WiltedI knew. I knew she was behind me. I heard the old floorboards of my classroom creek for every step that she took, drawing closer and closer. Her knife drug across the sleek, wooden desks creating a disturbing screech; like fingernails on a chalkboard and the crunch of fresh snow. There was no escaping from under this small teacher’s bureau to safety. I was on the second floor – the window was not an option – and I had no chance of trying to bolt for the door. Trapped, terrified, hopeless and eventually dead, that was me. A fist was slugged against the top of the bureau. I bit down on the sleeve of my sweater to try to calm myself. All I could do is close my eyes and hope.
Suddenly, I saw a bright light trice through my eyelids. It was followed by the sound of chatter and laughter. What was happening? A voice called out to me, “Hey, Kyohei-chan did you find your pencil yet? You said it rolled under the teacher’s table-thing. She won’t