The Last Voice In Locker 313

The first rule at Blackwood Academy was simple.

No one ever said it aloud.

There were no warning signs nailed to the walls. It wasn’t printed in the student handbook or mentioned during orientation. Yet somehow, every student understood it without being told.

Stay away from Locker 313.

Aria Vale didn’t know that. Stepping through Blackwood’s towering iron gates, she felt equal parts excitement and dread. The academy looked nothing like the public schools she had attended all her life. Ancient stone buildings stretched across rolling green lawns, their ivy-covered walls glowing beneath the September sun. Marble fountains sparkled in the courtyards while students in crisp navy uniforms crossed the campus with effortless confidence. It looked less like a school and more like a place where the country’s future leaders were manufactured.

Aria adjusted the strap of her faded duffel bag. She didn’t belong here. At least, that was what the voice in the back of her mind kept whispering.

Around her, parents hugged their children goodbye beside sleek luxury cars. Designer suitcases rolled across polished pathways. Laughter echoed from students who already seemed to know one another.

Aria simply clutched the envelope containing her scholarship documents. She had earned her place. Every sleepless night. Every exam. Every sacrifice.

Blackwood hadn’t given her anything. She had fought for it.

“First-year students, this way!”

A woman in a burgundy blazer welcomed them with practiced enthusiasm before leading everyone toward the administration hall. The orientation passed in a blur.

School rules, dormitory regulations, class schedules, academic expectations. Nothing unusual.

When Aria reached the registration desk to receive her locker assignment, the administrator frowned at her computer.

“Hmm…” She typed again. Then frowned harder. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Your assigned locker isn’t responding in the system.”

Aria blinked. “Is that… bad?”

“Oh, nothing serious.” The woman smiled professionally.

“It happens occasionally.” She scribbled something across Aria’s orientation sheet.

“For today, just use any empty locker. Maintenance will fix yours before classes tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

With her timetable tucked beneath her arm, Aria left the administration building and wandered toward the academic block. The corridors buzzed with excitement.

Students decorated lockers with photographs. Friends reunited after summer break. Someone chased another student with a bottle of orange juice while laughter erupted down the hallway.

It felt normal. Comfortably normal. Until she reached the third floor.

Without warning, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations became quieter, students instinctively walked faster. Several glanced toward the far end of the corridor before quickly looking away.

Aria followed their gaze.

One locker stood by itself between two stone pillars. Unlike every other locker, it had nothing on it. No stickers, no timetable, no lock, no scratches from years of careless students.

Just faded black paint… and brass numbers.

She looked around. Every surrounding locker belonged to someone, except that one. Her eyes dropped to the note scribbled by the administrator.

Use any empty locker.

A basketball bounced somewhere behind her. Moments later, a tall boy carrying sports equipment nearly collided with her.

“Sorry.” He stopped after noticing where she was looking.

His smile disappeared. “You… planning to use that locker?”

“If it opens.”

He stared at her for a second too long. “You should find another one.”

“Why?”

His lips parted. No words came out. Instead, he forced an awkward laugh. “I just mean… there are probably others.”

“There aren’t.”

He looked at Locker 313 again. A strange uneasiness settled across his face. Without another word, he hurried away.

Aria frowned.

People were acting as though the locker carried bad luck. Ridiculous. Schools loved creating silly legends. Ghost classrooms, haunted dormitories, secret tunnels, every campus had stories.

She wasn’t about to let one stop her from putting away her books. Taking a slow breath, she stepped closer. The metal handle felt surprisingly cold. She expected it to be locked. Instead…

Click.

The door opened effortlessly. No rust, no screeching hinges, no dust. It looked… Maintained. As though someone had opened it only hours earlier.

The shelf inside held a single object. An old cassette voice recorder. Its silver casing was scratched with age, yet it looked carefully preserved.

Beside it rested a neatly folded piece of paper. Aria unfolded it.

Three words: PLAY ME FIRST.

A chill crawled up her spine. Before she could react, footsteps echoed behind her, she turned. The corridor was empty. When she looked back… The tiny red recording light on the cassette player blinked once.

Then… It turned on by itself.