4ESOA HALLOWEEN 2025

The Hunted Academy

This story begins with a girl who was never very good at school.

One afternoon, she stayed late to understand the lessons she didn’t get, but then something strange happened. She felt like someone was standing behind her.

It was not a person it was more like a shadow, something dark that made her skin cold.

When she turned around, no one was there.

Then the door closed by itself. The noise echoed in the empty room and made her heart beat faster. She was so scared that she ran away to the library, the only place where she always felt safe.

When she got there, the lights flickered and a book fell from a shelf. It was open, but all the pages were empty. Not a single word.

“That’s really weird,” she said softly.

Then another book fell. When she tried to pick it up, the first one began to shake. The words started to appear and move fast until they formed a black circle. From that circle, a red hand came out.

“AHHH! What is that!?”

She screamed and ran away as fast as she could. But when she looked back, she thought she saw the shadow forming the figure of a boy.

The next morning

The next day, she woke up and tried to forget what happened. She told herself it was just a dream.

But when she went to school, there was a new student talking to her teacher —a tall boy with dark eyes and a calm smile.

“My name is Isaac,” he said. “I’ll be your partner this year.”

Everyone looked normal, no one seemed surprised, but she noticed something strange nobody looked at him. It was like he wasn’t even there.

And then he kissed her —soft and quiet, like a dream that felt too real.

Something strange

After that, things started to change. People at school looked at her weird. Some whispered when she passed. “She talks to herself,” she once heard. “She’s losing it.”

But Isaac was right there, walking beside her! She looked at him, scared, but he only smiled. “You see me because you want to,” he said, and his voice didn’t sound human anymore.

That night, she opened her notebook and saw words that weren’t hers:

Don’t close the book.

She realized then what was really happening. He wasn’t a new student. He wasn’t even real. He was the thing from the book the shadow that had crossed into her world.

The end

Crying, she went back to the library. The book was still there, waiting for her on the same shelf.

“Please don’t,” Isaac whispered behind her. “I love you.” “You’re not real,” she said, shaking. “You came from that book.”

He took a step forward, his face turning darker, his body breaking into smoke. “I became real because of you,” he whispered. “Don’t send me back.”

She read out loud the strange words written inside the pages. The air turned red, the walls shook, and Isaac screamed as his shadow was pulled back inside the book. “Forgive me…” were his last words. Then everything became silent.

The book closed by itself.

After that night, she tried to forget. But sometimes, when she walked by the library, she thought she could hear a soft voice calling her name.

And then she remembered something…

At first, she thought she was just tired, but Isaac kept showing up. He always smiled at her, always knew what she was thinking, and somehow always appeared when she felt sad or alone.

“You make me feel alive,” he told her one evening under the tree. “You are alive,” she answered, her cheeks red.

There hadn’t been only one empty book that night. There had been two.

The Shadow on 127th Street

Manuel Jiménez, Josu Donoso, Marc Rivera and Majo Vellojin 4°A

It all started as an ordinary night. The four of them: Manuel, Marc, Josu, and Majo were walking near Unicentro, laughing about something silly that had happened earlier that day. The air was cold, and the street was almost empty. The only sound came from the wind brushing against the trees and the distant noise of traffic. The streetlights flickered softly, as if they were struggling to stay on. It was one of those nights that feels calm but secretly strange, as if something invisible is waiting to happen. They had just finished their ice cream and were talking about where to go next when Manuel suddenly stopped walking. He looked over his shoulder, as if he had heard something. The wind blew again, colder this time, and it made Majo’s skin crawl. Marc laughed nervously, trying to make a joke, but his voice echoed strangely in the empty street. Then they heard it, a single step behind them. They turned around, but no one was there. The shadows under the yellow lights stretched and moved with the breeze, and for a moment, everything went silent. The silence was thick, almost alive. They kept walking, a bit faster now, pretending they weren’t scared. But Majo could feel the tension growing between them. Every sound seemed louder, the crunch of their shoes, the rustle of a plastic bag blowing across the street, even the distant hum of a car engine. Majo noticed how Marc kept glancing at his phone screen, even though there was no signal. Josu walked a few steps behind, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders stiff. None of them said it out loud, but they all felt it: something was wrong. Then, out of nowhere, a shape moved behind a parked car. It wasn’t big,

but it moved too smoothly to be an animal. A man stepped out from the shadows, dressed in black, his hood covering most of his face. He didn’t speak; he just stood there, watching them. Majo couldn’t see his eyes, but could feel them. Her heart started beating faster, and her legs felt frozen in place. The man began walking toward them, his steps slow and almost soundless, as if he was floating more than walking. Each step echoed like a whisper inside Majo’s chest. They stopped. No one dared to say a word. The closer he got, the colder the air became. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and calm.

“Give me everything,” he said.

There was no anger, no rush, just that voice, soft and certain. For a second, no one moved. It was as if time itself had stopped. Then Manuel took a shaky breath and handed him his phone. Marc followed, pale and silent. Josu gave his wallet without saying a word. Majo stood still, her hands trembling, until the man turned his head toward her. She finally gave him her phone, and his icy hand brushed against hers. It felt like touching something dead.

He didn’t even look at what he took. He just stood there for a few seconds longer, staring at them. The light above flickered again, and for a moment, Majo thought his shadow moved differently from his body. Then he stepped back and walked away, slowly disappearing into the dark end of the street. None of them spoke. They just stood there, frozen, listening to the sound of his footsteps fading until there was nothing left but the wind. The world around them looked exactly the same, but it didn’t feel the same anymore.

After a few minutes, Josu whispered, “Let’s go.”

But even walking away felt wrong. The sound of their shoes on the pavement echoed strangely, like the street had become hollow. When they finally reached the corner near Unicentro, there were people, lights, cars, but it all felt distant, like they were still trapped in that dark street. Marc tried to laugh again, but his voice cracked. Manuel didn’t speak at all. They didn’t even call the

police. They just wanted to forget, to pretend it had never happened. Days later, Majo walked by that same street again. She told herself she wasn’t scared, that she just wanted to prove it was all in her head. But the air was still colder there, heavier somehow. The same lamp that had flickered that night was now completely off, like it had finally died. Majo stood there for a moment, staring at the empty sidewalk. Then she heard it, a single step behind her. She turned quickly, but there was no one.

Only the wind and the echo of her own heartbeat. Her chest tightened, and she hurried away, but something made her glance back. For a split second, she saw a shape standing exactly where they had been robbed. A dark, motionless figure, just watching.

The days turned into weeks, but that night never left her mind. They all tried to go back to normal: school, friends, weekends, but it was like a shadow had followed them home. Manuel started sleeping with the lights on. Marc didn’t go out at night anymore. Josu stopped answering messages. Every time they talked about it, someone changed the subject. It was easier to stay silent than to face that fear again.

But at night, when Majo closed her eyes, she could still hear those footsteps, slow and steady, coming closer.

One Friday night, a month later, Marc texted their group chat.

“Guys, you won’t believe this. Someone else got robbed on 127th Street. Same description. Same guy.”

Majo felt her stomach twist. They all met the next day, trying to act normal, but the mood was off.

“What if he’s still there?” Josu asked quietly.

Manuel said nothing. His face was pale, and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Majo realized he hadn’t slept well in weeks.

They promised not to go near that street again, but a part of Majo knew the promise wouldn’t matter. Fear has a way of calling you back to where it began.

Another week passed. Then one night, Majo’s phone buzzed again, this time, it was Josu. His message was short:

“I saw him.”

Her heart sank. She called immediately, but he didn’t answer. The next morning, they went to his house, but his mom said he hadn’t come home. The police found his backpack near that same street, lying on the ground, untouched. They said it was probably a runaway case, but they knew better. The silence in that neighborhood was too familiar, too heavy.

The man in black had taken more than their things that night. He had taken something from them, something they couldn’t get back.

Now, months later, Majo still dreams about it. In the dream, she’s walking down that same street, the lights flickering, the wind whispering through the trees. She sees the others ahead of her, but they don’t turn around when she calls their names. Then she hears the footsteps again, closer,

louder. When she finally turns, the man in black is standing right behind her. He reaches out his hand, and everything goes dark.

She always wakes up then, heart racing, her room cold like the street that night. She’s tried to convince herself it was just trauma, that her mind is playing tricks. But sometimes, when she passes by Unicentro, she sees him, just for a second. A dark figure standing still at the corner, facing her. And though people walk past him like he’s invisible, Majo knows he’s there. Watching. Waiting. The shadow that never left.

THE WHISPERING HOUSE PLOT

A lost traveler finds a dark, abandoned house and is invited in by a mysterious old man Inside, the traveler discovers a black book with names and the word "Departed" beside them, including their own Ignoring the man’s warning, the traveler ventures upstairs, encountering ghostly figures in a mirror. They flee, but the next day, the house is gone. The traveler learns it burned down fifty years ago, with the family dying inside. Strange occurrences follow, and the traveler is drawn back to the house, where the old man reveals the house never lets go of those who enter. The story ends with the traveler’s name added to the black book, trapped forever in the house’s curse.

CHARACTERS

The House, Its not just a building, the house lives and remembers. The Old Man, He is the owner of the old house.

The Narrator is a lonely traveler that gets lost in a cold October evening.

It was the end of October when I first saw the house.

The sun had already gone down behind the hills,it was already noon and the sky was dark red. A cold wind passed through the trees, making them sound like they were whispering, making me feel nervous. I had walked too far from the main road and didn’t know where I was. I just wanted to find a place to stay for the night.

Then I saw it, a big, dark house at the end of a small road. It looked lonely and silent, almost like a tomb. The windows were tall and worn, and the roof was old and broken with a lot of cracks and holes. The house looked dead but at the same time it felt alive, as if it was waiting for me or someone else?

I stopped for a moment, afraid to get closer, but the wind pushed me forward, and the night was getting colder There was no other light around, so I walked to the door

It opened with a loud metal sound like a chirp making me have goosebumps The garden was wild and full of tall grass but it was dead making an absurd enviroment. The air smelled wet and old like a dead old man. I climbed the steps and knocked on the door.

For a moment there was no sound. Then I heard some slow steps inside. The door opened a little and I saw an old man’s face.

He was very pale, with long white hair and sad eyes, you could see he was dead, but alive. That made me feel uncomfortable, I was hallucinating “Good evening,” I said. “I am lost. Can I stay here tonight?” He looked at me for a long time and then said quietly, “The house does not like visitors.”, it depends on you if you want to enter. “he giggle” “I won’t cause trouble,” I answered. “Just until morning.” At 8am, I will leave. He sighed. “Very well. Come in.”

He led me through a long, dark hall. Every sound echo, our steps, the floor, even my heartbeat. The walls were full of old portraits. All the faces looked like the old man, with the same pale eyes. Their eyes seemed to follow me. At last, we arrived at a small room with a little fire. The man pointed to a chair. “You may rest here,” he said. “But do not go upstairs.” Or you are going to regret it. His voice was almost a whisper. I wanted to ask why, but he turned away and left The fire was weak and small, and the room felt cold. I sat near it, looking around detailing every part of the room. A clock stood in the corner, but its hands didn’t move. On a table was a black book. I opened it. Inside were many names and dates, written carefully. After each name there was one word: Departed. Some names were more than a hundred years old.

Then I turned one more page and I froze. There was my name, written in fresh ink.

I felt cold all over. I closed the book quickly.The fire almost died, and the room became darker. I couldn’t sleep. The house was silent but full of small sounds : sighs, cracks, whispers. Like, if it was full of people but at the same time it was the old man and me

At last, I opened the door The hallway was darker than before From upstairs, I saw a small light, like a candle I remembered the old man’s words: Do not go upstairs

But I couldn’t stop myself, I felt like the House was pushing me to go upstairs. Slowly, I climbed the stairs. Halfway up, I heard whispers, soft, sad voices. When I stopped, they stopped. When I moved, they started again. I was

scared, but I kept going. I didn't care at all what I heard, I was dedicated to following the stairs.

At the end of the hall there was a door with light behind it I opened it The light went out Everything was dark

Then, close to my ear, I heard a voice whisper:

“Why did you come back?”

I turned quickly. No one was there.

In the room there was only one thing, a big mirror. The glass was old, but I could see my reflection clearly. Behind me, in the mirror, I saw people standing, pale, quiet people with empty eyes.

I looked around but the room was empty.

When I looked back at the mirror, the figures were closer. I saw their faces, the same ones from the portraits downstairs.

One raised a hand and pointed at me.

I felt a cold touch on my shoulder.

I screamed and ran down the stairs, through the hall, and out into the night. The cold air hit my face. I ran until the house was gone, I couldn't see the house any more so I relaxed a little bit.

I waited beside the road until morning, shaking with fear When the sun rose, I looked back but the house had disappeared

Later, I reached a small village and asked about the house. The people looked afraid. One old woman crossed herself and said, “That house burned down fifty years ago. The whole family died inside.”

“That’s impossible,” I said. “I was there last night.”

She only said, “Then you met the dead.” I made poop in my pants, I was frozen later when she told me that.

Weeks passed, but I couldn’t forget. At night I dreamed of the house, the garden, the faces, the black book with my name.

Sometimes, even awake, I heard whispers: “Why did you come back?”

Months later, a letter came to my door With no name and no address The handwriting looked like the one in the book

It said: “The house remembers those who enter. You left the gate open.”

There was no signature, only a small black mark at the bottom, like a fingerprint.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. Every sound in my room seemed louder. I looked in the mirror and thought I saw a dark doorway behind me, but when I turned, it was gone, everything was just unreal, I don't understand anything of what was happening to me.

The next day, strange things started. I heard footsteps in my house when I was alone. Doors opened and closed. One morning, I found the black book in my desk. My name was still there, but now it said Departed next to it.

I threw it into the fire The flames turned blue and crackled When they died, the book was gone, no ashes, nothing, liked it disappeared

That night, I dreamed of the old man again

He stood by my bed with a candle. “You should not have opened the door,” he said. “I left,” I answered. “I never went back.”

He shook his head. “Once you enter, the house never leaves you.” The candle went out, and I woke up in darkness.

After that, I grew weak and pale. I couldn’t eat or sleep. Finally, I decided to return, to see if the house was real. I found the road, the gate was open, just like before. The house stood there,like if that was waiting for me.

Inside, everything was the same like if anything had changed since I left the hall, the portraits, the black book on the table. The old man sat by the fire.

“I knew you would come back,” he said. “What do you want from me?” I whispered.

“The house must live,” he said. “It remembers those who enter. Write your name.” “I won’t,” I said.

The portraits moved and the faces screamed silently. The old man looked cold and ancient. “You are already written,” he said. The floor broke under me, and darkness took me.

People say that travelers still see a light in that house on stormy nights. Some go in.

Most are never seen again.

But sometimes, in the ruins, someone finds a black book open on the table, with a new name written in shining ink.

And if you listen closely on quiet nights you can still hear the whispers of those who entered before you, calling your name from the shadows.

So if an old man tells you to not go upstairs, DONT GO. •

It`s already been a year, I think I'm going crazy and it doesn`t stop….

the first time i felt like everyone was watching me, i felt so scared, i thought i was really bleeding or something wrong was happening to me, it was late at night, i think it was Monday 10th of October, and i thought i was going to faint, i was in the middle of New York city, and it was really dark, i could barely see the light at the end of the street, i started feeling like someone was behind my back, but there was no one else there. I kept walking for 10 minutes, but I started feeling like someone was behind my back and I really felt so scared, but I was really tired so I didn`t give it importance.

The following day I felt a weird emptyness, but I started my day with breakfast, but suddenly I felt the same feeling from last night, and this time, it didn`t stop. It was like this for days, and it didn`t stop even for a second, but I was always alone.

I thought I had to talk to someone, but I had no one. This made me feel more alone and I started feeling like life was not worth the try, I really needed to talk to someone, but I thought they would think I was crazy, so I kept quiet, but I felt worse and worse.

I went to a place that I knew, and I thought they would help me, because they worked with this stuff, but they did not help me at all.

They started laughing and asked me “who would look at you?” “don`t think you are the center of attention”

This made me think that I was actually crazy, and that this was all in my head, but i really couldn`t stop watching and feeling this things feeling so sad, and lost i started feeling like i wanted to die.

But…..

Then I saw something that made me fall, I saw a spider coming out of my eye, and it was a really big spider, it hurted so much i couldnt even see through my eye, this time i knew i wasn`t imagining it, but if i told this to them, they would laugh this time, and harder, they would not even care about my pain or even about my feelings or even about what was happening to me.

I went to their house again, but this time, they didn`t talk, they also had spiders in their eyes, and they were bigger and smaller, but they had more spiders than i had ever seen i felt so scared, i thought i was becoming one of them, so then i decided to end it all.

I bought a rope, a bench and a little mirror to look at myself while I was hanging on my roof.

On October 15th, i Died, but i still feel the pain and the spiders, but i can`t talk to anyone else, my neighbours felt the smell of my dead body, and they found it already decomposing and completely rotten.

The police asked my friends what happened, but they said they tried to help me but everytime they did, i said they were making fun of me and laughing, they said i probably was crazy or mad, they said i always had scratches on my face around my eyes because i said i had a spider on my eyes.

This made me feel more calm, because it all was in my head, this left me rest in peace.

I… (sigh) I hear voices in my head, too many to count, too loud to ignore, and… too convincing to ignore what they tell me. They tell me that “You’re completely fine.”, but I don’t feel “fine”. My stomach aches, my throat is sore, my head is killing me. But still, the voices won’t cede: “You’re fine.” “You’re well.” “Nothing bad is happening.”

My body wants to expel whatever that is in my stomach, but they wouldn’t let me do that… I just want to end it all.

But still, just the same three words, over, and over, and over, and over again. “You’re completely fine.”

It’s past midnight, I’m far from home, and it’s too cold to walk home. I’m hungry… extremely hungry… they are asking me to eat. We need food… but… at this time, everything in the city is closed. Maybe I could go back home, but I’m convinced that in an hour, I will die, either by starvation or hypothermia. Without hope to live, I start assimilating that I will die here. Alone, cold and with my stomach empty. I sit down in fetal position to retain my body heat even if at least for some more time…

It was then that I heard it. A new voice among all of them whose tones I had already memorized. That one voice made all the others in my head shut up.

“Hello? Are you okay?”

Asked the stranger’s voice, but I couldn’t talk… not at all… I could only verbalize one word: “Hunger. ” It was then that all the voices returned again. But this time, they weren’t truly saying anything. Only one word, repeating once, twice, thrice… “Food. ”

The voices were too loud, almost deafening as my ears ringed. I could see the strange man was talking, but I couldn’t hear him. Suddenly, I felt myself drooling while looking at that man. Then, the stranger knelt down beside me.

eaten now. I was never discovered, always passing by as another person in this world

After all, they are the crazy ones, because...

• I am completely fine.

…

I pounced on him as a reflex and bit down on his jugular. I could only hear one thing: “Devour him.” And I couldn’t disobey. I stabbed my teeth into his flesh like a savage. The stranger couldn’t even react, didn’t have the time to yell as his brain stopped sending signals to his body. Officially dead, I couldn’t wait to feast myself on this meat.

That memory still torments me to this day, but what truly concerns me, is that… it didn’t taste bad…

That was what impulsed me to keep going, to eat people. I have lost the count of how many I have