Working Late

I swear this is going to take me all night. Students just don't understand how much teachers put into work. I will teach them though. I swear this test is gonna kill the ones who never pay attention. What is the chemical formula for sodium chloride? Of course most people would know that it is NaCl, but I know these kids and they won't know what it is if they don't know. I teach Chemistry I, in a high school school. Working late is a part of my life. I stay at the school grading papers and making worksheets. I also get labs ready and such.

It is seven o'clock already tonight. As you probably guessed I am getting a test ready for a tomorrow. What is the atomic mass of Oxygen? I am always the last teacher leaving the high school at night. I am usually out of here by six o'clock, but tonight I had study guides to correct and this cursed test. It is creepy being in a dark empty school into the late hours of the night but I got to do what I got to do. I am as you noticed probably by now a dedicated teacher. I love teaching children, as long as they are willing to learn and not slack off in my class.

BAM! "What was that?" I yelled jumping out of my chair. "Who is there?" It sounded like a door slamming shut as if a teacher had just left for the night. That is impossible though, no other teacher is ever here as late as me. I should go investigate, so I walk around the lab tables in front of my desk leaving the test at question 23: Li stands for what element? 


The hallways are dark, just the emergency lights are on not giving it much light at all. Continuous dull thuds could be heard, like footsteps. No one is here though, and the sound isn't coming from my shoes what is it? The BAM I hear a door slam shut. I scream out, "Who is there?" The footsteps stop, I stop. "Hello?" No response of any kind. A corner was up ahead.

I walk super slowly so no noise will be made as I walk to the edge of the corner. While tip-toeing to the corner of the hallway I can hear a slow raspy breathing. The closer I get the louder it becomes. A test question pops into my head, What elements make up the noble gases? I pass a sign along the wall that is letting kids know when the registration dates for ACT testing is due by. Then I see it, a shadow in the entry way of the corner. In, what looks like to be a man's hand, is a sharp looking object.

I start running back towards my room. I run as fast as I can. I don't even know what is going on behind me, or what the guy could possibly be doing, I just run for my life. I do though hear a clanging noise, like the man attempting to through the knife at me and it missing and clanging to the floor. I just keep on running not hesitating. I run into my classroom and barricade the door. I go for the black school phone on the other side of the room, and to find out the phone line has been cut. I dig in my desk for my iPhone, to find out I have no service at all. I already had known that, but in a panicked situation you never know what your going to do.

BOOM! I look over at the door and I can see this figure slamming a hug sledge hammer against my classroom door. I see the man looking up at me then all of a sudden. He had dark skin, and a scruffy looking face with a poorly cared beard on his face. He was wearing a black hoodie with the hood up. BOOM, BOOM!!!

What in the hell am I going to do? I am stuck in this room with a murderous psycho-path outside the door.  BOOM! I grab a knife out of one of the class cupboards used for experiments, preparing myself for the inevitable. BOOM! The hinges on the door where starting to come loose. The wooden door was weakening under the continued pressure, and then there was no more boom's upon the door. The man had stopped banging on the door. Why did he stop?

I look over towards the door, and he wasn't even standing there anymore. "Where did he go?" I said with my nerves on their edge. I was ready to just crack up, just start screaming at the top of my head. There was absolutely no noise being made. I could hear the clicking of the clock but nothing else could be heard. I pasted around the room, walking back and forth in front of all the students desk's. What the hell was going to happen to me?

A thought popped into my head, what if I was imagining things. What if I imagined that shadow, the man's face, and all those noises. I go near the door, and then I remembered, why would the door be almost busted off it's hinges?

Then I heard a loud, CLICK, noise. Louder than a clock ticking every second. I was like a door coming unlocked is what it sounded like. I was rooted to the spot. I couldn't move any part of my body. Then I heard footsteps growing louder and louder. Then I heard a voice, a loud raspy voice yell out, "You shouldn't have ran." I was trying to move as I saw a man's figure move closer and closer to me, but it was like my body was frozen to the spot. I saw him pull out a long sharp object . . .



Luke Rodgers had died on November 13th, 2012. He was found early morning on the 14th of November by the students in is first hour Chemistry class. They had walked into his classroom, all of them said they thought he was sleeping at his desk, face down. None of them bothered to wake him, as to try and get out of a test if he slept through the hour. They were going to draw on his face, but to find out that his skin had been peeled off his face. Further examination had also resulting in the discovery that his genitals had been cut off, toes had been removed by what looked like to be a pliers, and his knees smashed into a bunch of tiny pieces. Autopsy results had proved that Mr. Rodgers had been alive for most of the damage done to him. The man (or women) responsible has not yet been found. It is believed, though, that this has been done by the now legendary serial killer, who has committed around 100 murders in the past five months. There are absolutely no leads to go off of. It does seem to be fishy, though that each person being killed has written about their death before they died. No leads besides that, it seems the killer, whoever it might be, knows what he is doing. The city is starting to fall apart

A continuation of a previous story, and yet to be continued still . . .


This has been a fictional story from Noah Mark Bitney 

Unwanted Power

I can remember being able to do it since, well since I was able to remember. It is the earliest memory that I have. I was something like two years old. My father had picked me up off the floor because I was crying. I looked right into his eyes, and not like just a glance like most people do, I looked deep into his eyes, and I was able to see everything. Images of loads of things flashed in front of my vision of my dad. I saw a little boy sitting alone on a swing set, crying. I saw a little girl approaching him on the swing. Flash, then I saw a woman walking down aisle in a beautiful long dress. Flash, I saw a room full of kids, with the teacher passing out papers to the kids. A little boy dressed in a green and gray flannel shirt got his, and a test score written in red pen said "25/25" with a little smiley face next to it. Flash, their was a car flipped upside down on a country road. Red and blue lights were flashing everywhere. Inside the car were two adults, one male and one female. In the back seat of the car was a five year old child crying and screaming "Help, help, someone please help. My Mommy and Daddy are hurt. HELP!" Then a series of numbers flashed forward upon the scene I was seeing. The numbers were "11/23/2005," that was the day my parents had left me alone in this world.

After that day when my dad had picked me up off the floor, I remembered everything that had happened in his life. Not just everything that had happened, though, I was also able to see his future. It didn't just happen with my dad. It had happened every time I looked deeply into someone’s eyes, when I stared into their eyes not just glanced into them. When I did glance into them I got a little flash but not everything. The really freaky thing, though, is the fact that I remember everything I have seen. I know everything about them, from the day they were born, to when and how they lost their first tooth, to the day they got married, and finally knowing the exact date they are going to die, and how they will leave this world.

So that day when my dad had picked me up off the floor, I knew how and when they were going to die. On November 23rd, 2005, my parents had died in a car crash. I was in the car and survived the accident. I was only five years old when I became an orphan. After that day, I knew, I knew what my power was exactly and what I was able to do. I can remember looking into my mother’s eyes when I was about four years old and seeing the exact same end to her story as my father’s. At the time, I thought nothing of it of course, but after that, I understood I have an unwanted power. It would be a power I will never want to have or use.

I am seventeen years old now, and I still continue to live in an orphanage. I have probably had over 100 adoption interviews since I became an orphan. I expect it is probably something to do with the fact I can tell the people who are considering me for adoption, everything about their lives. I am guessing that, that it might sorta freak them out a little bit. I can remember a funny story from this one guy once. He was six years old when it had happened to him. He wasn't the brightest kid in the world; he had short blonde hair and the cutest blue eyes I had ever seen on a little kid. He was walking down a street in a big town, surprisingly the street he was on was completely bare off people, which for him was probably a good thing. A black dog, a Russell terrier, had gotten loose, apparently, and ran up behind Francis, that was his name. Francis, allegedly, had gotten so scared of the dog that he had actually peed his pants. That wasn't the only funny part out this guy's memory. It was his birthday that same day, and he was on his way home from school, and when he had gotten home, there was a whole bunch of people waiting to greet him. He was so embarrassed. A girl he had liked was there and everything.

Of course, after all, I can remember everything about everyone. Another example is this one single lady who had wanted to adopt me a while back, maybe when I was like seven years old. When she was 22 years old, a couple years before I had met her, she had been left by her husband of six years. They for some dumb-ass reason had decided to get married when they were 16 years old. Their marriage had fallen apart because she wanted children, and he had wanted to live life before he had to be tied down even further. Look though where she showed up three years later. So, my guess is that this ability, this unwanted power that I have must freak people out just a little bit. Well, it freaks me out so why wouldn’t it freak them out. 

How creepy would it be to meet a child for the first time, someone you have never met in your entire life, and then they knew everything about you? Knew that in the fifth grade you peed your pants. She knew when (to the exact time of day) you had lost your first tooth. Wouldn't you freak out if someone told you the day you are going to die, and how you are going to leave the world. 

Why would I tell the people this, though? I mean why don’t I just keep my mouth shut and not tell them I know things about them. Well I was brought up to honest no matter what. I can remember my father telling me before he died that honesty counts. He said, “To earn one’s trust you will need honesty. Therefore, honesty is what is most important I think about people, so why shouldn’t I be honest to them when they ask me, “Did you want to know some things about us?” So, I tell them I know everything. Of course, they do not believe me. They ask questions then to see if I really do, and I can, definitely, answer every question about their lives that they ask me. Probably not the greatest thing in the world, but I just cannot help it because I have to be honest. 

What I really hate is when they aren’t honest to me. I see their past, I know everything about them. Of course, they don’t know that quite yet, but they will lie to me telling me how great of person they are when in fact they really aren’t at all. I am afraid that one day I am going to see  into someone’s past, someone to whom I trust dearly, and to find out that they are a murderer. 

I guess that is what this power of mine could be used for though couldn’t it? Sure, I don’t want this power, but I never had a choice of having it or not. I have always tried to think of why I had this power. What good or usefulness could come of this, this strange unwanted power of mine? Well, for the past year,my guardian, Bertha, at the orphanage here has tried to get me looking into career paths that I might be interested in, so I can apply for colleges after I get my diploma. A couple days ago, however, I came across something that might have at least something to do with my power, as I like to call it. 

Working in law enforcement would work wouldn’t it? I mean people would have to believe me that I have this power, but I am sure there are ways in which they could possibly check it. Law enforcement would be good because I could interrogate people, but instead I would be reading into their past to find out what they did and if they actually did it. 

Oh my god, I just realized that I never really introduced myself have I? How very rude of me. I have just been blabbing on and on about my history, about my power, and what I plan on doing after I get out of this orphanage, and you don’t even know my name. Well I think my name is the reason why so many people wanted to adopt me. My name is Eliza Ruth Hunterson. People seem to think Eliza Ruth is a very beautiful name. I have blonde hair, seemingly, beautiful blue eyes (so I have been told), and I (have also been told) that I have a perfect body. I swear guys at this orphanage are freaking crazy! 

There is no need for strange facts about me as you already know them right? Well, the main one I guess you know. All the other strange things about me have to do with the fact that I can see everyone’s past and future and then remember it. People think it is extremely weird that I have not once looked into a mirror in my life, well that I can remember at least. I am just too afraid too. I do not want to know about my future. I do not want to know when and how I am going to die. I think that I couldn’t handle it, and if I ever did find out, I would be so depressed. 

That’s what I have always wondered though. Is what I see for people’s future actually going to happen, or is it possible to change it if you want to? I have so many questions still about my power. I never know truly, exactly everything. I can remember this one guy, however. He wanted a daughter so badly, a teenage daughter. He was so close to getting me (I know it sounds weird saying he was going to get me, but that’s basically what it means). I saw his future and saw that he was going to be diagnosed with a serious and very rare form of cancer within the next week. Then, three weeks later he was going to die. I had to tell him because after what I had seen when I met him some three years ago, I started crying, and he wanted to know why all of a sudden I was crying. He left almost immediately after I had told him. I felt so badly for him; he could have been a father to me. 

Speaking of adoptions, strangely enough I have a interview for adoption today. Bertha and I were both very surprised actually because no one, and I mean absolutely no one ever has adopted a 17 year old. Whats the point of spending money on adopting a child that will soon be a legal adult. We were going to say no, but I just want to always have someone I can trust, know what I mean? If I need somewhere to go I will always have them. 

It is three o’clock in the afternoon on the 2nd of July, 2015. I am waiting anxiously in the interview room as I have for the past 12 years. I have had thousands of dreams in this room. Yellowish colored walls with old movie posters scattered all over the them, Bertha is a huge movie buff. A white collapsible table is in the middle of the room, with me sitting in one dark brown leather chair on one side, and two empty wooden chairs on the other side. My interview does’t start until 3:30, but I was just too excited to wait anywhere else.

When 3:25 rolled around, I heard a knock on the door. Nerves were flowing through me like pain when you step on a nail. Bertha came walking in with a dark brown haired man, he looked very built and seemed to be like a very serious business man. I did not make eye contact. With interviews I always try not too (especially this one) but always end up somehow making that contact. She also walked in his a bigger tougher looking guy. He must have been a body builder. 

“Eliza, this is Jerry,” pointing to the brown haired man, “and this is Frank. I will leave you three alone to talk,” said Bertha in her soft heartwarming voice. She had shut the door behind her. This was probably the biggest mistake of her life. 

“Hi Jerry and Frank,” I said smiling to the both of them. They were still standing. Jerry had reached into his suit suddenly and said, “Hello Eliza. Do not panic, we are not here to hurt you.” That was the last thing I could remember before everything went black. 

To be continued . . .