The Obsession

Mr. Calloway had always prided himself on being a professional. As a history teacher, he believed in structure and routine. His classroom was always meticulously organized, and his lesson plans were carefully crafted weeks in advance. He thrived in the predictable rhythm of school life, the steady flow of each day, and the comforting certainty of his small world. But that all changed the moment Eliza walked into his classroom.

She was new. A transfer student. She didn’t belong to the group of teenagers who had known each other for years. There was something about her that immediately set her apart—something unspoken, something unsettling. Eliza had long, dark hair that hung like a veil over her pale face, and her eyes were unnaturally large, deep, and dark, like blackened pools of water. She would often sit at the back of the class, her gaze trained on Mr. Calloway as though she was studying him with an intensity that made him feel vulnerable. He found himself nervous under her scrutiny, a feeling he hadn’t experienced since his early days of teaching.

She didn’t speak much, but when she did, her voice had a quiet, melodic quality, the kind that lingered long after she’d spoken. She was a mystery—one he was eager, yet terrified, to solve.

It started subtly. Mr. Calloway would catch her staring at him, her gaze unwavering, while the other students chatted and laughed among themselves. At first, it seemed like a mere coincidence, but as the days passed, it became a pattern. He would glance at her, and she would be watching, her eyes never leaving him. There was no hostility in her stare, only something far more disturbing—a quiet, unsettling hunger.

He noticed, too, that she often lingered after class. At the end of the day, when the bell rang, the students would rush out of the room, eager to get home, but Eliza would slowly gather her things, never in a hurry. She’d glance up at him, as if waiting for something, and he, unable to ignore the pull, would find himself speaking to her more than was necessary.

"Do you need help with the material?" he’d ask, offering to go over lessons she clearly already understood.

Her answer was always the same. "No, I’m fine, Mr. Calloway. I just like talking to you."

Those words, spoken so softly, so innocently, would send a chill up his spine. It felt almost as though she could see through him, into something deep and hidden—something dark he had buried long ago.

He had always kept his emotions in check, but Eliza’s presence began to stir something inside him. Something he couldn’t quite name. Something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

But he couldn’t help himself. He began to look forward to her lingering after class, to the quiet conversations they would have, to the way she would smile at him with those knowing eyes.

One evening, after a particularly long and tiring day of grading papers, Mr. Calloway decided to stay late at school to prepare for the upcoming lessons. The building was empty, the only sound the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. His mind was racing, his body exhausted, but he couldn’t shake the thought of Eliza. He had to know more about her. He had to understand why she made him feel this way.

He was so engrossed in his work that he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. It wasn’t until the door creaked open that he looked up, startled. Standing in the doorway was Eliza, her dark eyes glistening in the low light.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said, her voice like honey, sweet but tinged with something darker.

“No, not at all. What can I do for you?” he replied, trying to sound casual, but his heart was pounding in his chest.

“I wanted to talk,” she said softly, stepping into the room, her movements slow and deliberate. “About what you said in class today. About the fall of empires. It made me think... about rebuilding.”

Rebuilding. That word. It sent a strange tremor through him, and he fought to suppress it.

“What about it?” he asked, his voice betraying a hint of unease.

She took a step closer, and for the first time, Mr. Calloway felt the space between them tighten. Eliza’s eyes never left his, and he couldn’t help but notice how her pupils seemed to dilate, as though she were becoming more attuned to him.

“You said empires fall from within. From corruption. Do you think people can be rebuilt the same way?” Her question hung in the air like a challenge, a dark invitation.

“I think it’s possible,” he said cautiously, trying to maintain control. “But it takes time, effort, and a willingness to change. It’s not easy. People... people can’t always overcome their past.”

She smiled at him, but it wasn’t the smile of a student seeking answers. It was knowing, predatory, as though she already had the answers and was toying with him.

“I think we can rebuild,” she whispered. “Together.”

Her voice wrapped around him like a web, drawing him in. The words made no sense, but they felt too familiar, too right in that moment. He wanted to argue, to push her away, but there was something about her gaze, about the way she was standing so close to him, that made his words falter.

He tried to step back, but his feet felt heavy, as though the air itself had thickened. He blinked and, for just a moment, her face shifted. Her features twisted in a way that was impossible to describe—her skin seemed to ripple, her eyes turning black, swallowing all light. She was no longer just a student; she was something... other. Something ancient and wrong.

Before he could scream, her hand shot out, gripping his wrist with inhuman strength. The coldness of her touch spread like ice through his veins, and he felt a burning sensation crawl up his arm. His body refused to move. His mouth opened, but no sound came.

“You’ve been lonely, Mr. Calloway,” she purred, her voice now an almost guttural growl. “Haven’t you? You’ve been waiting for someone to rebuild you. But the truth is... I am the one who will rebuild you. I will make you whole again.”

Her lips twisted into a smile, revealing teeth far too sharp to be human. The darkness around them deepened, swallowing the room. The walls seemed to close in, and the air grew thick, suffocating.

Eliza leaned in, her breath icy against his ear. “You’ll never escape me. You’re mine now.”

And in that moment, Mr. Calloway realized, too late, that he was already lost.

The next morning, the classroom was quiet. The students filed in, talking amongst themselves, completely unaware that their teacher was missing. Eliza sat in the front, her eyes gleaming with a new, dangerous energy. Her hands rested on the desk in front of her, pale and still, like the calm before a storm.

No one noticed the absence of Mr. Calloway. They thought he had simply called in sick, as teachers often did. They didn’t notice the small changes—the flickering lights, the cold air that clung to the walls, the way the building seemed to hum with an unnatural, ominous rhythm.

And in the darkness of the school’s empty halls, Mr. Calloway’s screams echoed once more—distant, muffled, but still there, calling from somewhere deep within the school’s forgotten corners.

Eliza’s gaze flickered to the door as a student knocked gently, asking if class was starting.

With a smile, Eliza waved them in. The game had only just begun.