Form Teacher George

FORM TEACHER GEORGE

By Chuddy Justin

　　That night was damp as much as it was dark. An eerie fog had settled around the compound of St. John’s Girls’ secondary school which made the school seem colder and emptier that night than it usually was.

　　In reality however, the school was not empty at all. If you listened just quietly enough, through its long interconnected hallways and rows of empty classes, you could hear the soft breathing of form teacher George. The form teacher of SS2B.

　　He sat in his seat in front of his empty classroom just grading the last of the papers. But he was not the only one in St. John’s Girls compound that night. Somewhere in the long and dark hallways of the school unknown to him, something else kept him company.

　　Form teacher George finished grading the last paper, with an emphatic “F” on the paper and he seemed really proud of himself. He fingered his boxy glasses on his nose and his gigantic belly wiggled as he stood up from his seat and wrestled with his belt buckle to contain the monster that was his tummy. He carefully packed the test papers away into the top drawer of his desk, took a swift look around the room, the windows were closed and draped over with the school curtains, the only light in the room came from the fluorescent bulb above his desk, the rest of the classroom bulbs were enshrouding the class in shadow which got darker as it reached deeper into the class so that the second to last row of desks could barely be seen.

　　He pulled on his overcoat and whistled to the door. The light bulb on the wall flickered off and on. Form teacher George eyed it suspiciously. He’d instructed Elizabeth, the class labour prefect to change it the previous day. These girls never do what they’re told, he thought How would she do it when she had breasts as large as her own. A few unholy images flashed across his mind and he smiled to himself in the dark. He ignored it however and walked to the door.

　　The door squeaked at his touch. Apparently, his students were also supposed to oil the hinges. They obviously never did. He grabbed the handle firmly, the light flickered suspiciously again but he gave it no notice this time he just pulled. It squeaked open with a rush of cold air washing his face. The light bulb in the class went out with a flicker and the darkness of the hallway flowed in the class.

　　Form teacher George shivered and squinted around in the dark. An open window close to the front of the class which let a shaft of light. It was the only souce of light in the class and it was hazy. Outlining shapes rather than illuminating. It separated the teacher’s table in front of the class from the rest of the student’s desk. He stood looking at the window for a moment, he could’ve sworn that every window was closed just a minute ago when he finished grading his tests.

　　The dead quietness of the classroom sent a chill running down his spine. Nothing moved for a moment. Then, the door slammed shut with a loud bang which sent his heart up into his mouth for a split second.

　　Form teacher George wrenched the handle but the door was shut tight. He tried as hard as he could but it just wouldn’t budge. Those girls were going to serve punishment for this. Elizabeth most especially, with those large breasts. Oh she was definitely going to be spanked for this. In the darkness, his lips curled into the most sickening smile ever.

　　A sound distracted form teacher George from his thoughts anyway. A sound coming from the back of the class. It was the sound of a desk locker opening at its rusty hhinge. He listened for a minute and the sound came back again. A distinct screech and finally the bang of the top back on the desk.

　　“Who’s there?” he snapped. Through the window beside him, the fog was thicker the light coming through the window was less illuminating and hazier. It also seemed like someone had stolen all the heat from the room. The cold nipped at his exposed fingers.

　　The rusty hinges of the locker squeaked again.

　　“I said who’s there?” repeated form teacher George. He was slowly getting irritated and hoping it was a student - even if it was a stupid idea. St. John’s was a boarding school by the way, so students could have snuck out of their hostels at any time they wanted. Although, it didn’t make sense that they had been here all that time and he didn’t notice. But anyway, what else could it be other than a student he thought to himself shuffling away other thoughts

　　“I swear, if I get my hands on you, you’re getting suspended tomorrow.”

　　The creaking stopped and immediately, he felt a bit of relief from a tension he didn’t know he had. It was definitely a student and he got her where he wanted. Form teacher George was a strict man. If he promised you a suspension, you were definitely getting suspended. To the majority of the girls anyway. To a few girls however, special girls he called them, he always found a way to bend his rules for them so far they bent ‘theirs’ to him.

　　“Good” he said, his voice was stronger now. “Now come to the front of the class, where I can see you.”

　　“Please, Mr. George.” Said a shaky voice from the back of the class. “Don’t suspend me sir.” The words were cold and slight. They floated with a breeze whistling through the class. But underneath that cold, the voice had a hint of musical note in it. Like it belonged to musician that was well past her prime.

　　Form teacher George recognized this note. He however, couldn’t make out the owner of the voice. His brain cross-referenced the voice with musicians he loved as children rather than students he taught.

　　Suddenly, the voice came again: “Do you promise not to suspend me, sir?”. But this time around, the voice was just an arm’s length in front of him now. The only thing separating him from the student was the hazy rectangular shaft of moonlight which spilled through window on his side.

　　His knees shuddered but he didn’t show fear in front of students. In all his years of experience as a secondary school teacher, he’d come across a solid fact. Training children was like training wild dogs. If they smelled a whiff fear from you, then you were never going to bend and mould them the way a teacher ought to.

　　“Will you stop misbehaving and come forward this instant.”

　　The voice giggled, and for a moment, the face which belonged to the voice formed in the teachers mind. But it vanished like a puff of smoke just as fast as it came.

　　“If you make me come there and get you, you’re going to be in serious trouble.” He said, pulling out his belt and cracked it like a whip in one fluid motion. This wasn’t necessarily done to scare the student as much as it was done to give himself some form of protection. But of course form teacher George would never admit that not even to himself.

　　His belly wobbled in the darkness only held in place by his left hand which also held his trouser up.

　　He was going to whip demons out of this truant girl.

　　The voice giggled again, “Mr George, please don’t hurt me again. I'll do anything you want” it said “Even that thing you like me doing with my mouth.” this part it said in a particularly sinister way. Like two people sharing suspicious inside jokes only them know about.

　　Form teacher George dropped the belt, his heart skipped a beat and bead of sweat formed on his temples. The smoke had finally formed a face in his mind. An oval face with gentle brown eyes.

　　Eyes that belonged to Music Prefect Martha who died on the 24th of November 1989 in a pool of her blood in the sickbay of St John’s Girls’ Secondary school after being rushed in from the girl’s hostel that night.

　　What every other person in the school did not know however was that Martha had died following complications resulting from unsafe termination of pregnancy. Well every other person except a certain form teacher and choir master of SS2B who Martha stayed back to receive voice training from after hours.

　　“Mr George, have you missed me, I’ve missed you so much.” The voice giggled happily obviously enjoying itself in the darkness.

　　The form teacher however was not sharing any of the joy with her. George had gone white in the darkness of the classroom. His throat was dry and scratchy and he was beginning to sweat profusely irrespective of how cold the night was.

　　“Martha?” the words barely made it out. “No, it can’t be you.” he retreated back against the classroom door. The rectangular shaft of light from the window lit him up like he was on a stage performing, a fearful performance, but a performance nonetheless.

　　“Of course it is me.” the voice was happily bouncing around the class now. “Don’t you miss me too?” it asked a bit sad. “Those drugs you gave me for the pain. They worked like magic, I’ve slept through the day and I didn't feel a thing just like you promised."

“Take a look at me Mr George.” said the voice just to the right of the form Teacher. He snapped his neck to his right and his jaw dropped. A face was staring at him, an oval face that was white as a board, a face without its characteristic gentle brown eyes, as a matter of fact, a face with no eyes at all, just sockets filled with emptiness.

#

　　The next morning, Elizabeth, the labour prefect from SS2B walked down the hall holding the form teacher’s newspaper and opened her classroom door as was one of the job’s of the labour prefect.

　　She however was not ready for what she saw that morning. Her form teacher’s face (white as a board) was staring at her. But behind the glasses, were no eyes, just dry empty sockets with no blood and an open mouth that gave the impression that he was standing there with an expression of shock.

She panicked, dropped the newspaper bundle she had stacked under her arm and ran out of the room screaming. The date on the paper said it was the 24th of November, 1999.

END