Ghost Stories

Columbus, George -- as different from my hometown as I could have imagined. I stood in front of the 103-year-old school for what had to be the fifteenth time, and still my jaw dropped.

I knew this place's history, and it was one hell of a history. One story in particular that had given me the creeps was about the third floor -- the fourth, if you counted the basement. Fifty years ago, the strangest of the school's teachers had hung herself on that third floor -- and in remembrance, they hung her picture in the main hall.

The picture watched the students.

One girl went to the bathroom one day and came out screaming. She'd seen the teacher in the mirror, she said, with blood running down her cheeks where she had scratched herself in fear. Now, no one has been allowed to go to the third floor, because enough students had walked out of the school and never come back that the superintendent was afraid it would be shut down.

I shivered as I recalled my first day here; I'd walked in and known something was wrong. The pervasive feeling of despair settled over me, and I wanted to tear out my hair or rake my fingernails down my arm. It was the most disconcerting feeling in the world, and I couldn't shake it off all day.

One night, our school dance was going on in the gym, far away from the gloom of the classrooms. My friends and I wandered off -- they were too cool for the dance, and I wanted to be cool so badly that I didn't stop them.

"Dare you to go up there," my friend Rick said immediately, when we successfully broke into the school.

And because I didn't want them to laugh at me, I did.

The hallways were pitch black. There was nothing to see. Not even the painting was visible; but I knew exactly where it was, and I could feel its sad little eyes following my every movement.

"God," I whispered into the shadows, not sure if it was a prayer or a curse.

Then my arms lifted of their own accord. I knew my fist was flying towards my face and somehow had the presence of mind to duck it, but it managed to grab a handful of hair in passing. I screamed and forced my legs to move, but suddenly they had a mind of their own. I slammed into the wall with all my strength, screaming again as my face hit the edge of the banister. I could feel the blood oozing out of the cut on my cheek.

Somehow, I managed to wrench my unresponsive body down the stairs, rolling the last few to the feet of my wide-eyed friends.

I stared up at them through blurry eyes.

"I want to hurt myself," I managed through bleeding lips. "Please...make it stop."

The last thing I remember is passing out.