Hello everyone, welcome to the community. I can't wait to learn more about you. Feel free to read the stories, comment and add a story of your own. Take a view at the classroom section and the introduction is open. Are you new to skool? Do you have any goals set for your community?

Or What really happened to bring the ghosts to Willowbrook State School Part One: As you walk down the empty halls at the college, you could hear the clacking and banging of the courtroom's gavel and the disagreements between the people in the room. You hurry, because you know no one is supposed to be in the building but you. You approach the room, careful, just in case there's a meeting you didn't know about. But the closer you get, the stranger it feels. Goosebumps on the back of your neck. Tingling on the top of your head. Everything about this is telling you to walk the other way. The voices don’t sound like they’re coming from inside the room, anymore. They sound… layered. Like echoes of a conversation that already happened. You pause outside the door, your hand hovering over the handle. The arguing grows louder — sharp, overlapping, frantic — and then suddenly stops. Silence. A silence so complete it feels intentional. You push the door open and look around. The lights are off. The room is empty. The chairs are perfectly aligned. The judge’s bench is untouched, the gavel resting exactly where it should be. But no one is there. But the air is warm, as if bodies had just been inside. And on the far table, a single sheet of paper flutters — even though the windows are closed and there’s no draft. You step closer. The paper stops moving the moment you reach for it. And that’s when you hear it — a whisper, right behind you, low and close enough to feel the breath on your neck: “You’re late.” You spin around. The doorway is empty. There's no one in the hall. The entire building is still. But the gavel was on the bench… It's no longer where it was. You don’t move or breathe. Your mind is trying to make sense of it — maybe you misremembered, maybe you didn’t look closely, maybe— That’s when it happens. A scream. Not a startled shout, or a distant yell. It was the sound of a tortured child in agony. A raw, tearing, human scream — the kind someone makes when they’re in pain so deep it doesn’t sound like a voice anymore.

Welcome, Brian and Stanley to the group. Let us know if you have a ghost story that you'd like to share, or if you have something to add to an existing story here.