Fates

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Principal Sylvia Patterson pulled her office door shut, checked the lock, then hitched a stack of folders slightly higher in her left arm as she made her way down the empty halls of Mission High.

The school was silent except for the sound of her own breathing and the click of her heels on the polished gray linoleum. She passed darkened classrooms behind closed doors: the desks, tables, and chairs within were just vague, silhouetted forms beyond smudged glass panes. In each window she walked by, her reflection appeared distorted.

Even after nearly two decades in these halls, she always felt scared when the school was empty.

As she rounded a corner, Sylvia stopped. A trill of alarm passed through her: a figure stood just inside the double doors at the exit, partially hidden by shadows.

No one was allowed on school grounds after hours.

Sylvia dipped her right hand into her purse, closing her fingers around the can of Mace she always kept close by. “School’s closed now,” she chirped, hoping the intruder wouldn’t hear the tremor in her voice.

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