silence cloaked Dorm 6A as morning crept through the cloud-covered skies. Clara lay awake on the common room floor, her eyes burning from lack of sleep. Around her, others stirred—Maya, Daniel, Naomi—none willing to retreat to the cursed safety of their own rooms. The dread that had fallen over them had not lifted with daylight. If anything, it grew heavier. Drift was coming. And they all felt it. By noon, unrest swelled in the dorm. Not just fear—anger. Word had gotten out. Rumors, wild and exaggerated, twisted the truth into something even more terrifying. The halls buzzed with paranoia. "Why is everyone pretending nothing happened?" a girl hissed. "Because the school doesn't want panic," Naomi whispered back. The common room door opened, and Clara stepped forward. Her voice was hoarse. "We need to talk. All of us." Students gathered, unsure but desperate. Maya joined her, eyes darting to every shadow. Clara explained everything—the voice in the night, the demon, Father Emma's death, the old woman's warnings. Every terrifying moment was laid bare. "And you want us to believe this?" someone asked. "We're not asking you to believe," Maya said. "We're asking you to see." They led them to the priest's room. Gone. No blood. No broken crucifix. No scent of sulfur. Just a clean, empty space. "They cleaned it," Clara muttered. "They erased everything." The crowd turned from skeptical to panicked. "What are we going to do?" Naomi asked. "We go to the school authorities," Clara said. "We force them to explain." That afternoon, the group stormed the administration building. Clara marched ahead, fueled by fury and sleeplessness. Dr. Obiora—the head of campus security—met them with a polite but steely stare. "There's been enough hysteria," he said. "Campus is suspending classes. Students are advised to return home." "That's it?" Daniel snapped. "What about the priest? What about the demon?" Dr. Obiora's face remained impassive. "What demon?" Clara stepped forward. "You know. You've always known. What is Dorm 6A hiding?" He didn't answer. But they saw it—the flicker of fear in his eyes. The tension in his shoulders. He knew. He wasn't just hiding something. He was protecting it. That night, the dorm felt colder. Clara sat on her bed, staring at the door Delilah once pointed to. Maya stood beside her, arms folded tightly. "Do you think they'll come for us again?" Maya asked. "They never stopped." Outside, the wind howled. But inside Dorm 6A, the devil waited patiently. And one by one, the walls began to whisper names again. The next to scream wouldn't be a ghost. It would be someone still breathing. Just after midnight, the screams started again. But this time, they didn't come from a single room. They echoed from every corner of the dormitory — different voices, different rooms, all calling the same name. "Rachel... Rachel... Rachel..." Maya froze. Clara turned to her. "Rachel? Isn't that your sister?" Maya's lips quivered. "Yes. But she's gone. Missing since last semester." The lights flickered. The whispers got louder, more urgent. A rattling sound erupted from the walls, and the floor beneath them pulsed like a heartbeat. Everyone rushed into the common room again, panic fully ignited. "The school needs to evacuate us!" Daniel shouted. Clara looked out the window. "They won't. They've known all along. They can't risk this getting out." A thunderclap rocked the building, and every door in the hallway slammed shut at once. And then... a low, guttural growl slithered through the vents. "What is that?" Naomi whispered. Maya stared at the floor. "It's him. The Dwfilt." "The what?" Daniel asked. "The thing that Delilah awakened. The demon that feeds on secrets... and souls." "Then why does it want Rachel?" Maya turned to Clara slowly. "Because Rachel knew the truth. She was trying to stop it. That's why she disappeared." A knock—soft, deliberate—came from the closet door. Everyone turned. Clara stepped forward slowly, holding her breath. She placed her ear to the wood. No sound. Then the whisper: "Let me in." She stumbled back. "No one open anything," she warned. But Daniel, trembling, said, "What if she's trapped inside?" "She's not," Maya said firmly. "That's not her voice." Another knock. Harder. This time, it said Clara's name. The lights exploded. The screaming returned. And this time, it didn't stop. The dorm shuddered with each cry. Clara covered her ears, but it didn't help. The sounds were inside their minds, crawling beneath their skin. Someone screamed from upstairs. Then another. Doors began to swing open and shut by themselves, revealing only pitch-black voids behind them. Naomi fell to her knees. "Make it stop!" A hiss slithered through the common room. The walls began to bleed. Not red, but black—inky and thick, like tar. Names appeared again in the substance, written as if by unseen claws: Rachel. Clara. Maya. Daniel. Daniel turned to run—only to stop dead in his tracks. A silhouette stood at the end of the hallway. It wasn't human. Tall, hunched, arms too long, head cocked unnaturally to the side. Glowing red slits where eyes should be. The Dwfilt. Clara grabbed Maya. "Don't move." The creature didn't approach. It watched. And then, with a sound like tearing paper, it vanished. The walls stopped bleeding. The voices went silent. But in every room of Dorm 6A, the black writing remained. And deep in the floorboards, something laughed.