The Last Bell Sarah clutched her report card as she walked down the empty corridor of Millfield Academy. The final bell had rung twenty minutes ago, and most students had already rushed home for the Christmas holidays. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows on the notice boards covered in festive decorations. She needed to collect her art project from the basement studio before leaving. As her footsteps echoed on the stone steps, Sarah noticed how much colder it felt down here. The familiar smell of paint and clay was replaced by something musty and unpleasant. The studio door creaked open. Inside, her clay sculpture sat on the worktable exactly where she'd left it—except now it had changed. What had been a cheerful snowman yesterday now bore a twisted, menacing grin. Its coal-black eyes seemed to follow her as she approached. "Impossible," Sarah whispered, reaching out to touch the clay face. The moment her fingers made contact, the sculpture's mouth moved. "Don't leave me here alone for three weeks," it pleaded in a voice like grinding stone. "Take me home with you, Sarah. We can play together forever." Sarah stumbled backwards, her heart pounding. Around the room, every student's artwork began to stir. Paintings writhed in their frames, pottery rattled on shelves, and papier-mâché masks turned their hollow eyes towards her. "The holidays are so lonely," they chorused. "Stay with us, Sarah. Stay and play." She ran for the door, but it slammed shut. The lights went out. In the darkness, she heard the scraping of clay feet climbing down from tables, the rustle of paper creatures awakening, and dozens of artistic voices whispering her name. When the caretaker found the studio the next morning, Sarah's report card lay on the floor. But Sarah was nowhere to be seen. Instead, on the worktable sat a new clay figure—a girl with wide, terrified eyes and a mouth open in a silent scream.