Whispers on the Chalkboard

Whispers on the Blackboard

The bell rang, signaling the end of another mundane school day. Students flooded out of the hallways, leaving behind a familiar silence in the classrooms. Room 204, however, was different. The lights flickered as if hesitant to turn off, casting long shadows against the walls.

Whispers on the Chalkboard.

Ms. Evans, the history teacher, had forgotten something in her classroom. She had left her coat hanging in the back, and the thought of it left her feeling slightly uneasy as she turned to go back. The hallway, once bustling with the noise of students, was now still and empty. She approached the door and hesitated for a moment before unlocking it.

Inside, everything appeared normal, at least at first glance. Desks were arranged neatly, the windows were closed, and the room smelled faintly of chalk dust. But something caught her eye something small, subtle, and almost imperceptible at first. A mark. A few smudges on the blackboard.

Ms. Evans stepped closer, her shoes clicking on the tile floor. She wiped the board with her sleeve, but the marks didn't disappear. It was as if the dust on the board had been disturbed by invisible fingers. She leaned in closer, the faintest trace of writing beginning to form.

At first, it was a series of strange symbols, jagged and disjointed. Her breath caught in her throat, and her hand instinctively reached for the eraser. But before she could erase the markings, the words appeared:

"I know you're alone."

The room grew colder, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. Ms. Evans glanced around nervously. There was no one else in the room. She stepped back, heart pounding in her chest. She turned to leave but hesitated. There was something about the message something that felt... familiar.

She shook her head, trying to brush off the feeling. Perhaps it was just a prank by one of the students, a late-night joke meant to spook her. Still, she couldn’t shake the chill creeping through her. As she turned the door handle, the blackboard seemed to whisper, the chalk scraping lightly against the surface.

The next words appeared, slanted and uneven.

"The secret is closer than you think."

Ms. Evans froze. Her stomach twisted into knots. She turned back, her eyes scanning the room. There, on the corner of the board, were more words. Larger now. Clearer.

"Find the key."

Her breath caught in her throat. What key? What secret? She walked toward the desk, her fingers trembling as she reached for the drawer. As her hand touched the cool wood, she heard a faint whisper. The sound of something or someone breathing. Her heart raced, and she pulled the drawer open with shaking hands. Inside, there was nothing unusual, just a few pens, papers, and a half-empty notebook.

But when she looked back to the board, the final message had appeared:

"You should have listened."

Suddenly, the air in the room felt thick and heavy. The whispers continued to grow louder, as if the classroom itself was coming to life. She tried to move toward the door, but her feet felt glued to the floor.

Then, just as suddenly as it had all begun, the whispers stopped. The room fell silent. The blackboard was blank once again.

Ms. Evans stood in the center of the room, her mind racing. She grabbed her coat, heart pounding, and fled from the classroom, not daring to look back.

The next morning, Room 204 was locked. The janitor, who had arrived early, found the door ajar, but nothing seemed out of place. The chalkboard was completely clean.

Yet, when Ms. Evans returned for her class, she noticed something strange a small scrap of paper tucked into the corner of her desk. She opened it slowly.

"I know you're here."

And beneath the words, a small key was taped to the note.

She looked up, her eyes darting to the blackboard. But the whispers... had already begun again.