Brown Slime Stories

Dungeons and Detentions

Sweet little five-foot-four, fourteen-year-old Tracie hadn't expected to get a detention on her first day of freshman year...

"That's not fair!" The blue-eyed strawberry blonde with the long bangs and the pouty lips had protested. "My skirt isn't even that short."

She'd batted her long lashes in what she clearly thought was an irresistible manner, but Mr. Hutchison, the English teacher, had merely shaken his head.

"It's one inch shorter than the dress code allows," he determined, pulling the measuring tape back into the roll. "I'm sorry, Miss Carrington. We can't allow distractions in the classroom. This is how it has to be."

Tracie was so nervous about it all day, her tummy twisting up in knots.

She wondered who else might be in detention, and what they were going to do to stay occupied for an entire hour.

The school's detention policy required students to report to an area known as the "dungeon".

There, she'd be restrained and forced to remain silent and still—the very idea nearly gave her a panic attack as she walked down the hallway.

Her heart was in her throat and her hands were shaking so badly she dropped her backpack as she approached the dreaded place.

Tracie took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Maybe she could talk her way out of it.

Maybe Mr. Chapman, the principal, would show some compassion and understanding, given this was her first offense.

And, more importantly, her first day!

She had been so excited to finally be in high school, and had promised her parents she'd stay out of trouble.

But that promise hadn't lasted through her first morning...

"Hi, I'm here for detention," she announced meekly after she knocked on the door to the dungeon and gave it a little push.

"You're right on time," replied Mr. Chapman, his deep voice resonating from within the small room. "Come on in and stand right here."

She was so nervous her palms were sweating, but she did as he asked.

The room itself didn't look like much of a dungeon, at least not the ones she'd seen in movies and television shows.

The walls were bare and there were no windows, but aside from that it was basically like a normal classroom.

Except, of course, for the lack of desks.

Instead, there was a set of shackles on the far wall.

And a metallic grate covering a big drain in the floor, right in the middle of the room.

"Sir, I didn't know—" she began, but Mr. Chapman held up his hand.

"The rule is very clear," he explained. "Your skirt is too short, and as the principal it is my duty to enforce that rule."

"Do I have to... do I have to wear those for the whole time? Is that even legal?"

"Not to worry," he said, smiling proudly. "They'll come unlocked in the event of a fire alarm or a power outage. So, yes, it's perfectly legal."

Tracie looked at the wall, trying to imagine herself chained up for the duration of the detention.

It seemed like such an archaic, barbaric practice.

But the alternative, being expelled from school, seemed far, far worse.

"Yes, sir," she said meekly.

He patted the wall, in a way that sent chills down her spine.