HIGHSCHOOL HORROR STORY

Everyone in Blackridge talked about the old auditorium. Not because of what was in it—but because it was sealed shut. Bolted from the outside, welded around the frame, padlocked with a heavy iron chain, and covered in layers of “DO NOT ENTER” tape.

We always thought it was just some safety violation. Maybe asbestos. Maybe the roof caved in. But no one told us the real reason. The teachers avoided the topic, and the janitors got weirdly silent when you even said the word “auditorium.”

That should’ve been enough to keep us out. But curiosity, especially in high school, is louder than fear.

There were four of us—me (Jake), my best friend Luis, my girlfriend Maddy, and her cousin Tara. We weren’t exactly troublemakers. We just… wanted a thrill. It was a Friday night. The halls were empty. The school was dark, and someone had left the back door open.

That night, we decided to break into the old auditorium.

We brought flashlights, snacks, and a bolt cutter we “borrowed” from Tara’s dad. At around 9:12 p.m., we cut the chains, peeled the tape off, and yanked the rusted door open.

The smell hit us immediately.

Old sweat. Mold. Something deeper—like rotten meat and metal.

The inside looked frozen in time. A stage, with torn red curtains. Dozens of dusty chairs bolted to the floor. Broken lights hanging from the ceiling like dead things. And all of it covered in a thick layer of grime and spiderwebs.

But the weirdest part? Everything was wet. The seats, the floor, even the air. Like the room was sweating. Breathing.

We stepped inside. Maddy was filming on her phone. Luis cracked jokes to hide how scared he was. Tara just stared at the stage.

“Why would they seal this up?” she whispered. “This isn’t unsafe. It’s just… old.”

Then the door slammed behind us.

We spun around. No wind. No one there. Just darkness beyond the frame.

Luis ran to open it—but it wouldn’t budge. No matter how hard he pulled.

“It’s stuck,” he said. “Like something’s… holding it shut from the outside.”

That’s when we started to hear it.

Whispers.

From the stage.

Soft. Garbled. Like children talking underwater.

Maddy aimed her phone light at the stage.

There was no one there.

Then the curtains moved.

Just a little. Like someone passed behind them.

We froze.

Luis whispered, “Did you see that?”

“Let’s just go,” I said.

But Maddy shook her head. “No way. Something’s here. I can feel it.”

She stepped toward the stage.

We followed—because being alone in that place felt like asking to die.

As she stepped onto the stage, the air changed. Colder. Heavier. Our flashlights flickered.

Then she opened the curtain.

Behind it… was another curtain. Thicker. Black. Covered in stains.

And behind that curtain… was a mirror.

Tall. Cracked. Stained. Like it had been dragged out of a fire.

Carved into the glass, in shaky handwriting:

“ONLY THOSE WHO PERFORM SHALL REMAIN.”

“What does that mean?” Tara whispered.

The mirror flickered.

Yes—flickered, like a screen.

And in the reflection… we saw five people.

Five.

But we were only four.

The fifth person stood in the far corner of the stage. Just a silhouette.

Tall. Thin. Head tilted to one side.

But when we turned to look—no one was there.

Back to the mirror… the fifth figure was closer now.

It had no face.

Just a smooth, pale head.

And black, black eyes.

The lights went out.

All of them.

Maddy screamed. I dropped my flashlight.

In the pitch black, we heard a snap.

Like a neck breaking.

Then something dragged across the stage.

When the lights flicked back on, Luis was gone.

Just gone.

No blood. No noise. Just… vanished.

In his place, carved into the wooden floor:

“ONE PER ACT.”

Maddy started to cry. Tara was frozen.

I grabbed their hands and pulled them toward the back door. But the hallway behind the stage… wasn’t a hallway anymore.

It was another auditorium.

Same size. Same seats. But not the same.

This one had children in the chairs.

Not alive.

Not dead.

Just… sitting there. Heads bowed. Limbs bent in impossible ways. As if they’d been forced into those chairs and left there for decades.

On the stage in front of them… a spotlight.

And under that light… Luis.

Standing still. Arms limp. His neck crooked.

He moved like a puppet, twitchy and slow.

Then his head snapped up—and he opened his mouth.

But it wasn’t his voice that came out.

It was a woman’s voice.

Old. Angry. Echoing.

“PERFORM.”

Maddy screamed.

Luis’s body collapsed.

The children in the audience started to twitch.

I pulled both girls back into the main auditorium, slamming the doors shut behind us.

“What is this place?!” Tara yelled.

I didn’t have an answer.

But the mirror did.

It was lit up again.

This time, we saw Maddy standing alone in front of it.

Even though she was next to me.

Her reflection smiled.

And began to bleed from the eyes.

“I don’t want to die,” Maddy whispered.

“You won’t,” Tara said. “But we can’t stay here.”

Then… a bell rang.

Like a school bell.

But it echoed, deep and loud. Shaking the walls.

Then a voice came over an invisible speaker.

Old. Gravelly.

“SECOND ACT. GIRL IN RED.”

Maddy looked down.

She was wearing red.

“No…” she whispered.

The stage lit up again.

The mirror glowed.

And Maddy… vanished.

Gone from beside us.

Now standing alone under the spotlight.

She looked at us, tears running down her face.

She opened her mouth. Tried to speak.

But her mouth opened too wide.

Unnaturally wide. Like her jaw had been broken.

And she began to sing.

But it wasn’t her voice.

It was a choir.

Dozens of voices. All in a different language. All crying.

Maddy’s skin began to crack. Her eyes rolled back.

And then…

She exploded into ash.

Right there on stage.

Gone.

Tara screamed. I grabbed her and ran—ran for any door I could find. Backstage. Storage. Anything.

We ended up in what looked like a music room.

But the instruments were broken.

Each one stained.

The piano played itself.

A slow, sad tune.

And sitting in the corner… was a child.

Or something like a child.

It looked like it had been there a hundred years.

Eyes sunken. Skin gray.

It looked at us and whispered:

“You’re next.”

We ran.

Back to the main auditorium.

Back to the mirror.

Now it showed me.

Standing alone.

Under the words:

“FINAL ACT.”

Tara clutched my hand. “We have to break it.”

So we picked up a metal chair and threw it at the mirror.

It cracked.

Screamed.

Yes—screamed.

Like a person.

The walls began to bleed. The stage caught fire. The children in the seats stood up.

All at once.

They walked toward us.

Silent.

Then—

BOOM.

The mirror exploded.

The world went white.

I woke up in the hallway.

Covered in ash.

It was morning.

The sun was shining through the windows.

The door to the old auditorium?

Gone.

Just a blank wall.

No one ever spoke of it again.

No one believed my story.

They said Luis, Maddy, and Tara ran away. Vanished.

But I know the truth.

They performed.

And I was the one who escaped.

The one who watched.

And sometimes… at night…

I hear the piano playing again.

From inside the walls.

The next act is coming.

And this time, I might be the one singing.