Halloween #9

He was a reasonably popular kid. He wore glasses and liked books but he was also on some sports teams and had a group of pleasant, reasonably well-behaved friends. He did his homework, rarely acted up in class and always wore the same yellow sweater. His teacher, Mr. Ratburn, had him pegged as a fairly typical 8 year old boy from a small-town middle class family and spent his energy on the handful of kids in class with behavioural problems - the rabbit kid with the eating and hygiene issues, the big kid with anger management problems, the rich girl who had been expelled from private school after private school until her despairing parents had finally placed her in the local public school.

Then one autumn day after class, the boy was standing nervously at his desk.
"Can I talk to you, Mr. Ratburn?" he asked.

Of course, the teacher said, not sure what he was about to hear. Was the boy having problems with math? Was that athletic, bullying girl sexually harassing him again?

"It's my... it's my sister," said the boy. "I'm afraid of her."

"Afraid of your sister?" asked Mr. Ratburn. "Isn't she only four?"

"Yeah," said the boy. "It sounds silly. But I am. I am really scared, Mr. Ratburn. She had a pet bird named Spanky. And he died and my mom and dad said that pets die sometimes. But I saw her putting window cleaner in his feeder earlier, and no one believes me."

"She smashed Grandma Thora's old doll, Clarissa. She said it was an accident, but I saw her swinging it by the heels into the sidewalk. And when she saw me looking, she said that I was next!"

"And the worst thing - you know that girl who is missing, Nadine? I saw her and my sister arguing earlier that day and my sister told me that Nadine was going to get it. Now no one can find her, and all my sister will say is that she was tired of her."

"I'm really scared!" the boy told the teacher, tears falling from his eyes.

"Don't worry," the teacher said. "I'll go talk with your parents tonight and we'll see if we can get everything all straightened out." The boy sniffled and wiped his nose and nodded. Mr. Ratburn watched out the window as he headed out by himself down the sidewalk, past the empty teacher's parking lot. Just a small boy in a yellow sweater, his shoulders hunched, walking home in the startling darkness of a heavy rainstorm.

Mr. Ratburn sighed. This probably would mean he would miss his online puppetry discussion group, but the boy had seemed really distressed. He started packing up the children's history projects - the rabbit's was covered in filthy fingerprints and had something foul smelling on the first page - when he suddenly became aware that he was not alone in the building. What had he just heard?

It was nothing, he told himself sternly. Then the sound happened again, an unmistakable sound - a door locking. Then a child running down a hallway in heavy-soled shoes. He felt a brief thrill of fear, and then reminded himself that it was a school, that children frequently came back to pick up forgotten shoes, coats, homework -

- The lights went out. Someplace, a small child giggled. He walked quickly to the door and realized that it was locked, that he could not open it. The fire alarm went off and the smell of smoke immediately hit him. He ran to the windows, knowing that they were painted shut, knowing that they were practically unbreakable, thanks to concerns about vandalism. As the smoke poured in and he desperately pounded - unseen - at the windows, he thought he saw a small girl running away through the rain.