I feel a hand reached toward my face and slap me. I have been knocked unconscious.
A few minutes later, I wake up and find myself in a dirty room that is still in the basement of my school, but it looks like an office. If Mila Cole had been here, I definitely know that I would’ve had someone put her in here. There is nothing in that room but a rusty table and a box on it. Without thinking, I grab the lid off the box. The box was about to fall apart, and seemed like it was made out of one-hundred year old newspapers. Inside the box are letters written with beautiful cursive handwriting. The paper inside is thicker than the material the box is made out of. In most stories I have written, a box like this would contain a series of love letters, or letters to the dead. I recognize the handwriting immediately. Mrs. Marz’s handwriting was on some of them, and Mrs. Kaylee’s on others. Mrs. Marz was the school nurse. I pick up one of the letters. It read:
It’s me. I miss you greatly, and I wish you would come out of that coffin. It’s all those children’s fault. Two girls of the names Olivia and Miranda were fishing an ice cube out of the gutter. It’s all their fault That you had that heart attack and died. Children bring bad luck. I wish to open a school in their vicinity and become principal and nurse and teach those children a lesson. I will make sure to kill the one first who got the cube out of the gutter, because that’s when it happened. When I open this school, I will make sure to hire people who will mistreat the children as they deserve to be.
Forgive me for not getting help soon enough.But blame the children more than me. I hope to see you again, no matter what.
God, please deliver this message to Roland whether he is dead or alive.
I pulled the next letter out of the box. It looked like Mr. Tractor’s perfect print.
I think that your idea to open up a torture school is fantastic! The children will rot in the basement of it! Should I pose as an English teacher? Or Social Studies? Oh, so many choices! And what will we do with the wretched beasts once they have been captured? Put them into a human shredder? Oh, too many choices! And I can not tell you how sorry I am about Roland. Those idiotic children! They are to blame. Kid in Paris is asking for my wallet with a gun at my face. And Whada he do? He snatches my wallet. The adults don’t do anything like that. And you know that one, Herl. Yeah, that’s what they called her. She looks like my mother. I know that somehow she sucked out the youth out of her or something. It’s probably her fault that my mother is in the grave.
I am very glad that you were able to see this letter. Act nice to them at first. Then, one must die.
I was blown away.