Chapter 1: SAT Day in Hell

Ten years after graduation, I jolted awake at a desk in my old high school classroom—on SAT day, of all days. For a second, I just stared at the scratched wood beneath my arms, my mind blank. Hadn’t I left all this behind? My stomach twisted with a familiar, deep-rooted dread. SAT day. God, just the thought of it still made my palms sweat.

The same old, musty scent of chalk and floor wax slammed into me as soon as my eyes opened. It was the kind of smell that hit you right in the back of the throat, heavy and stubborn. I froze, taking it in. God, I’d almost forgotten how it stuck to you—how you could still smell it on your clothes, hours after leaving. My desk felt hard and unforgiving beneath my arms—unmistakably the kind you’d find in any public high school in the Midwest. Overhead, I could almost hear the buzz of ancient fluorescent lights, that constant hum barely covering up the anxious, electric tension that always spiked during big tests.

Outside the window, I saw the old red-brick building—the one they’d demolished years ago. Its paint was peeling in long, curling strips, flaking away like sunburned skin. My breath caught. For a second, I just stared, a chill running down my back. That building wasn’t supposed to be here. Not anymore.

I squinted, half-expecting to see the construction lot or the new gym that had replaced it. But no—the bricks glared back, faded and chipped, their windows clouded over like blind eyes. A gust of wind rattled the glass, bringing in the sharp scent of autumn leaves and a distant wisp of smoke. Weird. It shouldn’t be here. Everything about it felt wrong—like a memory that had curdled, gone sour in my mind.

Autumn Reese—the girl I’d always admired, the one who’d died here a decade ago—was smiling at me.

She was sitting two rows over, sunlight spilling through the window and catching in her hair just the way I remembered from senior year. But there was something in her eyes—a glint that didn’t belong, a shadow I’d never seen. My heart stuttered. No way. She couldn’t be here. It was impossible, yet there she was, untouched by time, like the years had left her behind. For a moment, I wondered if I was still dreaming, or if this was some sick joke the universe had cooked up just for me.

Blood-red letters oozed across the whiteboard, thick and glistening. It was like something out of a bad horror movie:

[Question 1: Do you believe in vengeful spirits in the testing room?

A. Yes

B. No

C. I am the vengeful spirit]

The letters dripped slowly, pooling at the bottom of the board like syrupy paint. The air turned sharp and metallic, the smell of iron creeping in. My skin crawled, hairs standing up on my arms. I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to gag.

Thud.

A balled-up scrap of paper smacked down right by my hand.

The sound jolted me, snapping me out of whatever trance I’d fallen into. I jerked upright, glancing around, but everyone else was staring dead ahead, faces blank, eyes glazed. I picked up the note, feeling the roughness of the paper, still warm from someone’s palm.

Scrawled on it: “Don’t touch the gel pen—that’s made from a dead person’s ashes.”

Written on it: “Don’t touch the gel pen—it’s made with someone’s ashes.”

She’d been my high school crush—brilliant, kind, and way out of my league—but after the SATs, she’d been in an accident and died. That was years ago.

She’d been my high school crush—brilliant and kind. After the SAT, she died in a car accident. Just like that. Gone. That was years ago.

Her lips curved just the way they used to, but her eyes didn’t crinkle at the corners. Instead, they stared straight through me, like she was seeing something I couldn’t. The sunlight made her skin look even paler, almost see-through. Jesus, what was happening to me?

Then, out of nowhere—Tyler Grant, the kid at the desk in front of me, let out a sharp, panicked scream.

It ripped through the silence like a fire alarm, making every muscle in my body jump. Tyler—the class clown, the guy who never took anything seriously—was screaming. Hearing him like that made my stomach twist into knots.

I looked up just in time to see his finger brush the silver gel pen sitting at the edge of his desk.

The pen gleamed under the harsh lights, its cap rolling off and bouncing across the floor. Tyler’s hand hovered over it, shaking so badly it looked like he was freezing.

In an instant, his skin started to blacken and shrivel, like invisible flames were crawling up his arm. Within seconds, he crumbled—skin, bones, everything—into a pile of gray-white dust that scattered across his seat.

The change was so sudden, so savage, I couldn’t process it. The air filled with the acrid stench of burnt hair and melting plastic. The dust drifted onto his chair, his backpack—some of it even landed on my shoes. This can’t be happening.

It all happened in less than three seconds. I blinked, but the image burned itself into my brain. My body went cold.

My mind spun, replaying the moment on a loop, desperate for any clue that it was some kind of trick, a hallucination. But the silence that followed was too thick, too final. There was no coming back from that.

The classroom went dead silent. Nobody moved. Not even a breath.

You could hear the clock ticking on the wall, the faint, lazy buzz of the old air conditioner. Every student sat frozen, eyes wide, holding their breath. Even the proctor at the front didn’t seem to notice—or care. I felt a surge of panic. Was I the only one seeing this?

I turned to Autumn. Her expression didn’t change—still that sweet, unsettling smile, as if nothing had happened at all.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. It was like she’d been waiting for this, like it was all part of the plan. Her fingers tapped out a slow rhythm on her desk, perfectly calm. How could she be so calm?

“Quiet! Keep working!” the proctor’s voice barked, booming through the room.

I nearly jumped out of my seat. He sounded pissed, but there was a weird echo to his words, like he was yelling from the bottom of a well. I looked up, expecting to see Mr. Dorsey, our old math teacher—but the guy at the front was a total stranger.

That’s when I noticed his white dress shirt was soaked in deep red stains—fresh blood, seeping across his chest and sleeves. My stomach flipped. There was a chunk of something at his collar—raw and pink, like a piece of meat torn from somewhere it should never be. I gagged and looked away.

It quivered every time he breathed. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the urge to vomit. The other students didn’t react. They just kept staring at their test booklets, robotic, like nothing was wrong at all.

My eyes drifted to the window glass, where streaks of blood were slowly dripping down, spelling out:

[Question 1: Do you believe in vengeful spirits in the testing room?

A. Yes

C. I am the vengeful spirit]

The blood traced each letter with a horrible precision, droplets merging into a thick, sticky pool on the windowsill. Outside, the world was dead quiet—no cars, no birds, nothing but the wind.

A chill crept through me, settling deep in my bones. My fingers shook uncontrollably.

Goosebumps prickled along my arms, and I wrapped them around myself, trying to keep from shaking apart. My breath came in ragged bursts. I could hear my own heartbeat, pounding in my ears. Shit. What was this place?

I tried to remember how I’d ended up here. I’d left my apartment early, coffee in hand, nerves jangling just like ten years ago. But now, everything was off, like I’d tripped and fallen straight into someone else’s nightmare.

I remembered walking into a normal SAT testing center—so how the hell did it turn into this horror show?

The last thing I remembered was the bitter smell of old coffee in the hallway, the scuffed linoleum, the squeak of sneakers. None of this—blood, ghosts, Tyler’s ashes—fit. It was like the world had twisted sideways when I wasn’t looking.

Suddenly, the students around me started flipping through their test booklets in perfect unison. The harsh scrape of paper was so loud, it sounded like a hundred people screaming at once. Make it stop.

The sound set my teeth on edge, relentless and overwhelming—like nails on a chalkboard. Pages turned, pencils scratched, but nobody spoke. Their faces stayed blank, eyes glazed, as if they were already gone.

I forced myself to breathe. In, out. Inhale. Exhale. I gripped the edge of my desk so hard my knuckles went bone white. I tried to ground myself—counting tiles on the floor, the cracks in the ceiling, anything to remind myself this was real. Please, let this be real.

According to the rules, I had to pick the right answer.

Somehow, I just knew that was the only way out. My mind flashed back to every standardized test I’d ever taken—the endless pressure, the desperate need to get it right. But this was different. The stakes were higher. Was this even a test anymore? Deadly.

But I couldn’t use a pen—so how was I supposed to answer?

My gaze flicked to the pile of pens at the front, each one gleaming silver. The warning in Autumn’s note echoed in my mind, loud as a siren. My hands shook, sweat slicking my palms. I glanced at my classmates, searching their faces for any sign they knew what I did. Did they see it too?

As I hesitated, a whisper slid in from beside me.

The voice was soft, barely more than a breath against my ear. It sent a shiver racing down my spine—the kind you get when someone sneaks up behind you at night.

There were rules here: pick the right answer.

It was Autumn. Her voice was just as I remembered—gentle, but now with a sharp edge that made the hairs on my neck stand up. Her words rang in my head like a warning bell.

Suddenly, Autumn was standing right next to me.

She moved with an eerie, inhuman grace, gliding across the floor without a single sound. The air around her turned cold, enough to make my breath fog in front of me. She was ice.

Her fingers pressed down on my hand. They were freezing, like she’d just been pulled out of a walk-in freezer.

I flinched, but she didn’t let go. Her grip was stronger than I expected, and my skin prickled where she touched me, like she was draining the warmth from my body.

“How did you—”

I tried to speak, but my throat closed up. The words felt thick, like I was trying to talk underwater.

“Trust me. Pick C.”

She cut me off, then bit her own finger and scrawled the letter C on my answer sheet in blood.

Her fingers rested on my hand. They were ice-cold, like she’d been in a freezer.

She moved so fast, I didn’t have time to stop her.

By the time I realized what was happening, it was already done. My answer sheet was stained, the letter C bleeding into the page.

Suddenly, the sound of page-flipping stopped. The silence was deafening, the kind that makes your ears ring. Every head in the room turned to the front, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

The proctor stopped beside a student and picked up his answer sheet.

He moved stiffly, like a puppet with tangled strings. His eyes were empty, the whites shot through with red. He reached out for the paper with fingers that looked too long, too thin. My stomach twisted.

That kid had written A.

I recognized him—Eli, the quiet kid from the back row. He looked up, eyes stretched wide with terror.

He started convulsing, a horrible gurgle bubbling up from his throat.

His body jerked, limbs flailing. The sound was wet, desperate—like someone drowning. His skin drained of color, then shriveled, his clothes sagging around him like a deflated balloon.

The next second, his body shriveled up like a popped balloon. Along with his clothes, he vanished from his seat.

It was like he’d never existed. The only thing left was a faint outline on the chair, a ghost-shadow burned into the fabric.

Only the desk remained, warped and twisted, transforming into a cracked tombstone right before my eyes.

The wood split and groaned, reshaping itself into something grotesque. The tombstone glistened, wet and new, like it had just been pulled from the earth.

Horrifying. My breath caught in my throat. I wanted to scream, but nothing came out. The walls felt like they were closing in.

“And you?”

The proctor was turning to a girl now. His voice was sharp, cold.

Her name was Jessica—I remembered her from homeroom. She was shaking, tears streaking down her face, mascara smeared into black rivers.

She was sobbing, her terror raw and unfiltered.

Her hands clutched the desk so hard her knuckles were white. She tried to speak, but her voice broke, coming out as nothing but a choked whimper. My chest ached for her.

He snatched her answer sheet with blood-smeared fingers. Jessica recoiled, but there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

She’d written B.

Her answer stood out, bold and final. I saw her lips move in a silent prayer. God, please.

Suddenly, her desk split open, and a mouth full of jagged, splintered teeth clamped down on her wrist.

The wood warped, opening into a gaping maw lined with broken, bloody teeth. It bit down with a sickening crunch, blood spurting across the floor.

Blood dripped down the desk leg, pooling on the linoleum in a sticky, dark puddle. The metallic stench filled the air, thick and raw. I gagged, looking away.

“Help me, help me…”

Her hands clutched the desk so hard her knuckles were white. She tried to speak, but her voice broke; only a choked whimper escaped.

She whimpered, but everyone else was too frozen with fear to move. Nobody dared look at her. The room was full of statues, all pretending not to see. I felt guilt clawing at me, but my feet wouldn’t budge.

I wanted to help, but Autumn’s hand clamped down on my arm, holding me back.

Her grip was iron-strong, her eyes locked on mine. She shook her head, silent but firm—a warning I couldn’t ignore.

“She brought this on herself. If you try to save her, you’ll die too.”

Her words were cold, flat, almost like she’d said them a hundred times before. I caught a flicker of something in her eyes—a memory, maybe, or a pain she’d buried deep.

In Autumn’s eyes, I saw regret, hatred, and a disgust that went straight to the bone.

It was like she’d watched this play out too many times to count. Her face hardened, jaw set.

I gave up. My hands fell to my lap, useless. I stared at the floor, burning with shame. There was nothing I could do but watch.

All I could do was watch as Jessica bled out at her desk.

Her breathing slowed, her eyes glazed over. The blood pooled around her shoes, soaking into her socks. The desk finally closed, swallowing her whole. Shit. Just like that, she was gone.

The proctor turned his gaze to me, voice cold and hollow, eyes boring into mine, unblinking. I felt exposed, like he could see every secret I’d ever tried to hide. Is this it for me?

“And you?”

Everyone turned to stare, their eyes now just empty black holes—faces blank, features erased. It was like being trapped in a room full of mannequins, all waiting for me to screw up.

The proctor dragged his blood-soaked shoes, step by step, toward us. Each step left a sticky red footprint on the linoleum. My heart thudded in my chest, my throat dry. Don’t come any closer.

My heart hammered so hard I thought it would explode. I could barely breathe, sweat icing my back.

“Correct answer.”

In Autumn’s eyes, I saw regret, hatred, and deep disgust.

The corners of his mouth tore open toward his ears, revealing rows of jagged, yellowed teeth. The grin was inhuman, stretching far too wide, glistening with spit. I shuddered, unable to look away. Oh God.

I exhaled shakily, lungs burning. I forced myself to breathe, to focus on anything but those teeth. Please let this be over.

I whispered to Autumn, “Thank you. But how did you know what to pick?” My voice shook, barely more than a whisper. I glanced at her, desperate. Please, just give me something to hold onto.

Her voice was soft, floating like a ghost across the space between us.

There was a sadness in her words, a tiredness that seemed bottomless. She looked at me, her eyes hollowed out by something I couldn’t name.

She pointed at the classroom door, her hand trembling. I followed her gaze, squinting at the faded numbers above the doorframe.

I followed her gaze and saw the number on the placard—peeling, barely readable. It was lower than I remembered—way lower. Confusion knotted in my stomach.

Autumn nodded, a lock of black hair falling over her pale cheek. She tucked it behind her ear, her movements careful and slow. Her skin looked almost luminous in the harsh light.

“With every loop, the room number goes down.”

Her words echoed in my mind. I tried to make sense of it, but the logic slipped through my fingers. What did that even mean?

“We’re stuck in a time loop.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My mind reeled. I’d seen movies about this kind of thing, but living it? That was something else entirely.

I lowered my voice. “Why are you helping me?” The suspicion crept in, and I couldn’t help it. After all this, I needed to know.

Autumn leaned in, her breath so cold it made me shiver.

She was close enough that I could see the faint freckles on her nose, the flutter of her lashes. Her breath was icy, chilling my skin.

“Because I think you can help me.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, a secret meant for my ears only. There was hope in her eyes, but something darker, too.

She glanced around the room, her gaze sweeping over the empty desks, the warped wood, the bloodstains. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“And now, we’re the only two left alive in here.”

The words landed like a blow. I realized, with a sick jolt, that she was right. The others were gone—dead, vanished, erased like they’d never existed.

I couldn’t help but look at Tyler’s seat, where he’d turned to ashes. The sight made my stomach twist. I remembered his dumb jokes, the way he always tried to cheat off my tests. Now, there was nothing left but a scorch mark.

It was empty—not even dust left—just a scorched, human-shaped outline on the desktop. I reached out, but pulled my hand back at the last second. I couldn’t bring myself to touch it.

I asked quietly, “So how do we get out?” My voice trembled. I was afraid to hear the answer.

Autumn’s lips curled into a strange, bittersweet smile, full of secrets. Her eyes glimmered with something unreadable.

“We repeat the cycle. When the room number hits zero, the loop ends.”

She spoke like she’d practiced the words a hundred times. I felt a chill run down my spine. Was there really an end to this?

The proctor suddenly appeared at the front. His shirt was soaked in blood, his mouth split open at the corners, revealing those ghastly teeth. He moved in a blur, eyes wild and unblinking. Blood dripped onto the floor, making me want to gag.

His voice was mocking, almost gleeful. No relief—just a new wave of dread. What the hell was coming next?

Only then did I notice the remaining students were mechanically filling in option C on their sheets, using blood. Their hands moved in perfect, unnatural unison—biting their fingertips, dipping into wounds, the smell of iron thickening the air.

Their movements were eerily synchronized, like puppets yanked by invisible strings. It was wrong, horrifying. Their eyes were blank, mouths slack. Were they even alive anymore?

The classroom, once full, was now half empty. The emptiness hit me like a punch—so many gone, just like that.

At the seats of those who’d vanished, the desks had warped into all kinds of grotesque shapes. Some twisted into jagged, broken forms. Others sagged like melted wax, dripping onto the floor.

Some looked like gravestones, some like gallows, some like tiny coffins. The details were sickeningly clear—names scratched into the wood, tiny nooses carved into the legs, miniature lids nailed shut. It was a graveyard made of memories. My skin crawled.

I turned to Autumn and forced a smile. My lips barely moved. I tried to act brave, but I knew she could see right through me. Who was I kidding?

She patted the empty seat beside her, where a cushion had appeared. “There are a lot more levels ahead. Want to sit together?” The cushion was deep red, plush and inviting—a weird comfort in the middle of all this horror. Her invitation felt like a lifeline. I grabbed it.

I noticed she’d said “a lot more” instead of something like “two” or “three.” The vagueness made cold sweat bead on my neck. How long could this go on?

But when I saw her outstretched hand, I still found myself moving over. What else could I do?

Her fingers were cold, but her grip was steady. I slid into the seat beside her, heart pounding so hard I thought it might give out.

After all, who wouldn’t want to sit with their high school goddess? Even in this hell, a part of me still wanted to be near her. Old habits die hard, I guess. I forced a shaky smile, hoping she couldn’t see how terrified I was.