Be Afraid (Eyeless Jack x Reader)

My Name Is Professor Greg

The history classroom was truly something to behold.
For one, it was huge.
Secondly, it was dark. The only light came from a large, dimming chandelier-like light on the ceiling. And of course, the large candle on the professor's desk.
There were old historical paintings on the wall. The windows were draped with deep velvet curtains.
The desks were arranged in two neat, precise rows, the last row higher up than the other.
The professor's desk was one of large oak, a black velvet cloth covering it, and stacked with books, paper, a yardstick, and a MacBook.
(Y/N) and the other students walked into the classroom, some stopping and looking around in either amazement.
"Woah, this is creepy," Starla commented, walking next to (Y/N). "I mean, look..."
"Yeah..." (Y/N) halfheartedly agreed, looking at the small Buddha statue in the corner.
As a matter of fact, there were countless religious artifacts in the classroom. A cross on the door. The Buddha statue. A painting of the Virgin Mary. Even a Pentagram.
"Is he trying to keep out vampires or something?" Starla said. (Y/N) shrugged.
"He's trying to keep something out," she commented, though she wasn't joking. (Y/N)'s mind went back to the thing in the woods.
This teacher knew about urban legends. Stories about things that happen on campus. That thing in the wood was not (Y/N)'s imagination, she knew.
The entire class was chattering as they chose their seats, waiting for the teacher to arrive. Starla went off to talk to a redheaded girl that she knew, and they ended up sitting next to each other. (Y/N) sighed, choosing the fifth seat in the first row of desks. Conveniently in front of the teacher's desk.
Drumming her fingers on the table,
(Y/N) looked around, humming slightly. She wasn't a loner, but she wasn't super popular either. Just... There. (Y/N) was the person you always saw in the halls but never talked to. The girl whose name you'd heard once or twice, but never really knew.
Eh. Not so bad, I guess, (Y/N) thought, shrugging. Talking was more of an occupation rather than a necessity to her. She didn't really need to talk to people, but she supposed it would be-
"Uh, may I sit here?" Came a voice from beside her. (Y/N) jumped slightly, startled, looking at the voice from next to her.
It was a boy with black, short hair, and dark skin. He looked to be about (Y/N)'s age, which was nineteen. He was wearing a black Metallica T-Shirt, and blue jeans.
"Pardon?" (Y/N) asked, since she wasn't paying attention.
"I asked if I could sit here. See, I didn't know if you were saving this seat for anyone and I don't really know anybody here, so I just, uh..." He trailed off awkwardly. "Yeah..."
"O-oh. Yeah. Of course," (Y/N) said politely. He flashed her an almost blinding smile. (Y/N) couldn't help but smile back. He seemed pretty easygoing and friendly.
"Okay. Cool." He sat down next to her, putting his bookbag under his seat. "Thanks."
"No problem. What's your name?" (Y/N) said curiously.
"Oh, I'm Michael. Michael Upton, but people usually call me Mike or Mikey. You?"
"I'm (First name) (Last name)."
"Nice name," he complimented.
"Thanks."
(Y/N) and Mikey chatted for a bit. She found out that his dad was a single parent, and he had a younger brother named Stephen. He found out that she loved urban legends and that Starla was her roommate.
"Starla?" Mikey asked.
"Yeah, she's the one next to the redhead. She's wearing the Yankees sweater."
"Oh..." Mikey looked at Starla, who was busy chatting with her redheaded friend. "She's pretty." His dark skin flushed slightly red. (Y/N) smirked.
"Ooh, does someone have a crush~?" She teased.
"Hey-"
Slam!
All heads turned to the sound of the door slamming.
A man with blonde hair streaked with grey was at the door, holding a briefcase. He was wearing black pants, black boots, and a black collared shirt with a bloodred tie. His eyes were a piercing blue. Eyes that had seen everything.
"Woah..." Mikey said in a hushed whisper. (Y/N) nodded in agreement.
Honestly, if (Y/N) would guess his age, it would be his mid thirties (apart from the grey streaks). But she could see while Starla had said he looked fifty. He had that old look that had seen too much.
He looked around at the hushed class, and gave a sullen smile walking in.
"Hello," he greeted. His voice was dark. "My name is Professor Greg."