10 years ago, I dropped out of college. I was 19 and had barely made it through the first semester when I realized that it just wasn’t for me. I didn’t like being away from home and the prices were just too high. In a pinch, I decided to become a police officer. All they required was a GED and I figured hell, I can do this for a while to pay the bills. I ended up loving the job. I’ve been with it ever since and never regretted the decision of leaving college.
However, it’s not really the most high paying job in the world. Life is expensive and my bills aren’t exactly going down. I talked to some of my coworkers and quickly learned just how much I could be making with a college degree. It wasn’t exactly a monumental difference, but it was enough to make life more comfortable for sure. I got some advice to enroll in the local community college and decided to go for it. I had planned to start in the Spring semester, but my schedule wasn’t very flexible. I ended up working some things out with the chief and enrolled myself in 3 Summer classes. Lucky for me, two of them were online. However, the online statistics class was full and the only availability was Tuesdays and Thursdays from 6-9.
Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why the hell I decided to take a night time statistics class in the Summer. Why not wait until the fall to see if online opens up? Well, I’m required to get a math credit for my criminal justice degree (that seemed like the most obvious choice), but I absolutely hate math. I figured I’d get it out of the way early so that I could enjoy the better classes later on. The Summer courses are also only 8 weeks long, so at least I’d be done quickly.
This brings me to Thursday. It’s my fifth week of classes and, yeah, they’re exactly as awful as you’d think. The class is in the basement level of the downtown campus at the opposite end of the parking garage. This sucks even more because the last thing I want to do before sitting in a dark room for a 3 hour math lecture is walk all the way across the building through the maze of cinder block, windowless halls. A supremely depressing entrance to a supremely depressing class.
Well, I drag my feet through the hallways and sit in my regular seat: a hard plastic blue chair in front of a tiny desk. It reminds me of those old desks from elementary school where I used to hide trading cards and gum. Except now I’m pushing 30, and the only thing I’m hiding is how uncomfortable this chair is– and I’m not hiding it well.
The only thing that makes the class a little better is the pretty girl I sit next to. I’ve never had the guts to actually talk to her, but she gives me a lovely smile every time I go to sit down. She has long red hair and bright green eyes and I learned through the attendance call that her name is Marie. She greets me as usual when I set down and I get distracted by the glimmer in her eyes.
The professor, an old, balding man, walks in and takes his position at the front of the class. The lights go down and he illuminates his slides with a projector. He’s a wrinkly, small man, but today he almost looked older. It was as if gravity was pulling him straight into the grave. His skin sagged, his knees buckled, he somehow even looked shorter. I began to count the days until my 30th birthday. I have never been fond of the idea of getting old.
He began droning on about something or other starting with a Z (Z-Tables maybe?) Look, I know I should be taking my classes more seriously, but it was a long day and I was sincerely beat. I began to zone out, thinking of Marie.
I did this a lot. It didn’t help that she was always in my line of sight. I thought maybe today would be the day that I talked to her. Maybe, I’d ask her to grab coffee? I had to do it at some point. I’d never forgive myself if I chickened out for 8 weeks straight.
I dozed off into my own little dream land and by the time I snapped out… Jesus, it was already 9:05! I might as well have skipped at that point because I clearly didn’t learn a thing. Oh well, I’ll just read over the posted notes some time over the weekend, but it was time to go home.
And yet, the professor was still droning on. I raised my hand to let him know class was over. I was more than ready to leave. He glanced at me for a split second and yet didn’t even acknowledge me.
“Professor Smith” I spoke to no avail. “Professor Smith, it’s 5 past.”
He glared at me, “I will ask that you please do not interrupt the lecture. If you need to speak, you may raise your hand.”
Yeah, fuck this. I don’t know who pissed that guy off today, but I was over it. I grabbed my notebook and packed it into my bag before getting up and leaving the stale, cold room. If he has a problem with me walking out then he should quit talking at the regular time. I walked back through the halls to the building’s exit. The hallways were a maze, but I knew the walk well at this point. Left, right, right, left, right, out. On the prison-esque walls surrounding me were various art pieces I assumed were done by the students. I passed one that I hadn’t seen before. It must’ve been new, but it caught my eye immediately. It was some abstract version of a face I think. It looked like some sinister Picasso. The mouth fell below the chin in a twisted grin, the cheeks were tinged a strange purple hue, the eyes looked foggy white and clouded over. It gave me the creeps, and yet I couldn’t stop looking at it.
I must’ve been staring at it for 10 minutes before I snapped out and realized I needed to go home. No one had passed by me yet. Had the old loon really not let class out yet? I turned my last right and headed towards the door under the glowing exit sign. I pushed it open, expecting the dimly lit street, but instead I walked straight into my classroom again.
I shook my head in confusion and looked at the clock on the far wall. 6:05 it read.
“You’re late” the old man sneered at me. “Kindly take your seat.”
He began lecturing again and, instinctively, I took my place at my seat again. I was confused, but once again Marie turned and smiled in acknowledgement of my arrival. I turned to her for the first time, beginning to ask what was going on, but as soon as I opened my mouth, she turned her head in some unnatural and slow way towards me, bones popping in the process, and put a single finger to her lips before returning to listen to the lecture.
Nope. I didn’t know what was going on, but I was going home. I abruptly sat up from my seat and walked out again. No one acknowledged me. I returned to the hallway, left, right, right, left, right, out… but not out. Straight back into the classroom.
The professor reprimanded me again, I sat down again, I mindlessly repeated the loop and set back out again…
Back in the classroom, reprimanded by the professor, acknowledged by Marie, and out again. I don’t know how many times I repeated this loop. Over and over again. Dozens, maybe hundreds of times, I lost count quickly. Left, right, right… or was it left, left, right? Left, right, left? I was getting dizzy. I couldn’t tell how much time had passed. I decided to open the door to another classroom. Maybe by some miracle there would be a window in there that I could climb out of? I entered the room…
Of course, I was back in my classroom. What the hell was happening? I backed out of the doorway. As I returned to the hallway, my eyes caught the painting again. This time I swear it was in a different place. Before, it was on a wall surrounded by other paintings and collages. Now, it was on its own. I know it sounds strange, hell, all of this does, but the smile seemed larger, the face more sinister. I began to stare, transfixed once again. The longer I looked, the more my heart started to race and chills crept up along my arms and spine. It was like it was alive. Alive and staring straight at me.
This time I ran to the exit– but to no avail. I still ended back up in that horrible classroom. This time it was different. I walked through the door, but no one acknowledged me. I looked to the clock: 6:05. The professor had already begun lecturing and everyone’s heads were turned towards him. It was as if I wasn’t there. I walked up to the professor, waved my hand in front of his face, nothing. I turned to look at Marie and my whole body went cold.
Her face was contorted. Her mouth twisted into a sinister smile, her cheeks were flushed a deep purple, and her eyes, once green and glittering, were pale, white, clouded over. As I looked around the room, I saw the same horrible expression on everyone’s face. I felt sick to my stomach. I turned as quickly as I could and walked back out the doorway into the hall.
There it was, the painting, directly outside the door in front of me. I instinctively backed away back into the classroom.
“W… what the fuck?” was all I could utter.
At the sound of my voice, every head in the class turned to face me. Their sinister smiles and foggy eyes trained on me. I turned tail and ran. Sprinted as fast as I could down the hallway, not paying any attention to which direction I was going. All I could do was run. As I left, I could hear the scooting of the legs on the plastic seats. Bodies shuffling out of the room.
I think it’s been three days, but there’s really no way of telling. Maybe it’s been hours, maybe weeks? As I maneuver the maze that is this basement, I sometimes hear them. I hear giggling, footsteps, knocks. Sometimes from far away, sometimes from what sounds like right around the corner. I know deep inside of me that I have to keep moving. I can’t sleep. What if they find me? I’m getting weak, dizzy from the twisting halls. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I want to go home. I want out. Please, dear god, let me out.