The suicide note (part III)

It was a cloudy Wednesday morning, two days after Amy's weird experience in the locked room at hostel D. A young girl walked briskly into the school library. It was empty save for the librarian, a middle-aged woman with spectacles sitting behind a desk and staring into a computer screen. The woman had hardly replied the quick and brief 'good morning' before the girl's attention focused on a bookshelf laden with old and dog-eared newspapers, a task which she had carried out for the most part of the previous day.

The library was quiet as usual except for the momentary shuffle of papers and the faint clicks which emanated from the keyboard on the librarian's desk.
"what exactly are you looking for,?" the librarian finally broke the silence in a placid tone but received only a sigh from the girl who later said,
"anything that might've happened in hostel D."
"hostel D?," the woman shot her a quizzical look.
"yes," she replied with her sleep-starved eyes still glued to the bookshelf.

"what's your name?"
"Amy Johnson," Amy answered. She wondered why the woman asked for her name but dismissed the thought.
"I think something's wrong with that hostel, I've asked neighbours and even the landlord but no one would say a thing," she added. The woman sighed and returned her attention to the keyboard.

A full ten seconds passed then a thought crossed Amy's mind.
"you can gain access to the school's news archive from there, right?," she asked pointing to the computer as she approached the desk.
"and why'd I do that?,"
"please madam," Amy pleaded
"if there's anything you could tell me, anything at all..."
She went on and narrated her ordeal as the librarian listened. From the day they moved into the new hostel, the voices that haunted and robbed her of sleep every night.
"the most disturbing part of it madam...," Amy said as she concluded her story,
"...is that the events of monday night is still blurry and...," her voice trailed off and she stared blankly ahead. Monday night was two nights ago, what happened last night?. It was then that it dawned on her - she strangely couldn't account for last night. A debilitating wave of panic washed over her as she tried without success to recall anything at all that might've happened the previous night. She searched her memory for the slightest detail, but was always greeted by a nauseating sense of emptiness. It was as though the previous night was a mystery, a deleted computer file, a puzzle with a missing piece, a shelf that is short of a book. She opened her mouth to speak but only a distorted jargon escaped her trembling lips.