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

It was a drawing, a crude pencil sketch, as if a young child had hastily drawn it. The drawing was of me, standing under the tree outside my window. It was drawn from the perspective of someone standing in my room looking down on me.

As far as I knew, no one had known I was standing outside the school Friday night.

I ran downstairs and headed to the office. I tried the door and it was locked. Everyone had gone home.

Then, I had an idea. I jogged back to my wing and searched the hallways. I then took the back stairwell up to the second floor and walked quickly down the corridor. I heard something up ahead and saw one of the classroom doors still open.

That’s where I found Manny’s substitute custodian. He was moving desks out of the way so he could finish sweeping the room. I folded the sketch and placed it in my rear pocket and walked in.

He was surprised to see me. I asked him how he liked working at our school. His name was Oscar. He said our school suited him just fine. As far as he’s been told, he was going to be with us for the remainder of the week. I tried to make some more small talk but I could sense he was suspicious. He had every right to be. It’s not like we were old friends catching up. Why would I care how he liked cleaning the floors at our school compared to the floors of other schools?

“Is there anything else I could help you with?” he asked. He had one of those faces that, even at rest, it looked like it was about to curve into a creepy grin.

“The other day, you mentioned that you believe there’s something else in the basement. What makes you think that?”

He then moved to the door and poked his head out into the hall. He then turned towards me.

“This school has a dark history,” he began. “You wouldn’t think it with its bright paint job, the quiet houses across the street. But they’ve had families here that…” And he stopped, as if searching for the right words. “There are good families and bad families. And then there are other families.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

He hesitated, then spoke. “Are you a religious man?”

“No,” I answered.

“You should look in the basement,” he said.

You know that feeling you get that makes you want to drive into oncoming traffic? The kind that softly urges you to leap off a balcony when you’re peering over the edge of a patio? The part of you that needs to know and feel unknowables? It’s as if we’re drawn from the abyss screaming into the world, and then, eventually, we subconsciously miss it and are quietly called back into that abyss. I think that urge towards an end was pulling me in the direction I found myself on.

I think that’s why a few minutes later, I found myself standing in front of the basement entrance. The large metal door was propped slightly open, taped off for repairs. The lights were off so that I peered into the blackness of its depths. I had never been down there so had no idea what to expect.

I took the large door and opened it wider to let the hallway lights down into the stairs.