The Words On The Wall

Of course, it started innocently enough. Most incidents do. At first no one was particularly worried. They’d done enough worrying. It was “time to heal” as the principal said. Anyway, things go missing all the time. Especially at schools. And especially-especially at middle schools. No one even noticed until a Monday in february.

That day the students, all twenty-two of them, filed into class. Talking loudly, chattering. Earbuds in, music playing. It wasn’t until the eighth graders were seated that they realized something was amiss. 

One particularly astute girl raised her hand.

“Yes, Cathie,” Mrs. Mackle, the English teacher, asked.

“Well, Mrs. Mackle, I’m missing my textbook.” Several other students looked under their desks to see they were missing their books as well. Their history textbooks. Of course generally English teachers don’t carry History books but ever since-

“Hey! Me too,” yelled a loud boy named Jonah.

“Oh, and me,” whispered the quiet girl in the corner, Lavender.

“Me three,” shouted the equally loud and considerably less intelligent Treven. 

“That's four, you prat! Can’t you count? Here let me help you,” Jonah put up his hand and lifted his fingers with exaggerated slowness. “One, Cathie. Two, me. Three, Lavender. And four…who is it Trevie?”

“Aw, shut up! Mrs. Mackle! Mrs-”

Mrs. Mackle sighed and said, “That’s quite enough Jonah. Now everyone calm down. A few missing books is no reason too-”

“Oh!” Cathie shouted, her hand raised. “They were-they-they were-”

“Spit it out Cathie,” Jonah shouted to many geers and laughed. 

“Yeah, spit it out,” Treven agreed, stupidly. Cathie just smirked and exclaimed:

“They were stolen!” The class was quiet for a moment, a miracle in and of itself, awed at the thought. But that quickly dispersed.

“Oh, come off it you dummy! Who would steal a couple ‘a books?” This was said by, as you can probably guess, Jonah. With Treven agreeing idiotically next to him. 

Mrs. Mackle quickly restored order to the class. Making loud “shhh” sounds and gesturing with her hands. “Now, now! I think it is entirely possible that they were stolen,” though she privately wondered who would care enough to steal textbooks. “And if anyone knows who did this please step forward.”

No one moved. Well, besides Treven who made a fart noise with his armpit. And soon the class was out of control again. Mrs. Mackle inwardly counted down the days until the last day of school. She wasn’t alone. Lavender opened her book and read for the rest of the rather pointless discussion. Lavender wasn’t sure they actually had been stolen. This time at least.

As days went by Lavender, along with the rest of Lakeshore Middle School, was growing increasingly sure they were in the midst of some form of prank. By Wednesday half of Mrs. Mackle’s class alone was book-less. By the next Friday Mrs. Mackle’s class was, along with the other eighth grade teachers, starting to get incredibly desperate. Students were going three to a book. And then four. And then five. Some even had groups of six.

“This is getting ridiculous!” The principal cried at the Monday morning meeting. “Textbooks stolen left and right! Honestly, as if we need something else after that horrible incident with-”

“Well, ma’am we don’t know that the books are getting stolen,” Mrs. Mackle hedged. 

The principal raised her finely trimmed eyebrow. “Am I to believe they are simply ceasing to exist? Teleporting perhaps? Or, oh, maybe spontaneous combustion!” The principal snorted. 

Mrs. Mackle sighed. “No. But the students could be hiding them. Or not bringing them to school as a prank. It's just…why would any of the students want textbooks?”

“Good point,” Gloria, the secretary, said. “And not just any textbooks. Only the-”

“Thank you, Gloria,” The principal said tersely. She wasn’t normally like this. It was just stressful. Having thefts so soon after she was employed.

Meanwhile the students had their own theories. Some were impractical. Others were rather stupid. More still were somewhat offensive. Most were impossible.

“It must’a been that moron, Treven,” Cathie whispered to her friends as she walked to Math class. She almost missed the door, mostly from her friends hurriedly shushing her and giggling as Treven walked by (but also because she was still a little unused to going to Math second period. She’d had to change her schedule).

However Treven believed (though it was really Jonah who thought it, Treven never had ideas of his own) that it was:

“A ghost! A dead g-person who-who roams the halls-”

“Oh shut up, Trev. What are you, ten,” Jonah said even though it had really been his theory in the first place.

Lavender had her own theory. “Maybe the school is rounding them up? Maybe to replace them?” This theory had holes in and of itself. Such as why were the teachers so desperate to find a culprit if they themselves were collecting the books? And why would the school be putting any more money in the history department?

It was just after she had voiced her unlikely, but more cohesive than most, theory when she came across it. It was right on the wall leading to the history class (a part of school anyone in their right mind never ventured to). 

“Woah,” Lavender said. Looking awed and a little scared. It was minutes before school started on Monday. Lavender always took the stairs by the history class because, as was mentioned before, they were always deserted.

Cathie walked up behind her. She too was smart to use these stairs. After people had refused to use the history stairs the main stairway got rather busy. 

“Oh my,” Cathie said. She walked up close to the wall. Lavender stayed back and took it all in.

“I guess we know where the textbooks went,” Lavender said, lackadaisically. 

“Well, some of them at least. This isn’t enough for all of the books.” The “this” Cathie was referring to was a collage of sorts. Some might call it a mural. Pieces of paper from all the textbooks were ripped out and plastered to the wall. The used books were lying crookedly and on the floor. Pages scattered on the floor. It looked like the beginning of a picture. Or message.

Soon a crowd of kids had gathered around the college. Teachers came too. The principal came over as well.

“What is it?”

“Who did it?”

“What’s it say,” asked Treven. 

Cathie looked at it closely and said, “Ah…His…and then the bottom part of some other words, kinda looks like lines…and then…self? Wait, there's an I before that. His I Self. Or maybe it's just ‘elf’. His I elf?”

“And look,” Lavender whispered. “It looks like they’re making a picture too. Looks a bit like a square.”

“Or a train!”

“Maybe a house!”

“A duck?”

“How’s that a duck, you idiot, Treven. It's obviously a barn!”

“Oh yeah. Sorry, Jonah.”

“I think it looks like a chin,” Cathie added.

“Well, whatever it is, it needs to go. Someone get the janitor,” The principal said to many groans.

“Ma’am…what harm can it do? I mean, we’re already out of books…let's see if the culprit comes back to finish. Then we can catch them,” Mrs. Mackle said hesitantly to many cheers and ‘yeah!’s front he students. The principal sighed and nodded. She didn’t have any better ideas.

Over the course of the next few weeks students and teachers alike guessed what the college could be. Every few days another paper would be added. A word here, a picture there.

“And only the history books,” Gloria exclaimed. “Just like I said. I wonder if its a sort of-”

“Not only that,” Mrs. Mackle said. Leaning against the opposite wall front he mural. Murmuring to Gloria. “But look at the pictures they use. A little gruesome, don’t you think? The Black Plague. The crusades. War.” Gloria only shrugged. But Mrs. Mackle was right.

“Maybe it's telling us something,” Jonah exclaimed a few days later as he walked to lunch with his buddies, Treven among them. 

“Yeah,” Treven agreed, as usual. “Like ‘His eye is actually an elf!”

“Not ‘eye’, moron. ‘I’.” Treven decided not to mention that Jonah had said the same thing twice.

“I actually agree with Jonah,” Cathie said. “For once.”

“Maybe it's a warning. Or a message,” Lavender added.

After a three day weekend people crowded around the history hallway. The first time it had happened since the last break. Except that break had been unplanned. And nobody enjoyed it much.

“Look! More letters! Look,” Cathie shrieked. There were indeed more letters. It now read: Hist (then obstructed by the beginning of a picture that could be anything from a duck to a barn to a chin) a bunch of lines that grew under said picture and then “tself”. People looked in amazement. The picture had not grown any more distinct. 

“Still looks like a chin,” Cathie commented.

Mrs. Mackle couldn’t help but agree. And she wondered if perhaps the placement of the collage was not an accident. She hoped it was something like a memorial, like Gloria said. And not something terrible.

“I’ve been thinking,” The principal informed Mrs. Mackle one afternoon after school. “That if this mural is some form of…memorial perhaps we could have an assembly to…honor…hi-I mean, these students. They could use…so young…”

Mrs. Mackle nodded. “That's a good idea, ma’am. An assembly could restore some morale.” It was true the school was low on morale. And funds. So many students had left after that last, unplanned break. So many that funds were low and morale lower.

Jonah and Treven lingered after school to help Mrs. Mackle lock the doors. They were on door duty this week. But they didn’t mind. They found the huge locks fascinating and no one complained about “too much security” anymore. Not after history-

“Are you okay, Treven,” Mrs. Mackle asked.

“Yeah,” he said. A little thickly. “Jus’ the books they made me think…”

Mrs. Mackle didn’t have to ask anymore questions. Jonah pointed. 

“Hey, guys! The mural! There's more!” Jonah was now very, very glad he was on door duty. He’d get to see this before anyone else.

“Hmmm…” Mrs. Mackle thought aloud.

“Looks like a guy or something.”

“Yeah,” Treven said again.

The three of them stared at it a little longer. Before they walked together to the main office to tell the principal. Past the mural and doors. Past the History door decorated with vikings and knights. Past the “No Guns Allowed” sign that always made Mrs. Mackle want to laugh and cry at the same time because it was so stinkin’ ironic. Made somehow worse since it was by the history door.

The next morning there was almost all out chaos by the collage as students jostled to get a closer look.

“There's a poster coverin’ it,” Treven cried.

“I’m gonna take it off,” Jonah yelled.

“No! Don’t. Let's wait for a teacher,” Lavender and Cathie said in unison. Mrs. Mackle and the principal soon came by.

“Should we take it down,” Mrs. Mackle asked. The Principal bit her lip. Gloria shrugged behind her. The principal had a bad feeling about it.

Of course since the mural had grown so big pieces of the mural remained seen. The edges.

“It is a person,” Cathie exclaimed. 

“Looks kinda like-” Treven started.

“Yeah, same hair,” Finished Jonah.

“Why’s it all red though?”

“Not all red. It's just the pictures. They used the bloody ones. Why’d they do that! Why'd they have to-have to do those pictures-about him-why’d they-” No one answered. They were probably all thinking the same thing. They were thinking about having history in English class. They were thinking about never going by the history door. They were thinking about him. And that gun sign. They were thinking about that unplanned break that nobody enjoyed that he never came back from. They were wishing they’d started locking the doors before the break because then maybe-maybe he wouldn’t have-maybe the gun-

“Let’s pull it down,” Mrs. Mackle said quietly. Gloria nodded. The principal braced herself, and pulled. 

The poster came down easily. It showed a man. Made out of pictures from history books. The gruesome pictures. He had a trickle of something red (can you guess what?) coming from his forehead. His eyes were all white. Glassy. He seemed oddly positioned. Like he was slumped. And there were the words.

HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF.

The principal felt herself go pale as every single student went silent. This was one of those never-ever-ever-talk-about-it subjects. The ones that always got silenced. But not this time. Not with the history teacher standing right in front of them with that red coming from his temple and those eyes…

Cathie gestured wordlessly to the words underneath him. The principal hadn’t noticed them.

THIS TIME, DON’T LET IT.

Of course the teachers had all hoped it might be some sort of memorial for him. After all, he had sacrificed himself for the students. This hadn’t been what they had in mind.

They all stood there for a long time. Long after the bell rang and teachers tried to shepard them into class. They were all thinking about it. The important message. The unplanned break. The bang. The teacher. The shooter. The break in. The locks. The lock down. The-

The words on the wall.

History repeats itself. This time, don’t let it.

The end.