"The Ghost of Bloodwood Elementary School"
a short story by Arissa Tokita
In my neighborhood, there’s this school called “Bloodwood”. Though I used to go to that school, and there’s a reason why it’s called that. But I never want to talk about that place ever again. I hope you understand.
I was about 11 at the time and when I went to the school, we’d sometimes do this thing where we snuck into the school at night and explore without the fear of being caught. Although the school was fairly big, two stories in fact, my friends and I were never that interested in it. We were always hanging out in the center of the school by this single oak tree to just relax. I’d never known that place was the last place I would want to be.
During a cold September night, my friends and I did our usual routine, sneaking into the courtyard. The dim light of the moon as our only light source. However, we noticed that there was something already sitting at the base of the tree, slumped over.
We figured that someone else had got in the school just like us, but the more we inched towards it, the more we started to realize that it wasn’t an ordinary student.
The silhouette started to turn into a man, possibly in his 40’s or 50’s. His hair looked black, starting to turn grey from his aging. He wore a light brown coat with a black tie in the center. But the scariest thing was that he was covered in blood.
Even though we made our presence known, he stayed completely still, silent, as if he was waiting for us to come a little closer...
After we were only a couple of feet from him, he looked up, smiling, though, it wasn’t the kind that made you feel warm and welcome. It was a large grin, evil, pure horror. His eyes were completely white and his face was covered in even more blood than the rest of his body.
All I remember is running, as a shrill shriek of fear escaped my mouth, as the man stood up and started to come towards me. One of the neighboring houses had called the police by then when they heard a scream coming from the school. Thankfully, we all escaped the entity.
A few days after the incident, I finally told my parents what I saw. My mother told me to describe the figure, then held up a picture of what looked like the man we had seen that night.
The photo was old with some wrinkles around the edges and a fair bit of fading color as well. He had hazel colored eyes and tan skin. He was wearing the same clothes as the figure by the oak tree.
“This is a picture of when I went to that school.” she spoke.
“He was the former principal before the last one took over. His name was Samuel Hotaru. Only years later was his 7 year old son the victim of murder.” “He planted that tree in the school in memory of his son, who loved oak trees. Later, he was blamed for the incident and sentenced to death that same day.”
I stared at her in shock and disbelief at her. I didn’t know how to react.
15 years later, no one still believes me when I say what happened that night, and only my friends that were there with me the same night. The others still write me off as crazy, but I know what I saw, and I refuse to go back to that place because I feel like he’s still there, waiting
watching...
