Chapter 287

The school stood against the fog, a mass of crooked stone that seemed to hold its breath. Around it, the earth was dead—brown grass crushed under the weight of old, weathered trees. Emil had heard about it on the radio, a rumor that had bounced from town to town like a bad joke.

They needed teachers, they said. It would be an easy position for someone who'd been out of work for too long. He hadn't thought much about it. No one ever did when they were hungry enough.

Romania wasn't kind to men like him. He'd spent more time in dark corners of towns, waiting for anything to come his way. When the letter arrived, his heart had skipped. He didn't care where the job was, just that it existed.

He packed his things and took the long train ride across the country, not asking any questions. The fog had followed him from the moment he stepped off the train, thick as ink.

The school gate groaned as he pushed it open. There was no sign of life. The windows stared back at him like eyes, empty but expectant. A bell rang from somewhere far off, distant, like it had been waiting for him to arrive.

Emil walked in, his boots scraping against the stone walkway. He reached the door and knocked. A long moment passed before it opened by itself. The hallway beyond was dim. The air smelled like dust and something older—like it had been sealed off for decades.

A figure appeared in the doorway. She was tall, pale, with eyes that didn't match her features—wide and slightly too dark, as if they belonged to something else entirely. Her smile didn't help.

"Mr. Emil," she said, her voice soft, but too soft, like the edges of a blade. "Come in. We've been expecting you."

He stepped inside.

The hallway stretched out, endless and crumbling, lined with old lockers. There were no sounds of footsteps, no signs of life. Only the thrum of the bell that had stopped ringing long ago.

The woman led him down the hall to a room at the end, its door already cracked open. Inside, a few students sat, their backs to him. The chairs were too tall, too wide for any normal child. As Emil entered, they all turned to look at him.

Their eyes were hollow. Not just tired, but empty. His stomach twisted, but he couldn't say why. The teacher at the front, a man who looked like he hadn't aged in centuries, nodded to Emil.

"Sit, Mr. Emil. We've been waiting to see what you're made of."

Emil sat, unsure of what to say. The students remained silent.

He glanced at the first desk in the row—its wood was chipped, worn down by years of use. And on the desk was a paper, covered in scribbles. There was a face in it. It seemed to stare at him. He turned away quickly, his heart racing.

"Would you like to begin?" the teacher asked, his voice low, too low. It made Emil's skin crawl.

He nodded, standing slowly, feeling the weight of a thousand eyes on him. The room wasn't much—just broken windows and peeling walls. The light barely cut through the fog outside.

He picked up a piece of chalk, hesitated, and then scrawled a few words on the board. A simple lesson, something safe. But as the chalk dragged across the board, it felt wrong. It sounded too harsh, too loud, like the room itself was trying to close in around him.

"Why are you here, Mr. Emil?" a student asked from the back of the room.

He froze.

The voice had been... different. It wasn't the soft, empty tone of the others. It was sharp, like the scrape of nails against stone. Emil glanced back. The student's face wasn't quite right. There was a shift in the skin, like it was barely holding together.

"I'm here to teach," he said, the words tasting foreign in his mouth. "That's all."

The student didn't smile. She just watched him with those eyes—dark and knowing, like she could see into the bones beneath his skin. The room felt colder now, the silence thicker, pressing against him.

The teacher spoke again, his voice sliding like cold butter across the room. "We don't need teaching, Mr. Emil. We need something else."

A shiver ran up Emil's spine. He turned back to the chalkboard, his hands trembling as he placed the chalk back down.

The class continued without another word. Time felt wrong, like it stretched and folded, but Emil couldn't move, couldn't focus. He was trapped. But by what? By them? By the walls?

The bell rang, and the students filed out in complete silence, leaving Emil standing alone in the room. The teacher, still seated, didn't move. Emil felt an instinct—the desperate urge to run. But his legs refused. His mind screamed at him to leave, to get out, but his feet stayed glued to the floor.

"Do you feel it?" the teacher asked.

Emil blinked. "Feel what?"

"The weight," the teacher replied, "of the lesson. The weight of what you are now. You won't leave. Not now."

Emil opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His breath came in shallow bursts. He turned to the door, but it had closed behind him. The room had shifted somehow, warped, the walls closer now, too close.

"No one leaves," the teacher continued, rising slowly. "Not unless we decide it's time."

Emil's pulse raced. He backed away from the man, his chest tightening. He spun toward the door, but as his hand grasped the handle, the classroom lights flickered once, twice, and the door slammed shut.

"No," Emil gasped, pushing against it. The teacher watched, unmoving.

Outside, the school was darker, colder. Emil felt like he was moving through a dream—a nightmare, maybe. He couldn't tell anymore. The students had disappeared, and he was alone. The fog pressed in around him. The world outside had stopped making sense.

But something followed him. He didn't know what it was, but it was close—too close.

Emil ran, his footsteps heavy against the stone, but when he reached the gate, it was locked. He tugged at the bars, his palms raw, but the gate didn't budge. The bell rang again, distant and mocking. The fog seemed to creep forward, thickening until the whole world around him was consumed.

There was a scratching noise. Somewhere behind him.

Emil spun around, his heart hammering in his chest. No one was there. He was alone.

But the noise kept coming. A dragging sound.

He stumbled backward, his breath catching in his throat. Then, he saw it.

A student. A girl. She crawled out from the ground, her skin stretched tight over her bones. Her eyes were huge, too big, too wide. She grinned at him, showing too many teeth. The fog was thick now, suffocating. She was coming closer.

"You shouldn't have come here," she said, and Emil's blood ran cold.

He turned, his legs moving faster than they had before, his breath coming in sharp gasps. The ground beneath him cracked, jagged, as if it was alive. Every step felt like it might be his last. The world itself seemed to be alive, pulling at him, drawing him deeper into the fog.

He stumbled back to the door of the school. It swung open on its own, like it had been waiting for him.

"Let me out," he cried, but his voice was swallowed by the thick silence.

The students filled the hallway again, their eyes watching from the shadows, their faces twisted and wrong. Emil's vision blurred. His chest tightened.

A hand grabbed his arm.

"You belong here now," a voice said.

He turned, but there was no one there. Only the sound of scratching against the stone, like nails dragged across a chalkboard.

Emil's heart stopped.

The students crowded around him, their eyes wide and unblinking, their mouths stretched open in that same horrible grin.

"You will stay with us, Mr. Emil. Forever."

The door slammed shut behind him, and the scratching grew louder, closer.