A Haunted School Story

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Access to affordable credit helps me pay my employees. But I don't really need it.

Infliction is killing me. But who cares? Big retailers are making record profits.

That's why we support the Durban Marshall credit card bill. See, things in credit unions help

small businesses make payroll. This bill would cut the vital resources they need.

While increasing Megastore profits. They deserve it. Don't they?

Tell Congress, stop the Durban Marshall money grab for corporate megastores.

Paid for by the Electronic Payments Coalition.

Summer Reigns was a fascinating character at her chill middle school.

Yes, parents with the last name reigns actually named their daughter Summer.

From 6th to 7th grade, she was a blonde hair, blue-eyed,

bespectacle, banquered and somewhat of a wall flower. She mostly went unnoticed.

I don't know if it was puberty or what, but Summer Reigns changed during a break between 7th and 8th grade.

She showed up on day one of class with contacts in Jet Black Hair,

wearing an earthy green shirt on top of which dangled an necklace of colorful stones.

The guss of train moved quickly. We all learned Summer was now all about crystals and

auras and healing energy. She acted cool about it though. Soon other girls around the school started

dressing in earthy tones and wearing crystals around their necks. A few boys did too.

Summer eventually convinced a bunch of athletes that Tiger's eye and Jade would help them

perform better on the field. Once they started wearing stolen bearing necklaces and bracelets,

the trend was set. Summer had prime most of the 8th grade class of 2017 to believe anything.

Summer and I were not friends at the beginning of the story. We weren't anything yet.

I'm not sure if we had exchanged a single word before random Monday and April.

On my way to the restroom after lunch, I passed the history room where my next class would be.

I heard Summer whisper, boop and stopped. Mostly hidden behind a door, Summer beckoned me into

the classroom with a secret of gesture. Dubiously provoked, I slipped inside.

Rally pierced somehow slipped and immediately behind me. Rally and Summer lived next door to

each other, so were natural best friends. Rally fit with the original version of Summer better,

but post-transformation Summer never asked or pressured Rally to change. In fact,

Rally was openly skeptical of Summer's claims, yet her contradicting views did not harm their

friendship. That's what I mean about Summer being cool about all the way with stuff. She genuinely

didn't care if anyone else accepted her beliefs, but she shared them anyway in hopes that they might.

Close the door, Summer said to Rally. You'd better hope he's quick, Rally growl back through

Clench teeth. She closed the door. I act quick at what? What is this? This is justice Summer

announced chin turned upward. Her eyes were half closed as is quinting at a brighter future.

I had a massive crush on Sama, though I was still too sheepish to admit it even to myself.

Summer pointed at the chalkboard behind her and asked, Do you see a face?

Besides a few razor smears, the bold looked empty. Rally said,

You're really going to have to try at Marcus. It's a stretch. Summer rolled her eyes and

circle three dark stains near the middle of the board with her finger. The natural oil of her skin

left a ring around two stains that look like eyes, and a third that could have been an open mouth.

I could actually see all the potential details in the stains too.

Winkles and that sort of thing. I'd been drawing since forever and learned through the

years how to utilize unique features of the canvas at hand, be it pavement, rock, or an old

beat up chalkboard. My talents were known by if you select individuals in the school,

namely kids from the literature club who I thought might want to ride a graphic novel and

need cover art for a book someday. Summer said, I want you to turn those stains into her face.

Draw something really creepy. Why? Is this some new, like, richly you're drying?

I asked stupidly atting. I don't want to do anything. I don't know, evil.

Summer rolled her eyes. No, like I said, it's justice. Mrs.

Mastin failed me on my history paper because she says I didn't cite credible sources.

Well, sorry that your so-called credible sources conveniently ignore all the evidence that the

CIA killed Martin Luther King Jr. Mrs. Mastin. Anyway, I'm going to make a question everything she

knows next period. I just need you to turn those stains into face and make it as creepy as you

possibly can. Sure, but I still don't get why I admit it. Riley said, don't think about it too hard.

Personally, I don't really get it either, but the next period starts in three minutes,

so you better get started. I had nothing to gain by helping them and nothing to lose by just

walking away. But when Summer turned and looked at me like some kind of hero, when she barely

audibly whispered, please, I caved. I imploded. I was crushed, you might say. I drew the face in

two minutes and 32 seconds, and it looked like it. I turned those stains into a gone visage of

desperate fright. I aimed for scary and landed on scared. About halfway through, I'd realized

my face gave off the wrong vibe and blowed the edges of the mouth to give the impression of

limitless expansion, like it might keep growing large enough to swallow you. I decided to apply

this effect to the eyes as well, except for their tiny pupils. I never envisioned a nose so

to not include one. At the very last second, I added a detail which seemed totally opposed to

Summer's original vision, but seemed to fit perfectly with my accidental creation. Cheers.

A chalk long too is running down from the terror stricken eyes. Then, worried I ruined the whole

thing, I turned to Summer. She looked confused at first, but then a hint of a smile twitched in the

corner of her mouth. She clapped her hands together and said, not what I was picturing, but you just

gave me a way better idea. It's perfect, Marcus. Thank the rest of the class started filing in.

Mrs. Mason walked in after most of the students sucking on a smoothie straw.

She held her cup in one hand and her phone in the other, on which she texted furiously with one

thumb. This distracted, she did not notice my drawing on the chalkboard. The class body found

this quite funny and whispered amongst themselves, stifling giggles until the bell rang for the start

of the period. Summer, Riley, and I abstained from the chatter. After the bell, Mrs. Mason put

her phone in a desk drawer. She opened a binder on her desk, studied it a moment, then picked up a

piece of chalk and turned to the board. She stopped. She locked eyes with the face and put her empty

hand on her hip, then turned back to the glass. Anyone want to claim this? She asked her tone

applying, it might not be a wise idea. The class stared back at her. No one? Well, just as a reminder,

school policy considers obscene drawings on chalkboards as vandalism. So even though maybe this

isn't technically obscene as she trailed off, questioning whether it actually might be, before continuing,

let's all just agree that drawings like this belong in your notebooks, okay? Turning back to

the board, Mrs. Mason erased my rushed work. Over Mrs. Mason's shoulder, everyone watched as the

ghostly remnants of the haunting face the stains which had inspired Summer's idea to fight the eraser.

One student at the front shushed her giggling neighbor and pointed at the board. Summer

uttered a small gasp and pointed as well. She nudged Riley who refused to participate. It's still

there, Mrs. Mason. Summer said after the teacher commenced writing her lesson on the board.

What? Mrs. Mason asked to turn in to look at her. Noticing dumpster as looking past her,

she turned back to the chalkboard, stared, then tipped her head back slightly, nonverbal exclaiming,

ah, she tried to scrub at the stains found they were permanent and gave up. She shrugged at the class

and dropped the eraser on her desk. I don't remember those being there before Summer said. She stood.

She actually stood like we were in a movie and turned to address the class. Do any of you remember

seeing them? I feel like we would have noticed. I mean, don't they still look exactly like a face?

This was an obvious stretch, but nods of agreement still rippled away from her. That's how much

influence the new Summer Reigns had gained at year. Modders of, I don't remember, did you notice them?

And I never saw them before repeated throughout the room. Mrs. Mason looked to Riley for help.

Riley slouched back with her arms crossed, shrugged apathetically. What was it sympathetically? You could

never tell with Riley. The only thing anyone knew for sure is that she would back up Summer to the end.

Summer asked, Mrs. Mason, do you keep any smoky quartz or black turmoline around?

Actually, I might have a smoky quartz. That's all right, Summer. I'm sure. Summer interrupted her back.

Sorry, but I wanted to say, I actually felt something really negative when I came in here today.

And that face, just looking at it, it felt like a warning. Like an omen, you know. Summer?

Mrs. Mason warned. A omen of what? A boy near me asked. He could have been serious or not,

I couldn't tell. Did you see how it was crying? It looks gay, right? Mrs. Mason said, please sit

Summer. Summer sat, but she kept talking. I think there might be something bad in here, and maybe

that face, how it was crying, it was trying to warn us. She pointed again to the dark stains.

Even I, knowing the true origin of the face, now thought the stains created a sinister illusion

of egg insinuation of malevolence. Summer rains, that is enough, the teacher scolded.

Summer stopped putting her hand to her lips and chalk, but this person only cast favor on

Summer amongst the student audience. Suddenly, those who could not remember whether the stains had

been present or earlier remembered quite clearly there had been no stains. When the bell rang at the

end of class Summer rose to her feet before anyone else. Lovely, she said, sorry, Mrs. Mason,

about earlier, but watch out for more omen's, okay? I think something might have attached to you.

Many of us slowed our exodus to listen to the inserting interaction, but Mrs.

Mason waved us out. To Summer, she said, come here please. I waited by the door, but didn't hear

much. Summer had to fill me in later. Summer told me she approached the teacher's desk,

I soft with concern. Mrs. Mason said, Summer, please be honest. What are you doing? Because I

appreciate you have some unique beliefs, but I think you're taking this too far. I'm not doing

anything. Summer lied, feigning shock. She said Mrs. Mason rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

Okay, well, no offense, but I think I'm safe from any bad omen's. Look at these stains up close,

will you? She ushered somewhere to the chalkboard. See, I'm pretty sure they're just oil stains.

Then how'd they get way up there? Summer asked. Mrs. Mason softened and asked, who knows how anything

around here happens? Do you know who really drew that face? I'm not trying to get them in trouble,

but I would like to know. Summer said, Mrs. Mason, if you're worried about

I'm not worried, Summer, I just want to know in case other students ask me about it. There are

some sensitive kids in your class who might, you know, kids your age are impressionable, and,

well anyway, you really don't know. Summer pulled a piece of smokey quartz out of her pocket and

dropped it on the edge of Mrs. Mason's desk, then stepped back. As mysteriously as an eighth

grader can be, she backed toward the door, saying, stay safe, Mrs. Mason. I honestly hope you're

right. Well, that didn't work as well as I'd hoped, Summer admitted to Riley, and I in the whole

way afterward. Such an admission was far out of character for the new Summer Reigns. I probably

should have distanced myself from her for a while, but I saw my participation in her and knuck

his crime as an in. I wanted to be close to her, and this was my chance. She didn't buy the

omen thing? I asked. Summer said, she thinks they're oil stains. Aren't they? Ask rightly.

Summer sighed. I don't know, but the whole point was to make her doubt and wonder and get

scared. I just wanted to show her she doesn't know everything, you know? I think it worked better

on the class, said Riley. Everybody was watching those stains on their way out of the room.

I said I heard some other kids talking about them too, like they were scared.

This was true. These were naturally anxious kids that I overheard, but still they sounded

genuinely nervous. Summer said, PSSH, big deal. I'll figure out some other way to get back at

Mrs. Mastin. Constant questions and mentions of the stains caused Mrs. Mastin to cover them

with a world map post of the next day. If anyone tried to bring them up anyway, she immediately

shut down the conversation, saying, this is until middle school, not Hogwarts. There are no magical

spirits running around here. Magical spirits. Do you hear or teach your mentioned spirits of any

sword keyed spirit to discussions amongst the student body, and many of the conversations

made their way to summer? Kids approach her, and the whole is asking for confirmation of

Ethere is trying to win one over on a classmate or friend with a contradicting hypothesis about

the stains. Summer told them all she didn't know what was going on affecting Atome, which

she defted she very much knew exactly what was going on. I asked her why she insisted on leading

these prostitutes along, creating chaos which did not seem to be reaching or hurting Mrs. Mastin,

and she said one of the most honest things she ever told me, and not sure what I'm doing with

this hit. And it's too bad she didn't figure it up more quickly because in that strange way,

a mob can come to a unanimous consensus. When the logical people standing apart failed to,

their dual student bodies soon worked out their own theory behind the stains and the mysterious

face which had left them behind. The main story that sparked the students hypothesis came from

a classmate of mine named Garrett Laffady. Access to affordable credit helps me pay my employees,

but I don't really need it. Infliction is killing me! Who cares? Big retailers are making record

profits! That's why we support the Durban Marshall credit card bill! See,

things in credit unions help small businesses make payroll, and this bill would cut the vital

resources they need. While increasing Megastore profits, they deserve it. Don't they?

Tell Congress, stop the Durban Marshall money grab for corporate megastores,

paid for by the Electronic Payments Coalition. Access to affordable credit helps me pay my employees,

but I don't really need it. Infliction is killing me! Who cares? Big retailers are making record

profits! That's why we support the Durban Marshall credit card bill! See, things in credit unions

help small businesses make payroll, and this bill would cut the vital resources they need.

While increasing Megastore profits, they deserve it. Don't they?

Tell Congress, stop the Durban Marshall money grab for corporate megastores,

paid for by the Electronic Payments Coalition. I sought him out personally in order to listen

to his story first hand. It went like this. Garrett arrived early to track practice after finishing

a six-period examarily. He collected his uniform from his locker and went to the locker room

to change, planning to hit the track and juice a extra warm-ups. As a side note, Garrett obsessed

over his sport. He could run an 800 meter and 213, but the skull record at the time was 211.

As an eighth grader, it was going to be his final season, his final chance to shave off those

three seconds and snag the new record. But Garrett would not run a single meter that day.

When he entered the locker room, he found a cloudy with steam. Someone was in the showers,

and apparently had been for quite a while. Garrett said he didn't even know the showers could

get hot enough to create so much steam. He said, I suppose if you let it run long enough turned

all the way up, it could get there, but usually we're in and out, so faster waters barely room

temperature. He changed his clothes and tied his shoes, then went to the mirror to check his hair.

The hot cloud stuck to the mirror, making it impossible for him to see more than a blur of himself.

He stepped closer to wipe a clean, and his shoe made his sucking swatch in the tiles.

Looking down, he saw a water trickling between the tiles, running streams along the grout.

He had never seen the showers overflow before. Yo, you good in there? He called out to whoever

must have been boiling themselves alive. Nura applied candy to him. Shrugging, he reached over

the sinks and wiped a window in the moisture with the side of his hand. I had to take Garrett at his

word about what happened next. In his defense, I'd never known him to lie before. According to him,

when he wiped away the stream, the face had drew on the chalkboard, the gaunt, gaping, terrified

expression appeared, outlined in water droplets. A few droplets ran down from the eyes, recreating

and bringing life to the tears he had added at the last second on the chalkboard. Garrett said the

tiny pupils in the middle of the face's enormous eyes were trained directly at him. He squeezed his

own eyes shut to clear at them and wiped the mirror again. When he opened his eyes, the face was

gone. But as the steam clouded, the mirror once more, the outline of the face emerged again.

Only this time, the pupils seemed to be staring past him right over his shoulder at the showers.

Garrett said he reacted to this the same way he would have if a real person had been standing in front

of him and looking behind him. That's how life like the visage appeared in. When he turned, all he

saw behind him was the brick wall separating the showers from the rest of the locker room. Feeling

tricked, he quickly turned back to the mirror. The watery eyes remained trained in the showers,

and the dripping tears had become streamed running down the mirror, pulling at the bottom and

dripping on the counter below. Assaulted by feelings of fear and dread, Garrett called out again.

Hey, who's in there? Again, he received no answer by a mysterious conviction. He walked through

the cloud to investigate when he rounded the corner to the showers. The steam was so dense,

he almost couldn't see the shellposts but there, laying across the drain in the middle of the floor,

was the body of a teenage boy in a swimsuit hot water sprayed down upon him from one of the nozzles,

blashing off of his redden skin. He wasn't moving. Garrett yelled for help and rushed in to help

the unconscious boy. After shutting off the water, he grabbed him by the shoulders and with great

effort rolled him onto his side. The vringer called as it sucked the hot puddle down. Wiping sweat

from his eyes, Garrett let the boy fall upon to his back. He leaned in to see if he was awake or

at least breathing. The boy's face made him scream. Puffy in purple, the boy's face had not been

recognisable at first, but when he got close, Garrett recognized himself. The unconscious

knew the dead boy at his feet was him. He looked slightly larger and mildly older, though it was

hard to tell through the swelling. And when Garrett, the living Garrett, fell back against the shower

wall, he noticed an anomaly on the wall across from him. Three massive dry spots defied the

shell spray and steam, remaining impossibly dry. He told me those three spots, I don't know how

they were there, but they looked exactly like the stains on Missess Maaston's chalkboard.

Like exactly, Marcus. I've been back in her room and looked under the poster to check.

Garrett said he ran out of the locker room for help. He bumped into the track coach and the way

and brought him into the showers to show him the body. Already he was doubting what he had seen.

How could he have found his own drunk corpse? It must have been another boy who just

looked a little bit like him, he thought. The cloud of steam remained. The tiles and croutes

were still soaking wet, but the body and the giant dry spots and the wall were all gone.

Concerned, the track coach called Garrett to mom to take him home. She chopped the whole thing

up to stress. Garrett did not tell the coach or his mother, he thought the dead kid was himself,

or about the dry spots either. He didn't shed his details with any adults, only other students,

and he told a lot of students. Everyone who had been fearfully speculating about the stains on

Missess Maaston's chalkboard now had a solid reason to believe our school was haunted by something.

Something that maybe wanted to hurt us. Two days after Garrett's locker room incident,

the buzzer round his story had drawn out everything else.

Riley almost literally dragged me away from my friends at lunch to go sit with her in summer at

the end of the table closest to the back of the cafeteria. Riley shewed away three students

who had tried to sit next to Summer in her brief absence to ask about the chalkboard omen and

what happened to Garrett. Everyone wanted to talk to Summer about it, and she was more than

willing to share her dramatized thoughts. Keeping other kids away from Summer during passing periods

and lunch became Riley's full-time job. It's time guys rarely said. We need to come clean.

We can't Summer reply to a muffled ham sandwich. I said, why not? I think Riley's right.

It was just supposed to be a stupid prank, right? Principal Gear might be mad, but maybe he'll get

it if we just tell him what happened. Summer Swallow looked at me and asked what did happen, Marcus.

Surrey, what happened that is our fault? Riley inserted. Well, I didn't really do anything,

but you were there. Summer pointed out. Okay, yeah, I was there, but that's it. That doesn't matter.

This whole thing was your idea. He made Marcus do the drawing, then you got the class all

freaked out about the stains, and um, I don't think I freaked out the class. That was Mrs.

Mastin, Summer and dropped it again. I appreciated that Riley's out Summer made me do the drawing.

I felt like she would back me up if we did end up in trouble, but it still wasn't ready to betray

Summer. I would have been willing to come clean to the teachers and Principal Gear, but only when Summer

felt ready. I felt foolishly honoured about to protect her secret, the secret we shared.

Riley got more animated as she grew flustered. You think Mrs. Mastin? Summer used to stood up in

front of everyone and told them she was cursed. She told them all to go find some black marble

or black tommelain Summer corrected. Okay, whatever. It doesn't matter what kind of Oswoki

Quartz Summer added. Riley gridded her teeth. I decided to cut in before the two of them fell out.

We needed to be a united front or else we would all go down. I said, hey, it's not like anybody's

got in her, right? Err, it's all freaked out, but is that really our fault? What are they going

to punish us for drawing on the chalkboard? It is considered vandalism by school policy, Summer

reminded us taking another bite of her sandwich. Riley and I were not eating her too angry and

made too nervous. All the talk of getting in trouble tied my inners in knots. I had a question

burning in my gut too, further dampening my appetite. Hey Summer, I asked. Sorry if this is a

stupid question, but did you? I mean, he didn't. What I'm wondering is, do you think Garrett

actually saw what he says he saw? He made it up, Summer answered flatly. Really? He doesn't seem

like the kind of Kitu, he's suddenly Mr. Popular, isn't he? Look at all those girls sitting with

him right now. You'd think he has brain cancer or something. Summer had a point. His classmates,

particularly the girls, had been showing Garrett with constant attention since his return.

Anytime I passed him, I heard him relaying his story to someone. I suppose I was one of those

some ones. But it's not like Garrett had been in nobody like me before his purported encounter.

He was no Summer Reigns, but he was a star athlete with lots of friends and a new girlfriend

every couple of months. I wouldn't think he needed to. His parents split up, Riley said.

Ah, I asked, thinking she meant this split up over his story. So, Summer asked. Then I figured

out what Riley actually meant. The target audience for Garrett's act-out wasn't anyone at school.

But Summer, I said when Riley didn't answer her, I've heard other kids talk about seeing the

face I drew to Garrett's story as the most dramatic, but he's not the only Kitu says he's seen it.

Dripping sarcasm, Riley said. Yeah, and I ran into Zendaya, the Mall of America. Whatever if you

trust Garrett, but would you really believe every one of these losers? She asked, gesturing around

the cafeteria. I said, no, but why are so many kids talking about it? If you make sense, but it's

like everyone. It's a creepypasta, Summer said. She took another bite. But what? I asked.

Riley said. I thought that was like an internet thing. As she chewed, some are nodded thoughtfully.

She swallowed, then said, yeah, normally, but why can't it happen in real life too? I still don't

know what creepypasta is, I said. Summer said, not creepypasta, a creepypasta. It's basically a scary

story somebody puts online that goes viral and makes a lot of people believe in it.

Ever heard of Slenderman or Smile Dog? Slenderman sounded familiar and I said as much.

Well, that's a creepypasta. Somebody made it up and it got so big a girl actually

stabbed her friend because she believed Slenderman wanted her to. Seriously? Riley asked.

Someone nodded. I think we accidentally created a creepypasta here and I mean, as long as nobody

gets hurt, it's kind of fun, right? I don't know, I said. A lot of kids are really scared.

And didn't you just say some girl stabbed her friend over one of these stories?

Riley added. Summer said, yeah, in a country full of millions of kids, one girl went crazy.

Big deal. All I'm saying is that we can either rat out ourselves out and get in trouble

over nothing or we can just have fun with it. I doubt it'll last long anyway. Something else

will come along and make everybody forget. The conversation more or less ended there.

I wanted more comfort, I think, from summer, but the bell was going to ring soon. We all had class

with Mrs. Mastin after a lunch again so we walked there together but did not talk. Instead,

we listened to the voices around us. As we near the history classroom, I looked at summer. Her

porcelain face hit a blue sheer and expressed wordless discomfort. The summer rains walking

beside me was not the girl who backed me into the history room days before. She had lost

herself a sure certainty. Our eyes met and she quickly looked away at suddenly restoring her

stoke facade. But I could tell it was only an act. We settled into our desks, Riley and

summer next to each other, mislightly behind them to their rainport outside hard enough to

hear through the thick windows. It trickled down the glass and distracting streams, the salt that

can hypnotize young students. Before the official start of class, the student walked up to Mrs.

Mastin's desk and was put something to her. I watched Mrs. Mastin glance over her shoulder at

a well-matched poster covering the stains on her chalkboard. She quietly dismissed the student

with an expression somewhere between sympathy and frustration. When the bell rang, she stood to

address us all. Okay, class, we need to have a chat about these. She ripped the poster off the

chalkboard, exposing the infamous stains to us all. She said, I gather these stains have been

causing some rumors to go around about some kind of haunting. Well, I think it's time to put those

rumors to bed, don't you? I actually found out where these stains came from. Yes, we teachers

talked to. Mr. Gans knew exactly how the chalkboard got stained. It's been a couple of years,

so maybe you don't remember, but this used to be the art room before the new wing was built.

Mr. Gans said during a unit on oil painting, he hung paper on the board and did a technique

demonstration without realizing the oils from his paint would suck through to the board. He noticed

pretty quickly and stopped before it got any worse. So there you go. The stains have been

neffy years, but you all didn't notice until somebody decided to draw attention to them.

She looked briefly in my direction, and I tried not to squirm. Did she know it was me?

It easily could have been a coincidence, so I tried not to look guilty.

Her gaze passed by, and I re-adjusted in my seat to release some of the tension.

I'm sure her ever drew that phase a few days ago meant nothing by it, but maybe that person

would like to come forward to help calm everyone down. Access to affordable credit helps me pay

my employees, but I don't really need it. Infliction is killing me! What who cares? Big retailers

and making record profits? That's why we support the Durban Marshall credit card bill.

See, things in credit unions help small businesses make payroll. This bill would cut the vital

resources they need. While increasing Megastore profits, they deserve it. Don't they?

Tell Congress, stop the Durban Marshall Money Grab for corporate megastores,

paid for by the Electronic Payments Coalition.

Hi, this is Alex Cantrowitz. I'm the host of Big Technology podcast, a longtime reporter and an

on-air contributor to CNBC. And if you're like me, you're trying to figure out how artificial

intelligence is changing the business world and our lives. So each week on Big Technology,

I bring on key actors from companies building AI tech and outsiders trying to influence it.

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and plenty more. So if you want to be smart with your wallet, your career choices,

and meetings with your colleagues and at dinner parties, listen to Big Technology podcast

wherever you get your podcasts. I think we would all feel better if

a piercing bell sent us all into a frenzy. Above the door, the fire alarm flashed.

A student I could not see said calm down people. It's probably just a drill.

But Miss Sess Maston sounded nervous when she said, leave you things that your desk can get in line.

Remember single file straight down the hall and out the gin door. Is it a drill?

Wily asked. I didn't think the teachers were allowed to say, but if that was true,

Miss Sess Maston disregarded the rule. She looked at Riley and subtly shook her head.

We followed Purd called to the letter, having done at least a dozen fire drills in our years

at a tool middle school. We and the students from other classes lined the hallways,

all nervously filing out of the building. Those who tried to whisper to each other were instantly

silenced by teachers standing beside their classroom doors. Due to the heavy rain,

principal gear ordered us onto the park buses for shelter. The fire department arrived on scene

as we all loaded up. We were all soaked students and staff alike, as we waited for the

fire marshal to clear the building. There didn't appear to be any fire. No one had smelled smoke

in the way out of the building, so we weren't surprised to learn who ever pulled the fire,

alarm did so without cause. An angry search for the culprit began and ended with a

seventh grader named Kelly who might never met. But hearing her story, I realized I was a true culprit.

Me, Summer, and that crew face a drew on the chalkboard. Shelley had sheltered on the same bus as

me, so I got to hear her story first and before the faculty apprehended her. She'd been sitting

next to the window in English class, gazing out at the following rain. Hundreds of rain drops

started the glass. Some round down the windows like streaking tears. Kelly made this comparison

in her mind and noticed two parallel streaks that appeared to consistently run down the glass

without zicking and zacking as they contacted other droplets. This bizarre consistency captured

her attention and she watched the two streams, waiting for even one of them to break off and

behave normally or to dissolve into droplets again. But as she watched, she noticed a second

anomaly. Above each of the two streams, large circular dry patches defied the damper.

In the center of these dry circle sat one droplet in each like the tiny peoples of enormous size.

Then the rest of the face took shape. The shape of a face I have already described so many times.

Kelly knew Garrett's story and how it had begun with him spotting the face in the steam on the mirror.

The obvious similarity to what she now saw and the window caused her to flinch away in alarm.

The teacher paused and most of her classmates turned toward Kelly. She smiled off

weirdly and pretended nothing had happened which convinced everyone else to do the same.

She rubbed her eyes and looked back at the window. Still, the face remained and she felt

certain those quivering raindrop pupils were trained directly at her. Kelly interrupted her

teacher to ask to be excused to the restroom. Despite his obvious irritation at a second

disruption from her, he gave her a hall pass. Without looking back at the face,

Kelly hurried out of the room. After shutting the door, she took a few steps away and collected

herself. With space in the door between her and the window, she felt much safer.

But she found herself afraid to go to the bathroom like she said she was going to.

A bathroom is too similar to a locker room and Garrett's story remained fresh on her mind.

So she stood in the middle of the hallway and sure of where to go in next.

When she looked down the hallway, she noticed the door to the teacher's land because of a strange

light flashing erratically behind it. Under the bright fluorescence in the hallway,

the flashing light was hard to discern, but she noticed it all the same and it made her curious.

Anything to distract her from the face on the window. She walked toward the door,

listening for any approaching footsteps and preparing to divert to the restroom if a

staff member discovered her. Closer, Kelly started to smell smoke. It had a strange order,

not like a bonfire or grill, but a sort of sire, rubbery tinge, like when too much air got stuck

in a vacuum cleaner. Kelly moved faster and now concerned there might be a serious problem.

A flashing, no flickering light. The smell of smoke. Was there a fire in the teacher's lounge?

She arrived at the door, next to which were three square glass windows stacked vertically.

Posters touting her tools covalues mostly obstructed them from inside the glass,

but the posters had not been printed to the windows execsize.

Kelly closed one eye and peaked through the half inch of clear glass bordering the middle poster.

A girl about her same size and build, wearing a backhack identical to hers,

although more tarnished, was standing next to the lunches kitchenette with her back turned to Kelly.

This seemed strange because students were not allowed in the teacher's lounge.

But fortunately, there did not appear to be any fire.

Still curious and pleasantly distracted, Kelly spied on the girl and allowed her moment longer.

As if sensing eyes upon her, the girl started turning slowly.

As she did, one of her backpacks strapped broke.

The backs won away from her back, slipping off her other arm and fell to the floor.

She made no attempt to stop it. The sleeve of her polis so sure it appeared to be melted onto her

skin, which could have explained the burning smell. How the students suffered some terrible accident.

But why would she be in the teacher's lounge and not the nurse's office?

She kept turning until Kelly could finally see her face.

Or what was left of it. The girls tried skim barely clung to her skull anymore.

Kelly could see the white of her bones through her burns.

There remained only enough of her features for Kelly to realize the girl in the lounge,

now staring back at her for empty eyes sockets, was herself.

She looked taller and her hair, which had been burned off in the front,

looked longer, but otherwise she could have been Kelly's twin.

Kelly covered her mouth and stepped back from the window and horror.

As she did, the windows glowed orange behind the posters and black smoke started

billowing out from the top of the door. The poster in the middle frank caught fire.

The flames ate three holes in it, which expanded rapidly until they made the familiar pattern

of the stains on Mrs. Mastin's chalkboard. The holes were outlined in flame, but stopped

growing at a certain size and proportion to each other. The upper two seemed to stare at Kelly

and the lower one appeared to be screaming at her. She could hear her own voice screaming in agony.

Then she realized the voice she heard was literally her own. She hadn't even realized she was

screaming. Without another thought, she ran over to the nearest fire alarm and pulled it.

Principal Gear called Kelly's dad to take her home, and the rest of us attempted to finish

the school day normally. No one, not even the teacher, seemed able to focus, though.

At the end of the day, I gathered my things from my locker and made my way out of the school.

Passing Mrs. Mastin's classroom, with the door cracked open just slightly,

I heard whimpering solbs and stopped. I gave the door a small push,

opening it just enough to see into the room. There, up at the front, I saw Riley and Summer.

A powerful stink of ammonia sat heavy on the air. Riley was holding a spritu bottle,

and a rag she must have swiped from the janitors, and Summer was standing on a chair with another

rag in hand, scrubbing furiously at the stains on the chalkboard. They heard me and look for my way.

Riley's face looked stoke and a little angry. Summer's was streaked in tears,

blackened by her mascara. Snuck coated her upper lip. She was a wreck.

I entered the classroom and wouldlessly took Riley's other rag. Then I climbed up on the chair

behind Summer and helped her scrub. Just as no one ever found out to drew the face on the chalkboard,

no one besides me, Riley, and Summer ever learned how the stains vanished from the board.

Some one Summer ensured a new rumour spread that the curse had ended. It took a few weeks

for talk of the stains to die away, but eventually a new gossip took over the minds of the student

body and her tools little creep pasta was forgotten. Summer, Riley, and I all believed for years

that Garrett and Kelly's stories were simply the result of the history that took over us gold

during those few days. But years later, we would all have to question the validity of that stance.

It started with the tragic news of Garrett's death. In a freak birding accident during

Spring Break, our senior year, Garrett drowned. Unless then a year later, Kelly's house caught fire

while she was home alone. Sadly, she did not make it out. After Kelly died, Summer and I met up.

Riley had already left for college and Summer said she had stopped talking to her.

Summer was blonde and wore glasses again. Over the years, she had tried to distance herself from

the person who beckoned me into Mrs. Eston's classroom that fateful day. We talked for a long time,

mostly me trying to comfort her. She felt understandable guilt about Garrett and Kelly.

As sure as her deaths, tragic and unexpected as they were might have just been coincidences.

Other classmates had also died after all from car accidents, cancer, and other illnesses,

both physical and mental. I still had feelings for Summer which made it so much harder to lie.

Although I don't know what we could have done or how we could have done it, I worry we might

have actually brought something terrible into this gold at day. Did it kill Garrett and Kelly,

and perhaps others? Or was it simply an omen providing warnings of already fated events?

The latter is what I told Summer it probably was, but I don't think she believed me.

And why would she, when I'm not sure I even believe it myself? I'm just glad I never saw that

face after it was erased, except for in my mind. It will haunt me there forever.

Hi, this is Alex Cantrowitz. I'm the host of Big Technology podcast, a long-time reporter and an

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