Bullies and Buddies

We did something bad. No, we did something overly bad. The plan executed so well, even I am gushing over it, and my goodness, the euphoria after it was amazing, too. It simply held its flawlessness up like a trophy, or should I say three wet students, on the first day of classes. The wait was antagonizing but worth it. The three students bullied their way to the front, and when the doors open, we let go of the giant buckets of water, and it drenched them. It was coincidence that they were the first ones out the door, and I had to admit the laughter heard was satisfying. They got it good, and they got excessively wet. There were surprising screams at first and the splashing made some of the other kids wet, but they knew who it was for and no one complained. They all just laughed. We did good; I thought.

I have actually enjoyed my first day of school. I nearly got into trouble for sending the bullies of the school soaked, but you know the proverb: what eyes do not see, no one knows? Well, you can say that. We slickly hid behind the ferns at the back of the wall, and no one saw us. Of course, my heart was flattering out of my chest. What can I say? It is the first time I have ever done something like that. My face was sweating and my palms were shaking so much I had to rest them on my lap so the tree wouldn't shake so much.

While I was having a minor heart attack, Juno and Mika were giggling and stifling their laughter with their hands. I was sure with all the racket they were making; we were going to get caught, but I was wrong. The moment the bullies passed us and briefly stopped only a few feet from us, their laughter stopped and all was quiet. I have to admit, although they were weird; they were cool, and they kept their word. They really knew how to have some fun. I smiled, knowing clearly they will continue to do this and I won't have a say in it. This is the ultimate best time I have had. Period.

I did not mind. For that, I was grateful. This is the most fun I've had in a long time. I was expecting this maybe a few days or maybe a year from now, but not on the first day. I decided it was time to face my fears. They said goodbye, and promised we will meet in front of the school same time, and we will try to meet classes so we don't fall behind. Remembering they said they were top students, I was sure that studies were not an issue for them. I made sure to never leave behind studies. I feel paranoid when I don't study for a day.

My mind has been in turmoil since the day I realise my lack of motivation to pick up a brush and work my hands on the canvas. I used to pride myself when completing my work, and now it feels like nothing I do would bring it back. It just happened, no warning, just one day I spaced out in class. The kids said my entire body was shaking, then suddenly, they had to rush me to the infirmary. That was all I knew about that day and no would tell me more. The ones who would talk to me said I looked as though I have had a stroke, but they couldn't recall clearly either. It bothered me so much that I had such a serious attack on something and yet no one remembered what happened. My parents nursed me back to proper health, as they said, but I think they both knew that nothing was wrong with me, and that something else might have happened. They just can't say what.

I had gone back to school the next week, bright Monday, and nothing happened ever since. It was then, to my horror, my hands could have hardly moved when drawing and trying to fix my work. So, I took the theory classes and made a shell around me so much that it just completely took over who I was. In the end, I became a shell of my vibrant self and I just wallowed in my self-pity for a very long time.

I was standing at the edge of the stairs to go into the arts corridor. Not so long ago, I waved goodbye at my two new friends and they both waved back as they disappeared out of sight behind the block. I decided I was going to convince myself nothing was wrong with me, and I was fine to do my painting once more. I remember the stairs being shorter. The grey paint that was now in need of a renewal stood looking at me, granting me access, yet my legs could not move. The rails looked used and could use another coat of paint as well. Sighing deeply to myself, I took the first step. Going up seems strange, like I was going to bring down something stronger than me. Thinking about it now, it feels that way, and maybe it is true.

The corridor was a long way down to reach the room I was looking for. The automatic lights were already shutting down in some places for the night, while some still lingered as the ancillary staff worked their way from top to bottom. It seemed they had finished up here. The floor still lingered of soap water and smelled of wiping detergent. I took careful steps to not slip and fall helplessly on my behind.

There was the door, standing, towering over me. I saw the name in bold at the top. I turned and, strangely; the door stuck in place. Knowing it gets jammed sometimes, I used my weight and pushed while turning the handle, and finally it came loose. Slipping on the floors and falling inside, I landed on my elbows and groaned painfully. Getting up, I looked around me, and brushed the little dusts and sand off me. It was just a habit of doing it when you fall down and get back up. The classroom looked just the same as I had last seen it.

The paint scented air made me nostalgic and my eyes teared up. There were art half completed, completed works, and blank canvases all littered around the room. The workspace was relatively clean, as they always advised us to clean up after ourselves. I looked around, seeing a few works which could have done better and which were exceptionally done, and I could see hard work from it. Then I stopped at a blank canvas. It looked back at me, and I felt frozen. I could not look away.

"Why can I not paint you?" I asked tearfully. I touched the brush and my hands shook. It happened only when I picked it up. It felt as though something stopped me from picking it up.

At the corner of my eyes, I saw a black shadow move, but when I looked it just vanished. It was a quick movement. I wondered for a moment if I imagined it.

"Hello, is someone in here? Professor, I was just looking around." I said, trying to go around the paintings and trying to not knock something over.

I keep seeing the dark shadows moving in my eye corner, but not once had I seen what it was or who it actually was. It was convincing enough as I saw the same shadow again. Dropping my bag on the floor to move better around, I felt a push from behind, and I tumbled to the floor. I landed on some paintbrushes and paint tubes and buckets on the floor. I groaned and got up slowly, feeling the pain stinging in my palms. Both were deep gashes on them, bleeding and dripping all over. I tried folding my cuffs to see if the bleeding would stop, but it was like a horror show. It just would not stop. It damped my skirt, and my shirt dabbed from the fact I was in shock.

"Help, help me." I cried out painfully.

There were a few things scattered from the open beg that I went back for. I knew for sure my bag was closed when I dropped it down. I looked around once more, the hairs on my neck prickling me as they stood up. This does not feel right at all. I twirled around, but nothing happened.

"Is someone in here?" I called out again, this time trying to sound angry as I could.

The blood was pouring, and I knew I needed to get out of here. Shoving what I could in the bags, my hand touched a canvas and with weakened feet, my knees buckled, and I fell once more on a blank canvas which stood a little away from the other works. My bleeding hands stained the white, turning it red, as it covered enough to say the canvas couldn't use anymore.

"Oh god, what have I done? Who are you?" I called out to myself.

I heard a low groan from the back of the class where I was only moments ago and saw something horrifying. It was a pitch-black shadow seeping on the floor like tar coming my way and it had a sickly groan. It had no shape, but just resonated like a shadow of something unseen.

Screaming as I pushed my way back using my legs to further get away, the thing just came closer and closer. The smell as it came closer was pungent. The groans it made sounded like my tummy when I was hungry, but the eyes that looked at me, it was fiery red and torturous to look away from. I felt my throat clogged up and tears welled in my eyes. The scream lost on my lips, my head piercing and ears ringing like it was fighting with a constant bell. My body felt limp, as if it injected a drug into me to calm my nerves. I just laid on the floor, unable to move, and watching dreadfully as the putrid shadow leaned over me, and reached the side of my head.

With the fight gone from me, and helplessly watching as the dirty monster leaned itself over me, I closed my eyes. If this was the end, I don't want to see how it goes. I felt my body shift a little, and peeking from behind my lids, I saw the thing picking up the bloody canvas I ruined earlier. With a red beam of light, it disappeared. While trying to cry out for help, the door banged twice and someone burst into the room. I wondered what they were thinking while seeing a girl sprawled on the floor, blood stained her clothes, and her crying out her lungs with ripped palms. I knew the dark shadow was gone, and the canvas it took it made me wonder what was really happening.

"Are you okay, miss? Why are you up here?" The female janitor was sweating profusely and her face looked horrified. She was pale, and wide eyes. She strapped some of her towels to my hands to stop the bleeding, and sat me down outside the class.

I couldn't find my voice, and I started crying. I couldn't do anything else. All I could think about was going home. I knew for sure calling my parents was out of the question. Mom would be home, but she would freak out the moment she sees me. I think I can live without that. Dad might stop me from school and they will end up locking me indoors for good now.

"I am fine. I just came upstairs to get something." I barely hiccupped and told her.

"Listen to me. Don't go roaming when we complete our cleaning. You're got blood and paint all over the classroom. What happened here?" She said, looking at me. She must have been trying really hard to not scold me, but from her voice, I could tell she was angry.

Two pairs of footsteps came rushing towards us, and I looked up. Two male ancillary staffs came to see what was wrong too. Initially, they had a better expression on their faces, unlike the woman who looked as though she would pass out anytime.

"What happened up here? Please tell me that's paint," said the older of the two males. He had dusty white hair that was bald in the middle, and he had on the same blue uniform as the rest.

"Oh my god, what happened to the kid?" said the other as he gave me a once over. He looked much younger, yet mature.

"She would not say. Poor thing is terrified of something up here. I can't say I saw anything though," said the old woman, shaking her head as they all stood over me.

"Oh no, you don't really think someone attacked her, do you?" It was the younger fella this time.

"Is she able to talk?" The older man asked softly.

The woman lowered her voice and whispered to the man, "Yes, she said she was okay. Her hands are bleeding and the class is a mess. We might have to clean it tomorrow. "

The old man crouched down to look at my face, wondering what happened too. He said, "Hey, little girl. If we send you home, will you be alright?"

"Yes, I think I would. I just want to go home."

"Okay, Milos, you go get a car, drive your car if you have to. I will find her some clean clothes. Myra, make sure those cuts are clean. What did she even cut them with? They are not supposed to have sharp weapons in the arts room," he said, looking around frantically and waving his hand around as though he were ranting and complaining, trying to make sense of what they were seeing right now.

In a few minutes, I changed my clothes, hand bandaged, not professionally, but it will do, and the one called Milos promised to see me off as he took me home.

The ride wasn't long, and I gave him the directions. I remembered him clearly saying before darkness took over my eyes.

"Girls are not supposed to be alone. Bad things happen when they wander. God knows what would have happened to you had it not been for Myra saving you. Do you know what happened to you?"

No, I don't remember. I told myself sadly, trying my best to erase what I saw. I didn't answer him, though. They will only think of two things: either I was crazy, or I was lying. I just allowed them to think about what they thought happened, and not input what I really saw. I can't tell anyone.