The Teacher's Murder

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Alexis Welsh

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As you know, I taught 8th grade history at the prestigious boarding school, Spirit Academy. Which doesn’t have many spirits. I spent most of my free time either in class, or in the teacher’s lounge. I was there to work, not make friends. I still don’t get why the others go out of their way on making friends, especially with the students. Guidance Counselors, I can sorta understand, but not my fellow teachers.

There was a test on that day, and I had to grade all 50 papers by the next day. I have 100 students in total, but history is only taught for half the year. I had graded 20 by the time school was over, as I tend to grade the previous class’s tests while the next class is taking their tests. I was grading them in my classroom, as it’s always quiet when there’s no class. There weren’t any detentions that day, the brats had managed to behave themselves that day, even though Halloween was the next day. It was quiet, except for the chatter of students and faculty who had stayed behind. The only people I was expecting were the janitors.

It was sunset by the time I had finished, all the students and most of the staff were out of the lower school building by now. I packed up my stuff, and put on my coat. I don’t get cold easily, but I don’t feel like talking to “concerned” people about my self-heating every twenty minutes.

I could’ve taken one of the sky walks back to the teacher’s dorms, but I missed dinner, so I had to go out to fill my stomach.

There’s a little town near the school, meant to cater to needs of the students and staff. I don’t really like going there, but I’m hungry. There’s a bar that the students use as a dance hall, I must admit, it’s nice seeing everyone enjoy themselves, but I just like eating my food and drinking my drink.

I sat at the bar and ordered my usual, a twisted cider and veggie sandwich. I should’ve sat at a table, for sitting next to me where a group of former students and colleagues who had grudges against me. I know I’m not the best guy, but I never thought anyone would kill me over it.

Although, looking back, these guys always were a bit on edge. But back then, I thought that they would do something less criminal, like graffiti, or throwing stuff. Oh, had I known what they were going to do, I would’ve gone to the pizza shop, or the local café.

But I didn’t. I sat there, and ate there. And those brats recognized me. After I finished and paid the bill, I walked back to the school to the teacher’s dorms. But, for some reason I decided to take a shortcut. And that was what killed me. Had I taken the long way, I might still be alive, but I didn’t. Afterall, there were people around, and I trained for decades in martial arts.

As I halfway to the dorms, I heard the train go by, then I felt a shooting pain in my back, near my shoulder blade. I was shot, but the train masked the sound of the gun, and my scream. It wasn’t serious, but it still hurt like hell. Then, a blow to the back of the head. I fell to the ground, trying not to black out.

Then, I felt the attackers. They had knives, fists and feet. I fought back, but it was hard with my injuries. Sure I was outnumbered, but I’m not one to go quietly.

I can’t say for sure what killed me. It might’ve been a knife hitting a vital organ, I could’ve bled out, or a well placed punch or kick. I too full of adrenaline to notice.

But I do remember who some of them were, but I can’t exactly place a name to most of their faces. They graduated last year. And one of them was a former classmate of mine, Jim Lee, I think his name was.

Now remember all this Zack, for I can’t apparate whenever you want. So take notes, and tell that class clown roommate of yours that he looks ridicules in that detective hat, and to let the professionals do their job.


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