DON'T BE AFRAID OF DARK

The rain had not stopped for three days. Dark clouds pressed against the crooked rooftops of the old boarding school, as if the heavens themselves wanted to bury the building in shadows. The corridors smelled faintly of damp wood and something sour—like forgotten books left too long in the rain.

By evening, whispers rippled through the dormitories. A new headmistress was arriving tonight. No one had seen her, only heard the rumors.

“They say she’s strict.”

“I heard she once closed a whole school.”

“What if she hates us already?”

The voices rose nervously, but were quickly shushed. Not by a teacher. Not by a senior. But by the librarian.

Mrs. Holloway stood in the hallway, tall and thin as a broomstick, with her ink-stained fingers wrapped around a ring of keys. Her glasses glimmered in the weak lamplight, hiding her eyes. She carried the smell of dust and mildew everywhere she went, as if she lived more with books than with people.

“Back to your rooms,” she hissed. Her voice was low, but sharp, like a blade sliding out of its sheath. “The headmistress won’t tolerate disorder. And neither will I.”

The children hurried off. Yet, as they disappeared down the corridor, many of them swore they felt Mrs. Holloway’s eyes still crawling over their backs. Watching. Measuring.

Later that night, the gates groaned open. A carriage pulled up. A figure stepped out. The new headmistress.

She looked… ordinary. Perfectly ordinary.

Her clothes were neat. Her smile, polite. Her words, clipped but kind. Compared to the librarian’s strange presence, the headmistress seemed almost gentle. The staff breathed sighs of relief, the students loosened their shoulders.

Only one thing was strange—when the headmistress entered, Mrs. Holloway bowed deeper than she ever had to the principal himself. Almost… too deep. As though she feared her. Or served her.

No one noticed.

No one questioned.

Not yet.

Written by Jezebel

“Touch my flower, and I’ll make sure your heartbeat roots in my garden.”