“Ready for the test, Miss Sara?” I flinched at Christy’s question, and she jumped from behind my locker door. She beamed with her typically bubbly disposition. “Geez, so tense,” she frowned as I caught my breath. “Sorry, I was up all night studying. I’m a little on edge, and this lousy weather isn’t doing anything for my mood,” I mumbled as I stuffed notes and textbooks into my backpack. “Clearly,” Christy chuckled. She linked arms with me as we headed toward the lab. It was her way of cheering me up, and she knew it always worked. She stopped at room 311 and opened the door but didn’t walk in. I ran straight into her and looked up, confused. Her brows were furrowed, her breathing quick and shallow, eyes unblinking and intently fixed forward into the classroom. I shifted my eyes and slowly turned my head, half afraid to see what had made cheery Christy so grave. In the dark classroom, the little bit of light that filtered onto the floor through the blinds illuminated a pair of sneakers, bottoms facing Christy and I, which were connected to a pair of limp legs; the rest was blocked by a dark figure. A flash of lightning flooded the room with light for two seconds, revealing the figure to be the school janitor, Ed. His piercing eyes gleamed below heavy brows, and he was glaring directly at Christy and me. We both gasped loudly and jumped back out of view. My heart pounded hard as I backed into the wall. Mrs. Bruges noticed the commotion and squinted down the hallway, tapping two other teachers and motioning them to follow her. “What’s going on?” she asked loudly, shooing students out of the way as she made a beeline toward us. I stared wide eyed at the lab door, and Christy just pointed, stuttering, “I don’t...something...I don’t know.” Mrs. Bruges tore the door open without hesitating and flicked the switch. The other teachers filed in with her, blocking my view. “What—” I heard her ask loudly before being cut off by a low, quiet voice, most definitely belonging to Ed, the only man in the room. Mrs. Bourgeois appeared suddenly at the door, “Call an ambulance,” she ordered. It finally registered that she was speaking to me as she raised her eyebrows and shouted, “Now!” I jumped and threw my bag to the ground, rifling through the pockets, groping for my cell phone. I dialed 9-1-1 and immediately heard the stern operator, “9-1-1 what’s your emergency?” “Uh...” I wasn’t even quite sure yet. “What is your location?” she asked calmly. “I...I need an ambulance,” I finally mustered. “Thornberry High. There’s a student on the ground and—” On the ground I could finally see who it was. The school’s quarterback, Jason Bruges, was sprawled out with something leaking from his mouth. “Hello? Are you still there?” came the persistent voice. “He doesn’t look so good,” I whimpered as my eyes welled, my throat getting tight, my chest burning. He was so still. My mother rushed to me as I walked through the front door, pulling me into a tight bear hug. “Oh, honey, are you all right?” she asked softly. I frowned, confused, and she held my shoulders at arm’s length. “They called me from school, dear, after you had to call the ambulance,” she said, her face filled with sympathy. “I’m fine,” I offered quickly. “Have you heard anything from Mrs. Bruges?” My mother wasn’t a crier. She was tough as nails. But her face fell and her lower lip quivered. Jason was gone, she didn’t have to tell me. Only the pain of losing a child could make my mother break down. I collapsed on the couch, mind racing. Ed, or Mr. Ed as the teachers instructed us to call him, kept running through my mind. His face, so grave and menacing, glaring at me from that dark room. I’d wake with a start the next three nights, sweating and gasping for air, those glinting eyes haunting me. He had something to do with Jason’s death. I just knew it. My friends were silent as I placed my tray of food down at my usual spot. The typically jovial girls with explosively loud voices barely managed to crack a smile as I started into my french fries. “It was poison,” whispered my friend Kate to me across the table, barely audible. Her eyes were big and sad, very out of place next to her high ponytail, bright ribbons, garish makeup and glittery cheerleading costume she was wearing because of the pep rally after school. She wasn’t your typical cheerleader. She was the captain and pretty much the sweetest person in the entire school. An A+ student with a squeaky clean track record and rich, philanthropic family. “Malathion,” she said a little louder. “Sounds like suicide.” “What—” “It kills bugs,” my friend Meagan interrupted before I could ask. Meagan was terribly shy but had a hilariously dry sense of humor once you got to know her. She wasn’t making any jokes this time, though. I’d never considered suicide, mostly because it made no sense. Jason was handsome, popular, and had already nabbed a full-ride football scholarship to his chosen university. The kid had everything. The bell rang, startling me. Oh yeah, half day. Kate ran out ahead of everyone to get the other cheerleaders in order. The hallways were packed with students, slowly trudging toward the gymnasium. I looked up from feet, and my stomach dropped. Ed stood at the entrance, holding one of the doors open. I could tell he had been staring at me before I looked up, and he didn’t break eye contact with me one I’d caught him. I quickly inspected my shoes again, the ceiling, other people's shoes, anything so I didn’t have to look at his eyes. I shoved my way past a few dozen people, determined not to get stuck anywhere close to him. I felt his gaze burning into my head as I ducked through the doors and sprinted breathlessly toward the bleachers. The orchestra played, we said the pledge of allegiance, we paid homage to Jason, and the dancers showed off their routines. I was starting to nod off as the cheerleaders lined up. I lazily scanned them, looking for Kate. I was bored, but I’d certainly cheer my friend on. Where was she? The co-captain seemed to wonder this too as I saw her eyes darting around the gym. I stretched my spine, my eyes searching every corner trying to find her, but no luck. This was certainly not like Kate. She was never late, plus I’d just seen her. The co-captain shrugged her shoulders and signalled for the music to start. They completed their routine and the assembly was dismissed with no sign of Kate. “She must not be feeling well or something,” I wondered aloud as my friends also exchanged puzzled glances. I headed to the bathroom to see if she needed anything. Sure enough, I saw her cheerleading duffel and backpack leaning poking out from underneath the only closed stall. “Hey, Kate, too much Mexican food?” I called out, chuckling. “Don’t worry, it happens to the best of us!” No response. “Aw, don’t worry, there’s always next time! The girls did a great job anyway. Do you need anything?” I jumped as her backpack slid down and fell from the stall. “Kate?” I called out. “Ka-a-a-a-te,” I sang. Everything was still. I slowly approached the stall. “Kate?” I said softly as I reached out to push the door in. It was locked. I tilted my head to peer through the crack. Kate stared back at me, her eyes wide open, her head tilted back, mouth open. I screamed before I could catch myself, and I didn’t stop until I crashed through the doors of the main office. “When was the last time you saw her?” the detective asked me as the ambulance drove away slowly. No sirens. Never a good sign. This was third time I was being asked the same question, where had I seen her last, did she say anything about being upset, did she have any enemies, how did I know she was in the bathroom, what is her mother’s phone number...nothing had sunk in yet. I slammed my bedroom door when I got home, not wanting hugs or kind words from Mom. I couldn’t sleep that night, or the night after that, or the night after that. I skipped a week of school, watching the news all day, hearing reports of Kate having ingested giant amounts of chlorine. Then reports of Neha, the debate team president going missing, then Riley, the newspaper editor dying from water intoxication. My mother took this as kids being kids, trying to use chemicals in ways they were not intended. I didn’t tell her my suspicions about Ed. I ran down the hallway, late to history, and darted around a puddle of what looked liked Gatorade. I tumbled into class, tripping over myself, and flopped into the first empty desk I saw. Mr. Leroy, a staunch ex-military man, opened his mouth to give me what I knew would be an acidic, verbal lashing but was interrupted by a rapid knock at the door. Mr. Leroy opened the door, and I saw half of Ed’s face. I heard him saying something about Jared, the basketball captain, and gatorade. Mr. Leroy turned on his heel and barked at Jared to help Ed clean the mess in the hallway, as it has been his drink. Jared rolled his eyes and marched dramatically to the hall, eliciting giggles from the class. The bell rang 20 minutes later, and Jared’s books and bag remained at his seat. Mr. Leroy bolted from the room before the students as he always did, desperate to get to lunch before the rush. The students followed quickly, leaving me to collect Jared’s belongings. I stepped into the deserted hallway, struggling with the weight of my own books and Jared’s. Something wasn’t right. It doesn’t take 20 minutes to clean a spill. I headed to the janitor’s closet where Ed often ate. I was truly terrified, but I was more determined to find Jared than I was scared. The door was closed. I knocked softly, then harder, then banged with my fist. “Mr. Ed! I—” Someone grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. Ed, frowning and sweating, stared down at me. “Can I help you?” he said in his monotone, drawling accent. “I...I...where’s Jared?” I asked abruptly and with as much confidence I could muster. He stared at me for an eternity, his mouth pinched shut, until his lips finally turned up slowly into a sickly grin. Eyes gleaming, he whispered, “No idea, sweetie.” I abandoned any facade of cool, calm and collected behavior and booked it out of there, not looking back until I reached the end of the hall. He was gone. Everyone was gone, for that matter. I suddenly felt very alone as my footsteps echoed from one side of the hallway to the other. I pushed the heavy swinging door to the stairwell open and froze. As the hinges creaked, I swore I heard a muffled voice saying “Sara.” I moved to take another step, the hair on the backing of my neck standing. I heard it again. I spun around to find Jared staring at me from the back of room 311 through the glass pane of the door, wide-eyed, gagged, and struggling. Suddenly, Dr. Pentel, the chemistry teacher, appeared in the doorway grinning. The knob turned slowly, and he leaped from the room, his grin turning into a menacing, screwed-up frown. I dropped everything and slid down the banister, instinct taking over. I didn’t have time to think. Years on the track team helped me along, but Dr. Pentel was gaining on me. He was only 35 and tall. Second floor, almost there, then first floor. If I could just get to the ground floor. Then finally, I leaped down the last six steps and stampeded my way into the cafeteria. I did the best thing I could think of: I clambered on top of a table and screamed the loudest my lungs could manage. Turns out our chemistry teacher wasn’t Dr. Pentel from Harvard. He was really Clyde VanSchrudt from Arizona. He also went by Bryan Adams, William Tulley, George Peck, and Anthony Silva. He went from school to school taking revenge on popular students thanks to some emotional scarring from back in his own high school days. Turns out Ed was just naturally really creepy. Jared was suffering from chloroform inhalation, but he recovered and survived. An investigation was launched into how the school managed to hire an escaped felon and identity thief, and the whole community got some sense of closure from his arrest. After a few years, the story would go down as an urban legend, and there were whispers of room 311 being haunted. The school tried to hush the story up and forbade any of the teachers from discussing the incidences. It would be another decade until I heard my husband flipping through the channels, stopping him at a news broadcast detailing several students perishing at a school in Canada after inhaling too much helium—apparently for fun.