The Haunted School
You open the bathroom door. The room is black. Keeping your foot on the door to let in a small amount of light from the hallway, you fumble for the light switch on the wall. You find it, flick it up then down, up and down, Nothing happens.
Reaching into your pocket to get your cell phone, you catch a glimpse of movement out of the corner of your eye, something in the hallway behind you, white and gauzy. When you look, it is gone.
Startled, your phone catches on your pants pocket. In slow motion, you fumble for it, but it is dark, and all you accomplish is to slap it further into the room. You hear it crack against the tile floor, then slide across the gritty surface.
Worse, your foot, once holding the door open is now unencumbered. You hear the pneumatic whoosh of the door closer working, and then the tiny bit of light from the dark hall is lost to you. You spin back in the direction of your phone, but only manage to disorient yourself further.
The blackness around you is complete.
And then you remember that, before you opened the door, you thought someone was in the bathroom, waiting quietly, patiently.
Surely that had been your imagination?
You stand perfectly still. You don't know which way is out. You stand still and listen.
It is hard to define how you know that you are not alone in the dark. It reminds you of when you get home from school and walk in your house. You know immediately if someone is home, even if you can not see or hear them. An occupied house just feels different to you. You know without knowing.
You feel certain that you are not alone now.
Reaching into your pocket to get your cell phone, you catch a glimpse of movement out of the corner of your eye, something in the hallway behind you, white and gauzy. When you look, it is gone.
Startled, your phone catches on your pants pocket. In slow motion, you fumble for it, but it is dark, and all you accomplish is to slap it further into the room. You hear it crack against the tile floor, then slide across the gritty surface.
Worse, your foot, once holding the door open is now unencumbered. You hear the pneumatic whoosh of the door closer working, and then the tiny bit of light from the dark hall is lost to you. You spin back in the direction of your phone, but only manage to disorient yourself further.
The blackness around you is complete.
And then you remember that, before you opened the door, you thought someone was in the bathroom, waiting quietly, patiently.
Surely that had been your imagination?
You stand perfectly still. You don't know which way is out. You stand still and listen.
It is hard to define how you know that you are not alone in the dark. It reminds you of when you get home from school and walk in your house. You know immediately if someone is home, even if you can not see or hear them. An occupied house just feels different to you. You know without knowing.
You feel certain that you are not alone now.