Chapter 2: The Classroom Window

Chapter 2: The Classroom Window Willow Creek Elementary looked ordinary in daylight. Too ordinary. That was the problem. The mother stood outside the school gate the next morning, gripping the strap of her black coat so tightly her fingers went numb. The boy walked ahead of her, calm as ever, as if he had done this a hundred times before. Inside, children laughed. Shuffled backpacks. Ran through hallways. Normal life continuing over something it didn’t know was broken. The boy stopped at classroom 1B. He turned. “They sit here,” he said simply. Through the window, she saw rows of small desks. Sunlight falling in clean lines. And then— her breath stopped. At the second row, by the window. Two empty chairs. Perfectly placed side by side. No name tags. No belongings. Just emptiness that felt deliberately arranged. The teacher noticed them and stepped out into the hallway. “Can I help you?” The boy spoke first. “Ava sits there,” he said, pointing. “And Mia sits there.” The teacher frowned. “That’s not possible. Those seats have been empty all year.” The mother’s heart dropped. “All year?” The teacher nodded carefully. “They were assigned, but no students ever enrolled under those names.” Silence fell. Not loud. Worse. Precise. The boy stepped closer to the window. Pressed his hand against the glass. Then whispered— “They still come anyway.” The mother’s voice broke slightly. “Come where?” The boy didn’t look at her. Only at the empty desks. “At recess,” he said. The hallway lights flickered once. Just once. But enough. Enough for the mother to feel her stomach turn cold. Because reflection in the glass— showed more than the classroom. It showed two faint silhouettes sitting at the window seats. Smiling. Watching.

2 chapters