The Severed Head.

There was a head in my locker, I noticed. A severed head... I recognized that head! It was my maths teachers. I looked around, no one else had noticed; they were busy going to their next lessons.

Hang on... there's a note on the head, stuck to its left ear. I read it:

"You're next, better watch out."

Oh crap. I thought my curse had gone away, apparently not. Whenever I go anywhere new, like here in Los Angles, a man follows me. I don't know how he knows where I am all the time; he just does.

"Move." A voice from my right orders, "Now."

I jerked my head up and shut my locker door with a clang! I walked away.

No one will know about the head in my locker. Never.