The Last Projection

It was during my sophomore year at Meridian State University, a sprawling campus built on the site of a former sanatorium. The architecture was all aged red brick and ivy, with a certain gothic weight that felt oppressive after sunset. We were in the basement of Thorne Hall, the oldest academic building, hunched over a dying computer, desperately finishing our final project for Advanced Film Theory: a short film burned onto a disc. The deadline was 8 AM, and we were down to the wire.

The clock on the wall, its face cracked and yellowed, read 11:47 PM. My partner, a quiet film nerd named Elias, was the one who finally pulled the USB drive out. ‘Done,’ he said, holding up the plastic case with the disc inside. We were alone in the editing suite, the only light coming from the monitor and a flickering fluorescent tube in the hallway. I stretched, my neck popping. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ I said. ‘Place gives me the creeps at night.’

We packed our bags and stepped into the corridor. The hallway was a long, narrow tunnel of dim emergency lighting, the walls lined with framed stills from classic horror movies. A poster for ‘Nosferatu’ caught my eye, and for a moment, I could have sworn the vampire’s eyes followed me. We walked toward the stairwell, our footsteps echoing on the linoleum, past the locked doors of other department offices. The air was unnaturally cold, a chill that seeped through my jacket and made my teeth chatter.

We reached the stairwell and began our descent. The steps were worn stone, slick with moisture. Halfway down to the fourth floor, I heard a sound behind us, a soft click, like a door closing. I froze. ‘Did you hear that?’ Elias shrugged. ‘Probably the janitor.’ I didn’t buy it. The janitor was usually on the first floor. We continued, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched.

As we passed the third-floor landing, I glanced through the window that looked out onto the central courtyard. The moon was full, casting long shadows across the empty quad. And then I saw it: a figure standing by the old fountain, perfectly still, facing our building. I nudged Elias and pointed. ‘Who’s that?’ Elias squinted. ‘No one’s supposed to be out there this late.’ The figure didn’t move. It was too far to make out any features, just a dark silhouette against the moonlit pavement.

We hurried down to the second floor. The lights here were even dimmer, some buzzing, some out entirely. As we rounded the corner, the emergency exit door slammed shut ahead of us, a loud bang that made me jump. Elias laughed nervously. ‘It’s just the wind.’ But the air was still. I felt a cold breath on the back of my neck, as if someone had exhaled right behind me. I spun around, but there was no one.

We reached the ground floor and burst through the main entrance, gasping the cool night air. The campus was quiet, the streetlamps casting pools of yellowish light. We walked briskly toward the parking lot, our breath visible in the cold. As we reached Elias’s car, I let out a sigh of relief. ‘Man, that was insane. I never want to be in that building after dark again.’ Elias fumbled for his keys. ‘Yeah, no kidding.’

Just as he unlocked the driver’s door, I heard it again: a faint, rhythmic tapping, coming from the building. I turned and looked up at Thorne Hall. There, on the third floor, was a window I hadn’t noticed before, and in it, a pale face pressed against the glass, staring down at us. It was featureless, like a porcelain mask, and I felt a jolt of pure terror. I pointed, but my arm trembled. ‘Elias, look.’ He followed my gaze. ‘What? I don’t see anything.’ When I looked again, the face was gone.

I was shaking as we got into the car. Elias started the engine, and we drove away in silence. I couldn’t shake the image of that face. It wasn’t until we were miles away that I spoke. ‘Did we leave anything behind?’ Elias frowned. ‘I don’t think so. Why?’ ‘I think I left my, my script on the table,’ I lied, not wanting to admit what I had seen. Elias sighed. ‘We can’t go back now. We’ll get it tomorrow.’

But I knew that wasn’t the end of it. The next morning, we returned to the editing suite to retrieve the script. The room was exactly as we had left it, except for one thing: our disc was on the table, cracked into pieces. In the center of the wreckage was a single word, written in what looked like dried red ink: ‘REWIND.’

I looked at Elias, and I could see the fear in his eyes. We never submitted the project. We both dropped out of that class, and I never stepped foot in Thorne Hall again. To this day, I still don’t know what was in that building, but I know it wasn’t human. And sometimes, late at night, I still hear that tapping, and I see that pale face in my dreams, always asking me to play it again.