I Quit Teaching Because Of This Terrifying Incident. I’ve Never Told Anyone About It Until Now.

And as my head grew tired and heavy, I thought of the strange, manic eyes of Manny’s replacement custodian. When did he have time to ask a relative about the events of our school since he just started working for us that day? And why would he care so much to even bother?

The wind died down as I started thinking of the walk back to The Drive to catch a taxi.

And that’s when I noticed it: the tapping sound of the branches. I could still hear it despite there being no breeze. I looked up and all was still.

Then, I caught movement in the corner of my eye. I turned to look up at my classroom window. And there, three stories above me, was the girl staring down at me. The one I had thought was Amy.

Her fingers were tapping the window.

Slowly.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A pair of soulless eyes staring down at me.

I backed away, rubbing my eyes. I looked back up and she was gone. It had been a figment of my overactive imagination, mixed with a few pints of beer in the eerie, exaggerating influence of moonlight.

That must have been it. But my heart was still racing, so I put it to good use and ran back to The Drive where I caught a cab for home.

I had the whole weekend to process it all and concluded that I required more answers. Obviously, I was starting to see things, nightmares embedded in my imagination. My mind needed coherence, I needed things to make sense.

On Monday, I went to see Lorna, my principal. I asked her what she had meant at the pub when she said she’d been hearing these stories “for years.”

She looked at me incredulously, as if I were joking. She wanted to know why I was so curious. I told her that several students had approached me with concern and I needed a way to reassure them with facts.

“You want facts, eh?” she began. “Here’s a fact: Vancouver is filled with old schools. And every one of those schools has an urban legend about some ghost. Here’s another fact: it’s not just schools. You can say that about any old building in Canada, the States, England. Hell, my old school back in Glasgow had at least three ghosts I’d known of. People like telling ghost stories, and people like hearing them. So that’s why we’re hearing them. Now, go teach your kids more facts.”

I reminded her I teach English, and she laughed.

The day proceeded the way most teaching days do: some yelling, some laughter, some revelations, and much rubbing of my forehead. A typical day in the life of a high school English teacher.

I was an assistant coach of our varsity soccer team so I held practice after school on the west field as usual. We worked on our drills for most of the afternoon and then wrapped it up with a brief scrimmage. I had my two assistants help me lug the ball bags back to the equipment room. It was getting dark and I could see clouds gathering in the north by the mountains.

When I walked into my room to grab my belongings to take home, there was a sheet of paper on my desk. I spotted it immediately since it looked so out of place, nowhere near my regular stacks of marking. I didn’t remember leaving any paperwork on the desk itself.

I walked towards my desk and picked it up. Nothing. I turned it over.

I suddenly felt my chest sink inward, as if collapsing into itself, making it hard to breath.