Hey there, I just wanted to state that this is a story from the PixiePages universe. These events are not vital to following Josh’s experiences, but occur from another perspective between Part 2 and Part 3
“Pumpkin, it’s your first day back, we can’t keep delaying it!” Dad pleaded through my locked door.
“Daddduh please!” I begged, rolling out of bed and unlocking the door. “Can’t I just stay home?” I whined overdramatically.
“Pumpkin, it’s for your own good.” Dad frowned softly, gently embracing me after opening the door.
Hugging him back, I caved in. “I knowww” I pouted, dragging out my words. I looked up into his bearded face, asking “which wig?”
In response, Dad scooped me up and carried me to my closet. He gently placed me on my stool, then slid open the closet. “Pumpkin, where are they?”
I chuckled, “very funny Dad, which should I wear?”
“They… aren’t here baby?” Dad sounded genuinely confused. I got up to investigate.
To my horror, he wasn’t joking. My entire collection, twelve beautiful wigs, were gone. In their place, what looked like a messy pile of black yarn lay on the bottom right corner of the shelves. I reached for the black balled up mess, a pit growing in my stomach.
“I-I’m so sorry baby…” Dad rubbed my back, comforting me.
I’d already lost two years of my life to the sickness, I needed to reclaim some amount of life. With a painful, trembling smile, I said to my father, “it’s okay, I’ll wear it.”
“Honey, you don’t have to, we can get you new ones and wait till tomorrow.” He proposed, caught off guard at my acceptance.
I answered him by sliding the itchy birds nest of a wig onto my bare scalp, fighting a frown. “After school, you promise?”
With a silent nod, Dad left me to my own devices to prepare for the day. Between packing and hygiene, I spent twenty minutes before walking to the kitchen. There I found Dad serving eggs to mom, setting a plate for me.
I sat at my seat, thanking mom and dad for breakfast. We ate, then mom drove me to school.
The whole day, I figeted with the unwieldy wig. I felt the soft skin of my head protest each time I had to adjust it. It never felt comfortable.
Around lunch time, I was sent to the nurse. The wig had somehow scratched hard enough to draw blood.
While the nurse disinfected my scalp and applied a bandage, the wig was placed on the nurse’s desk.
“Cassie, what should we do with it? Do you want it back on, or should I phone home?” The nurse offered in their sweet, soft tone. The nurse knew how self-conscious I was about the baldness.
The nurse turned to their desk, then froze. “Cassie, where did I put it again?”
“Beside your computer, I believe.” I replied, confused.
“Where did it go?” The nurse stood, showing the empty spot the wig had been moments prior.
As if to answer, cocophonous screaming broke out from up and down the hall. Staff and students alike erupted into blood curdling screams of abject terror and pain.
Each voice fell quiet, followed by the heavy thuds of something hitting the ground. Some were wet while others were hard. Some thuds were more like the pitter-patter of rain.
The nurse and I had barricaded the door long ago, retreating to the sick room and locking the door. The nurse’s office had no windows nor emergency exits. Our only escape route was the same door whatever was out there, could get in.
The nurse had already called 911, but the signal died out, shortly after the operator had picked up. Hopefully someone would save us.
Fifteen minutes passed, and whatever he’ll was unleashing itself in the halls had finally gone quiet. Suddenly, a series of heavy bangs exploded on the metal door. Parts of the barricade fell away as the banging grew more and more deranged.
The nurse shushed my sobbing, assuring me they would go stall as best they could. In no state of mind to stop them, I simply returned to my sobbing and hyperventilating.
The nurse cried out in pained horror not even a minute later, the door plowing through the barricade. The metal door crashed onto the tile floor with a resounding boom sound, followed by a scratching, chittering sound.
The nurse screamed, then let out a gurgling sound as they choked on something. I rushed to the panel of the window separating the intruder from my room.
The once black ball of stringy material was now sopping wet. The wig was dripping blood. So much blood.
It began snaking it’s way towards me, leaving a snail trail of crimson.
I looked around frantically, finding no trace of the nurse.
The ball of synthetic hair began pounding on the door, slowly destroying the hinges.
I backed into the corner, praying for a miracle. I prayed and prayed.
Miraculously, the pounding ceased. Metal teeth grinned the artificial hair, spraying blood onto the door.
A man walked into the room, stepping over the broken door and assorted furniture destroyed on the ground. The man, loud and clearly said “thank you shredder!” He threw an energetic thumbs up to the wood chipper that now made victory donuts on its tank treads.
I weakly fumbled with the locks, collapsing as the door fell half off its hinges. The man cautiously approached, taking slow, measured steps.
“You don’t look like a school nurse?” The man asked quizzically, pulling me to my feet.
In response, I forced myself from his grasp, rushed to a waste basket, and emptied my stomach. My half digested breakfast mixed with the rubbish and blood that had pooled in the basin, reminding me of a witch’s cauldron.
“Well, the nurse seems to have perished. A shame, really. What’s your story?” The man asked, pulling a notepad from his smooth, black suit.
“What’s going on?!” I blurted, wiping the bile from my chin.
“Ehh…” the man seemed to weigh his options, stroking his chin as though he had a beard. “You aren’t the intended witness, so I don’t see why not. I’m Sean, a senior journalist at PixiePages.” Sean took a bow, patting the shredder tank on the funnel covering its teeth.
“I-um Ca-Cassie” I stuttered, caught by another wave of nausea.
“Pleasure to meet ya, though these aren’t the best of circumstances, now, are they?” Sean frowned, sincere in his remorse.
“What even is this?” I waved my hands around manically, feeling my sanity slipping.
“This is our shredder,” Sean pet the funnel again, producing a small, happy sounding grind of its teeth. “I was instructed to interview the school nurse on the Nestbear incident, though it seems I was sent a tad late.”
“Nestbear?!” I spat. “Do you mean you knew this was going to happen!” I was filled with a flash of anger, realizing this man could have prevented this.
“We at PixiePages are restricted by rules. One of my coworkers will take you home.” Sean pat my hairless head, a sad smile plastered on his face. “Now you’ll have to excuse me, I have another appointment to make.”