Chapter 2
Chapter 2: The Girl Who Died Twice
Amara screamed.
The sound tore from her throat as the cold breath touched her ear.
Then—
Darkness.
Everything disappeared.
The hallway.
The black door.
The voice.
Even the feeling of the floor beneath her feet.
For one terrifying second, Amara felt herself falling.
Then she hit something hard.
She gasped.
Pain shot through her shoulder.
Her eyes flew open.
She was lying on the floor of Room 307.
Morning sunlight poured through the curtains.
For several seconds, Amara couldn't move.
Her heart was beating so violently that she could feel it in her throat.
She slowly pushed herself up.
The room looked normal.
Painfully normal.
Zara's bed was empty.
Her bag was gone.
The door was closed.
Amara stared at it.
Then she remembered.
The door at midnight.
She jumped to her feet and rushed toward her phone.
It was lying beside her bed.
The screen was cracked.
Her hands shook as she unlocked it.
The messages were gone.
Every single one.
There was no conversation with Zara.
No unknown number.
Nothing.
Amara checked the time.
7:14 AM.
“No... no, no, no.”
She opened her contacts and called Zara.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then Zara answered.
“Amara?”
Amara closed her eyes.
Hearing Zara's normal voice almost made her cry.
“Where are you?”
There was a short pause.
“At home. Why?”
Amara's fingers tightened around the phone.
“You're at home?”
“Yes. I told you I was leaving yesterday.”
Amara looked toward the closed door of her room.
“Did you come back last night?”
Another pause.
Then Zara laughed nervously.
“Come back? Amara, I'm six hours away from the university.”
Amara's mouth went dry.
“Zara.”
“What happened?”
“You sent me messages last night.”
“I did?”
“Yes.”
“What messages?”
Amara looked at the screen.
“They're gone.”
“Amara, I didn't message you last night. I fell asleep early.”
Amara sat slowly on her bed.
“What time did you sleep?”
“Before eleven. Why?”
Amara couldn't answer.
Because at exactly midnight, she had received a message from Zara.
Don't turn around.
Then—
I'm the one standing behind you.
“Amara?”
Zara's voice pulled her back.
“Are you okay?”
Amara looked toward the hallway.
“No.”
---
She didn't tell Zara everything.
Not because she didn't want to.
But because saying it aloud would make it real.
Instead, she said she had a nightmare.
Zara didn't believe her.
“You sound strange,” she said.
“I'm fine.”
“Amara—”
“I'll call you later.”
She ended the call.
For the next ten minutes, she sat perfectly still.
Then her eyes moved toward the window.
The third floor of Kingsley Hall was quiet.
Too quiet for a Saturday morning.
Usually, students would be shouting in the corridor. Someone would be playing loud music. Doors would be opening and closing.
But today—
Nothing.
Amara finally stood up.
She needed to see the hallway.
She slowly opened her door.
The corridor was empty.
No black door.
No darkness.
Just the same old hallway.
Cream walls.
Brown doors.
A noticeboard covered in papers.
Amara stepped outside.
Her eyes moved to the far end of the corridor.
That was where the door had appeared.
She walked toward it.
Slowly.
One step.
Then another.
The farther she walked, the more she remembered.
The knocking.
Lena's voice.
The handle turning.
Her dead sister standing in the doorway.
Amara stopped.
The wall was exactly where it should be.
She touched it.
Solid.
Cold.
Normal.
“Looking for something?”
Amara jumped.
She turned around.
A girl stood behind her.
Amara hadn't even heard her approach.
The girl was tall and thin, wearing a black hoodie. Her long braids fell over her shoulders, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes.
Amara recognized her.
Her name was Nneka.
She lived in Room 312.
“Sorry,” Amara said.
Nneka didn't smile.
“You shouldn't stand there.”
Amara looked back at the wall.
“Why?”
Nneka stared at her.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Nneka asked quietly:
“Did you see it too?”
Amara felt ice move through her veins.
“See what?”
Nneka looked around the empty hallway.
Then she moved closer.
“The door.”
Amara couldn't breathe.
Nneka's eyes moved to her face.
“You did.”
Amara took a step backward.
“What are you talking about?”
“Don't lie to me.”
“I don't know what you mean.”
Nneka suddenly grabbed her wrist.
Amara tried to pull away.
“Hey!”
“Listen to me.”
There was fear in Nneka's eyes.
Real fear.
“I saw it three months ago.”
Amara stopped struggling.
Nneka released her.
“Three months?” Amara whispered.
Nneka nodded.
“Room 316.”
“Who saw it?”
Nneka looked down.
“My friend.”
A cold wind moved through the corridor.
“My roommate, Victoria.”
Amara had never seen anyone in Room 316.
“She saw the door first,” Nneka continued. “She said it appeared every night at midnight. At first, I thought she was losing her mind.”
“What happened?”
Nneka's face changed.
“She disappeared.”
Amara felt her stomach twist.
“Disappeared?”
“Her bed was empty in the morning.”
“Maybe she left.”
“No.”
Nneka's voice was sharp.
“Her phone was still there. Her money. Her clothes. Everything.”
Amara stared at her.
“Did you report it?”
“To who?”
“The school.”
Nneka laughed.
But there was no humour in it.
“They said she went home.”
“And did she?”
“I called her mother.”
Amara's face went pale.
“What did her mother say?”
Nneka looked toward Room 316.
“She said Victoria had been calling home every night.”
Amara said nothing.
“She would tell her mother that something was following her. That someone kept knocking on her door at midnight.”
Nneka swallowed.
“Then, three days before she disappeared, Victoria said something terrible.”
“What?”
Nneka leaned closer.
“She said the person knocking sounded like her dead father.”
Amara's blood turned cold.
Lena.
Nneka noticed the expression on Amara's face.
“Who did you hear?”
Amara shook her head.
“I didn't—”
“Who?”
Amara's voice became barely a whisper.
“My sister.”
Nneka froze.
The two girls stared at each other.
Then a door opened somewhere down the corridor.
Both of them jumped.
Nneka immediately grabbed Amara's arm.
“Not here.”
She pulled her toward the stairs.
---
Nneka's room was smaller than Amara's.
The curtains were closed.
The walls were covered with photographs.
But Amara barely noticed them.
Her attention was on the large box sitting on Nneka's bed.
Nneka opened it.
Inside were old notebooks.
Printed papers.
Newspaper clippings.
Photographs.
“What is all this?” Amara asked.
“Kingsley Hall.”
Nneka picked up an old newspaper.
“This building is older than the university.”
Amara looked at the faded headline.
STUDENT MISSING FROM COLLEGE HOSTEL: NO TRACE FOUND
The date was almost twenty years old.
Amara's heart began to race.
Nneka handed her another.
SECOND STUDENT VANISHES IN KINGSLEY RESIDENCE
Then another.
HOSTEL CLOSED AFTER SERIES OF DISAPPEARANCES
Amara stared at the papers.
“How many?”
Nneka didn't answer.
Amara looked up.
“How many people disappeared?”
Nneka's face had gone pale.
“Twenty-three.”
Amara dropped the newspaper.
“Twenty-three?”
“Over twenty years.”
“And nobody knows?”
“They covered it up.”
“Why?”
Nneka pointed at the oldest photograph.
Amara picked it up.
It showed the third-floor corridor.
The same corridor.
But something was wrong.
The photograph had been taken at night.
At the end of the hallway stood a black door.
Amara almost dropped it.
It was exactly the same.
Black.
No room number.
No handle.
But someone had written something beneath the photograph.
Amara read the words.
THE DOOR ONLY APPEARS FOR THOSE IT HAS CHOSEN.
Amara looked at Nneka.
“Chosen for what?”
Nneka was silent.
“Nneka.”
The girl looked away.
“That's the part I haven't figured out.”
Amara studied the photograph again.
Then she stopped.
There were people standing in the hallway.
Students.
Amara counted them.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
One of them was looking directly at the camera.
Amara's breath stopped.
She recognized the face.
She knew that face.
It was impossible.
Because the girl in the photograph had been dead for three years.
Amara slowly moved closer.
Her hands began to shake.
“No.”
“What?”
“No.”
“Amara?”
Amara pointed at the photograph.
Nneka looked.
Then looked back at her.
Amara could barely speak.
“That's my sister.”
The room became completely silent.
Nneka grabbed the photograph.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“But this photo was taken twenty years ago.”
Amara backed away.
“No.”
The girl in the photograph was Lena.
Same face.
Same eyes.
Same smile.
Same scar above her left eyebrow.
But Lena had only been nineteen when she died.
And Amara was certain Lena had never attended this university.
Amara turned around.
“I need to leave.”
“Amara, wait—”
“I need air.”
She rushed toward the door.
“Amara!”
But Amara was already running.
---
She didn't stop until she reached the ground floor.
Her lungs burned.
Students moved around her now, laughing and talking, completely unaware that something was wrong upstairs.
Amara stepped outside.
The sunlight hit her face.
For the first time that morning, she could breathe.
She walked toward a bench beneath a tree.
Her phone buzzed.
She looked down.
ZARA CALLING.
Amara answered immediately.
“Zara?”
“Amara.”
There was panic in Zara's voice.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. Why?”
“You called me this morning.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Amara frowned.
“You called me again.”
“When?”
“Just now.”
“I didn't call you.”
Zara went silent.
Amara looked at her phone.
“What are you talking about?”
“You called me thirty minutes ago.”
“I've been with Nneka.”
“Who?”
“My neighbour. Nneka.”
“I don't know her.”
“Zara, listen to me. I did not call you.”
Zara's breathing became uneven.
“Then who was it?”
Amara stood.
“What did they say?”
Nothing.
“Zara?”
“I heard you crying.”
Amara's stomach twisted.
“Crying?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
Another silence.
Then Zara whispered:
“Amara, the voice told me not to come back to the university.”
Amara turned toward Kingsley Hall.
Her heart began to pound.
“Zara?”
“And then it said—”
The call suddenly ended.
“Hello?”
Amara looked at her screen.
CALL ENDED.
She called Zara back.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
No answer.
“Pick up,” Amara whispered.
She called again.
Still nothing.
Then—
Her phone vibrated.
A message.
From Zara.
Amara opened it.
Her face went white.
There was no text.
Only a photograph.
It showed a dark hallway.
A black door stood at the end.
And written on the wall in what looked like blood were four words:
IT KNOWS WHERE SHE IS.
Amara's phone slipped from her hand.
She slowly turned toward Kingsley Hall.
The third-floor window was open.
Someone was standing behind it.
A girl.
Long dark hair.
White dress.
Amara couldn't see her face.
But she knew.
“Lena?”
The girl slowly raised her hand.
And pointed.
Not at Amara.
Behind her.
Amara froze.
A voice whispered from the bench beside her:
“I told you not to turn around.”
Amara closed her eyes.
Because she remembered.
The first message.
The warning.
Don't turn around.
And this time—
She did.
END OF CHAPTER 2
