First Month: September

Q1. Have you ever broken something in September?

A1. Yes, the rules.

Every school has its fair share of dark rumors about it. At my old boarding school, there were stories for practically every floor of the building. My favorite was about the attic. Supposedly, some time ago, a brother and sister snuck out of their rooms at night to play in the attic. They were new to the school and struggled to make new friends. It wasn’t long before they were caught and warned. But it happened again. And again. And eventually, they stopped coming back down. My friends and I used to sneak out at night and listen carefully at the attic steps. The rumor was that you could still hear them playing up there. I never could, but my friends swore they had.

My new school is different, though; it doesn’t have any rumors like that about it. There are no ghosts in the attic, no murderers who appear in the mirrors when you turn out the lights, nothing hiding in the teacher’s closet. Perhaps it’s because, at my new school, they send you home in the afternoon. Maybe the kids simply aren’t around long enough to make up rumors about it? A school is a very different place in the middle of the night than it is at lunch time on a Thursday morning.

*

It was the second week of school when the first student disappeared. He had decided to write something crude, something school inappropriate, on the new slide out on the playground. When one of the girls saw him do it, the entire class seemed to become absolutely still, as if turned to stone. No one seemed to want to breathe. When our teacher arrived to investigate, the boy was sent straight to the principal’s office. 

The rest of the day afterward seemed to drag on. No one talked about what happened and eventually, I grew tired of asking. Already well disciplined, the class put on a show of being on their best behavior. Everyone was still when the teacher spoke. Work was completed quickly and silently. When our teacher forgot to give us our homework, one of the boys raised his hand to remind her and no one complained. More than anything at that point, I itched to be home, away from the strangeness.

The next day, the boy’s desk was missing.

It didn’t matter who I tried to talk to. As far as anyone was concerned, the boy from yesterday had never existed. When I asked my teacher, she gave me a long, confused look before sending me to the nurse, who took my temperature and sent me home even though I didn’t have a fever. Something strange had occurred and I was determined to discover what. I waited the rest of the afternoon in our bay window, waiting for the bus to pass by.

Eventually, my neighbor disembarked and I ran outside to greet him, to invite him to a game of basketball. My father had installed a hoop above our garage. An additional offer of cookies and milk sealed the deal and my classmate dropped his backpack on his front step and came over. As we played, I subtly broached the subject of the missing boy, causing him to drop the ball, which rolled, forgotten, down the driveway and into the ditch. Looking around nervously, he asked if he could go home. I shrugged and he left.

*

The next week, one of the younger girls on my bus wasn’t in her normal seat. When I asked her older sister, she told me that she had never had a younger sister. Tears streaked down her face as she yelled at me for making such a cruel joke. Abashed, I returned to my seat and kept my head down the rest of the ride, resolving once again to uncover whatever it was that was going on.

Our school was not a large one--shaped like a lower case “b,” with one hallway and a pod attached to its base--making it easy to investigate on the way to lunch on Thursday morning, but all that I turned up was the strange smell that always seemed to linger by the gymnasium. When I asked the new teacher across the hall about it, she nervously shrugged and pointed to the bathrooms as the ancient air conditioning kicked on with a roar behind her. She jumped at the noise before making an excuse and walking away.

As I stood there thinking, my eyes were drawn to the door of the next classroom, closed and marked “Book Room.” Curious, I walked up to the door’s window, but a taped sheet of construction paper obscured my view. Throwing caution to the wind, I entered the room. Inside, the air conditioning seemed even louder than it did in the hall. It was no wonder that no one used this room for teaching; it’d be nearly impossible to hear the teacher over its unsteady roar. And the smell of the bathrooms? It was nearly overwhelming.

Behind me, the door opened again, but I failed to notice it until I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning, the school’s principal stood behind me holding my neighbor by the arm. He smiled a long, slow smile. “Just the young man I was looking for.”

Lifting a corner of the carpet revealed a locked trapdoor which, when opened, became a gaping hole in the tiled floor with a staircase leading down. The roaring now filled the room, a deep rumble, and the smell brought me to my knees. Pushing my neighbor into the dark, our principal lifted me off the ground to follow. 

“Have I ever told you about the basement?” he asked. “It’s where we send the boys and girls who, let’s just say, have a little trouble following the rules."

“We can’t talk about the basement! It’s against the rules!” my classmate pleaded.

“Well…” The principal paused, drawing out the moment, before smiling again. “You’re right--not anymore you can’t.” 

Behind us, the trap door closed and locked as the roaring paused just long enough so that the sound of saliva dripping to the floor could be heard.

*

It’s true what I said: A school is a very different place at lunch time on a Thursday morning than it is in the middle of the night. Maybe the kids simply aren’t around long enough to make up rumors about it?