Sam
Mr Noir Jones rambled on about marking schemes. His criticism endless. His words a drivel, barely audible above the rain crashing against the windows. He kept moaning about the WJEC and how unfair they were, never keeping to their marking schemes. And of course, the shooting of dirty looks at the pack of girls giggling away staring at what looked like their knees. I grew bored of the dull scene and glanced across the class. Rows of tired faces, staring into nothingness before them. Of course there were the nerds, beaming at him, scribbling frantically in their books. Then there was that loner behind them tapping away at the table. There weren’t many boys in the welsh class, those of us who were here, sat together.
So I returned to stare at the droplets running down the window. Placing bets on them in my head as the raced down the window. I could still hear the crying of the board pen, screeching out as it slid across the white-board, dying, begging to be thrown in the bin with its brothers and sisters. The chatter of the girls dragged into a whisper, and one by one their voiced died out. The teacher fell silent. The pen stopped screaming. Everything went quite. I turned to see what had happened and saw the pen glide through the air; it tapped on the floor, muffled by the stained cream carpet. Soon after it, fell sir’s clothes.
I stared in disbelief at the pile of clothes on the floor, completely frozen by the shock powering through my veins. The immaculate salmon pink shirt now crumpled in a messy pile, laying underneath it those pristine grey trousers that he wore every day, they covered up his shoes. The blackboard pen rolled aimlessly next to the heap until it clinked softly on the metal leg of the school teacher’s desk. The silence shattered and the room was filled with "Oh my God", "How the fuck" and an unnatural whimpering of one of the girls. I heard screams, distant voices, but my eyes were fixed on what used to be Mr Noir Jones.
My haze was snapped by a tumbling body, blurred by the acid tears in my eyes. It yelled, frantically yanking a tie off its foot. It curled into a ball, rocked slowly back and forth, its hands grasping at its face. Then it screamed at us, and lurched at us. Suddenly I was on my feet, being dragged along, my body still numb with shock. Then something slapped me. Hard. My whole body jolted, ignited by a new danger, I gazed blankly into the face of my attacker. But it was gone, a blur pelting down the stairs. "Sam, come on!", and I was moving, sprinting after a familiar figure.
Slowly but surely, the school came back to life. But the yells of a teacher were replaced by screams for help. We continued to run, something hit my foot, I glanced down at coffee mug skittering across the floor, disappearing into the boys toilets. We kept going until we reached the school hall, our footsteps echoing around, the screams still coming from the chemistry classes. Someone flung open a door, one I'd never been through before, we lurched inside and another figure slammed it behind us.
Becky
The weather was temperamental today. The ground gleamed with a new layer of surface water. Although the rain still fell, the sun had cracked through the clouds, I walked slowly, absorbing it’s glow as I went. I couldn’t help but smile as I looked at the stunning mountains surrounding the school, framed with luscious grass that caught the light perfectly.
The rare silence of the yard was pleasant. Only, the debris expelled by the others polluted the moment. I glanced down to the folded note Mr Jones gave me. Why does he always have to send me to do his dirty work? Opening it crossed my mind, but I quickly dismissed it.
I pattered through the ugly corridors, cheaply painted and scuffed, as such was the rest of the school. Walking past a fresh whitewash wall, I paused. Once, this wall boasted the personality of the pupils here, vibrantly painted with abstract images and names of those responsible. Only the headmaster felt this was demeaning to the school, so drowned out the colour. Typical git, devouring the personality of the school AND its inhabitants.
The breeze enticed me onwards and cooled my cheeks, I leant down to retrieve a hairpin that fled from the curls of my bun and replaced it. Through the glass doors ahead I saw one of the lab workers struggling to support heavy files. I rushed up towards her and gently pulled the door open, allowing space for her to walk through. Her pale wrinkly skin released a smile, which was returned by me.
“One good deed of the day!” I thought to myself, and continued on.
Through the next set of doors I saw that the hall was empty and dark. The light from the enormous windows along the far wall that led to the stage was muted by thick red curtains. Usually these were opened during school hours, “unless they watched a movie with the projector or something?” I thought.
Suddenly a thud interrupted. I turned to face back. “Shit!” I said, rushing through the glass door. The files lay on the floor, paper scattered, floating in the wind. Clothes were lying scrunched. She was gone.
As my stomach felt as if it were filling with sand, I began running back to Mr Jones’ class, releasing my clutch on the note. She needed help. Screams began rippling from all angles. Panic grasped my heart and I pelted, almost losing a shoe in the race, toward my classroom.
Arriving I forced the door open. I inhaled deeply as I rushed in. “Si-“. I paused. Books lay ajar on the desks. Mr Jones’ clothes lay strewn on the floor. “No!” I screamed. “It’s happened to everyone!” My eyes burned with tears of agony. I retreated onto the floor and clenched my head. “Why?” I pleaded. As I hopelessly sat, mourning, I noticed the absence of their attire. How could they not leave their clothing, like Mr Jones did?
Seren
I sighed softly, staring up at the ceiling. Man, whoever wrote this book sure knew how to ramble on about nothing at all. I glanced down at the sheet of paper in front of me, covered in doodles I’d drawn instead of listening to Mrs Maddock reading, tapping the tip of the pencil on my lip as I thought what to put next.
Next door, I could hear some shouting. Nothing too big, just Noir being unable to control his class again.
Or so I thought.
A few seconds later, there came a stampede of feet outside in the hall. Any excuse to not pay attention to the book, everyone turned their heads towards the door, muttering to themselves. Mrs Maddock tutted and shook her head.
“One moment,” she said, opening the door, raising her voice, “Uh, right then, what do you thi-“
I blinked.
There was a dull thud. The door slamming shut.
And she’d gone.
Those closest to the door jumped slightly, eyes wide. The novel she’d had her hand lay face down on the floor, alongside the crumpled pile of a green and pink blouse and black trousers.
But no teacher.
“Where the hell is she?” someone asked.
“She can’t walk THAT fast!”
I stared at the clothes. This wasn’t right. She was there. Then she wasn’t. Trust me not to be looking when something happened.
No, that’s not important. I need to check. Bravery, don’t fail me now.
Slowly, I get to my feet and creep towards the front of the class, head tilted forward slightly. I blush uneasily as everyone starts to whisper, but still walk closer, until I’m by the clothes. There’s no sign of anything anywhere. No flesh, or bones, or organs.
Thank God, really. I may be fine with watching a movie where someone goes through a wood chipper, but I doubt I could stomach it in real life.
I glance through the window inside the door, noticing the door of it swing open, a very confused and rather pale-faced Becky leaning against it.. I swallowed and went out.
“Becky!” I said, placing my foot on the door to keep it open.
She glanced up, smiling slightly. “Seren!” Her eyes trailed down towards the pile of clothes on the floor. Behind her, I noticed the pink shirt of Noir. We looked up at each other, eyes going wide.
“What the hell’s happening?”
