Summer vacation was near. But it wasn't the idea of visiting the countryside that made all of us eager to get out of the school, it was because of the fear that the girl in the black hood sitting beside me might kill us the way she was killed. The idea that the Mrs. Crouch, our adviser, had no idea about the accident made us more scared. She didn't know what happened last Thursday night because we made sure that no teacher could spot something strange about the classroom.
There were two vacant chairs in the room, and one was recently sat on by this dead girl. The student that left the other chair was so shocked of what had happened that she never returned. We have no idea where she went. But we guessed she went into the city, into another school she hope would make her forget about her past school.
March 16, 2017. Everyone here, except Mrs. Crouch, knows what happened on that day. That morning, all seats had a student on it, no one dared to skip school, to skip the Final Examination. Mrs. Crouch is one-fourth teacher, one-fourth boss and one-half businesswoman. As usual, on top of her desk were school supplies: mostly pencil and ballpoint pens, just in case some students forget to bring 'Exam Equipment' - and as usual, most of us forgot, including me.