Knock, Knock

Marigold Valley High was overshadowed by a horde of gloomy clouds. The students inside mimicked the weather and trudged along at a snail's pace, berated by tired teachers who, deep down, couldn't care less how fast the teens walked. Sammy Hastings was perhaps the only exception to the overbearing gloom, but he was used to that. He was an energetic kid, to say the least.

Sammy had won class president by a landslide because of one small fact: Everyone knew him. He gave the morning announcements, cheered the loudest at every game (including the Chess games), led every pep rally, and smiled through every minute of every day. He was generally liked and occasionally hated, but never unknown. This was not to say he knew everyone; his memory was not that good.

On this particularly grim day, Sammy was delivering notes for the office. He had already alerted Mrs. Silva that Maddy Wright had to leave early and reminded Mr. Hicks that he had neglected to submit his attendance sheet. Sammy was feeling good; helping people always gave him a fuzzy feeling in his gut, and he was eager to complete his next good deed.

Knock, Knock.

Sammy turned. Marigold Valley was an old school; they had celebrated their 75th anniversary at the pep rally last Friday (M-V-H-S! We are old, we are dusty, but we’re a school you can trusty!). It was two stories tall and made of crumbling, red-brown brick. The school had asked for renovations every year for the past twenty years to no avail. There were entrances and exits scattered throughout the ground floor, but they had all been fitted with timed locks that only opened during passing periods, and the front entrance was the only one with a doorbell to ring the office and plead for entrance. So, when Sammy turned, he saw that there was a person trapped outside the school, probably having gotten to class late and barely missing the unlocked doors.

Sammy grinned and quickly made his way over to the door. Another good deed! He was on a roll today. Sammy pushed open the door to reveal a pale stranger; he looked about seventeen. The stranger was wearing a sweater with the hoodie up, gloves, and long jeans.

He was staring politely at Sammy. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah! Of course! Come on in…?”

“Johnny. And you are?”

“Sammy! Class president,” He winked.

The stranger–Johnny–smiled reservedly again before eagerly stepping inside, accidentally knocking Sammy with his shoulder.

“Geez, you're cold, man,” Sammy remarked. It was pretty chilly outside. The poor guy must have been stuck out there for ages; at least he had warm clothes on.

“Am I?” Johnny asked before briskly walking away.

Weird guy, Sammy decided. Sammy walked away feeling good and trying to ignore the slight niggling in his gut. He should feel happy, like he always did, but something wasn’t right. It wasn’t until he turned the corner, marching towards his next assignment, that he identified what was bothering him.

The kid hadn’t known his name.

Sammy was on his way to the front office to grab more notes when he spotted Johnny again. It looked like Johnny had some lunch because his mouth was covered in spaghetti sauce. Johnny wiped it with his sleeve. Sammy raised his hand to greet Johnny.

“Hey, dude! Good lunch?”

“Oh, yes,” Jonny grinned.

“Nice. Most kids don’t like the cafeteria’s spaghetti.”

“Hm.”

They stood awkwardly for a while.

“Well, nice seeing you,” said Sammy. He opened the office door and was surprised to see that Mrs. Chunch was not at her desk.

“Mrs. Chunch?” Sammy called out.

“Oh, I just saw her go grab something from the printer,” Johnny said from behind him.

Sammy beamed. Another person in society contributing their part! He was so proud. Then Johnny walked away. Does he not have class or something, Sammy wondered.

Sammy skipped merrily to the printer to find his favorite secretary pale and unconscious on the floor.

Sammy frowned for the first time that day.

Mrs. Chunch was slumped against the wall, her skin pale and clammy. Her eyes fluttered open as Sammy rushed over.

“Mrs. Chunch, are you ok?” Sammy inquired anxiously.

“Y-yes. It does appear there was a kerfuffle.” Mrs. Chunch muttered, slightly dazed. Only a secretary would use the word kerfuffle right after she had been knocked unconscious,

“What happened?”

She blinked slowly, then winced. “I… I think I fainted,” she murmured. “Must’ve been low blood sugar or something.”

Sammy glanced around. Papers were scattered across the floor, and the printer was jammed. There was a little bit of blood on Mrs. Chunch’s collar, most likely from the fall. Footsteps echoed down the hallway as the principal and janitor arrived, their faces tight with concern.

“She looks pale,” the principal said. “Let’s get her to the nurse.”

Mrs. Chunch raised her hand weakly. “Actually… I think I’m feeling better now,” she said, her voice steadier than before. She sat up straighter, brushing her hair behind her ear with eerie calm. “Really. I just need a moment.”

The principal hesitated. “Are you sure?"

Mrs. Chunch closed her eyes. “Yes, but could you close those blinds? The light is a little too bright right now.”

Sammy obeyed, tugging the cord until the room dimmed. Mrs. Chunch sighed in relief. “Thank you, Sammy,” she said, smiling faintly. Then she turned to the principal. “Could we talk for a minute? In my office. Just the two of us. I’d like to go over something… privately.”

Sammy watched as the principal nodded and followed her back into the office. Mrs. Chunch paused at the door and turned to Sammy. She gave him a strange smile before showing him to class with her hand.

Still sort of freaked out, Sammy made his way to his fifth period, World History. As he was about to open the door to Mr. Hicks' history class when Johnny walked out of the door.

Sammy gave a nervous chuckle. “Heh, keep running into you, dude.”

Johnny winked and walked. Sammy didn’t like to think negatively of anyone, but his thoughts were turning distinctly unsunny when it came to Johnny. But he knew there was no way Johnny could have done it. He had been at lunch, so the timing didn’t really work. And someone needed to staple a napkin to that kid's face because he had yet again neglected to wipe the sauce off his mouth.

The blinds were drawn in every weird window, but maybe they were just watching a movie today. Apparently, Mr. Hicks wasn’t up to teaching today; he was leaning on his desk, fast asleep. It really was a sleepy kind of day.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hicks!” Sammy chirped, dropping his homework on the teacher's desk.

Mr. Hicks sat bolt upright with a wild look in his eye. “Would you,” Mr. Hicks roared. “SHUT UP!”

Sammy took a step back, stuttering. “I-i-i–”

“I-i-i–” Mr. Hicks mocked. “QUIET DOWN!” No one was talking.

“YOU!” He screamed at Benjamin, who was fiddling with the window. “OPEN THOSE BLINDS AND I OPEN YOUR–” Mr. Hicks gave a shuddering deep breath. “Please,” He continued in a somewhat calmer voice. “Keep the blinds closed. I want the room dark.”

Benjamin’s mouth dropped to the floor. Sammy noticed that a few small specks of something red had landed on his homework assignment while Mr. Hicks had been screaming.

“Uh, Mr. Hicks,” Sammy hedged. “Are you…feeling ok? Can I get you some water, or crackers maybe?”

Mr. Hicks rolled his eyes. “You can get me your butt in that seat.”

“Yes, sir.”

The class watched Mr. Hicks with wary anticipation, occasionally whispering to each other in hushed voices that Mr. Hicks had lost his mind.

“Film strip today,” Mr. Hicks grunted. He turned it on before lying back down on his desk.

The movie was about WWII, which they had learned about last month. And as the bell rang and everyone filed out of the room, Sammy couldn’t help a strange feeling of dread fill his stomach. He kept hearing the knock, knock from that morning, but now it sounded more ominous. Like the twin gunshots. He laughed at himself lightly. “Twin gunshots,” he should join the drama club.

“Benjamin,” Mr. Hicks called from his desk. “Let’s have a little chat.”

Benjamin trudged over as Sammy ran to his last class amidst the horde of teenagers. To Sammy’s surprise, the student populace seemed even more miserable than they had been this morning. And perhaps more worrying was that Sammy was starting to feel sad himself.

Sammy watched as Benjamin left Hicks's classroom looking somehow more upset than he had been five minutes ago and surely paler. Benjamin tapped a junior girl on the shoulder, and the two of them walked around a corner to a hidden alcove. To make out, Sammy hoped. They’re just making out.

Sammy was almost surprised to find his English class light. And better yet, his teacher, Mrs. Lisel, was her normal perky self. She was writing that day’s agenda on the board. Sammy smiled, a normal class at last.

He turned out to be wrong. Only half of the class was in their seats when the bell rang. Sammy slid into his desk next to Max, who was, to Sammy’s displeasure, looking awfully pale.

“Hey, Max. Good game last night!”

Max gave him a disgusted look. “Do you ever brush your teeth?” He snarled.

Sammy flushed. What was with everyone today? “I–well, yes…?”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Your breath smells like garlic.”

“Oh,” Sammy laughed awkwardly. “I had garlic knots for lunch.”

Max scooted his chair away from Sammy. Sammy felt sick to his stomach. Mrs. Lisel was asking them something, probably if they knew where the rest of the class was, but Sammy barely heard her. He kept hearing knock, knock reply in his head and he was starting to think maybe he did know where the rest of the class was, huddled up in secluded alcoves “making out”.

“Well,” Mrs. Lisel said, sounding a little confused. “Let's start, I suppose.”

Bzzzzt. The intercom clicked on, and Sammy heard some ruffling noises before the principal's voice came through. “Good morning–or afternoon, uh, can Mrs. Lisel please report to the office? Immediately.” The principal's voice was strangely loopy, and Sammy was sure that he would seem especially pale to Mrs. Lisel. There might even be some blood on his collar. How was your chat with Mrs. Chunch, principal?

“Don’t go!” Sammy yelped.

Mrs. Lisel raised an eyebrow. “Great Gatsby can wait a few minutes, Sammy. Class, finish chapter six on your own.”

Sammy sat sweating in his seat while three of the twelve students flipped to chapter six, and the other nine watched him with a strange fascination. Sammy stood up and bolted out of the classroom. He passed the janitor, leading a confused math teacher into the empty staff room, and passed a slumped figure with little specks of red decorating the wall behind them, but Sammy did not stop or even slow. If he ran fast enough, maybe he wouldn’t think, maybe he wouldn’t feel the gunshots in his chest or see the people who weren’t how he remembered or know that he had done this. Knock, knock.

Sammy skidded to a stop so fast he almost face planted. Johnny was walking out of a hallway, maybe from the library or the art room, but it didn’t matter anymore because he was everywhere. In every classroom and every nook, spaghetti sauce and pale skin.

“Hi, Sammy, was it?”

Yes, the only kid in school who didn’t know his name. Not a coincidence after all, and Sammy had let him in.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, not sure whether to run or fight.

Johnny opened a door, the door and gestured with his hand for Sammy to go through. “It only seems fair that I return the favor.”

Sammy swallowed, nodded, and walked through. “Th-thanks."

He walked out the door, the cold outside air brushing his face. And heard the door click shut behind him. Sammy turned back to the old Marigold Valley High building in all of its crumbling glory. Every blind drawn, every light out. Sammy felt the old feeling start to swell in his gut, the feeling he used to have when he was about to do something good. He had started this, yes, but he could also finish it. Sammy walked back up the stairs and stood outside the locked door. He knew Johnny was still there, waiting to return the favor.

Knock, Knock.

The end.