Episode 7 — DING-DONG, LET ME IN

It was only 2:30 PM when it started.

Jasmine had been standing with a few kids near the bike racks, laughing about something dumb Tania said earlier. The rain had finally eased up, leaving everything slick and gray. Puddles spread like stains across the pavement. Groups of teenagers stood scattered along the sidewalks, some still drying off their hair, others pulling up their hoods.

Then—

DONG.

Conversations cut off mid-sentence.

A strange stillness settled over everyone. Even the air felt thicker, like they were holding their breath underwater.

Jasmine turned toward the street.

That’s when she saw them.

Four figures.

Standing in a perfect line at the end of the block.

Identical black suits, soaked and hanging off their frames like heavy curtains. Their limbs loose like puppets without strings. Heads tilted just slightly forward like they were listening for something.

And each of them holding the same thing:

A long, rusted scythe.

For one frozen second, she and everyone else just… stared.

“What the…?” one boy muttered next to her.

He didn’t even finish the sentence.

Slash

One of the Suits lunged forward —impossibly fast—its scythe slicing clean through the boy’s face, down the back of his neck.

A wet snap of bone.

His body folded forward like a dropped ragdoll.

Jasmine’s scream ripped out of her throat before she even knew she was screaming.

“RUN!”

But this wasn’t like before. These weren’t the slow-moving, ghostly Suits they had come to know.

These ran.

Like wolves escaping from a cage.

Teeth bared. Scythes raised. Death had arrived and it wasn't nice.

The teens scattered. Some didn’t make it far.

Jasmine turned to bolt toward the school, but glanced back just in time to see another girl—a freshman—try to duck. The blade speared down through her skull, splitting through until it burst from her mouth.

Her body, still twitching, got shoved forward—impaled like some grotesque decoration—right into a boy who’d been running ahead of her.

The Suit didn’t hesitate. It rammed the blade straight through both of them.

Their broken teeth locked together in a final, bloody kiss.

Jasmine didn’t look back again. The echo of her own panicked breaths rattling inside her head, drowning out the wet scrape of metal dragging behind her.

Her sneakers slapped the wet pavement, barely catching grip as she turned past the old swing set. The single metal chain swung lazily—clinking—like it had been disturbed by something she couldn’t see.

Her heartbeat so loud it shook her skull.

Behind her, the pounding footsteps of a Suit grew louder—closer.

Too close.

She veered right, down the side alley that curved around the school’s west wing.

Water splashed. Her knee twisted awkwardly, but she kept moving.

From the alley through the mist and trees, she spotted them: Sasha, Michael and the Twins creeping from under the stone gazebo toward the school’s front door.

Jasmine’s throat tightened.

She wanted to call out. Wanted to wave them down.

But she froze.

If she shouted, they’d hear her.

So she crouched low behind a trash bin, biting her lip hard enough to taste blood. Watched as the group slipped inside the school building and vanished behind the door.

But strangely… the Suit that had been following them… stopped.

It stood still.

Tilting its head like a dog listening to something only it could hear.

Then it turned away… and left.

Jasmine didn’t wait to wonder why.

As soon as the street emptied, she bolted for the front of the school.

The doors were locked.

Of course they were.

Her palms smacked against the door.

“Guys! It’s me! Jasmine! Open up!”

No answer. 

"Fuck!"

Her chest heaved. Her skin felt clammy and tight, like she was still drowning in the afternoon’s humidity.

Her eyes darted left —then right. She saw another Suit moving towards the school.

“Shit…”

No time.

The back entrance.

She sprinted around the corner, slipped once on the wet sidewalk, caught herself on a railing and charged for the rear door.

This time, it opened.

Slammed it shut behind her and clicked the latch.

Dark, empty hallways stretched ahead. The only light came from weak yellow emergency bulbs.

Her sneakers squeaked against the tile as she bolted for the stairwell.

Up the first flight.

She paused for half a breath on the landing, stooped low, trying to suck in enough air to keep her legs working.

Up the second.

The sound of footsteps behind her.

Her own?

No.

Something heavier.

Something slower… but deliberate.

She didn’t stop to check.

Just tore up the final stretch of stairs and burst onto the second-floor landing—just as the library door was barricaded shut in front of her.

Boom!

Boom!

Her fists slammed against the wood.

“Sasha!” she screamed.

For a second, silence.

Then heads turned.

Michael. Anya. Tania.

They froze—then Sasha’s eyes widened, peering through the keyhole.

“Jasmine?!”

The others crowded close, trying to peak.

“It’s me! Let me in! Please!”

They quickly pulled the chairs and desks back from the door.

Jasmine’s legs moved on instinct. She dove forward. Michael grabbed her arm and yanked her in just as Sasha slammed the door shut behind her.

They scrambled for desks and chairs—barricading the door once more.

Michael’s chest rose and fell in deep gasps. A state of relief washing over him.

Anya wiped her face with her sleeve, crying quietly.

Tania swore under her breath.

Sasha crouched near the far wall, pale and shaking.

Jasmine slid down the nearest bookshelf until her back hit the floor.

Her legs wouldn’t stop trembling.

For a second… none of them said anything.

Finally, Jasmine broke the silence.

“They’re not slow anymore.”

Everyone turned.

“The Suits… they’re running now.” Her voice cracked.

Tania let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “The gift that keeps on giving.”

Jasmine dragged a sleeve across her face, wiping blood she hadn’t realized had splattered there.

Then, from the tiny rectangular window high on the library wall, Tania whispered:

“…Why is it just standing there?”

They all crowded to look.

Down in the street, framed between the trees and rain…

One Suit.

Standing motionless.

Scythe still dripping with blood.

Head cocked.

Waiting.

Like it knew they were watching.

Like it was listening for something none of them could hear.

Michael’s voice came low and tired.

“We'd better get comfortable.”

His gaze stayed fixed on the street.

“We’re gonna be here for a while.”