The Rented School

 (rented by ghosts)

Chapter 1: What It’s All About

‘Triads of torment triggering lie’ – You might have read these lines somewhere if you are a follower of my blog. Although I might not have yet suggested what this story’s all about, you might have guessed it – it’s about a haunted school – an abandoned old school with tittering pillars and scraped walls, right? Wrong.

This isn’t a story, presume it as an incident. An encounter with death. Well, this took place in a school I was, which forced me to leave it out of fear.

Remember these lines I said – ‘Triads of torment triggering lie’ apparently, in a tower.

Before we move on to the ‘decomposition’ of the story into ‘soluble concepts’, we would rather first check how the school was built. It has a fine architecture, with exactly four floors above a neatly defined ground level. There are four corridors woven into a square, with a large squarish ground in the centre. If you stand in that square ground, you can fairly see all the students’ exhaustion reflected back to your eyes.

Now, here’s where it gets interesting. There’s another smaller construction beside the larger main one. This is for teachers and some other additional classes – like music, arts, etc. The smaller is attached to the larger by a narrow chain of cement and iron, i.e. a corridor.

Every floor barring the 4^th has an attachment to the new building. You see, the 4^th floor was being renovated before the new building was constructed and hence, it was decided that students and teachers shall use the 3^rd floor for interface.

The most pathetic part was that there were no elevators at the moment. Hence the railroads of ‘steps instead of rails’ were interwoven into a barricade of confusion.

Hitherto everything was peachy.

The ghost events turned out to be a major timeline. As we study the French Revolution, we see there was no particular date to it. A series of events over periods of time collectively formed the revolution. Similarly, the Ghost Revolution came into existence after and including a series of paranormal activities.

This progression started when a girl noticed a ghost in the girl’s washroom. Yep, you may have heard of various spirits in these kinds of places. The girl mentioned there was a shadow in the dimly lit washroom. And as we move on to future, we further observe fathomless encounters. The prelude to the war was a more frightening one.

As one suggests, a teacher was scratched badly on her back in the same washroom. It wasn’t an event to ignore. The deserted washroom hosted a spirit. Henceforth, it was forbidden to use it.

The next set of events is the one I’m going to walk through and through.

Chapter 2: ‘One man’s Truth is Another Man’s Lie’

You see, I was a friend of one of those which you say ‘groupist’ people. I’m not talking about Leeha (refer to my first story – ‘The Ghost Who Takes the Shape of a Human’ for who she is). I’m talking about Denise. We roamed round the school alleys when the teachers weren’t around. There were two boys with us – Ben and Yatharth.

These humans were what we call ‘typical boys’ – with a peculiar interest in sports. Personally, barring badminton, I would rather shoot myself then play with them.

I may warn you that the next set of events is rather confusing. Well, it so happened that me and my friends were walking down the pathways of my school building (after school, of course) and we noticed some other homo sapiens strolling by.

We motioned a ‘Hi’ to them, however, precisely at the wrong moment - their faces glowed with vindication – an evil one rather. Well, you see (as you always do), we had a huge fight with those homo sapiens, because they have a sort of personality as those of the stone age ones – hyper, aggressive, offending, getting offended, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

They disrupt the very essence of peace in you. Once you meet Margaret, Rita, Rohan and Charles, you realize there’s no purpose to dwell alive if you would endlessly encounter such people.

“Hello, Transylvania’s Got Talent, pls don’t suck our bloods, dearests,” commented Rita.

“Well, you’re not even an option, your blood is as bitter as the rottenest of the eggs.” Denise shot back.

“Same as your voice.” seconded Yatharth.

“Well, well as the star proceeds into the black hole, it kinda feels a lot of pain, I presume. You’re the stars, we are the black holes.”

“A black hole which is as dense as a pile of tar.”

“Alright folks, stop the hustle and bustle of your larynxes, for it is a nightmare to those who have ears.”

“Yep but that won’t bother you a bit, though.”

And this cacophony went on for a moment till bigfoot stamped his big foot on this tiny apartment of ghost-residents. This means, that a sudden shock wave crawled through the walls of this building. However, it emerged a sound of a thud and an abrupt thwack following it.

This shut up the emerging words. However, soon I realized that ‘thuck’ wasn’t a construction or rather a normal sound. It was the sound of a wall opening up. The disruption mastered itself to a rather frightening tone, and a loud ‘bang’ quaked a ‘hello’ over on the 4^th floor.

Hence, the noobs at detective business, otherwise known as Rita and Denise, coming from rival powers, arose, empowering the rest of the crew to follow them along their voyage to the top floor; and as wise ones reply ‘No’, me and the rest wise folks shot a straight ‘NO’ at the fearless stupid.

And as we saw, they proceeded into what I don’t know, maybe Tartarus?

PS: TARTARUS: Kind of hell in Greek Mythology

LARYNX: Voice-organ

Chapter 3: Two Presidents in a Coalition

AUDIO-RECORDING BY DENISE

Hello there! I’m Denise, my ship’s captain, of course. And beside me is Rita, the meanest of the thorns. I move into this lair of excitement; I observe the majestic beastly eyes of the demon– the 4^th floor.

At this moment I am on the 3^rd floor (new building) with Rita. We have a voice recorder with ourselves if we see something interesting rather.

“So, Rita, what are you going to do if we find goons on that floor?”

“Well, we’ll battle them, huh!”

“Yeah, but there might be many of them.”

“It’s not an option. These goons might rob a bank, or crash through a mall, but they’ll never break into a school.”

“Well, they can to leak test papers, don’t you think.”

“And who would want to buy them?”

“Well, there’re a lot of teens in our school who might want to have the questions in their arms before the rest of the humanity does.”

At this, Rita smirked off the subject as though I’m of no importance. (Who does she think she is?)

We’re reaching on the 4^th floor of the new building. Phew! There’s nothing really, just an entrance to the old one. The old building’s 4^th floor isn’t used very often, just for some lab activities and physics experiments. However, today it looks rather… different. There’s not a speck of dust on the floors, the lights are turned off (looks creepy) and the classroom doors are open.

There’s basically no light entering this arena, just some sunlight through the square foreground. However, huge trees are planted on this foreground, which restrict the free movement of sunlight. I haven’t noticed these trees for years. Maybe they might have been too usual for me to take note of.

The floor is enveloped in a dark, maroon glow. The sunlight filtered by those trees appears red, somehow. I might click a picture of it, though.

Whoa!

I notice 2 girls emerging out from one of the classrooms. They appear to be rather stiff. O lord, what are Krisha and Margaret doing here? They, by far, are one of the – wait –

(better not speak about either of them; this recording’s going to get forwarded)

“Ahoy girls? What are you both up to here?”

Krisha and Rita don’t utter a single word. Their mouths appear to lie still, as if sewed with a pointy needle. Wait, there are traces of blood on their lips.

“Come with us, we have something interesting.”

Their tone was rather hoarse. These words escaped through their mouths as they were keeping their head down. They are looking at me, their mouths manifesting into something – something that scares me. Their lips are expanding, their eyes are cracking, they are grinning at us savagely, as if they wish to rip our hearts away and eat them.

“Come with us.” They uttered.

“AAOW, STOP PRANKING US!”

However, they continue to utter these words and we are – AAAAAAAAAAAAA

Chapter 4: Back Again to Myself

The dawn is taking its shape, and I am at my dome, waiting; waiting for Denise to call me back. I wonder if I shall ever breathe again, my best friend hasn’t called me since yesterday. I remember telling her not to go there, she just went on. Let me message Denise’s mother.

Dearest Mrs. Stevenson,

Denise hasn’t called me since yesterday, which she promised to do. Hence, if you could just confirm her whereabouts by messaging me…,

That would be great.

Thank you.

Her mom replied in a millisecond. You see, she’s online most of the time.

Krisha,

Yes, she’s alright. However, she had returned from school very late yesterday, at midnight. Is she in some sort of trouble? She hasn’t spoken to us and lies in her room most of the time, looking down at the floor. Mark and I tried to ask her about it; she gives no response. I have decided to send her to school to recover.

The day goes by and I meet Denise. However, she looks different – in a sense she isn’t her anymore. I mean it, for her eyes show no spark of the eternal glory she thought she would be about to receive the next moment, nor does she utter a word when I speak to her. Her ignorance towards humanity grieves me – she must have gone through something terrible.

At recess, I sneak off to check her mobile, however, definitely unlike her, she doesn’t carry her ‘soul’. I send a ‘Hi’ message to her as the last alternative to hearing a notification; there is none – not even around her. In addition, the message didn’t reach her mobile – the data isn’t wandering around there as it usually does.

“Denise,” I begin, when she enters the class, however, continue no more as I look at her eyes. Her eyes – unlike the rest of them which follow the laws of nature – don’t reflect my face or the classroom. There, in her eyes, is a face – a horrible scarred one. It is staring at me relentlessly, and I pursue myself to reply as if expecting providence from above, “Uh, can I borrow your homework, I haven’t done it today.”

At this, she grins evilly and nods. The lady inside her grins too, and I am left with no alternative but to grab her book and dart to my seat, as that girl leaves the room.

“O lord!” I thought to myself, “What the heck is going around this place! How does this even work!”

I open her book and observe that nothing is written there, really, not even notes taken before one month or so. I slip the book into Denise’s bag and rummage through her belongings. There is nothing there! Things which were floating round in the bag when I looked for her mobile have somehow immaterialized.

I quickly close the bag and keep Denise’s book with me, for she mustn’t know I’ve seen her bag. At this, she enters the classroom once again and I muster my confidence to myself.

“Hi Denise,” you haven’t completed your notes. Do it fast because ma’am is really picky.”

At this, her malevolent smile turns evident. Again. I hand her empty book to her, and she takes it back, muttering some words which I’m not able to deduce.

There are only 10 mins for recess to get over. I must move to one of Rita’s friends to confirm if this encounter has changed her or not.

“Hey Charles,” I begin, “Did u see Rita anywhere around?”

“Yep, she’s here, however she’s been behaving weirdly. Margaret told me she muttered to herself ‘I’ll bring them there’ five times in the washroom.”

“Well, apparently, you see, Denise has gone nuts as well.”

At this we both burst out laughing; I am very comfortable talking to him, it seems.

“Well, Charles,” I suddenly materialize into Sherlock Homes for some or the other reason, “I notice a figure of a scarred girl in Denise’s eyes. I can’t see her face clearly, but it is scarred, very scarred. Shouldn’t the eye reflect my face? Or the class’?”

This creeps the boy out. “What!!??” Charles cries in disbelief, “This shouldn’t happen…”

“Well, that is the thing.”

And at this note, the harshest sound I’ve ever heard reverberates through the soft ears of students, of course, the bell. Its pitch is a straight up 50,000 Hz (I know, I know. The hearing range of our pathetic creatures is from 20-20kHZ, I’m just using hyperbole).

Charles shoots a, “HEY!” in the environment and I can’t help but cry with laughter. You see, these precious moments of me conversing with people don’t last very long, hence, I must live through every bit.

Avoiding the eyes of my teacher (unfortunately completely sane and human, reflecting the plight of the tired students), I proceed to asking Sameera, a girl who sits beside me and is quite amiable, so to say.

“Sameera, why is Denise looking like a ghost?” I bluntly speak.

“What Denise? You know that she’s absent, right?”

😱😱😱😱😱

“No, no… she’s definitely not absent. I saw her here! What is HAPPENING!!!???”

“Krisha, u alright? Ask ma’am if you wish; although I don’t recommend it.”

The effect of these words has me in a state of delusion. It is more overwhelming than the moment my teacher erupts then, all the lava cascading from her mouth, morphing into:

“Students, pay attention! Some of you are violent today, aren’t you dears!”

She is definitely not controlled by ghosts.

I would say she scares ghosts.

“And, what about Rita?”

“Don’t you see, she’s absent as well. Krisha, please stop joking.”

“Uh, yeah, I was joking, sorry.”

I motion to Charles; he’s sitting on the bench beside me, fortunately.

“Charles!” I whisper, “Charles!”

“Yeah” He whispers back.

“Charles! Sameera says Rita and Denise are absent today.”

“Krisha, you know I respect you a lot and listen to you even though class is going on, but your pranks are ruining my concentration.”

If you have known Charles, you might say he has an eccentric personality. He is both – polite and rude at the same time. This is rather confusing.

“Charles, no! I’m not joking. This is serious. Meet me outside after this lecture ends.”

“Yeah sure” he suddenly grows nervous, I can’t deduce for which reason – the ghost, or having a conversation with the most talented personality in the class, me. 😜😜

The lecture is going on and on, time passes by and by, the teacher lies explaining and explaining, and we muster a poker-face to hide our rebellion towards the height of strictness.

Soon, after half an hour as per my professor, and a day as per me, the bell springs alive. Ah! The pitch which had once deafened me now oozes pleasure in my ears.

I see the teacher leaving and I leap to the class end. I watch as Charles emerges out of the cacophony.

“Krisha.”

“Charles.”

“So, you called me out to speak about you being haunted by ghosts.”

I told you so, readers. He’s polite and rude at the same time.

“Well, apparently, Denise and Rita are visible to us, but not to others.”

“How’s that possible?”

“I don’t know!? That’s why I’ve called you.”

He randomly attempts to inquire a student of the existence of the two girls in this school or not, and I swiftly interrupt, “Sorry, he’s about to ask you to copy your homework. Say no and go on.”

“Charles, how – how can you just ask somebody like that?”

“You asked Sameera.”

“She’s a friend. You probably don’t even know that person over there.”

The teen looks down at his feet as if in embarrassment. We have this discussion about how to formulate a plan, and we decide to examine the situation further and release a strategy later on. We exchange numbers and follow each other on Instagram. That makes it a lot easier to communicate.

After hours or so, the eternal torment, aka school, found its conclusion. I am walking with Charles to home. You see, he lives near me, and we decide to think about ghosts right now. However, there is rather one stinky fat problem. My usual routine ends with me walking home with Denise, and I surely can’t refuse the monster she’s got. Hence, I’d to synthesize an excuse for this.

After days of thinking during class, I had figured I would just ask Charles what he would say if he were in my position.

“Well” he replied, “I would talk about a group project – no – that’s too lame. Wait – you might as well put up with a situation where I know a secret of yours, which, of course, Denise might know, and you’d have to have a walk with me home to negotiate about me keeping your secret. How ‘bout that?! He jeered triumphantly.

“Charles… that’s intense.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Yeah”

However, as I am walking with this peculiar teen, I notice two figures approaching us. They would be termed ‘shagged remains of the once Denise and Rita’. I look at Charles and he shoots a fearful look back. We prepare to sprint, however, interrupted by the normal tone of Rita’s voice.

“Hey”

“Hi”

“So I know he knows your secret, but I would like to walk with you. See, yesterday I found something way interesting than before. There’s a canteen there, with tons of Coke bottles and snacks. We ate like hell there. Didn’t u know?”

Apparently, Denise had tried to share my secret with her new friend. This is not like her at all. Of course, who could do that, other than the haunted fat old ghost. 😠😠

I don’t know what to say.

“Just a minute, I’ll just check; I presume I’ve got an Instagram follower.”

At this, I move five steps back, and message Charles.

Charles, she’s tricking us to go to that floor. Make an excuse ASAP!

Yeah.

 

“Well, you two,” the ghost of Denise speaks, “Yatharth and Margaret have eaten in the canteen. You might, as well.”

“No thanks, I’ve devoured two pizzas today.”

“Yeah, me too. Actually, I ate with her.”

(He didn’t need to say that. That might have revealed a ton of things, that he was in the actual school canteen during lunch, and if he were with me during the canteen, then why was he noticed in the class by some students. If so, then I would have been in the class as well, which might mean that we knew the presence of ghosts in our school.)

“Yeah” I seconded the lie.

Fortunately, the ghosts were dumber than I thought.

“Alright you two, carry on with your tête-à-tête.” Rita grins evilly, as if to say, “If not today, then tomorrow.”

Charles and I hurry off on to the end of the road. As I saw, the road becomes more and more curved. Houses slant, roads bow. Something isn’t right. The one beside me feels the same way. Our fears are confirmed when we see Yatharth on the street, entwined by some horridly charred and rusted chains, tons of iron oxide draped over a high quality iron. Our friend is sort of unconscious, with his spine curled like a cobra’s neck, his face bowing and smashed against a wall. This is terrifying, as it means a similar fate could be reflected back.

We glare at each other, and sprint in the other direction, that is, towards our old haunted school. We notice Denise and Rita having eyes fixed on us, and run faster. There’s no one apart from the five of us – two humans, three ghosts.

We keep on this adventure till we reach a human habitation. There are people around. But wait – this is our school. We went – from school to school. If this is our school, what had we been running from? The scene was just the same, except for the presence of lives and no curved roads or skies.

“What is going on?” Charles mutters. I shoot a straight ‘I don’t know’ look at him, praying for him to stop gazing at people, because I wish to stop people gazing at us. We are in a terrible state – jeans torn, ragged shirts, dusty faces and scarred hands.

“There seems to be a dimension” I utter, “I don’t know what, but on the will of these ghosts, it seems to connect this dimension to that one. The curvature of the roads and sky might be an indicator of the second dimension.”

“Yeah, you mean to say Denise, and the others – the real ones I mean – are prisoned in the other dimension.”

“Yep”

We continue to walk, our mobiles in command, to our homes. The day further progresses with atrocity as a car splashes some mud on our clothes. Plus, we are left with no money – all we had had dropped off when we ran. The ragged nomabs, i.e., me and my unaware-of-the-present circumstances companion, wore jeans – and the pockets were torn because of I don’t know what.

Hence, we stroll and stroll till we reach our homes. Well, he goes to his one, which isn’t far away. ‘I could have called my parents’ I think. But when I check my phone, I notice no sign of battery.

“Ugh! Things which happen to me” I mutter.

When I reach my home, I collapse on the sofa, and my mom is looking worried. She’s probably thinking that I’m beaten up by bullies. Yeah, mom, I’m beaten up by bullies. Ghost bullies.

       - Krisha Shastri

Chapter 3 after some days...