The fluorescent lights of Grayson High buzzed, casting an eerie glow on the panicked faces. It
wasn't the usual teenage chaos, the usual petty squabbles and whispered crushes. Today, there
was a different kind of energy, a low hum of fear that vibrated through the air. Jason, perched on
the edge of his usual seat in the back of the classroom, felt it too. It wasn't fear for himself, not
exactly. It was a detached curiosity, like watching a car crash in slow motion.
"Mr. Henderson," Ms. Johnson's voice, usually firm, trembled, "I think… I think something is
wrong with Billy."
Billy, the star quarterback, lay sprawled on the floor, his eyes rolling back in his head. A low
groan escaped his lips, followed by a chilling, guttural snarl. Panic erupted. Students screamed,
chairs scraped against the floor, the air thick with the smell of fear and something else,
something metallic and faintly sweet.
Jason, unnoticed as always, watched the chaos unfold. He saw the bullies, the ones who had
tormented him for years – Mark, the hulking jock, and his cronies, their faces contorted in terror,
their bravado shattered. He saw Sarah, the head cheerleader, her perfectly sculpted face
contorted in a mask of horror, her carefully constructed facade crumbling. And in the midst of
the pandemonium, he felt a strange sense of detachment, a chilling sense of premonition. He
had a fleeting vision – a grotesque, rotting figure, its eyes burning with an unnatural light,
looming over him.