TOO CLOSE: By E. Oats
Monday, December 20th, 2010It started out with a crush. A little silly crush.
I was a seventeen year old girl with a bit of a thing for an older, married man. I knew it wouldn’t go anywhere and I knew it was nothing more than a physical attraction to a handsome man. A teacher.
We did spend a lot of time together and as I got to know him, I knew more than ever that this was a man I shared a connection with. We were so similar! We had the same sense of humor, we could talk about anything; I told him things I couldn’t tell anyone else. He would do anything for me and, given the oppportunity, I would for him. The hours spent alone together, in empty classrooms, debating issues of religion and feminism, were some of the happiest of my life. And the more right it felt, the more wrong I knew it was.
After a year and a half of getting closer and closer, there came a night in late December that changed everything.
It began as an innocent conversation. A question asked at the end of a lesson; an idea I wanted explaining. And he was willing to answer. We spoke until I understood the subject inside out and then we spoke some more.
By the time either of us realised the time it was already 6pm. It had fallen surprisingly dark outside and the rain had began to pour down the windows of the large, empty classroom we were in. We gathered our things and began to walk down the long corridor towards the car park. The familiar sounds of a hoover upstairs and two cleaners chatting and laughing, echoed around us.
We reached the end of the long, white corridor; pinned to the walls untidily, was the work of students from 5, maybe 6, years ago. Their creators long gone and forgotten about, their work; torn and scuffed, a silent memory of past students.
‘I’ve forgotten my folder, I’ll just be a minute. If you want to wait, you can have a lift home.’ He smiled at me, dropped his bags and sprinted back down the corridor towards the classroom we’d been in minutes earlier.
The rain was falling heavier now.
With my back to the door my eyes scanned the wall to my right. Bright oranges and pinks and blues leapt of the pages and yet, through my eyes, they seemed dull. I stared into the lifeless eyes of politicians and monarchs.
I glanced down at my phone and flicked it open to check the time… I’d been stood there for 20 minutes already. Where was he? It should be taking this long! And he couldn’t have gone out of another door, he’d left his bags with me.
Confused I picked up his heavy laptop case and brown satchel and headed back down the corridor. Then it hit me; the silence. The hoover had stopped and I could no longer hear the cleaners. I pushed the thought to the back of my mind and carried on.
As I opened the double doors at the end of the corridor I saw his classroom in front of me; the door was ajar but the light was off.
‘Sir?’ I called out.
No answer.
‘Sir? Are you there? I have your things. My par…’ I never finished because suddenly I was in complete darkness. Every light in the building was turned off in a split second. I was left alone and unable to see anything.
Terrified, I backed up against a wall. My breathing got faster and shallower. I shut my eyes and held back the tears. I couldn’t understand what was happening.
‘Pull yourself together!’ I told myself. ‘You can’t just leave him.’
Something was pulling me towards the classroom which, if I was correct, was just to my right. Slowly I edged along the wall. I reached out and felt the door frame next to me. Completely blind, I reached out to the door and pushed it open. As always it creaked but in the dark it sounded louder than ever.
Inside the room the moonlight dimly lit the room casting dark shadows across the floor. Stood silently, I heard a soft whimpering close by. Shaking I reached in my pocket and pulled out my phone. No signal.
Instead, I used the phone as a torch and held it out as I picked my way through the maze of chairs and desks towards the back of the room. I was heading for the supply cupboard.
Whatever was making the noise it was in there and I had to find out what it was.
A sudden wave of courage surged through me and I pulled open the door.
‘Sir!’ I cried out as a body fell on top of me and collapsed on the floor. I fell to my knees as I struggled to pick him up and rest his head on my lap. I fumbled to free him from the rope binding his wrists and the gag in his mouth.
I held my phone up to his face to see him better and check he hadn’t been hurt. He had never looked so helpless. I muttered quickly, asking was he was alright? Was he injured?
How the hell did this happen?
Gasping for breath he opened his mouth to speak, ‘It’s her!’ he told me. ‘Lauren… she’s gone mad.’
‘What? Your wife? But… why?’
‘Why the hell do you think?’ The voice was calm, cold and sinister. My head shot round to the door way where I could just make out the outline of a woman. Tall and muscular. In other circumstances I might have thought her beautiful but the crazed look in her eye and the knife in her hand made me think different.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘which one of you is going to tell me what’s been going on here?’
________________________
©2010 E. Oats
E. Oats is a girl of many talents. By day she’s an ordinary student. In the evening you’ll usually find her with a camera in her hand and Photoshop on the laptop. But at night you’ll find her writing hundreds of short stories, most of which have never been read by another human before. However, her fish does seem to enjoy listening to them.
