Black Avatare

4 | VICTIM

Binara ran down the corridor as fast as her little legs would carry her. She was smaller than the other children in her class, but she was still a fast runner. Her breaths puffed out, sharp and loud, while her heart thundered with each footfall. The windows she passed let in daylight and gusty winds, which brought with it the laughter of children playing in the school yard.

Go, go, go! Her panicky eyes focused on the door that led outside. As she hurtled on, she flung a look over her shoulder.

At the end of the corridor, shadowed under old wooden beams, a female figure hovered. Mist shifted and curled around her, as if caught in a languid breeze. An osari of a bygone style hung from the woman's frame, the loose end trailing back, and her hands were bloated, with bluish veins criss-crossing the skin. What stood out the most was her mouth—it gaped open and the tongue lolled out, blackened and swollen.

A scream exploded out of Binara as she tore away her eyes and quickened her pace, almost tripping over her own feet. She panted, sucking in one lungful after another, while her frenzied heart pumped out adrenaline. The woman's presence wasn't as strong as that of the boy in the well, but it pressed against her, heavy and palpable—not unlike humidity. Binara stifled a sob.

She pushed through the door that opened into the playing field, hemmed in with mossy terraces and gnarly trees. School buildings soared in the backdrop, perching at varying heights on the uneven terrain. Their roofs sloped up, tipped with finials, and the dark tile soaked in the sun.

Her classmates stopped their game of hopscotch and looked up at her approach.

"T-There's a scary l-lady." Binara doubled over to catch her breath and pointed a finger at the old building behind her. "There. At the end of that corridor."

The girls exchanged looks and giggled.

"You're always making things up," one girl said, scowling. "Momma says it's not good to lie."

"I'm not lying!" Binara tried to steady her voice. "S-she's there. I think she's a dead teacher."

"You're doing it again." The girl shook her head and patted her friend, whose eyes widened like saucers. "And you're scaring Lila."

"I'm telling the truth!"

"You're lying."

"I'm not." Binara gave her a push as tears stung her eyes. "I'm not, I'm not."

"Stop it!"

"Let's just play," another girl said, turning away. "There's no dead lady there. How can she be there if she's dead? Binnie's crazy."

That elicited a wave of nervous giggles. Binara's protests fell on deaf ears as they went back to their game. A lump formed in her throat, growing bigger and bigger until it was a rice ball that refused to budge. Lila started hopping, her white skirt swishing with the motion.

Words tumbled out of Binara's mouth, almost incoherent, "No, no, she's there. She's—"

"Binnie's crazy," one girl said loudly.

The others joined in, chanting it again and again until they drowned out Binara's voice. Even the trees rustled and swayed to the rhythm, making her shrink back. Pressure built up within, squeezing her all the way to her core. One sob after another racked her form, and the uniforms merged into a white blur.

A honking noise made her jump, and her eyes snapped open.

It took several seconds to get her bearings. It's a dream. Just a dream. She had fallen asleep in the bus.

Binara drew in a shaky breath and straightened up in the seat. She rubbed her eyelids as if to erase the memory. The image of the dead teacher was etched in her brain to haunt her to the grave. She wiped her clammy hands on her skirt and looked around.