A ghost story

ryan s.

A young sixth grade boy should be riding his bike home right now, but instead decides to take a slight detour. The mystery of the of what was behind those double doors intrigued him, he wondered what the dark passage behind these doors lead to. Old valuables and their stories was`1 always an interest of his. Where did they come from? Who owned the old shoe that lays there on the second step of the staircase? What is behind those old classroom doors? And most importantly who could tell him?

“Oh well.” he boredly thought to himself. He picked up his bike on the way outside and carried on his way home.

Tuesday, the boy found himself sitting on the steps outside the upstairs gym. His fellow classmates was now just a quiet murmur somewhere for off in the distance. He was face to face with the old wing once again, his memories from his previous experience ringing in his ears. From up the hallway to his right he heard a class of presumably slightly older children, the chattering growing louder and louder, until a group of seventh graders being led by a teacher named Mrs. Beyblaine joined him in the old wing, probably to work on one of the plays she liked to do with her kids. Mrs. Beyblaine had always been a teacher he saw in the hallways, never spoken too, but they had that relationship, or just a minute connection.

He awkwardly waved to the teacher, regretted it, and then headed back inside the gym back to his normal P.E. class. Instead of joining in on the activities, he went and sat behind the bleachers, sat and wondered to himself,

“What were behind those old, massive, wooden doors? He wanted to know what was beyond what he could visibly see, what was down those stairs that lead to a dark void, what was on the floor above, down the hallway? Who sat in those desks? Most importantly, who would know?”

The young man had now consciously made the decision to find out who would know.

A few busy days and nights had passed until during an uneventful class period curiosity had struck him again. At the end of that day he went to the front office and in the most polite voice he could muster up and asked the lady at the front desk,

“Excuse me?”

Of course she didn’t hear him so he tried again,

“Hi, Excuse me?”

She turned and faced him to see what he had to say.

“Is there, by chance, anyone you know of who could tell me about the old wing?”

She replied, “You could always talk to Mrs. Beyblaine, she used to work in the old wing, bout’ eleven years, only member left on the staff to have been in there.”
“Okay, thank you.” he replied.

His heart must have jumped at least to one hundred - eighty beats per minute.

He silently whispered and thought to himself, “Mrs. Beyblaine. This is going to be awkward. You don’t have to do this… Yes you do.”

It was the end of a long school day, most kids had hurried home by now. But there was deed to be done. He made is way down all the way to room 106, catching Mrs. Beyblaine right as she was leaving.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Beyblaine. I was wondering whenever you have the time, if I could learn more about the old wing.”

Mrs. Beyblaine replied with a calm and humble, “Sure! If you’re interested you can come in anytime during lunch if you want!”

“Thank you.” the boy said trying to return the positivity.

Friday, the next day, that morning the boy told his mom he was going to get hot lunch. Of course when did that he normally wouldn’t eat because he just wanted to sit under the bleachers and daydream and mess with an anthill he found near the basketball courts. Today was different though, instead he made his way up the seventh grade hallway until he was face to face with room 106.

The boy stumbled into the room, made eye contact with Mrs. Beyblaine, and stuttered out one painful greeting.

“Hi?” the boy said.

Mrs. Beyblaine must of been used to these kind of hellos, as she replied entirely naturally, looking up from her desk she said,

“Hi, come and take a seat at one of the desks if you want.”

The boy was intrigued. 106 was not like any of the rooms he had seen at the school. There was old photos of what seemed to be WMS strung up all along the wall, including one of which was like peering into an alternate dimension.

It was Mrs. Beyblaine, but not. She was younger, less tired, and more of a spark in her. Her eyes looked alive. He couldn’t see much of the photo, but he could tell at least that.

Mrs. Beyblaine noticed his glance, and remarked,

“That was a long time ago, which is why I assume you’re.”

“I’m just curious, is all.” said the boy as he pulled up a chair next to her desk.

“Where to start. What questions do you have?” said the teacher.

Being so nervous the kid spat out, “I have questions about the old wing.”

Mrs. Beyblaine chuckled and said, “Of course. But what about the old wing?”

Calmer now the kid replied, “Is it haunted?”

The question was blunt and almost rude, but the conversation continued.

The teacher shrugged and answered, “Could be. But what does haunted exactly mean. Is there a bunch of zombies and ghost floating around, not necessarily. But there is something, and I might know what is.”

The boy excitedly asked her to share.

“Everyone thinks that since I’ve been here the longest, I’m the only one that’s witnessed something, or it -”

“What do you mean by it?” The boy wondered, very intrigued.

“Ok. So the school is almost a hundred years old. So something is bound to happen. In 1964 there was a fire, burning down a lot of what was the school. Two boys died that day. Not a lot is known about the incident, but I think this might have been when it began. Don’t make the mistake of thinking there are just two ghosts floating around there. But every now and then you would feel or sometimes see something.”

“Did you ever see anything?” he asked, leaning on his seat, curiosity peaked.

“No, but I felt… well… let me try and explain. There was a hallway, not even a room. That no one ever went down. You go upstairs and take a right and there were two doors that lead to classroom. It wasn’t a rule, but most never went past that point to the old elevator shaft.”

“What about the kids who died?” he asked.

“Of course they were buried honorably, probably at the morgue by Main Street. But not even too long ago, when those old wooden doors leading to the wing weren’t locked, two young boys went to go explore it. Instead of taking a right to go up the stairs, they took a left down to the old gymnasium. They must be brave considering that staircase is pitch black. Less than a minute later they came back, crying. When they looked up, they saw to boys in old clothes looking back at them. This was not a “I’m afraid of the dark” case. Their eyeballs were so wide and wet with tears.”

The boy took a moment to recollect his thoughts, he couldn’t believe it. The air conditioning’s silent buzz was the only noise he could hear.

“What else happened?” he finally spoke.

“Nothing as peculiar as that. A man who once worked in the district, a colleague of mine, died quite a bit ago. Janitors I talk to describe seeing a man that fit his description. The most damning part about it was the clothes he was wearing. They described him wearing a blue suit, and he was buried in, well you know what. I could always tell there was something there. My chimes jingling when I was there alone, items on my desk being moved ever so slightly.”

The boy was frightened but interested. He thanked the teacher silently and departed. He left the room and silently sat on the steps outside the old wing. He enjoyed listening to the sound of nothing. Thoughts raced in his head.

On Monday, Mrs Beyblaine had announced her retirement.

It was the last day of school, and Mrs. Beyblaine was gone. Except for the photos, or at least one of them. It was the photo he saw at the beginning of the year, while seeing Mrs. Beyblaine. There was something different though, he could see the whole photo. He inched closer and closer until he picked it up. It was Mrs. Beyblaine, young, and laughing with a man. A man who fit the description of the ones the janitor saw. He sat there, terrified thinking about how someone could die that quickly.

A year it had been since the retirement, and Beyblaine was gone, she was gone. Passed with pneumonia, within two months over the summer. But not for the boy she wasn’t gone, he sat on the steps there eating lunch everyday now. He looked into the door’s small window and smiled silently with the man and woman he saw talking intuitively and laughing.