Jill Brooks and The Three Runes

Mr. Thorne

The next morning, the atmosphere at Underwood Primary School was electric with gossip. The whispers had spread like wildfire—Miss Nettleberry was still missing. Her absence was the kind of mystery that consumed everyone's attention, and for once, the students weren't feeling dread about entering her classroom. Instead, they were abuzz with speculation.

Jill sat at her desk, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt as Maria leaned in, eyes wide. "Did you open the package yet?"

Jill shook her head, feeling the weight of it still pressing on her mind. She had stashed the strange parcel in her desk drawer the night before, unable to bring herself to tear it open. "Not yet. What if it's something... weird?"

"Of course, it's weird. It's from Miss Nettleberry," Maria whispered back. "What if she cursed you or something?"

Jill didn't answer, but the knot of unease in her stomach tightened. She kept glancing at the classroom door, half-expecting Miss Nettleberry to sweep in, her icy gaze locking onto Jill as if she'd somehow known what was delivered to her house.

The clock ticked closer to the start of the school day, and still, no sign of Miss Nettleberry. Instead, the headmistress, Mrs. Featherstone, walked into the room. Her heels clacked sharply against the floor, silencing the chatter. She cleared her throat, her sharp features even more severe than usual.

"As you all know," she began, "Miss Nettleberry is... unavailable."

A murmur of excitement ran through the students.

"However," Mrs. Featherstone continued, raising a hand for silence, "we have arranged for a substitute to take over her class until further notice."

Jill glanced at Maria, who was staring at the door expectantly, just like everyone else. The door creaked open, and in walked a man unlike anyone Jill had ever seen before.

Mr. Thorne.

He was tall, very tall, with a long black coat that seemed a bit too heavy for the warm weather. His dark hair was a mess of curls, and his pale face was framed by a scruffy beard that made him look more like a man who spent his nights reading in some forgotten library than a primary school teacher. But it wasn't his appearance that made Jill uneasy—it was his eyes. They were sharp, glittering with something she couldn't quite place.

He strode to the front of the room, his coat billowing behind him as if he'd just stepped out of a windstorm. The room fell completely silent.

"Good morning," he said, his voice low and smooth. "I'm Mr. Thorne. I'll be your substitute for the foreseeable future."

He spoke with an odd inflection, like he was weighing each word carefully before he said it. As he scanned the room, his gaze paused on Jill for just a fraction of a second longer than anyone else. Jill's skin prickled. She quickly looked down, her fingers curling around the edge of her desk.

"Now," Mr. Thorne continued, "I understand Miss Nettleberry had... particular ways of running her classroom." His lips curled into a slight smile. "Let's just say, I prefer a different approach."

The students exchanged glances. A substitute who didn't follow Miss Nettleberry's draconian rules? This could be good.

Mr. Thorne turned toward the chalkboard, picking up a piece of white chalk. He held it lightly between his fingers, then, in a fluid motion, he flicked it across the board. The chalk soared into the air, spinning, before it landed perfectly back in his hand. A collective gasp went up from the class.

He turned around, his smile growing. "We'll keep things... interesting, won't we?"

Jill's heart skipped a beat. There was something unsettling about him. She could feel it deep in her bones, as if Mr. Thorne wasn't quite what he seemed. But what was it? His eyes? His unsettling smile? Or maybe it was something deeper—something about the way he moved, the way his words lingered in the air.

"First things first," Mr. Thorne said, glancing at the chalk in his hand. "Let's get rid of this." He placed the old chalk on the edge of the desk, replacing it with his, then, with a quick flick of his wrist, he knocked it off the table. The chalk fell toward the floor—but just before it hit the ground, it stopped.

It hovered in the air, spinning slowly, as if suspended by an invisible thread.

Jill's breath caught in her throat.

"Did that...?" Maria whispered next to Jill, her eyes wide.

Jill didn't answer. She couldn't tear her gaze away from the floating chalk. 

The rest of the class sat surprisingly didn't react whatsoever. Jill and Maria however, were minds upside down.  They were the only one who saw what had happened.

Just as suddenly as it had stopped, the chalk fell to the ground with a soft clink. Mr. Thorne glanced down at it and gave a small chuckle, as if amused by the their reaction, but continued the lesson as if nothing had happened.

He glanced back at the class, "Trigonometry, let's start, shall we?"

A few kids resumed their notes, but the tension in the room was thick. Jill's mind was racing. What had just happened? She glanced around, hoping someone else was as unnerved as she was, but most of her classmates don't seem to mind. Maybe she was hallucinating? Or maybe it was just some kind of trick? 

Or maybe it wasn't.

Mr. Thorne didn't follow Miss Nettleberry's rigid lesson plan, that much was clear. He didn't care about schedules or following rules. Instead, he spent most of the class talking about niche topics—it started with math histories, but quickly spiraled to ancient civilizations and such, things that seemed to have no place in a Year 6 classroom.

But as the day wore on, Jill's unease only grew. Every now and then, she'd catch Mr. Thorne looking at her—just for a second, too quick for anyone else to notice, but long enough for her to feel it.

By the time the bell rang at the end of the day, Jill couldn't get out of her seat fast enough. She gathered her things, her hands trembling, and bolted for the door.

"Jill Brooks."

She froze. Mr. Thorne's voice, calm and quiet, called her back. She turned slowly, dread pooling in her stomach.

"Could you stay behind for a moment?"

Jill's throat went dry. She glanced at Maria, who gave her a worried look, but there was no escaping it. She walked back toward Mr. Thorne's desk, her heart pounding in her chest.

He leaned against the desk, studying her with those sharp, gleaming eyes. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, "There's something you need to understand, Jill."

Her heart raced. What did he mean by that? How did he know her name so well? He hadn't even looked at the class list.

Jill swallowed hard, her pulse echoing in her ears.

"Some things are not as they appear," Mr. Thorne continued, his voice even softer. "You'll see that soon enough."

Jill blinked. "What—what do you mean?"

He smiled, but it wasn't reassuring. It was the kind of smile that made her wish she hadn't asked.

"Go on," he said, nodding toward the door. "We'll talk more tomorrow."

Jill didn't need to be told twice. She practically sprinted out of the room, her thoughts a swirling mess of confusion and fear.

As she walked home, her mind kept drifting back to Mr. Thorne. What was he hiding? What did he mean by "not as they appear"? And why did she feel like he was talking directly about her?

One thing was for sure—Miss Nettleberry might have been terrifying, but Mr. Thorne was something else entirely.

And Jill had a feeling that whatever was coming next, she wasn't going to like it.