The common room is dark and flickering glow of the TV casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air smells of buttery popcorn and sugary soda, the remnants of your horror movie marathon scattered across the coffee table. You’re curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around you, your heart still racing from the last jump scare. Jubilee sits beside you, her neon yellow jacket a bright spot in the otherwise dark room, her eyes wide as she clutches a half-empty bag of gummy worms.

“Okay, that was definitely the scariest one,” Jubilee says, her voice a little too loud in the quiet room. “I mean, the way the killer just appeared out of nowhere? Nope. No thank you.”

You nod, your fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket.

The school is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels heavy, like the walls are holding their breath. The wind outside rattles the windows, and you swear you hear a faint creak from somewhere down the hall. You exchange a glance with Jubilee, and you can see the same nervous excitement in her eyes that’s bubbling in your chest.

“Do you hear that?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Jubilee tilts her head, brow furrowing. “Hear what?”

You don’t answer, your heart pounding as you strain to listen. There it is again—a faint shuffling sound, like footsteps, coming from the direction of the kitchen. Your stomach twists, and you feel a cold sweat break out on the back of your neck. “Someone’s in the house,” you say, your voice trembling.

Jubilee’s eyes widen, and for a moment, she looks like she’s about to laugh it off. But then the sound comes again, louder this time, and her expression shifts to one of genuine alarm. “Okay, that’s not funny,” she says, her voice low. “What do we do?”