“Blood is supposed to be on the inside,” was Chris’s response to the scene we both walked in on; I was speechless to say the least. We had barely known her, and now she was dead before us. In these situations, many people might go into a state of fear, but not Chris and I, we were oddly calm, and I’m really not sure why. I guess it was because we assumed she killed herself when we saw the source of all the blood that killed her; two deep slits to her right risk and neck. At this point I wish I knew her, I felt guilty for not why.
No, we only began fear our situation when Chris’ call to the police on the school’s phone (he had dropped his cell phone in the toilet two days earlier) had failed, because of what of another reason we couldn’t answer besides and look of disbelief toward each other. Then, there was event of my cell phone shutting off from no battery. Odd.
It had begun to rain outside.
We were a little frightened. But only did we lose complete control of our composure when we went back to her body to find it gone. That’s when we ran to the door, but the door was locked. Odd.
We were only there at the school at that hour to meet with our teacher (we were both failing the same class; odd) to do some sort of extra credit. It was known that our teacher worked late nights at an cliché restaurant to earn some extra money, I guess. So the time given to us to be at the school was understandable, and wasn’t a problem mainly because we had to come or fail the class. But she wasn’t there, even after half an hour. Which lead to the reason of the two us dwelling around the school out of boredom, and then ultimately leading us to the accidental discovery of a dead chick in the classroom. Now we are here, in this situation. We ran some more, and found that glass is impossible to break and every shadow the angle of death.
It rained harder outside.
Chris said we were going to die, I just couldn’t believe him. We ran to another door that lead outside; locked. I was scared. But I was even more frightened to find a shadow of a male, which was not Chris, standing in the hall way adjacent to us. The figure came closer, we stood. “What are you doing here?!” the man’s voice said. Chris responded with “Trying to get out.” The man, now close enough to see his uniform and to hear a jingling of keys. A janitor was our killer? Odd. The janitor seemed more scared of us then we were of, at the moment, everything. He picked though his endless supply of keys, eventually found the right one, and let us out the previously locked door.
It stopped raining.
Chris said he recognized the janitor, I didn’t and I’ve never seen him since. We never called the police. It was 10:34 at night.