Before I share the details of what happened that day, I want my purpose to be clear. I am sick of the questions that I have been getting on a constant basis. Believe me or don’t, I no longer care. I know I’m not crazy and I know I’m not lying.
My name is Shelby Hayes and I am a substitute teacher for one of the school districts in Ohio. I’m fairly new, only getting credentialed a couple months ago, but I love my job and love the kids. Now I can’t help but be shaken in my certainty that this is the job for me and it’s all because of last Friday.
Last Friday even started out differently than most days. Instead of calling out like they usually did, the teacher I was subbing for just hadn’t showed up for class that day. The school had tried to reach her but hadn’t had any luck. A welfare check was conducted but I didn’t hear the result of it till that afternoon. That was the last I really heard of it at that point. Anyways, it wasn’t my business. They needed a teacher and I was available.
I walked into the class room. Pictures of a brown haired woman standing next to different students adorned the walls along with art project that all looked like rainbow colored blobs. I smiled as I passed one of the little blobs labeled “dog.” The atmosphere was that of a normal, happy kindergarten class. Ms. Shaul, the teacher, obviously had put in a lot of time and energy for making the room the perfect place for children to learn and play.
There looked to be about twenty little ones sitting on a rainbow carpet. The principal smiled at me and with an “All right kids, you can have free play till I’m done talking with Ms. Hayes!” they were off laughing and running around in all different directions.
Mr. Perry, the principal, welcomed me to the class. He informed me that today he didn’t expect too much from me. The teacher’s assistant was out sick, so structure was going to be extra difficult.
“Just make sure Brandon doesn’t eat any paint… it’s happened a couple times now. Oh! And if you could encourage Jenny to play with the other kids, that would be great.” He pointed to a little girl playing with a doll in the corner. She likes to play in her own little world. Other than that, they’re pretty easy kids.”
I thanked him and then he left. I immediately made sure the paints were out of reach and then turned my attention to Jenny. She was a cute little blonde girl in pigtails. I expected her to still be alone but to my surprise she was merrily playing with a little brown haired boy.
I walked up to them and kneeled. They both smiled up at me. The little boy introduced himself as Adam and proudly stuck up five fingers when I asked how old he was. I was attached by an onslaught of questions including if I had children and if I had a favorite color. These were pretty standard questions for this age but the next one out of Adam’s mouth was a bit odd.
“Miss Hayes?” He asked me. “Is it okay to be happy and sad at the same time?”
That was quite the deep question for a child so young. Still, kids asked weird questions all the time in this profession.
“It’s okay to feel however you feel. Why do you feel happy and sad?” I asked gently.
He seemed to hesitate in answering, looking down and shrugging his shoulders, so I tried a different tactic.
“Okay, what’s making you happy?”
He smiled and excitedly told me “I get to hug my Mommy today. I haven’t seen her in so long!”
“Did she go on a trip?”
His smile dropped and he looked down again, brown hair covering his face. Obviously this was a sore subject.
“Okay, will you tell me what’s making you sad?”
He looked up and motioned for me to come closer with his little hand. I did and he whispered in my ear.
“Malcom is coming.”
Something about the way he said this sounded so insidious, like he was announcing true doom just by saying the words; perhaps in his mind Malcom did bring doom.
I questioned who Malcom was but he shut down again. This worried me but I decided not to push him. My first thought was that this Malcom guy was somehow abusive. As a mandated reporter, you are always on the lookout for those situations. Still, I was jumping to conclusions much to fast so I slowed myself down.
“When you’re ready to tell me about Malcom, I’ll be here.” I said with a smile, before getting up and moving to the front of the class. Jenny and Adam went back to playing, having some type of conversation.
The day was passing very quickly. Brandon wanted to know if we could paint today, making me thankful for Mr. Perry’s warning. I was just about to tell the children that it was clean up time so they could have snack when I felt a little hand pulling at the sleeve of my sweater. I looked down to see Adam.
“Malcom’s very angry.” He said sadly. His eyes were from filled with sorrow and his voice was no more than a hushed whisper.
I knelt down beside him.
“He didn’t used to be.” He continued, “But he changed.”
He looked so sad. I gave him a comforting hug.
“When did he change?” I asked softly, but he ducked his head down before walking away. I feared abuse, and planned on talking to the principal after class.
Snack time came and left and the students continued to play. The panting sound of breath and little foot steps rushing towards me caused me to turn around.
In a panic, Adam ran up to me.
“Malcom’s coming here.”
I was confused and he must have realized it. He took a deep breath before continuing.
“Malcom is coming here with a GUN! He’s going to make everyone go to sleep!” His eyes were wild and it seemed as if he believed everything he was saying.
I felt a shiver go up my spine. This didn’t feel like a child making things up. Adam looked genuinely terrified. I was frozen for a moment when his high pitched voice broke me out of my stupor.
“Do something! He’s almost here!” He said, waving his little arms.
Adam was nearly hyperventilating, so I rubbed his back before I got up.
To keep him calm, I grabbed my chair and quickly jammed it under the door handle making a blockade. I went to call the principal to tell him of this threat the little boy was claiming as it was policy. I could only hope that as soon as I called Mr. Perry, he would tell me that Adam had a very big imagination. Before I even reached the telephone, I heard the sound of a doorknob jiggling.
I turned around as the classroom door was attempted to be forced open. My nerves were glittery as the timing was just too weird. I scolded myself, reminding myself to think rationally. Maybe it was the principal? But then why didn’t he knock?
Then the door was left alone. I let out a sigh, feeling relief even though I knew it was silly. I turned back about to call the principal’s office.
Then I heard the screams.
Children, adults. Loud, deafening gun shots. I screamed at the students to get under their desks while getting my cell phone and dialing 911. I turned the classroom light off and went under the teachers desk. Crying could be heard from all over the classroom. I whispered calming words to the children, while simultaneously trying to calm myself down. We were in a school shooting and had I not just barricaded the door, we would all be dead.
What felt like hours later, the police had rushed the school. My class had no injuries. We were the only class down that hall who could say that.
I shuffled the children out in a line to their parents who were already waiting for them.Everyone was accounted for, everyone except for Adam.
“Adam!” I screamed in a panic. “Where’s Adam?!”
The parents and students all looked confused. I repeated my question, fearing the worst. A plump red haired woman walked up to me. She introduced herself as Mary, a member of the PTA. She stated “There isn’t a kid named Adam in this class.”
I was so confused and even angry . “Yes there is!” I argued. “He was playing with Jenny this morning!”
All eyes turned to Jenny as she nodded.
“Yep!” She said with a smile. “Adam is my invisible friend!”
…
By that next day, the news reports filled in the holes that my own recollection had concerning what had happened. Twenty three people had died, with 15 of them being under the age of seven. Ten had suffered serious injuries but were expected to make a full recovery. The shooter was a young man named Malcom Shaul. He had brown, greasy hair and a permanent sneer painted on his face in every photo the media got a hold of. He was a sixteen year old with anger issues towards about anyone he’d ever met.
He had killed his mother Alex Shaul, the regular teacher of the class, that morning. He knew how much she loved her students and felt he wouldn’t get his perceived revenge on his loving, but still imperfect mother, unless her students were taken out as well. At least, that is what he had written in his manifesto. He pulled the gun on himself before the cops could take him in.
His remaining family claimed that he had once been a happy young boy. That had all changed when his twin brother had been diagnosed with leukemia. Malcolm had never been the same since the unexpected death of his twin brother over a decade ago. He hated his mom for still finding joy in life after his brother’s tragic passing. He also blamed her for his father leaving shortly after the funeral.
An old picture of the Shaul family of was spread all over the television. In the picture, Alex held one of her twin boys in her arms while the other was riding piggyback of their father’s shoulders. A picture perfect family destroyed so long ago.
He had never been the same since the death of his brother Adam… I guess now I knew why Adam hadn’t hugged his mom in so long.
….
So there you have it. Adam Shaul warned me of what his brother was going to do that day. No one believes me and I understand why. Still police have wanted answers to why the chair was jammed in the door when there was no warning from anyone that the Monroe shooting was going to take place. The media has hounded me, so I finally decided to share my side of the story. Perhaps death isn’t always the final chapter. Perhaps we stay when our loved ones are hurting. I don’t know, but I do believe that Adam is finally at peace. It must have been torture watching his brother mentally break for all those years.
I’ll be moving as soon as the police clear me in any involvement with the shooting. I’ll start a new life with a new name in a new place. The name Shelby Hayes will always be tainted now.
And don’t worry, I plan on finding a new career too. I will never work with children again. I don’t know what I’ll do for work, but I’ll figure that out when the time comes. Forever I am haunted by the children I could not save, and the memory of sweet little Adam Shaul.