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The Perfect Takedown

Autor:   •  January 28, 2018  •  2,194 Words (9 Pages)  •  584 Views

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only closed stall.

“Hey, Shelbie, too much Mexican food?” I called out, chuckling. “Don’t worry, it happens to the best of us!” No response. “Aw, don’t worry, there’s always next time! Do you need anything?”

I jumped as her backpack slid down and fell from the stall. “Shelbie” I called out. “Shel-l-l-l-bie! I screamed. Everything was still. I slowly approached the stall. “Shelbie?” I said softly as I reached out to push the door in. It was locked. I tilted my head to peer through the crack. Shelbie stared back at me, her eyes wide open, her head tilted back, mouth open. I screamed before I could catch myself, and I didn’t stop until I crashed through the doors of the main office.

“When was the last time you saw her?” the detective asked me as the ambulance drove away slowly. No sirens. Never a good sign. This was second time I was being asked the same question. Nothing had sunk in yet. I couldn’t believe my best friend was dead. My heart physically hurt.

I slammed my bedroom door when I got home, not wanting hugs or kind words from Mom. I couldn’t sleep that night, or the night after that, or the night after that. I skipped a week of school, watching the news all day, hearing reports of Shelbie having ingested giant amounts of chlorine. Then reports of Andrea, the debate team president going missing, then David, the newspaper editor dying from water intoxication. My mother took this as kids being kids, trying to use chemicals in ways they were not intended. I didn’t tell her my suspicions about Joe Bob.

I ran down the hallway, late to writing, and darted around a puddle of what looked liked Gatorade. I tumbled into class, tripping over myself, and flopped into the first empty desk I saw. Mrs.Bush, a sweet, sarcastic, and funny teacher, opened her mouth to give me what I knew would be a sarcastic, verbal lashing but was interrupted by a rapid knock at the door. Mrs.Bush opened the door, and I saw half of Joe Bob’s face. I heard him saying something about Austin, the basketball captain, and gatorade. Mrs.Bush turned on her heel and yelled at Austin to help Joe bob clean the mess in the hallway, as it has been his drink. Austin rolled his eyes and marched into the hall, raising giggles from the class.

The bell rang twenty minutes later, and Austin’s books and bag remained at his seat. Mrs.Bush bolted from the room before the students as she always did, desperate to get to lunch before the rush. The students followed quickly, leaving me to collect Austin’s belongings. I stepped into the deserted hallway, struggling with the weight of my own books and Austin’s. Something wasn’t right. It doesn’t take twenty minutes to clean a spill. I headed to the janitor’s closet where Joe Bob often ate. I was truly terrified, but I was more determined to find Austin than I was scared. The door was closed. I knocked softly, then harder, then banged with my fist.

“Mr.Joe! I—”

Someone grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. Joe Bob,frowning and sweating, stared down at me. “Can I help you?” he said in his monotone, accent.

“Where is Austin?” I asked abruptly and with as much confidence I could. He stared at me for an eternity, his mouth glued shut, until his lips finally turned up slowly into a sickly grin. Eyes gleaming, he whispered, “No idea, sweetie.” I remained calm,cool, and collected as long as I could. Then I turned around and he was gone. Everyone was gone, for that matter. I suddenly felt very alone as my footsteps echoed from one side of the hallway to the other. I pushed the heavy door to the stairwell open and froze. As the hinges creaked, I swore I heard a muffled voice saying “Malia.” I moved to take another step, the hair on the backing of my neck standing. I heard it again. I spun around to find Austin staring at me from the back of room 135 through the glass pane of the door, wide-eyed, gagged, and struggling.

Suddenly, Mrs.Shipman the chemistry teacher, appeared in the doorway grinning. The knob turned slowly, and she leaped from the room, her grin turning into a menacing, screwed-up frown. I dropped everything and slid down the banister, instinct taking over. I didn’t have time to think. Years on the track team helped me along, but Mrs.Shipman was gaining on me. She was only 30 years old and tall. Second floor, almost there, then first floor. If I could just get to the ground floor. Then finally, I leaped down the last six steps and sprinted like a tiger into the cafeteria. I did the best thing I could think of: I climbed on top of a table and screamed the loudest I could.

Turns out our chemistry teacher wasn’t Mrs.Shipman from Harvard. She was really Hannah Ball from California. She also went by Brynn Armstrong, Cayley Willis, Peyton Stanfill, and Jenna Walker. She went from school to school taking revenge on popular students thanks to some emotional scarring from back in her own high school days. Turns out Joe Bob was just naturally really creepy. Austin was suffering from chloroform inhalation, but he recovered and survived. An investigation was launched into how the school managed to hire an escaped felon and identity thief, and the whole community got some sense of closure from her arrest. After a few years, the story would go down as an urban legend, and there were whispers of room 135 being haunted. The school tried to hush the story up and forbade any of the teachers from discussing the incidences.

It would be another decade until I heard my husband flipping through the channels, stopping him at a news broadcast detailing several students perishing at a school in Canada after inhaling too much helium—apparently for fun.

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