Footsteps in the Dark
2:53pm Thursday 20th March 2008
I wasn't too sure how long I'd been there. At a guess, half an hour? There was no way of knowing for sure.
Crouched behind what I thought was a large desk, everything was quiet. It was as if silence was smothering everything, my thoughts included.
I could barely hear the sound of my own breathing, though I could hear my heart beating.
My real fear was what was around me everywhere; it was something I couldn't escape. Darkness. The fear of not knowing what else was in the room warped my mind.
In literal darkness I felt around to help myself understand the seriousness of my situation. I leaned on the top of the desk to steady myself. A thick layer of dust escaped from under my fingers, causing me to sneeze ferociously. I panicked, hoping I wasn't heard by anyone.
Maybe the stories weren't true, the ancient legends of Nurse Birch haunting the corridors by night. Just the work of a child's overactive imagination. Disappointment whirled through my head, but at the same time so did relief.
The legends of this little old lady didn't always suggest she was the nicest of spirits. Boy, are the kids going to be disappointed when they find out she doesn't exist.
I got up, preparing to sneak back down the disused corridor. Only to hear a light tapping, it appeared to be getting louder. Only I realised that this wasn't tapping, it was footsteps, heading towards the door. My heart soared. I began to feel a lump in my throat, so that I could barely swallow. The doorknob started to turn.
Nobody would ever know I was here besides the children. Their stories would be passed off as mere tales. Just like the story of Nurse Birch was ignored. I would be too. I would be forgotten, like the rest of them.
Georgia, age 13