There's Something Wrong With Prentice

Ms. Turner was mid sentence about the effects of World War II on the US economy when the classroom door to room 13 flew open unexpectedly, slamming against the wall behind it. Prentice slithered in, shoulders hunched, his black sweatshirt entirely too big for his small frame, the hood so far over his head that his eyes could barely be seen peeking out from underneath. He hurried through the doorway, examining his feet as he strode to the back of the room, avoiding the classroom’s wandering eyes.

“Hoods off at school Mr. Thomas. We were beginning to think you weren't going to make it,” smiled Ms. Turner despite the startled expression on her face. “Glad to see you!”

Prentice didn’t say anything, he just took his seat in the back of the classroom, hands deep in his pockets, with no books or classroom supplies. Ms. Turner was strict, and she always expected her students to come to US History prepared. She was so engrossed in the lesson that she didn’t seem to notice his lack of preparedness. Prentice wasn’t the type of student to ever come unprepared to class. In fact, he was quite the opposite. He was the quiet, studious type. You know, the kind of kid that always has his work done and sits in the back of the class not answering a single question, but never getting below a 95% on a test or assignment.

I, on the other hand, am not that type of student. I sit in the front of the classroom, I constantly participate, and I study flashcards with my mom for days before a test. I am still getting a C+ in Ms. Turner’s class despite my tireless efforts. And believe me, they have been tireless. Coach told me that I couldn’t continue playing varsity football if I couldn’t maintain a B average in all of my classes. Football is what I live for, and I’m good at it. Really good at it. If I keep up at the rate that I’m going, I could quite possibly go to college on a scholarship. I just wish Ms. Turner’s class came as easily to me as Pre-Calculus, which I am currently sitting at a solid 93% with minimal effort. Something about numbers is soothing to me. It isn’t subjective. You either arrive at the correct answer, or you don’t. There isn’t room for a classwide debate on whether your essay about Pride and Prejudice lacks pizzazz or could have easily been written by an elementary schooler. Not that I am speaking from personal experience. My English teacher, Mr. Roberts, who happens to also be my football coach, reminds me everyday that I need to be as good in US History and English as I am in Pre-Calc.

As I drifted further down the rabbit hole of my jumbled thoughts, I felt something hit me square in the back of the head. I tried not to give away how much it had startled me as I turned around to find the source. My best friend Jakari was throwing his hands up at me in an awkward motion from the other side of the classroom mouthing, “Read it man!”

I picked up the small piece of crumpled paper from the floor. Scribbled in big bold letters was:

There’s something wrong with Prentice!

This was exactly the reason I had positioned myself in the front of the classroom. Sitting by Jakari was a recipe for disaster. Jakari was smart, and he didn’t need to pay attention to every single word Ms. Turner said. He was like a sponge, absorbing information through all of his senses, while he sat absentmindedly staring out the classroom window. As this thought crossed my mind I became increasingly aware of just how much of Ms. Turner’s lesson I had missed while engrossed in my little day dream. My stomach churned at the thought, and I snuck the note in my pocket so as to resume paying attention.

Again, I felt something small hit me in the back this time. Slightly flustered, I turned to tell Jakari to cut it out when I noticed his face. He seemed nervous, or was it scared? He was picking at his fingers nervously while his knees knocked together under his desk. I picked up the new note while checking to see that Ms. Turner was still teaching. She droned on about World War II as her class followed along in their textbooks. Once I was sure the coast was clear, I opened the new note to read a new message, this time a little more urgent:

SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH PRENTICE!

I let my eyes shift from the note, to my nervous best friend, to the lump of black sweatshirt in the seat next to him. This was no simple task as I had to completely turn my body around in order to see the back of the classroom. I bent down and pretended to tie my shoe as I let my eyes look Prentice up and down. Something was wrong with Prentice. He was slumped over in his chair, barely moving, it even seemed as if he was barely breathing. His head lolled to one side, his mouth slightly open. Out of shock, I sprung up from my seat unsteady on my feet.

“Is there a problem Elijah,” questioned Ms. Turner. The other students in room 13 picked their heads up from their textbooks and looked back at me curiously.

Words escaped me like whispers as I tried to answer the question. Instead, dumbfounded, I just pointed my shaking finger at Prentice. Ms. Turner eyed Prentice with a puzzled look. She gingerly set the dry erase marker on the ledge of the board and cautiously moved to the back of the room. By this point, everyone abandoned their textbooks to watch Ms. Turner. Twenty-two pairs of eyes earnestly following each step she took. Left, right, left, right. It was a short walk to the back of the classroom, no more than 12 feet, but she seemed to move like molasses. She gently tapped Prentice and quickly snatched her hand away, fear clearly etched in the lines of her face.

“Prentice, are you alright?”

Prentice’s body slid clumsily to the floor with a loud thud, as one of the girls in the front of the classroom screamed in horror. “Oh my God Ms. Turner! He is dead!”

Prentice began convulsing violently on the floor. Every inch of his body was shaking, and frothy saliva was dripping out of the corners of his mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head, the lids closing to slits, revealing only the white corneas underneath. Ms. Turner reacted quickly, violently pushing the desks away from him as she threw her sweater under his head to cushion it against the cold hard tile. “Go get help Ashley,” she shouted. Ashley bolted out of the classroom like she had wheels, while the remainder of the class watched the scenario unfold in a loose circle.

Prentice stopped convulsing and in one quick movement his body bolted upright, and now there was a thick foamy yellow liquid trickling out of his nose and mouth, pooling on the floor below him. It smelled rancid and had the qualities of a thick slime. As his large sweatshirt fell from his head, an enormous bloody gash was visible on his neck. I leaned in closer to take a look. Blood was dripping all the way down Prentice’s back, soaking the oversized hoodie. I immediately could tell that It wasn’t a cut that was visible on Prentice’s neck, but a very clear bite mark, that looked remarkably human. He opened his eyes, and they were a striking bright red color around his deep brown pupils. He gazed around the classroom with a blank unregistering stare. His skin was oddly pale. So pale that each of his individual veins could be seen running up and down his neck. He had the appearance of a walking corpse. This wasn’t Prentice at all anymore, but a shell of the teenager that used to be. That’s when he turned his head slowly to his left, and opened his mouth to speak. But it wasn’t words that trickled out, instead, a heavy stream of vomit spewed all over Jakari covering him from head to toe. ‘What is that smell’ I thought, as I instinctively covered my face with my sleeve. I choked down the feeling of fresh throw up rising in my throat as I doubled over to keep from puking. Prentice’s open mouth smelled of rot and decay as it turned up into a sort of makeshift grimace, not quite a smile.

Prentice jerked up from the floor, crawling toward Jakari. The way his body moved was something from my worst nightmares, more like a creature than a high school boy. All the while his eyes were fixed in a kind of trance, and his face continued to wear the same ugly grimace. The class gasped, as Prentice jumped on top of a flailing Jakari. The scene reminded me of a grotesque animal documentary where the lion bares down on its prey with razor sharp teeth and claws. His rotten teeth sunk into Jakari’s arm, spilling red hot blood that mixed with the foul smelling vomit on the white tile floor. Everyone stood frozen, unsure of how to react, and not quite quick enough to intervene. Ms. Turner tackled Prentice like a linebacker. His mouth pulled away from Jakari’s arm, taking a large piece of skin in his teeth. He turned his eyes from Jakari to Ms. Turner and began to claw at her eyes like a wild animal, strange noises coming from the pit of his stomach.

The door flew open to expose the horrific scene in room 13 to the hallway. The principal, Mr. Jackson, rushed into the room followed by our school nurse, Mrs. Laymen, and Ashley. Prentice was momentarily taken off guard so that Ms. Turner was able to untangle her body from his. He looked at the new people entering the room like fresh meat, as he sprinted toward them, uttering a low guttural growl. Mr. Jackson threw Prentice’s body away from his as hard as he could, knocking him into a row of desks. Prentice popped up only slightly stunned and continued to run full speed at our principal. Acting quickly, Mr. Jackson grabbed the heavy paperweight from Ms. Turner’s desk and swung it with force at Prentice’s head. With a muffled thud, Prentice stopped in his tracks and fell to the floor in front of Mr. Jackson. Panting, Mr. Jackson surveyed the room.

“Help the boy Mrs. Laymen. I am going to take Prentice out of here. Everyone else,” he said addressing the rest of the quiet room, who were now huddled under desks, as far away from the chaos as possible, “stay put until we get to the bottom of this. Our entire school is on lockdown.” The classroom, myself included, watched horrified as Mr. Jackson dragged Prentice’s lifeless body from room 13. I was only mildly aware of the sweat dripping from my forehead as I rushed to check on my best friend, who was screaming in agony, in a puddle of his own blood. The nurse was holding thick rags on Jakari’s wound, applying pressure in an attempt to get the bleeding to stop.

“The ambulance is on its way Jakari.” She repeated the words like a mantra to calm him. Little did we know that the ambulance would never make it. I sat with Mrs. Laymen and my best friend on the floor, wishing for it all to stop. I looked around the room to see my other classmates doing their best to hide. Several girls were huddled in a corner together, silent tears streaming down their faces. Judah paced in front of the windows muttering under his breath, wringing his hands nervously. Then the room fell silent as Jakari’s body went limp in Mrs. Laymen’s arms.

She pulled the rags away to reveal a mixture of blood, and thick foamy yellow slime. With a shudder, she sprang away from Jakari as he began convulsing on the floor. The same yellow liquid began trickling from his nose and mouth.

Judah shouted from across the room, “RUN,” as he took off at a dead sprint through the classroom door. The rest of the class pushed and shoved each other as they trampled their way wide eyed from room 13.

Ms. Turner shouted at me, “Move Elijah! There is nothing you can do!” She ran after her class, her clothing drenched in foul smelling vomit. I did my best to grab Mrs. Laymen’s arm to pull her from the floor. I don’t know if she was in shock, or still convinced she could help Jakari, but she wouldn’t budge.

“Mrs. Laymen, please! Come on!” I shouted with urgency. She just stared at Jakari’s convulsing body, unable to move. Jakari sat up slowly like someone coming out of a deep sleep. Now, I could feel the fear creep up my spine as my entire body broke out in goosebumps. I gave one last attempt to move Mrs. Laymen before turning to run for the door. I only narrowly missed the stream of vomit that drenched Mrs. Laymen. As I reached the doorway, I heard her scream. I looked back for a split second, which is all I could safely spare. Jakari was on top of Mrs. Laymen’s writhing body.

For a moment I paused outside of the doorway running on nothing but pure adrenaline. Where do I go? Mrs. Laymen’s screams came from behind me, but there were also screams coming from further down the hallway. I had no idea where to go, but I knew I needed to make a decision quickly. I couldn’t risk running as I thought it would make too much noise, so I quietly crept down the hall, pausing to listen before passing each doorway. I inched my way through the long hallway one room at a time, which seemed to stretch in front of my very eyes. Was it just me, or had the hallway always been this long? Past room 14, now room 15, room 16… Everything appeared to be deserted, so where were the phantom screams coming from? The adrenaline was giving way to a quiet, invading terror. I could feel it consume me, clouding my judgement, muddling my thoughts. The hair on my arms was standing like tiny needles, reacting to the energy all around me.

I made it to the north stairwell and a pungent smell wafted through the air, dancing its way into my nostrils. Pulling my t-shirt up over my nose and mouth, I began to tiptoe as quietly as I could down the stairs, one stair at a time. The smell seemed to grow in size until it engulfed all of my senses. It was so disgusting that I had to work to keep myself from throwing up my lunch. The bottom of the stairwell was dark. I glanced up to see that someone had in fact shattered the lightbulb into tiny pieces, as my foot felt the crunch of glass under it. I inched back, afraid that I had already made too much noise, giving away my position. Shuffling my feet along the floor to quiet the sound of the broken glass, I used my hands to feel my way through the darkness. Almost there, almost to the first floor. My right hand slid into something warm and wet on the wall and my feet began to slip. They flew out from under me, slamming my body to the floor, into a pool of warm, fresh, blood. Just inches from my face I could see two shapes come into focus in the darkness. Prentice was gnawing away at Mr. Jackson’s insides. He paused momentarily to look up from the entrails, searching for the source of the noise. I froze, making eye contact with the creature covered in my principal’s blood. He seemed to decide that I wasn’t worth the time, and continued with the grizzly deed of eating Mr. Jackson.

Not having time to dwell, I jumped to my feet, sliding in the mess below me. I took off running back up the stairs at a full on sprint. No time to think about the noise I was making as I went. I can run back across the second story hall to the south stairwell. If I can just make it there, I can take it to the first floor and right out the front doors. My heart was pumping out a steady rhythm giving power to my limbs, as my feet regained traction the further I made it up the stairs. The adrenaline pumping again, I hit the top stair and headed back down the hallway on the second floor. My breathing was steady from all of the years of sports. My head was clear again. It was just one foot in front of the other now. I dashed past room 16, 15, 14, 13… That’s when I heard the growl of a large animal only paces behind me. Craning my neck to look behind me, I saw a blood stained Jakari tearing out of room 13 after me. His bright red eyes had a crazed, hungry look, and his pale fingers reached in front of him grasping wildly at the air. I could practically feel his foul breath on my neck as he picked up speed.

Jakari was fast on the football field, but luckily I was faster. I grabbed the large trash can on my left and sent it hurling behind me. The can hit Jakari head on, sending him flying, rolling down the hall. The clever stunt only momentarily slowed him down. He regained his footing with a kind of ferocity, growling, still chasing me. Hungry. I hit the stairway, jumping, skipping multiple steps to reach the bottom. My feet propelled me forward through the entrance way, my arms shoving the doors open with such force that I could almost hear them scream. Jakari was still only paces behind me.

I felt the warm sunshine on my face, blinding me, as I made my way through the last barrier to my freedom.

“Hands in the air!” A loud voice was booming at me through a large megaphone. The school was surrounded by military personnel and men in suits. A man in a vest labeled CDC grabbed me, removing me from harm’s way, as dozens of men with large guns infiltrated my school, taking Jakari out in one quick shot to the head.

***

Ms. Turner spent a full hour in the shower rinsing the rancid vomit from her hair, and under her nails. She didn’t bother to wash her stained dress, instead she threw it in the bathroom wastebasket. She had spent hours helping the CDC and military clear the school. All students and staff were examined and questioned at length. Ms. Turner was cleared and sent home to rest. She would not be returning to school until the CDC did a more thorough evaluation of the building, which they informed everyone could take weeks. After her shower, she settled in with her fiance, and large tabby cat to watch the eleven o’clock news. Watching the news coverage of the incident made Ms. Turner’s stomach do summersaults. She walked into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face, hoping it would calm her stomach. The cold water felt refreshing on her face, but her stomach still crawled and ached. As she lifted her head up, she examined her reflection in the mirror. She almost didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her. All Ms. Turner saw were a pair of bright red eyes. A walking corpse.