My demons: short story

My demons:

School……where to begin.

during the day students come in troupes ready, or not so much so to start the day.

only after the incident everyone has been on edge…for whatever reason they don’t look to thrilled to go past Room: 2964.

Alissa?  someone queried drawing my mind out of thought.

Are you daydreaming again?

“No Miss. it wont happen again”. I dwelled the usual routine reply.

sniggers  and a few worried glances were the only thing on the classes mind as the teacher, obviously sleep deprived sighed.

this was going to be a dull day. Surprisingly I wasn’t fazed in the least, the only thing now thats remotely close to normal for me is dull days and I like to keep them that way.


After recess was english, how I loved that class something about being near that problematic room gives me an edge on my writing funnily enough we were on the topic of scary stories, most of the class were either half asleep or just in there to get the grade. But for me. For me it was this wonderful thing I get to write, something I haven’t been able to do since the incident something just felt. off.


As the class started our ever enigmatic and perky teacher Mr. gordinski. Yes, any jokes passed now were the usual for him- comes with the name I shrugged internally. I was working on a project about poltergeists, trying to put a twist in an age old paranormal horror topic. And. It. Was. Hard. I worked through the class finishing the lesson with a huff, Mr. G came over and inspected my work. I looked out the window…such a calm day, although for autumn calm was a blessing.

‘I never expected your work to be so, thrilling Alissa”. he quoted in a thick accent that I couldn’t quite place.

“Just one of those creative days, I guess”. And with that I was out the door.


The other lesson- math- the popular choice passed by with a few, minor, issues. other than that it was a good as deadpan depressing.


At lunch a few of us- the weird ones- as they call us sat out the front of the abandoned class and ate, Emily, Clara and I. We were weird because it didn’t phase us when the noises came, Because we were the only ones who could hear them- it just felt…normal. We all knew it was coming- everyone in our group knew- we checked our watches, 1:25, And thats when it happened chronologically as usual. A banging noise suddenly emitted loudly from inside the room beside us, as it usually did so we paid it no mind. But as I ate I couldn’t shake the feeling that today had been too dull, almost as if I was invisible to the world.

The noises continued, moaning began, our group sat frozen. Paralyzed with a capital P. The voices. Our names, it sounded surreal. But the thing that worried me the most is the memories…. My eyes began to droop, losing consciousness. Fire. I remembered fire, burning, abandoned. I knew no help was coming but somehow I still screamed for help. Hoping someone could hear us. It all burned my friends are on the floor with skin peeling and shrill voices raw with the blistering pain and the smell of smoke.. Everything around me stopped. The room, my old classroom. crawling to the teeth with the spirits of my dead friends, Emily and clara. They are dead.

I regained consciousness, apparently it had only been 5 minutes since I was out. A teacher inspected me, but the warm hand against my cold skin did nothing to improve my state of health.


I informed my friends on what happened in my “flashback”- if you could call it that. I’d opt for nightmare.


I wish I didn’t, oh I should have listened to that tiny voice.

My friends looked at me but not as friends- as dead people- rotted flesh-  bloodshot eyes, a mask of fear striped my emotions as I looked at my own body, it matched theirs.


the disappearances were us- the people faded, our minds had supposedly created a dreamscape of what would happen in the real world, the living one. I felt lightheaded- was this all an illusion ?


What is the truth? I looked to my friends we were in the same position. We never left the classroom, this is all a memory.


I was dead, my friends are dead…..the noises are us…..our minds blocked the memory, submerging it with useless information.


But if we died there, why haven’t we left?


Who killed us ?


(could the people hear us screaming as we did?)


(Are we scaring them?)


A small yet dislocated and  persistent voice drew my from my thoughts again,




“We’re not done with you yet….”


Emily dropped next was clara, shocked and painfully.


I was next…………but what is death- without pain?


I fell ontop of Clara’s lifeless (if it could get anymore) corpse.

And what happens when you die if you are already dead?