Schooled [Laughing JackxReader]

3

Every day for the next week, Laurel would come back from reccess with a handful of candy. Every time, you'd ask her where she got it. The answer was always, "Laughing Jack!"

Laurel started drawing her imaginary friend during arts and crafts. Merrily she'd suck on her candies and scribble pictures in thick black crayon. Even in her childish level of artistry, "Laughing Jack" raised eyebrows. The character was tall-he towered over her in the drawings-and lanky. He had sharp teeth and claw-like fingers. He looked a bit like a clown with his long pointy nose and silly black poofs on each shoulder. You tried offering Laurel some colors once, but she said Laughing Jack didn't have those and continued to draw.

It was Wednesday when you decided you needed to follow Laurel on the playground. She wasn't going to give you a sensible answer, so you had to find one for yourself. You watched the girl closely while she sat in her usual spot. You also kept an eye on the other side of the fence, watching for strangers that could be giving her the candy. No one appeared. About 10 minutes into the reccess, Laurel got up and walked around the corner of the school. You stealthily followed, stepping as lightly as possible on the gravel-coated ground. Whispers echoed from around the corner, with timy giggles here and there. The giggles definitely belonged to Laurel, but the other voice was one you didn't recognize. As you got closer, the whispers got louder. A long shadow stretched past the corner, eclipsing Laurel's entirely. There was definitely, DEFINITELY someone there with her. Just as you were about to round the corner and catch the creep in the act, your heel ground loudly against the gravel beneath you. The whispering immediately stopped. A colorful string of curses wound its way through your head as you threw yourself around the corner. Your stern expression and bravely puffed chest were confronted only by Laurel, standing all by herself, with a new handful of candies.
------

It was now Friday evening and the school day was done. You paced about your apartment, your brain still jumbled with thoughts of Laurel and candies and imaginary clowns. The candy Laurel had given you sat untouched on your kitchen counter. Where did she get those candies? You raked your fingers through your (h/c) hair, completely perplexed by the whole thing. You KNEW someone had been around that corner. You'd heard their voice, you'd seen their shadow. After the event you'd spoken with the Principal and Laurel's parents. No one seemed as worried about the situation as you were.
"It's just a little girl sneaking candy into school." The Principal assured you.
"There's no reason to worry about an imaginary friend with a girl her age." The parents said, dissmissing your concerns.

Perhaps they were right. Maybe you were just worried over nothing. It was only natural for a teacher to overreact to everything her first year. Or maybe you were just going bonkers. These thoughts and more swam around your head as you climbed into bed that night. You drifted into sleep, having convinced yourself there was nothing to fear.
It was the Saturday morning headline that rocked the town and told you otherwise.

-----
You plopped down on your sofa with your morning coffee in one hand. You had finally gotten a decent night's sleep and your anxiety was winding down. Hot mug in one hand and remote in the other, you switched on the television to catch the morning news. You took a long sip of your coffee as the set flickered to life.
"Breaking News: A Young Girl has Been Found Savagely Murdered in Elementary School Classroom."
You choked on your coffee, the hot liquid burning your throat. You forced it down and coughed, spilling more of the drink in your lap. However your attention was completely on the newscaster as he read further details on the story.

"6-Year-Old Laurel Anderson was found dead at 7:00 this morning when the school janitor unlocked the classroom after smelling a pungent odor. Police suspect she'd been dead for roughly 3 hours."

The camera switched to a woman you recognized as Mrs. Anderson. She was puffy-eyed and hysterical, still in her robe and slippers. "We were...still asleep when the police came..." She managed to say between choked sobs, "I thought she was...st-still in....in bed...." The camera cut away as the mother broke down into hysterics.

It changed back to the newscaster. "The police have not announced any suspects in this case. Residents are encouraged to lock all windows and doors until a suspect has been identified and arrested."

You sat there, frozen in place, coffee cooling on your lap for what seemed like an eternity. You'd been right. There had been something to fear.

You never thought you'd hate being right so much.