High school terrified: hallway of fear

High School Terrified: Hallways of Fear

The sun had already set when Tyler Morgan realized he’d left his phone charger in his locker. Everyone else had gone home after detention, and the janitor had locked most of the exits. But Tyler wasn’t scared—at least, not yet.

Crestwood High was quiet at night, too quiet. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as he walked down the main hallway. His footsteps echoed against the lockers like whispers repeating every step.

He turned the corner toward the science wing, where his locker sat at the end of the hall. That was when he noticed it—the faint sound of a bell ringing in the distance.

Ding… ding…

Tyler froze. It wasn’t time for the school bell to ring. The clock on the wall read 7:47 p.m. The sound was faint at first, but each ring grew louder, sharper, almost as if it was coming from right behind him.

He turned quickly—nothing there. Just the empty hallway stretching into darkness.

Trying to shake the feeling, he hurried to his locker, opened it, and grabbed his charger. As he closed the metal door, a reflection flashed across the shiny surface. It was brief, but enough for his stomach to twist. He saw someone—or something—standing at the end of the hallway.

A tall figure in a torn Crestwood uniform. Its skin was pale gray, and where its eyes should have been, there were only black, hollow pits.

Tyler blinked—and it was gone.

He took a shaky breath. “I’m just tired,” he whispered. “It’s just my eyes playing tricks.”

He started walking faster toward the exit, but the hallway seemed to stretch longer and longer, as if the building itself was shifting. The lights flickered, and the walls began to creak.

Then, the lockers began to rattle. One by one, their doors slammed open and shut violently—BANG! BANG! BANG!—until the whole hallway sounded like an army of metal fists pounding in rage.

“Stop!” Tyler shouted.

But the noise only grew louder. He ran, heart hammering, but every turn led him to the same hallway again. No matter which direction he went, he ended up back where he started—the hallway of fear.

The air grew cold. His breath came out in white clouds. He could hear someone breathing right behind him, slow and heavy. He didn’t turn around this time. He couldn’t.

Instead, he bolted into a classroom and slammed the door shut. Inside, the room was pitch black except for the faint moonlight leaking through the blinds. He crouched behind a desk, clutching his charger like a weapon.

Then came the whisper.

“Tyler…”

It was soft, drawn out, echoing from the hallway.

“Tyler…”

The door handle twisted slowly. His eyes widened. He crawled backward as the door creaked open and the sound of dragging footsteps entered the room.

A shadow moved across the floor—long arms, twisted fingers. The voice came again, closer this time.

“You shouldn’t have stayed after dark.”

The lights flickered once, and in that split second, Tyler saw the creature standing right in front of him. Its hollow eyes locked onto his, and its mouth stretched into a grin that split its face from ear to ear.

The lights went out completely.

The next morning, the janitor found Tyler’s phone charger on the floor, but no sign of him. His locker door was wide open, and written inside in black marker were three words:

“The halls remember.”

Students whispered that if you walked alone in Crestwood High after dark, you could still hear the lockers slam—and a

faint voice calling your name from the Hallways of Fear.