A Retelling of A Ghost Story

Chapter 1 : Fights

William Afton strode through the desolate, yet crowded halls of hurricane middle school, only occupied by the students who haven't made their way to class. Instead of his usual wry, subtle smirk, a loud grimace spread across his face like a skin disease. The man was only 5'8 but the presence that he carried was enough to make anybody malleable to his designs, to an extent. His short hickory brown hair was brushed off to one side, hanging just long enough to reach the bottom of his neck. He was in his late 30's, with wrinkles barely just starting to show. He wore semi formal clothes everywhere, with a mainly purple and yellow color scheme that effortlessly looked refined. He was regarded as the most successful entrepreneur in the entire city. It was common knowledge that his son was in attendance, but it was still a rare sight to see him outside of the diner he and his friend built together.

Delinquents, all of them. God, what a waste of little talent they have, he thought with disdain.

Eventually he reached the door to the office with its window obscured by a piece of paper and laced with intersections of thin metal between the glass. William forced himself to be presentable by slowly and methodically fixing his scowl and relaxing his fledgling wrinkles. He reminded himself that he was supposed to be agreeable, and pleasant, and all that bullshit.

This would be so much easier with Henry around....... Right, time to get this shit over with.

William braced himself when he grabbed the door handle like it was going to electrocute him when he made contact. He pushed the door open to four people in a room that looked claustrophobic for the two people on the right. The room was a relatively small office for the main principal's room. William couldn't see the walls because there was so much, Stuff. There was an entire pile full of letters, documents and other pieces of paper haphazardly thrown together reaching almost to Williams mid-thigh. There were file cabinets overflowing with spreadsheets and reports all over the room.

This must be a small conference room. Lovely, just lovely. This is just positively swell.

"Mr. Afton," droned a very bored Mrs. McCormick, "Please take a seat." William did as he was instructed, sitting down in the empty chair next to a beaten-up boy not more than 13 years old. The boy's left eye was a very nasty shade of black, purple, and blue and what seemed like the combination of all the worst parts of those colors, with the right eye being bad but significantly better. The boy's caramel hair was a rat's nest, the knots in his are so tight that it looked like it would take hours to fix. His lip was cut on the right side, a bloody nose that trailed all the way to his upper chin and, lastly, the tanned skin on his face was peppered with every size of bruise imaginable.

"Mr. Afton, your son, Michael has been extremely disruptive in the last week." William sent a subtle but effective death glare to the crumpled boy. Michael sank even farther into the hard plastic chair. The girl seated on the other side next to William shot him a glare that could cause lesser men to cry. Even William had to admit it was unsettling. The girl, Chelsey, was one of Michael's best friends. Chelsey was beaten up but to a lesser extent. She had exactly 23 bruises on her face. Her normal rosy cheeks were red and puffed up from exertion and from blows given to her by Michael. Her normally wavy blonde hair was now tangled and frayed at the ends.

Michael must have landed a few lucky shots.

Mrs. McCormick lazily raised an eyebrow. "Is something wrong? "No, no we're fine." ".... Ok, anyway before I was somehow interrupted without using words, Michael's grades have slipped beyond his normal pattern." Another series of glares. "He's been ditching classes, he's been acting out with greater frequency and intensity and, finally, the reason you are here Mr. Afton, he's been getting into fights, it was usually verbal but now it seems it's becoming physical."