Chapter 2: The Truth at the Door

Is it really that lunatic outside?

Everyone else in the dorm was staring at me, the room so quiet you could hear the hum of someone’s laptop fan. Even Tyler, who usually lived in his own world with headphones on, had one earbud out and was watching me, eyes wide.

I pressed my eye to the peephole again. Something about the curve of his jaw, the way his shoulders slumped—it made my skin crawl. He wasn’t just some rando off the street.

We took turns peeking, each of us getting paler as that weird familiarity sank in.

But right now, the guy’s face was a mask of blood, clothes shredded and caked in mud. He looked nothing like anyone we knew—except for those tiny details.

Whatever had happened, it happened fast. The air in our room was thick with sweat and fear. No one wanted to admit how freaked out they were.

Our fourth roommate, Brian, broke the silence: "Dude, what should we do?" He whispered it, voice trembling, looking to me like I had the answers just because I’d checked first. The old freshman pecking order, alive and well.

I hesitated, then said, "Don’t go out."

My voice sounded steadier than I felt. No way was I opening that door, not for anyone—not even for Josh, if it really was him.

The RA had already warned us in the group: this guy was violent, attacking anyone he saw.

I shot a look at Sam, who was already typing some dumb joke in the chat. I shook my head—this was not the time.

There were five of us in the room, and none of us wanted to be the first to try anything. We were college kids, not action heroes.

Tension spiked as we all realized the truth: no one wanted to be the hero tonight.

The group chat from the other dorms started blowing up:

"Bro, what are we supposed to do?"

"How the hell do we sleep with some psycho banging on doors?"

Messages scrolled by—panic, jokes, and way too much bravado. Someone posted a Scooby-Doo GIF, another dropped a link to a Reddit thread about haunted dorms, but nobody was really laughing.

The RA replied, trying for calm: "Everyone just stay inside. I’ve already called housing—they’ll handle it soon."

You could hear the forced calm in his words, like he was quoting some crisis manual from orientation.

A couple guys bounced a tennis ball against the wall, someone cracked open a Red Bull. None of us were built to just sit and wait for adults to fix things.

The baseball team guys chimed in: "We took down the frat house streaker last semester, we can handle this."

The RA shut them down fast: "Quit messing around. Stay in your dorms."

He sounded tough, but we all knew he was just as freaked as the rest of us.

We tried to get ready for bed, but there was no sleeping. Sam killed the lights, but everyone lay there, eyes wide, listening to the chaos outside. Someone’s phone played lo-fi beats; the tension was thick enough to choke on.

Then we heard staff from the housing office show up.

Their voices bounced down the hall: "Where’s the guy?"

They sounded like parents catching you sneaking in after curfew. We all sat up straighter, waiting for something to happen.

There was banging in the corridor—metal scraping tile, a chair toppling, a muffled curse. It was chaos, not a fight.

Then: "Oh my god!" from one of the staff. The words sliced through the noise, making my stomach drop.

The commotion faded fast.

Suddenly, everything was quiet. I could hear the vending machine humming, my own pulse pounding in my ears.

All we heard was the lunatic pacing, low, pained groans echoing in the hall.

Every few steps, a thud—maybe a body hitting the wall, or a heavy foot dragging. It was a sound I never wanted to hear again.

Someone tagged the RA:

"Hey man, what’s going on? Why hasn’t the guy left yet?"

The chat blew up again—emojis, question marks, skull memes. But this time, the RA didn’t answer right away. Something was wrong.

We kept refreshing, staring at those three dots—nothing. Silence.

Finally, after another tag, the RA answered:

"Staff said he might have some kind of infectious disease."

"When they tried to catch him, he was covered in blood and sores."

"They called the CDC—someone’s coming later."

"Don’t go out. This is serious."

The group chat went dead quiet. The CDC mention hit like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t just a drunk dude or a prank. This was real.

People started cursing in the chat:

"Staff passing the buck again. What’s the point?"

"This college sucks. Why do we even bother?"

It was fast, sharp, and angry—the way kids always get when they’re scared and can’t do anything about it.

Just then, someone hammered on our door again.

The banging snapped us back. This time it was louder, desperate.

I checked the peephole. The guy matched the RA’s description: huge patches of festering skin, pus and blood everywhere. He looked like he’d caught something out of a nightmare.

We all recoiled, sleeves over our mouths, like the disease could seep through the metal.

Only Mike spoke: "Doesn’t this guy… look like Josh?"

His voice broke on Josh’s name, and the room seemed to shrink, the temperature dropping as it sank in.

Ring ring ring—

Mike and Josh were tight. Josh hadn’t come back tonight, but nobody thought much of it—until now.

Mike already had his phone out. The ringtone—some indie song only Josh liked—blared from outside the door. There was no denying it. Mike’s hand shook.

I stared at the guy’s clothes. That was Josh’s faded blue hoodie, the one with the Taco Bell ketchup stain. Even the shoes were his.

But… Josh had only gone out to fill his water bottle. Twenty minutes, tops. How did he turn into this?

Sam whispered, voice cracking, "No way, man. Josh just left like twenty minutes ago. People don’t change like that."

We all argued in disbelief, voices tumbling over each other. But the evidence was right there, and denial only made it worse.

My skin crawled. Half an hour, and everything was ruined.

We sat in silence, fear thick in the air. No one wanted to move. No one wanted to be next.

I glanced around, wondering if anyone else felt the itch, the fever, the panic setting in. Was it already inside us?

We all checked our arms for rashes, faces lit blue by our phones. Five of us, all waiting for someone to snap.

Sam, usually restless, was stone-still, eyes darting from face to face.

The unspoken agreement: if anyone flipped, it was every man for himself.

Josh’s howls kept coming, raw and animal, echoing all the way to the vending machines. Every sound made the fear in my chest press heavier.

Brian finally broke the silence: "Dude, you’re supposed to be the guy with the plan. What now?"

His voice was tiny, all his usual swagger gone.

I tried to sound tough: "We’re all in the same room now. If there’s a problem, we’re in it together. Besides, there’s nowhere to run. Josh is right outside—we… we can’t just leave our roommate out there, can we?"

We all stared at the door, guilt gnawing at us. Was it worse to leave him out there, or risk becoming him?

Everyone nodded, but no one met each other’s eyes.

Sam piped up: "I’ve still got some rope from that team-building thing. Let’s each tie one arm to the bed. If someone loses it, they won’t be able to untie themselves."

It sounded crazy, but it made sense. Those nylon ropes were scratchy and bright blue, left over from last month’s trust fall disaster.

We all agreed, laughing nervously as we grabbed ropes. The nylon rope dug into my wrist, the scratchy feeling a weird comfort compared to the chaos outside.

But I saw Brian sneak a slip knot—always the schemer. I didn’t call him out. I just did the same. Our eyes met: silent agreement. Watch my back, I’ll watch yours.

Bang bang bang—

Josh pounded on our door again, the sound more animal than human. I wondered if any part of our friend was left in there.

I leaned against the door, voice barely a whisper, careful not to make a sound.

Suddenly, the peephole went dark. I squinted, trying to see. I knocked hard, and whatever was covering it thudded to the floor. The sudden noise made us all jump.

In that instant, I saw what was happening. My breath froze, every muscle locked. Josh was actually… peeling off his own skin.