Episode 3 — The Ones Who Answer the Bell

The town had a rule.

If you hear the bell, don’t move.

Don’t breathe.

Don’t look out the window.

If you live through it, don’t talk about what you saw.

Most obeyed.

But not Jonah.

Jonah DeWitt was seventeen and smarter than most, or so he believed. A film nerd with a camera and a death wish. He wanted footage of the Suits. Not blurry cell phone panic. Not urban legend nonsense. Real proof.

He told himself he didn’t believe the stories. That was a lie. Jonah believed all of it. That’s what made him dangerous.

The bell had only rung twice in his lifetime.

Once when he was seven, hiding in a church basement.

Once when he was twelve, under his bed, holding his dog so tight he left bruises on its ribs.

Both times, he obeyed.

But tonight, the bell rang a third time.

Chime.

Jonah’s eyes snapped open.

He’d been waiting for five years. Gathering evidence and testimonials from the town, the library that only a few even used anymore.

GoPro strapped to his chest, camcorder in hand. He ran to the window.

Outside, the street was still.

No wind. No sound.

Even the lights from the houses seemed to flicker a half-second late but it was still enough to see through the darkness.

Jonah focused his camera. Adjusted the ISO and whispered to himself like it was a ritual.

“Focus. Zoom. Shoot.”

A window shattered somewhere down the street.

“The school,” Jonah breathed. “It came from the school. Now or never.”

He moved fast but carefully. A woman passed him in a hurry screaming her lungs out heading toward the church.

He hid out under a bush and waited for the Suit to pass by in the direction of the school.

“Mrs. Ellis?” Jonah hissed.

She didn’t turn. Didn’t slow down.

Jonah crouched behind a bush, barely daring to breathe as she scrambled through the window of Classroom A1 like her life depended on it.

That’s when he saw it.

One of the Suits.

Standing perfectly still at the edge of a flickering streetlight overlooking Class A1. Wearing a black pinstripe suit, something in its hand — a crooked umbrella, maybe. Or a bat.

It followed her slowly.

Jonah zoomed in.

Then it tilted its head.

No mouth. No eyes.

But it had seen him.

Jonah ducked out of sight. Heart hammering.

The bell rang again.

Chime.

And this time, it was closer.

He checked his watch. Fifteen more minutes until 6:00 A.M, when the sun always rose without fail.

Jonah sprinted toward the school’s back entrance. At first, the door rattled under his hand—locked.

But on the second tug, it gave way.

The school felt like a mausoleum. Every step echoed too loud.

He wasn’t sure where Mrs. Ellis had gone. The place was too big to search, too dark to navigate.

Then—

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Heavy boots on the stairwell. Slow. Measured. Coming from the east wing.

Jonah licked his lips, pulse roaring in his ears.

A Suit. It had to be.

He followed the sound down the hallway, sticking to the lockers, careful to stay low.

Every corner he turned… empty.

Every door… cracked open but dark.

Still—he heard it. Boots against tile… then carpet. Then tile again.

A dragging sound joined it. Something metal scraping the floor.

Jonah’s breath caught.

He froze just outside the faculty office.

A second sound—sharp and wet—the crack of wood splitting.

Jonah didn’t wait.

He bolted through the office door, slid across the carpet, and dove under Mr. Kawasaki’s desk.

The camera kept recording.

Not by his choice.

Curled tight beneath the desk, Jonah clutched the camcorder to his chest like a crucifix.

The battery light blinked red.

“Fucking hell… not now…” he whispered.

Then—

Scrape.

Metal dragging again.

It caught on a wrinkle in the carpet. Stopped.

Then lifted.

Thump… thump… thump…

A rhythmic beat. Something being slapped against an open palm.

Jonah bit down on a scream.

The desk shifted.

Bolted to the floor—but still, it creaked. Wrenched sideways like it weighed nothing at all.

For half a second—just one—Jonah saw it:

The golden gleam along the edge of the bat as it rose overhead.

And then—

Darkness.

Jonah screamed.

When they found the camera the next day, it was buried under the wreckage of Mr. Kawasaki’s desk.

Still recording.

The footage was static for twenty-three minutes.

Then one frame appeared.

Just one.

A little girl.

Soot on her cheeks.

Holding a voodoo doll.

Smiling.

Then static again.

Now there's a fourth rule in town:

Never try to film when you hear the Bell.

If it sees you watching…

You’re already dead.