I’m a teacher in a secondary school in the UK. Most of the school is based in brand new buildings, with windows everywhere and bright lights and it’s all generally lovely.
Of course, my department is based upstairs, in the oldest building on the school grounds. It’s been there since at least the second world war, if not longer, from what I’ve been told.
I didn’t think it was too bad. Obviously I’d love to be in one of the shiny new buildings, with a roof that doesn’t leak and walls that aren’t crumbling, but I’ve made the best of what I have. My classroom is cosy, with fairy lights and cushions and bright displays.
I’m always the first person in the department to arrive in the morning. That makes me sound really keen, but I’m always in such a hurry to leave at the end of the day that I inevitably have to tidy up and prepare for the day ahead in the morning instead. It also helps me avoid the crazy printer queues if I get that done before everyone arrives.
The caretakers open the main gates every morning, but they don’t open every building. I open up the department building most mornings, because of how early I arrive. At the start of term, it wasn’t so bad. Once we were well into winter, and it started being dark when I arrived at school, I started to get an unsettling feeling as I climbed the stairs and turned the corner to look down the long corridor my department inhabits.
It was hard to put my finger on what the unsettling feeling was, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was at the far end of the corridor, something that didn’t want me there. Luckily, my classroom is only the second one along in the corridor, so I would dash to my door, jam the key into the lock and let myself in as quickly as I could.
Last Monday, when I arrived at school, that feeling was even stronger. It was there as I unlocked the building; like a gnawing in the pit of my stomach. Every muscle in my body wanted me to turn around and walk away, but I knew it wasn’t an option. I had so much printing to do, for one thing.
I climbed the stairs, feeling my pulse quicken. The hairs on the back of my neck seemed to prickle upwards defensively. I fully expected to see some kind of terrifying demonic creature lurking in the corridor, waiting to attack.
Of course, there was nothing there. The end of the corridor was as empty as ever.
There was, however, a strange blue glow coming from Katie’s classroom, the one right down at the bottom of the corridor.
I wondered if it might have been that she had left her computer on overnight, but they had an automatic turn-off as part of the school’s environmental policy. She definitely hadn’t arrived yet - I’d unlocked the building, and her car wasn’t in the car park. No pupils would have arrived that early, and they couldn’t have gotten in anyway.
I wanted to go and investigate, despite every instinct telling me not to, so I turned on the corridor light.
The blue glow at the end of the corridor disappeared straight away. There was no sign that it had ever been there to start with. I summoned the courage to head down to the far end of the corridor to investigate, despite every instinct telling me not to. Katie’s classroom looked totally normal. Her PC was off. There were no electronics on in the room.
I decided it must have been my mind playing tricks on me and went back to my classroom. The day passed without event until the last lesson. I was supposed to be free, but Sarah, the head of department, asked if I’d mind having Katie’s class in my room for supervision.
“Katie’s gone home,” Sarah explained. “She wasn’t herself at all. Dreadful headache”.
I tried not to read too much into it. Headaches aren’t exactly uncommon in teachers; we’re dealing with teenagers all day. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe it was linked to that strange blue light.
When I came in the next morning, the next room along - Laura’s - was bathed in that blue glow, the same as Katie’s. The following morning, Marc’s was too. Then, Jill’s. Sure enough, on the day their room first glowed, the teachers went home with an awful headache. Marc was even having nosebleeds.
I had seen enough on Monday to not mess around with whatever was causing this. As soon as I entered the building, I switched on every available light, and the blue light disappeared as soon as the corridor was illuminated. It didn’t stop the teachers getting the headaches, though.
Whatever it was, it was moving down the corridor. It would be in Sarah’s room next, and then in mine. I didn’t want to go into school on Friday, but we were in dire straits as far as cover was concerned, with four teachers absent from the same department, and I felt bad.
My heart sank as I entered the corridor and saw the blue glow emanating from Sarah’s room. It could only mean one thing.
I reached for the light switch, but stopped short. If there was any hope of stopping this, I had to find out what it was before it vanished. I dropped my bag off next to the staff room, and crept down the corridor.
My normal discomfort in the corridor could now best be described as a sense of impending doom. I moved as though on autopilot towards that blue glow, pushing through paralysing fear to reach Sarah’s door.
I couldn’t see through the window in the door. Everything was just a brilliant, glowing blue. It didn’t light up the room; it seemed to swallow the room entirely, removing all objects and replacing them with more overwhelming, all-encompassing blue light.
Sarah’s door should have been locked, but it eased ajar as I tried the handle. There was a thunderous, ear-piercing shriek as the door moved, and it was suddenly slammed shut with inhuman force, narrowly avoiding hitting me in the face.
I was acting on total autopilot now, and before I really knew what I was doing, I had placed my body against the door and was trying to open it. The handle wouldn’t even turn - it was as if it was being held closed from the inside.
I wrestled with the door, and as I was able to wrench it slightly open - only an inch - my mind was filled with the most hideous images. I couldn’t speak; I could barely even breathe. In my mind, I could only see what I imagined to be hell. Fires burned around me. People were screaming; being tortured in unspeakable ways. It must have been my imagination playing tricks on me, but I felt like I saw the faces of my colleagues - Katie and Jill and Marc and Laura - on the bodies of those poor, tortured souls.
The door continued to be pushed against me, and a hideous whisper filled my brain, a guttural, snarling undertone.
“Wait your turn,” it hissed, the words seeming to snake their way around my skull. “Soon”. Then, finally, the door was wrenched from my grip and I was left, breathing heavily, in the now-quiet corridor.
The light flickered on, killing the blue glow instantly. Sarah stood at the end of the corridor, slightly bemused.
‘Did you get the wrong door, Alex?’ she asked me with a little laugh, approaching. I wanted to warn her; to tell her not to enter the room, but she breezed past me while I stammered and stumbled, and entered her room without a second thought. Nothing happened. She just smiled back at me.
‘Are you okay, Al?’ she asked me, concerned. ‘You aren’t coming down with the same illness as the others, are you? Cover is already a nightmare’. I swallowed hard and shook my head. Sorting cover was nothing compared to the living nightmare I’d just experienced.
I tried to get on with my day, but all I could think about was the horrendous sight I’d seen behind Sarah’s classroom door, and what it meant for me. That terrifying voice had said “soon”.
It’s Sunday night now, and I haven’t heard from anyone in the department. Sarah normally sends out a weekly update on a Sunday evening, at 5pm. She’s never missed it - she’s never even been a few minutes late - so now I know something is wrong.
If the blue light keeps following that pattern, my room is next. When I enter the corridor tomorrow, that weird blue light will be glowing in my room, and I’ll get the headache, and then I’ll disappear without a trace too.
I really don’t want to go to school tomorrow.