There was a history teacher at my high school who was considered “the cool teacher”. Everyone loved him. He was one of the few who seemed to care about the subject. Most teachers gave an exercise and then stayed on their cell phone for two hours. But him, he prepared the classes in an extraordinary way. The subject was World War II? He brought weapons used in combat at the time. Lectures on the discovery of the Americas? He brought typical dishes of the region before the colonization by Europeans. He dressed up in costumes, performed typical dances, repeated prayers of the time, took us to theatrical performances, etc. We left his classes and remembered everything that had been taught, the creative methods stuck the material in our minds.
He spoke as if he had the knowledge of millennia, the wisdom to get everyone engaged with what was said.
At least that was the initial reaction to his classes. After a few months, we found out he was trying to gain the sympathy of the students to do the evilest thing possible.
It started on a class about the customs of ancient civilizations.
“Before the colonization of the Spaniards, people inhabited the place where today is the city of Nazca, in Peru. They performed various rituals, the most memorable being that of eternal life. Every 66 years, human sacrifices were made for the king to achieve immortality. The chosen ones felt honored, they would die to serve royalty eternally, people even held tournaments in various categories for the privilege of being sacrificed. 66 people were chosen, and in result the king would not age for 66 years. To maintain immortality, new sacrifices had to be made in every generation. The chosen 66 were taken to the top of the altar in the temple, and then they all prayed, invoking the god who would consume them. For today’s activity, I want you all to imagine what you would do if you were immortal.”
The most diverse answers were written, from the simplest sentences to a girl who wrote four pages describing everything she would do if she reached immortality. Answers ranged from “watching every anime out there” to “ruling the world”. To finish the work , the teacher handed us a piece of paper, which seemed to be very old, like a slightly moldy papyrus, and a needle.
“Now I want everyone to write “vide envegigo rerolosmi sacritimio” on the paper I handed over. It means ‘I desire eternal life’. After writing, make a hole in your arms with the needle and drop a few drops of blood on the paper.”
“Can’t I deliver the assignment without the drops of blood?” I asked, not liking the macabre request.
“It’s perfectly safe, I have a cotton ball here in case the hole doesn’t seal right away, and if your arm still bleeds you can go out and wash it if you want.”
“It’s not that, it’s just… well… I don’t know, it seems that I’m doing some satanic ritual putting blood on a paper.”
“This is called ‘theater magic’, I want everyone to feel like an actor. It won´t be you dropping the blood, it will be your ‘I lyrical’. Understand that I do this for the sake of your learning, these drops of blood are a crutch for your memory to better fix the subject.”
“But I don´t…”
“Shut up”, “annoying kid”, “afraid of a little needle”, “scared of some drops of blood”. The voices of protest from my classmates flooded the room. I gave up complaining, I just pierced my arm and dripped a few drops on the paper with the four unknown words.
When I got home, still bothered by that day’s class, I went to research that ritual of immortality. The information was obscure and sparse, I think something so irrelevant in history shouldn’t even be taught in high school. After searching for hours, I was able to find information about the day’s class. “True Forbidden Rituals” was the name of the forum. There, I managed to find the vocabulary used by the people of Nazca.
“Vide envegigo rerolosmi sacritimio”, translated, meant “I offer my life as a sacrifice for royalty”. It was part of a ritual that exchanged one life for one year of extra life. It could be done even with one person, the 66 was just a choice from the king.
I immediately told my parents, who shrugged.
“The teacher must have made a mistake in the translation, there´s nothing to be worried about, it happens. It’s not like you’re going to be sacrificed or anything like that.”
I argued some more, but received responses with similar disregard.
I decided to complain to the school board the next day.
“The teacher is not a perfect dictionary; it is normal to make a mistake in the translation.”
“That’s not the case, it’s what the words say. He also had us put blood on paper.”
“We’ll talk to him. Don’t forget that any alternative activity you don’t feel comfortable participating in, feel free to ask for a different assessment, the teacher cannot force you to do anything.”
That was the conversation, that is, completely useless exchange. Nobody gave a fuck.
On the following week we had a theatrical performance scheduled; it would be performed in the high school gym, where a stage was set up in the middle of it. The history teacher had partnered with a theater group to bring a show to the students.
On the day of the presentation, the gymnasium was packed, and the theater company brought in about twenty people. They wore black robes and masks. Strangely, most of the masked people didn’t stay at the stage, they stayed by the exit doors. I thought it was some audience interaction performance and they would come down to the stage afterwards.
The lights in the gym went out. The murmurs of the students ceased, eager for the presentation. At the pitch black, some strange sounds occurred, seeming like doors were being locked. The light came back gradually, as torches were being lit all around. The teacher was standing in the middle of the stage, with some masked men next to him. I, anxious and suspicious, looked at the doors, confirming my fears. All exits had been locked.
“This presentation will be unforgettable; unlike anything you’ve ever seen!” The teacher, now also masked, spoke on the microphone as everyone cheered.
He picked up a large vessel with indecipherable inscriptions, and put it in the middle of the stage. He had our “assignments” in his hand, stained with the students’ blood. The papers were thrown into the container and they caught fire by themselves. The masked members of the stage began to sing, in a language unknown to me. The lyrical voices conveyed a sense of peace, leaving everyone in a soft trance, hypnotized by the soothing sound.
Suddenly, the entire gym shook. A cacophony of gurgles and hisses fused with the song, and a black sphere appeared out of thin air in the middle of the stage. From inside it, a tall creature emerged, big pointed teeth standing out in the gigantic mouth, which filled almost half of its deformed body, arms much longer than legs, pointed nails on its three fingered hands. Its skin was a sickly shade of ashen gray, mottled with oozing pustules and lesions that seemed to move of their own volition. Its torso was a grotesque blend of exposed, pulsating organs and decaying flesh. It walked using its hands, in a bizarre and odd way that was almost funny, as if something that wasn´t possible was drawn by an imaginative kid. The students roared and applauded. “These are amazing effects; never seen anything this well done”.
The creature, with incredible agility, even more considering its awkward body, advanced towards the bleachers, lifted a student as if he were a feather, and threw him into its gigantic mouth. The terrified teenager screamed agonizingly, but briefly, as he struggled and fought, and then his entrails flew into the crowd near him, he was completely torn apart and swallowed in a couple of chews.
The monster then jumped on the second student, tearing him apart in the same way. Most people took a while to realize what was happening, still thinking it was part of the show, but in less than a minute the crowd were screaming and trying to escape. Hundreds ran desperately to the door, crowding in, pushing whoever was in front in their eagerness to get out. Had it not been for the chaos caused by the terror, they would probably have managed to open the door, after all it was a simple latch, a hammer hitting it or someone calmly trying to open it with a wire would have passed by, and the improvised barricade could be pushed out of the way in less than a minute. But hundreds of teenagers pushing each other did not represent a risk to the giant metal door, which remained insurmountable due to the lack of organization of those trying to cross that obstacle.
I remained in my place watching the hundreds of students trampling each other in hopes of getting out, but without the calm to work as a team and accomplish the objective. I was frozen and unsure what to do, while the blood and entrails on the floor gradually increased in quantity from the vicious creature.
In a lucky flash, I remembered a simulation we had months ago, brigade training. In it, all the students of the college trained what to do in cases of fire. We lined up at the door and walked calmly to the street, while the teacher marked the doors with chalk, indicating that everyone had evacuated. After we gathered in the street, the firefighters talked about the fire escapes that were installed in 3 different locations in the school. One of them was in that same gym. I ran to that door, the screams and sounds of flesh tearing from a distance away indicated that the creature still hadn’t turned its attention to me. Even with the speed with which it ripped apart the sacrifices, there were hundreds of us, so with luck it would still be a few minutes before it was my turn to be offered to whatever it was.
The fire exit was behind the bleachers. When I reached it, one of the masked men from the “theatre company” was there, pistol in hand, pointing at a group in the corner. Apparently, I hadn’t been the first to remember the fire escape. There were a few teachers and students there who were sure they would be shot if they moved a muscle.
“Sit the fuck down!” The man pushed me with a force that my muscles of a sedentary 16-year-old boy wouldn’t stand a chance.
I joined the group in the corner, there were eleven students and two teachers, Miss Anny and Mister Peter. The two professors exchanged glances, and, seeming to understand each other, they gestured and jumped at the armed man. A bang echoed through the gym. Peter got shot twice, but continued to advance, throwing his body forcefully on top of the man blocking the door. Peter punched the man on the ground until he released the gun, and then Anny picked it up and fired at the masked man, making two holes on it, squishing blood and brains all over the floor. As the obstacle in front of the fire exit was removed, we opened it after removing the simple lock.
I looked at Peter, he was on the ground, unmoving. He probably did a last-ditch effort fueled by adrenaline before crumbling to the shots he received.
I ran outside, the sun blinding me for a moment with the sudden light change. I ran for nearly a block, hearing the screams in the gym echo at a high volume.
I couldn´t ignore them, I had to do everything I could. I decided to go back.
I walked past the fire escape and stared at the doomsday scene. Of the nearly 500 students who inhabited the bleachers, about 2 thirds remained, some still trying to break into the two normal exits, others running from the creature, which took a few seconds at most to swallow the next victim, as if its stomach were a bottomless well, a portal to another universe. The non-resistant were swallowed in a single bite, as those who struggled usually lost some limbs before ending up in the stomach of the inconceivable creature. The arms, legs and some organs were left on the floor. The creature only gathered the mortal remains if the heart or brain had not been ingested in the first drag. On the ground stained red, mixed with the remains of those who struggled before being sacrificed to the monster, complete bodies also resided, some trampled, others shot when trying to attack the members of the “theatre company”. The history teacher was still at the stage, watching the scene. He talked at the microphone:
“Calm down, God will eembrace you all in a moment, just stand still and you won´t feel any pain. Stop running, it will all be over soon, there’s paradise waiting for all who participate in this noble cause.”
Desperation really deprives people of the most basic reasoning, few remembered the fire escape, and still tried, kicking and shouldering, to break down the two colossal metal doors, while the rest ran to the opposite side of where the monster was in that time. The acoustics of the gym facilitated the projection of the voice, although the sounds of screams and general chaos were deafening. I screamed as loud as I could:
“HERE! HERE! FIRE EXIT! HERE! EXIT!”
A few colleagues managed to hear me and ran immediately, others repeated my warning to reach more people. In a few minutes, most of those present in the gym managed to go to the street.
The police sirens grew louder and louder, and I ran towards the approaching cars, letting them know where they could enter the gym. The police officers ran, guns drawn, and shot at the creature, which, despite being attacked, did not violently retaliate against the police, just as it had not attacked any adult who was at the gym. The monster was still chasing the teenagers, but slower and slower due to the increasing number of wounds being inflicted on it by the police. As it collapsed, a portal opened in the ground beneath the colossal creature, and it disappeared without a trace.
I looked around, the teacher and the members of the theater were gone and one of the doors were open now. They probably ran as soon as they heard the police sirens.
-
Some newspapers told the real story of what happened that day, but most practically created their own theory about the deaths of those 172 teenagers. Outside the city, incredibly, the case was not much commented on, becoming only content for some influencers who talk about bizarre stories and conspiracy theories.
Some cases of suicide occurred among the survivors of the macabre ritual, and the city’s psychologists filled their schedules.
I, despite the trauma, was less affected psychologically than most. I was just happy to be alive after that horrible experience, I guess I was always that kind of person that no matter how shitty the situation faced, I always managed to console myself thinking “it could be worse”. At least I was alive.
But now, I can’t find any silver lining anymore, I’ll probably die soon.
On my arm, a mark like that of the vessel where the paper with my blood was burned appeared like a tattoo. I tried brushing, using various products, even cutting the skin, but all to no avail. The mark does not come off at all. Also, every night, a hooded person stands across the street, watching me through the window. I have already reinforced the locks on my house, and tried to call the police, in vain. Whenever they arrive, there is no one else there.
Every night, the mark in my arm glows and I feel like it is burning, and the screams of those sacrificed teenagers echo in my mind, as if they live in my head now. In the first days, the screams lasted for seconds, but the duration of the burning mark progressively increased, now it lasts for minutes. Beyond the screams, as the brand burns, I hear whispers saying what an honor it is to be sacrificed for royalty.
I can’t get rid of the mark, and I can’t stand the anxiety anymore, the overwhelming feeling that they’re going to sacrifice me at any moment consumes me. And the screams, they are clearer and clearer at each passing day. The melancholic wails of agony pierce my mind, I cry every time the mark starts burning, as I know that I will feel the pain of all those who hadn’t been lucky.
Or maybe they were the lucky ones.
I don’t feel like studying or working, knowing that soon I will likely complete my ordination. Suicide cases among survivors of the tragedy have recently increased, they are at the dozens now. Police put a surveillance at the town’s bridge, as people are throwing themselves there almost every day. Not that it stops them, the suicides keep happening, just in other places. Perhaps this is the easiest way out. At least the screaming in my head would stop.