran into one of the senior staff—an old janitor I’ve talked to before. I thought, maybe, he’d be different. And he was… but not in a good way.” She hesitated, as if trying to find the right words. “At first, he was just curious about why we were poking around, but the second I asked about the missing girl, it was like something shifted in his expression. I swear, for a second, I saw recognition—and fear. Like he knew exactly what we were talking about.”
Aiah crossed her arms. “And?”
Gwen licked her lips, glancing down at her notes. “He told us to stop. He said—” she hesitated, then repeated, “‘Whatever you’re looking for, drop it. You’re stepping into something you shouldn’t be messing with.’”
A heavy silence settled over the group.
“That’s so cliché, it’s almost funny,” Stacey scoffed, but there was no humor in her tone. “Except, it’s not funny at all.”
Maloi, who had been leaning back in her chair, let out a heavy breath. “Same thing happened to us,” she muttered, rubbing her temples. “Our conversation with the professor wasn’t much better.” She exchanged a glance with Aiah before continuing. “At first, she was just acting casual—strict, but normal, you know? But the second we mentioned the girl, she got weird. Her entire demeanor changed.”
Aiah finally spoke, voice low. “She tried to pretend she didn’t know anything. But she was being vague. Too vague. Deflecting. And then when she realized we weren’t letting it go, she got angry.”
“She kicked us out,” Stacey added bluntly, arms crossed. “Straight-up told us to leave. But then, just as we were walking away, she warned us—she told us we were stepping into dangerous territory.”
“That’s the second person who’s told us that,” Gwen murmured, brows furrowed. “That can’t be a coincidence.”
“No, it can’t,” Stacey agreed. “It’s like… it’s not just some forgotten story. People know something. But whatever it is, they don’t want us looking into it.”
The room fell silent again as the weight of their findings settled over them. Everyone seemed to be thinking the same thing, though no one wanted to be the first to say it out loud.
Sheena, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke up. “It’s like they’re scared of something,” she said, tapping her fingers against her knee. “Not just uncomfortable—actually scared.”
Maloi furrowed her brows. “But why? What’s so terrifying about a missing person’s case from four years ago?”
Mikha drummed her fingers against the table, brows furrowed. “There’s something really off about all of this. It’s like… they’ve been told not to talk about it.”
The room fell into an uneasy silence again.
Stacey let out a humorless laugh. “Okay, so let’s get this straight. Every single person we’ve talked to—staff, faculty, even people who have been here long enough to know something—they all refused to speak about her. It’s not that they don’t remember. It’s that they’re too scared to even say her name.”
Gwen shifted uncomfortably. “And yet, someone left us that box. Someone wanted us to know.”
Stacey let out a sharp breath. “So, the real question is… who?”
The question hung in the air.
A voice that hadn’t spoken in a while suddenly piped up from the corner.
Colet, who had been quietly sitting at the far end of the room, focused on her laptop, her fingers typing away rapidly. The blue glow from the screen illuminated her face, her brows furrowed in concentration.
"The footage was weird."
The sudden break in silence startled everyone, making them jumped out of their seats.
“COLET!” Maloi screeched, whipping around to glare at her. “CAN YOU NOT DO THAT?”
“WHAT THE HELL, SAY SOMETHING BEFORE YOU SPEAK!” Stacey gasped, clutching her chest dramatically.
Colet looked up from her laptop, confused by their outbursts. “I was listening.”
“I thought I was about to have a heart attack,” Mikha wheezed, fanning herself.
Gwen, who had nearly jumped out of her seat, glared at her. “Why did you just pop up like a horror jump scare?”
Colet blinked at them. “I’ve been here the whole time, though?”
“That makes it worse!” Sheena exclaimed. “You were literally silent for the past ten minutes. It felt like you were plotting something!”
“You guys are so dramatic,” Colet muttered.
"What are you even talking about?" Aiah asked, ignoring the minor chaos.
Colet barely glanced at them, eyes locked on her laptop again. "I checked the security footage from the night we got the box. I figured we should at least see who left it."
“And?” Stacey prompted, leaning in.
“At first, everything seemed normal,” Colet said, her tone even, but there was something underneath it. A hesitation. “The footage was clear. The hallway outside our clubroom was empty, like usual. But then…” She exhaled. “Something weird happened.”
“What do you mean ‘weird’?” Sheena asked, narrowing her eyes.
Colet clicked a few keys, and the footage began playing. The timestamp on the footage read 12:09 AM.
“You see? It’s fine,” Colet explained. The screen showed the dimly lit hallway, eerily still.
Then, the timestamp shifted to 12:10 AM.
The footage glitched. Static burst across the screen, obscuring everything in violent streaks of black and white. The distortion continued for exactly thirty seconds before the feed stabilized again.
And there it was.
The box.
No one had walked into frame. No hands had set it down. It just—appeared.
"Nope! Absolutely not! We’re haunted!" Maloi shrieked, pushing her chair away from the table.
"Okay, that’s actually freaky," Mikha admitted, her face paling slightly.
A shiver ran down Aiah’s spine. “What the hell…?”
“That’s… that’s creepy,” Stacey admitted, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Maybe someone hacked the feed?” Gwen suggested, though she didn’t sound entirely convinced.
“That’s what I thought at first,” Colet admitted, “so I went deeper into the file data. Checked for any signs of tampering, any indicators of external interference.” She shook her head. “Nothing. The footage itself is clean. No signs of corruption, no evidence of a time skip, no traces of it being altered.”
Aiah stared at the screen, her mind racing. “Then what about the hallways leading to our clubroom? If someone left the box there, they had to walk down the corridor, right?”
Colet nodded. “I checked that too.”
She clicked on another file and pulled up footage of the hallways leading to their room. The screen showed an empty corridor—again, perfectly normal. But when the time hit 12:10 AM, the footage flickered for a moment, barely perceptible. When it resumed, there was still no one there. No movement. No shadow. No indication that anyone had walked past.
“But the box was there,” Gwen muttered.
“Exactly.” Colet leaned back, arms crossed. “It just… appeared.”
"No one in the hallway?" Stacey asked again. "Not even on the other security cams? No one approaching? No one leaving?"
Colet nodded, lips pressed in a tight line. "I checked. No one entered or exited the hallway within that time frame. The box just... appeared."
The air in the room grew thick with an eerie chill.
Sheena frowned. “That’s not possible. Someone had to have put it there.”
“Unless,” Mikha started hesitantly, “it wasn’t a someone.”
Maloi groaned. “Mikha, please, for the love of everything, do not say ghosts.”
“Alright, let’s not jump to ghostly conclusions here,” Aiah reasoned, though her voice wasn’t as steady as usual. “Maybe it was someone who knew how to avoid the cameras. Someone who timed it exactly, knew the blind spots, or—”
“Aiah,” Mikha cut in. “Even the best pranksters or tech nerds in this school couldn’t just make something appear out of nowhere on a security feed.”
Aiah chewed on her bottom lip, staring at the frozen image of the box on the screen. Even though her entire being wanted to refute the impossible explanation, she couldn’t shake the unease curling in her gut.
"If this isn’t a prank... then what the hell is it?" Stacey asked.
"And who—or what—gave it to us?" Gwen added.
Another heavy silence filled the room.
Then Sheena groaned and threw her hands up. "You know what? We should’ve just ignored the damn box. Now we’re stuck in a literal ghost story!"
Gwen shivered. “This is freaking me out.”
“It should,” Colet said, dead serious. “Because whatever is happening, it’s beyond weird. It’s impossible.”
Maloi groaned and dragged her hands down her face. “So, we’ve got a missing girl, erased records, terrified faculty, and now a box that just shows up like it was dropped out of thin air.”
“Like some supernatural delivery,” Stacey muttered, trying to lighten the mood but failing spectacularly.
“So,” Gwen finally spoke. “What do we do next?”
A heavy silence fell upon them again. The reality of the situation was sinking in. This was no longer just a mystery—it was something unexplainable. Something dangerous.
And Aiah? She swallowed hard, gripping her arm as her mind went back, once again, to the girl in the library. The way she had smiled, the way she had whispered so playfully—
“What are you doing?”
Aiah clenched her jaw.
There was no way.
There was no way it was connected.
Right?
-------------
The night stretched long and heavy as Aiah walked across campus, the distant hum of streetlights buzzing in the quiet. It was late—too late for her to be anywhere but her dorm, yet her feet carried her toward the library on instinct. The Veil's discussion still spun in her mind like an unshakable echo, every theory, every contradiction pulling her deeper into a spiral. She adjusted the strap of her bag, her fingers twitching, the weight of her laptop inside it grounding her.
Colet’s discovery had been chilling. The way the CCTV had glitched precisely at 12:10 AM before the box appeared—it defied logic. It demanded an explanation, but none of the reasonable ones satisfied Aiah’s need for order. It gnawed at her, clawed at the edges of her carefully constructed world of facts and deductions.
And then, there was the girl.
Aiah exhaled sharply through her nose, quickening her pace as she neared the library. The moment replayed in her mind despite her refusal to acknowledge it: the faint shimmer, the mischievous smile, the impossible transparency of the girl who had spoken to her. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. She had been exhausted, her brain overworked from chasing a mystery that was becoming increasingly convoluted. Hallucinations happened to sleep-deprived people all the time.
Still, she shivered at the memory.
The library doors groaned as she pushed them open, the scent of old paper and faint dust curling around her senses. The place was nearly empty at this hour, save for a few night owls hunched over books and screens.
Aiah made her way to the back, to the exact aisle where she had been the night before. Her eyes flickered to the gaps between the bookshelves where she had seen—thought she had seen—her. The air here felt different, heavier, though she refused to acknowledge it.
Settling into a seat, she took out her notes and flipped open her laptop and pulled up a blank document, determined to focus on her assigned work. But as the cursor blinked at her, her mind betrayed her, dragging her back into the mystery. Who had erased that girl? Why had every trace of her been methodically wiped from existence? More importantly, why was someone—or something—leading them to this case now?
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, and then she caught herself. What was she doing?
She sighed, rubbing her temple.
She wasn’t looking for her. She wasn’t. She was just—
A chill crawled up her spine as she scanned the towering shelves around her, suddenly hyper-aware of how quiet everything was. Too quiet. The faint rustle of a turning page somewhere in the distance did little to ease her growing unease.
She forced herself to focus on her work, gripping her pen so tightly her knuckles turned white. Stop it, Aiah. You’re being ridiculous. There is no such thing as—
“Are you looking for me?”
Aiah’s entire body locked up. The voice was soft, lilting, and terrifyingly close.
Slowly—so slowly it felt like her body was moving through molasses—she turned her head.
There, peeking at her through the gap between the bookshelves, was the girl from the polaroid. Smirking.
Aiah’s breath caught in her throat. Her hands turned ice-cold as every rational thought in her mind collapsed into chaos.
The girl stepped forward, moving with an unnatural lightness, as if gravity barely held her down. She was clearer than last time, her form more solid, but still—still wrong. Aiah could see through the edges of her, the way her outline flickered just slightly, like an old TV struggling to stay on the right channel.
Aiah’s mouth opened, but words failed her. A dozen arguments, a hundred rationalizations fought their way to the surface, clashing in her head in an ugly mess of logic and pure, unfiltered terror.
"I—" she stammered, gripping the edge of the table. "No, I—I wasn’t—"
Jhoanna’s grin widened as she stepped closer, her form shimmering, edges flickering like candlelight. "You sure about that?" she teased, tilting her head. "You look pretty deep in thought."
Aiah forced herself to swallow, inhaling sharply through her nose. "This isn’t real. You’re not real."
She shook her head, trying to steady herself. "No. No, this is just—my brain is stressed. Hallucinations happen when you obsess over something for too long. Sleep deprivation, heightened anxiety, pattern recognition—I’m making this up."
The ghost pouted, tapping a finger against her chin. “That’s rude,” she said, voice dripping with mock offense. “I’m right here though.”
Aiah’s throat went dry. Her heart was hammering against her ribs. Every single part of her screamed at her to get up and run—but her legs refused to move.
The ghost leaned forward slightly, her smirk widening. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice a gentle, knowing tease. “Cat got your tongue?”
Aiah sat frozen in her seat, her mind struggling to process the apparition before her. The ghost stood at the other side of the table, a translucent shimmer of a girl wearing the same mischievous smirk from the polaroid.
Aiah’s breath hitched as she forced herself to meet the ghost’s gaze. Her logical brain scrambling to catch up with the impossibility sitting in front of her. She wanted to deny it, to blink and find the library empty again. But the girl—remained. Watching her. Waiting.
“…Are you real?” Aiah finally managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.
The ghost—because what else could she be?—tilted her head, her smirk deepening, eyes glinting with something unreadable.. “I’m here in front of you, aren’t I?” she said, as if amused by the question.
Aiah exhaled sharply, her logical mind kicking in like a reflex. Hallucination. Stress. Sleep deprivation. Anything but ghosts. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her jeans as she leaned forward slightly, narrowing her eyes.
"Why am I seeing you?"
The ghost shrugged, a slow, almost lazy motion, before her gaze dropped to the closed yearbook on Aiah’s desk. "I saw you looking at a photo of mine," she mused, dragging a faintly transparent finger across the book’s cover. "I'm just curious why."
Aiah swallowed. " “That’s it? You just—what? Decided to appear because I looked at your picture?”
“Wouldn’t you be curious if you saw someone staring at your face like they’d seen a ghost?” Ramirez winked. “Pun fully intended.”
Aiah pressed her fingers to her temple, her mind racing. She should be afraid—this was beyond the realm of what she accepted as reality. Yet, instead of fear, there was a slow, creeping intrigue. A mystery right in front of her, one that quite literally defied logic.
“So? What’s the deal? Why are you looking me up?”
Aiah hesitated. Should she tell her? Would it even matter? She was already dead—assuming she was real. And yet, if this was her only chance to get answers…
"Who are you?" Aiah asked, her voice softer now, the steel in her tone giving way to something more hesitant.
The ghost blinked, then glanced down at her own hands as if they held the answer. "I don’t know," she admitted, her tone light, yet weighted by something heavy.
Aiah frowned. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
The ghost leaned back against the table, her expression unreadable. “I only know my surname. Ramirez. That’s it. No first name, no memory of my life.”
Aiah’s stomach twisted. “You don’t remember how you died?”
“Nope,” the ghost said, popping the ‘p.’ “One day I just… appeared like this. No memory of who I was. No clue how I died. Just floating around, scaring the occasional night owl.”
Aiah studied her carefully, trying to find cracks in the ghost’s teasing demeanor. But the ghost simply stood there, hands tucked behind her back, like she wasn’t the biggest mystery Aiah had ever encountered.
Her fingers curled into fists. This was getting more and more impossible to wrap her head around. A ghost with no memory? A name with no history? She inhaled deeply, trying to suppress the unease crawling up her spine.
The ghost studied her closely. “You still haven’t answered my question, you know.”
Aiah blinked. “What question?”
“Why were you looking at a photo of me?”
Aiah hesitated again before answering. “We received a box. It had a polaroid of you, with your name scratched off. Along with a bunch of newspaper clippings about a missing girl from four years ago.”
Something flickered in Ramirez’s expression—something unreadable. She was silent for a moment, processing. Then, she spoke. “Am I missing?”
Aiah’s throat felt dry. “Yes.”
Silence. The ghost stared at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “Well, that’s news to me.”
Aiah blinked. “You didn’t know?”
“Do I look like someone who knows anything?” The ghost gestured to herself. “I just told you, I don’t remember anything. But—” she tapped her chin thoughtfully, “I guess that explains why no one ever seems to see me.”
Aiah hesitated. “You mean… no one else has ever seen you?”
“Not that I’ve noticed.” Ramirez grinned again. “You’re special, I guess.”
Aiah immediately scowled. “Don’t say that.”
The ghost giggled, but before Aiah could ask more, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall.
Aiah whipped her head towards the entrance, and when she turned back, the ghost was gone. Vanished, as if she had never been there.
She stared at the empty space where the ghost had been, her heart hammering. Was she losing her mind?
She wasn’t sure what was more terrifying—the fact that a ghost had just vanished in front of her eyes or the fact that, deep down, she was starting to believe it.
"You're here again."
Aiah flinched, snapping her gaze away from the empty space where the ghost had been. The voice belonged to the librarian, steady yet laced with quiet curiosity. Aiah snapped the book shut instinctively, heart hammering against her ribs as she turned to face the older woman. The librarian stood a few feet away, watching her with that same unreadable expression she always wore.
Aiah opened her mouth to respond, to throw out some excuse about studying or needing to borrow more materials—but the intensity of the librarian’s stare made it difficult to lie easily. Before she could form a sentence, the librarian’s eyes drifted down to the yearbook on the table.
“You’re looking at old records.” Her voice was quieter now, contemplative. She took a step closer, peering at the page Aiah had been looking at just moments ago. Her gaze landed on the grainy, smirking photo of a girl. Then her fingers reached out, hovering just above the page as she stared at the photograph.
"Do you... know this girl?" The question was simple. But there was something in the way she said it—too slow, too deliberate—that made Aiah’s stomach tighten.
Startled, she hesitated, her mind scrambling for an answer. "N-no, I was just looking through it," she lied, her voice not as steady as she would have liked.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. A heavy, suffocating pause stretched between them as the librarian stared at the photograph, her fingers brushing over the printed image. She didn’t look at Aiah—just at the girls picture, as if lost in thought, as if something in the image unsettled her. The weight of her pause sent a crawling sensation up Aiah’s spine.
Then, the librarian exhaled, straightening. “It’s late,” she said, her tone suddenly businesslike. “The library will be closing soon.”
Aiah should have taken the hint. Should have let the conversation drop, packed her things, and walked away. But something in the woman’s reaction unsettled her, something about the way she hesitated, the way her voice had changed when she saw the photo.
Aiah tightened her grip on the yearbook. “Wait.”
The librarian stopped but didn’t turn around.
Aiah’s pulse pounded in her ears. She didn’t know what she was doing—what she was looking for—but she had to ask. “Do you…know anything about her?” Her voice came out steadier than she expected, but the moment the words left her mouth, the air between them felt different. Heavier.
The librarian stiffened. Her shoulders went rigid, and though she didn’t turn around, Aiah caught the way her hands clenched slightly at her sides.
For a long time, she didn’t say anything. The silence stretched so long that Aiah started to think she had pushed too hard, that she wasn’t going to get an answer at all.
Then, finally, the librarian asked, "How did you know about her?"
Her voice was quieter now, almost wary.
Aiah swallowed, choosing her words carefully. "We’re just researching. My friends and I. We just found some old articles, and—”
She trailed off when the librarian turned slightly, just enough for Aiah to catch a glimpse of her face. There was something guarded there. Something like quiet warning. But what unnerved Aiah the most was the way her fingers subtly twitched at her side, like a reflexive response to something she wasn’t saying aloud.
Another beat of silence. And then, just when Aiah thought she wouldn’t get anything more—
The librarian exhaled. “She went missing.”
Aiah’s throat went dry. She knew that. They all knew that. But the way the librarian said it—like the words carried more weight than they should—sent a deep, unsettling chill through her.
“Where?” she asked, her voice quieter now.
The librarian’s fingers twitched again. Her answer was just as soft. Just as heavy.
“Here.”
Aiah’s breath hitched. Her mind reeled, trying to make sense of what she had just heard. The library. Ramirez disappeared from the library.
A hundred questions flooded her mind at once, but she barely had the chance to grasp a single one before the librarian spoke again, her voice now eerily composed, as if what she was saying was nothing more than fact.
“Jhoanna Ramirez,” she said. The name rolled off her tongue like an omen. “That’s her name.”
Aiah barely registered the goosebumps trailing down her arms, the way her grip on the book tightened. She tried to respond—tried to say something, anything—but the words caught in her throat. Before she could force them out, the librarian turned fully, walking past her.
“Go home,” she said, finality in her voice.
Aiah watched her retreat, her mind a mess of thoughts, theories, and something deeper. Something more primal. A sense of wrongness that clawed at the edges of her logic.
Jhoanna Ramirez.
A ghost that shouldn’t exist.
A name no one would speak.
And a disappearance that no one wanted to remember.