Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, places, etc., are either product of the authors' imagination used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
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P R O L O G U E
"Head back to your classrooms. Now." With an edge on my voice, I gave an order to the students who are still lounging outside their own classrooms. The school bell already rang minutes ago but looked where these teens are. I knew it; kids these days are indeed stubborn.
"Goodmorning, Ms. Demascenia."
As soon as my heels touched the room's ground, the lazy voices of students greeted me. In my peripheral vision, I saw some who are still sleeping soundly within their desks, hugging their bags to keep their faces hidden. While some boys at the back looked as if they'd just finished a jousting match in which faces are completely swollen because of punches. I heave a deep sigh. With a single flick of my stick, everyone was prompted to sit.
"You. Ms. Blonde Hair with a pink headband," I called the attention of a young teen.
"Y-yes, Ma'am?" She seems nervous, which is new. I raised my eyebrows while finding her Identification card. But unfortunately, I found none. Ah. A transferee. I gave her a small smile and said, "Please do me a favor and push the two buttons on your left."
She exactly did what I asked, and without a second longer, the lights of the room dimmed, and a glass board came down from the ceiling.
"Alright, class. As I've said the other day, today's topic will be about Histories of Old Schools around the World." Going smoothly through my presentation from the start seems like an easy task. But for a history teacher like me, starting lines are the most difficult ones. Especially if what I'm telling the students are a little off to the road of what I'm usually used to in terms of teaching.
"The University of North Harolina is home to odd sightings and apparitions as well as strange, blood-curdling sounds from out of nowhere一at least that's according to legends. A man named Bailey Haills, UNH's oldest residence hall, houses a mural in its lobby to chronicle the alleged ghost stories. The pool hall is dedicated to the infamous Randa who, according to an age-old tale, was a young 1950s student who snuck herself into the attic to hide her pregnancy."
I want to curse myself for teaching these kinds of horror stuff in front of my students, yet because this topic belonged to the original lesson plan, I have no other choice but to tackle it up even though it isn't really my type.
"So, Randa was the one who haunts that school downright, Ma'am?" One student asked me, which I answered with a slight nod.
"In that case, how did she died?" Another student asked again.
"Well... different versions of the urban legend point to the different ways that Randa died, including through an abortion gone wrong. While UNH insists no record of a person named Randa exists, people who have had run-ins with the supernatural一, from doors mysteriously shutting on their own to an inexplicable spooky presence一have no doubt UNH's Hall is haunted."
Minutes passed, and many school histories were flipped of the page and told thru the walls of the room, but seeing the students who were actively participating earlier grew bored off the topic, I decided to finally end it.
As I was about to exit the file presentation, I accidentally hit off the next slide, and an image of a school building appeared right thru my very own eyes—an image of a school building that I never thought would have caught me off guard.
"Blackwood High," the class read the title of the slide in chorus, which oddly brought waves of emotions through my system.
With my feet glued to the ground, I standstill. Obviously, feeling immobilized of certain thoughts. With my eyes left blinking continuously, I clenched my jaw tightly. It was too late to realize that as I'm deeply staring through the picture, drops of tears came trickling down my cheeks.
"Ms. Avy, are you okay?" A pat of reality knocked my senses up. I brought my attention to the front, facing the picture backward. Avy, focus. Don't get swayed away by just a mere picture from the past.
"Y-yeah. I'm okay. Did you ask something? Sorry, I wasn't able to hear it." The student who patted my shoulders up knitted her eyebrows as she was staring at me through the dark. I instantly wiped off the stain of damn tears with my hands when I came to the thought that she was wondering about it.
"What is that you want to ask again?" I tried to divert her attention so that she wouldn't focus on the tears that she saw earlier.
"I一uhm... my classmates asked if you could tell us the history of that school on the picture, though? Blackwood High was a pretty interesting name, and also the building structure was amazingly spooky, so we're curious about what secret it has stored behind for us."
My eyes shut down as I heard their pleas. My heart was throbbing hard as if it would come out of my rib cage any moment from now. No. Please... I can't...
"Come on, Ms. Avy! Tell the story to us~."
Regaining myself slowly, I was about to pull the cord of the glass board TV to stop them from singing their pleas and walk my way out of the room. But I know that will be rude. At the same time, I was calming myself and waiting for my agony to flush down, the school bell ring once again. I rose up my head from bowing down and breathe a sigh of relief—what perfect timing.
"Heard that? It means no more stories for now. Go pack your things up and head to the canteen area. Your quiz for the next subject will be in 15 minutes."
Their faces, together with their voices, were displaying the laws of disappointment due to the reason that I didn't bring up the history of 'that' school. Yet, in any way, they can't do anything about it. I watched them walked out towards the winged doors while feeling down and sad. I'm sorry, my students. I don't have any courage to tell you the story behind why Blackwood High was labeled one of the scariest schools. Not now.
Prompting myself to stare at the old yet legendary picture of Blackwood High, my hands felt the urge to touch it for the last time before I leave. With my hands reaching out of its dark vicinity and color, a face of a gray-orbed man suddenly crossed in between my thoughts.
I bit my lower lip to suppress my sobs.
Blood. Light. Games.
Looking at a mere picture of this Hell school and remembering the man I fell in love with was the most painful memory that I have.
Suddenly, scenes of the past came running back to me, and in a single tick of the running clock, I found myself riding into a dark trip down my memory lane.
To be continued...