Author: PurpleTongue PM
Strange occurrences are breaking out in a small, boring high school. It's up to an egotisitcal, fast-thinking girl and a quiet, poetic boy to solve the problem, and save the lives of humanity.Rated: Fiction T - English - Horror/Supernatural - Words: 1,505 - Reviews: 2 - Follows: 2 - Published: 08-07-12 - id: 3048636
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I haven't uploaded anything in a really, really long time, and I am sorry. But I'll be trying to write and update everything as soon as I can.
I knew something was wrong with this school the moment I stepped foot on the dirty, snow-smeared linoleum. It was hard to explain the emotion - déjà vu mixed with a strong intuition of wrongness. The feeling was so strong and stayed with me everyday as I went to my classes that I swore to myself that I wasn't imagining things. There was no way I could be pretending to have an anchor-heavy gut feeling that something made this place a danger zone. I tried to ignore the gnawing sensation.
But it was impossible to ignore those bad vibes when blood streaks laid at my feet.
Of course, because this has never happened at this school before, everyone became momentary friends, and gathered together around the red lines to gossip.
"This has to be a prank."
"Did someone, like, die?"
I stood at the very base of the stairs, where the blood magically appeared out of the linoleum tiles, and stared. Everyone here was obviously stupid, because, one, they wouldn't stop saying the same things over and over; and two, everything they were saying or asking was blatant. Nobody died - the something that hapened involved the horrific aura I've been perceiving since the moment I arrived, and this was not some sort of freaky joke.
I frowned, disdained.
"Okay, nothing to see here. Everyone go to their classes."
I grimaced even more at the assistant principal, Mrs. Sullivan, as she poorly attempted to bring order to all of the frantic students. Her young face was creased with authoritative lines, her mouth pulled down by something more than just gravity.
As she slammed rules and short reassurances, I waited for the rest of the people on the stairs behind me to leave, then crouched at the beginning - or the end - of the smears. I realized, upon further inspection, that they were made by a student's hand - smaller hands than an adults, just big enough to be recognized as the growing hands of a strong, young boy. There were five lines, and te two at the end started later than the rest.
The lines ceased existence with perfect fingerprints, with nothing after, as if the person was lifted right from the spot.
The sight and thought of this should have frightened me - or should have at least startled me - but instead, I was morbidly interested. Interested enough to kep pondering and thinking and evaluating.
"Come on! Get to class!" came the harsh bark of Sullivan.
There was no way a teenage boy was bleeding badly already, and somehow happened to fall down a flight of stairs. Absolutely no possible way.
"That means you too, Johnson. Get a move on."
It definitely had to have been a case of "victim bleeding profusely and was dragged then lifted away." But unless there was a homicidal, blood-thirsty serial killer wandering about the school - which I'm sure Sullivan would have hinted on us on that by now, if there were the case - that couldn't be the case, either.
Then what the hell happened?
Just as my brain began truly working on the problem, beginning to unfold the situation like a piece of origami art, a shadow coloured my face, and I looked up into the hard, waning face of Sullivan.
"I don't remember there being a class on the stairs." She sniffed condescendingly, gazing down at me like a guilty child wasting her time.
The lack of formality told me she didn't know my name, and I smiled internally. I shrugged at her answer. "Eh, I decided to take a detour. You guys did a fabulous job at the crime scene exhibit, by the way."
Sullivan's eyes squinted, and the skin between her eyebrows crunched; she looked amused at my sarcasm. She nodded down the corridor, correctly predicting the direction of my next period, and I sauntered off with a smirk on my face.
The blood incident had left me nervous, as any disturbing event in my life does. I wanted to go puke my brains out instead of going to class, but I decided to stay a little longer in my Government hour.
As I sat near the window and watched the snow fall idly outside, I kept coming back to the vivid image of the bottom steps, of how shiny and deadly the red colour had stood out against the pale tiled floor, and I could feel my jaw clenching in nausea.
"Carson, do you need to use the restroom?"
It took me a moment to realize Mr. Markowitz was leaning over my desk, peering at my burning face. His tired gray eyes bore into my in his nosy, obnoxious way, and before i could give him an answer, I jumped out of my seat and brushed past him, trying to ignore the chuckles and whispers behind me as I left.
The nausea continued to creep up my stomach as I raced to the bathrooms, and with one final image of blood running down the school stairway, my meager breakfast made a reappearance into the toilet.
After I vomited I stayed glued to the floor, my legs folded beneath me and my head against the sticky stall. Tears rolled down my face, acid burning my throat. I listened to the faint drip of the broken sink to make sure nobody else was there. Nothing else besides the leak.
Flushing the toilet with my shoe, I unlocked the stall and stumbled out. I rested my cheek on the paper towel dispenser, extremely fatigued, and stared at my close-up reflection.
My gray eyes were flecked with busted blood vessels, and they stared back at my pale face with an exhausted expression. They also looked a tad worried, like the eyes of a student expecting a bad mark on his test. Blonde hair clung to my forehead and attempted to stab those anxious eyes.
I looked awful, which wasn't a surprise.
The abrupt sound of the restroom door creaking open ripped through the silence, making me jump and even more paranoid.
"Carson?" A familiar voice - Lane, a quiet guy with quiet eyes asked, staying hidden behind the walls of the door. "Markowitz told me to check on you."
"Oh," I said blankly, emotionless. Then I tried to insert some normalcy in my tone. "Oh, yeah. I'm fine. I'm - it's cool."
There was a pause, the leaky sink said some words, then Lane said, "Okay. Well, hurry up," and left.
Once the door shut, I gathered myself together by splashing cold water on my face, then left.
The fever sweat remaining on my arms and back began to dry from the icy draft sifting through the walls. Somewhere in the distance, someone was hurrying back to class. I passed by many rooms where teachers were lecturing or students were yelling - the only sounds present in the whole school.
I made my way back to Markowitz's class, but once I reached the edge of his closed door, curiosity was tugging at me, and my interest was agreeing.
I passed his closed door, making a new route, to where the blood was.
It was a mystery why I was attracted to the stairs, especially after the thought of the scene just made me hurl. My curiosity always did peek at the strangest times - like when a teacher is absent, or when I broke one of my mother's handmade vases - and each time it did, it's at weirder and weirder situations.
Blindly, trapped in my thoughts momentarily, I barely stopped myself from tripping over someone kneeling near the edge of the staircase.
"Hey!" the person snapped and stretched themselves out to reveal that new girl - Kaitlin, or something like that. Her fierce green eyes - blades of grass, chips of emerald - pierced into mine and made me cringe under her authoritative glare. She approached me as if she were going to interrogate me.
"Uh, hi," I mumbled, trying to shy away.
"What are you doing?"
I frowned at her contradiction. "Same as whatever you're doing."
She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing me, and I took a pause to glance over her shoulder at the stairs; the floor was shining with fresh soap water.
I felt small under her intimidating stare.
"You better get to class, kids," one of the janitors announced, turning the corner and eyeing use with tired eyes, "before you get in to trouble."
Swallowing, I glanced hastily at that Kaitlin girl (she looked too vicious to be a Kaitlin, honestly). She was still staring at me with those venomous eyes.
"Uh," I stammered, thinking of words to say. "Yeah. Right. Thanks."
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I turnedon my heel and dashed away with my tail betwen my legs.