Video 5: Elementary school horror stories

 We used to tell horror stories after school in fourth grade, until the parents started complaining. Evidently one of the other kids was going home scared; here's the story that made her cry. Obviously I have a bit of a larger vocabulary now than I did eight years ago, so- yeah.

"The girl was in college, just left home, out on her own for the first time. She was close to her parents, was sad to leave home, kissed her sister and dog good-bye out of guilt, her brother out of obligation. The university was across the state- this was up North, mind, so the fields made the miles stretch on and on, hardly the same state, hardly the same country. Her town was small; the university was bigger, but certainly no New York, no Atlanta.

She lived in a high-rise- this is important, not on the highest floor, but close. Three or four down from the rooftop. It was a private school, funded by some Eccentric Billionaire, hence the name Eccentric Billionaire University. Most of the students lived in this single high-rise, on floors circling one on top of the other on top of the other, a fairly large plaza on the ground, a pleasant dappling light on sunny days. The air was usually alive with the sounds of chatter and the bells of elevators.

The girl met her roommate, who was nice enough, and the two got on well. Their room was small, but nice, a couple of potted plants, a wardrobe, a dresser. The girl took the bed closer to the door, but that was only because the roommate had moved in first. The roommate wanted to sleep by the window; the girl wanted to sleep away from the door, but, being a good girl, said nothing. She was second, it was the roommate's right to take whichever bed she so chose, and the two got on well enough. She didn't like doors. In the fields, things could come in through doors. Winds would blow through the netting, warm, stale air would make the wooden baseboards swell and it would sound, to a little girl clutching her dog, like footsteps.

Classes began in the fall, and, knowing full well why she was at university, the girl avoided parties and men. Perhaps this was out of fear; after all, she'd had little experience with such things. But that is unimportant. What is important is how she treated her education: she valued it, sacrificed time and reputation for it. She heard the whispers of the students, what an odd girl, so strange, but was accustomed to being shouted at, so the softness didn't affect her so much. She was a favorite of her professors, always the first to be called on, hand raised or not.

It was the beginning of October, and the girl had an important exam in a few days. It would constitute a large part of her grade in a particular class, and so, habits forming as they do, she was very concerned for her grades and enslaved herself to the studies. She spent her nights chained to her textbooks on the first floor of the library, papers sprawled out across the table. She always had class in the morning, and tried to be home every night by two in the morning. Usually her roommate was asleep, and all was quiet in the high rise. The elevator bell always seemed louder at these hours than ever before, and often she cursed it, fearing consternation at waking the other students.

A couple days before the exam, she studied in the library, as usual. Nearby, a young man whom she'd passed several times sat, reading furiously, not paying any particular attention to the small portable radio he had sitting on his table. It was buzzing some static-filled newscast, a report about the next county over. The girl didn't listen to the radio report, only noting the white noise. She asked the young man to shut it off, please, I'm just trying to study, and, understanding, he obliged.

She checked her watch; some time had passed. It was two in the morning, and yet, she didn't quite feel right. Usually she retired with a sense of satisfaction, but didn't A Couple Days Before The Exam warrant extra study-time? A break would be healthy, though, some fresh air, and besides, she's left one of her books on her dresser anyway. Studying every topic was important, and she'd focused far too much on the reading already. She gathered her things, and left. She said good-bye to the young man; somewhere in her brain a small thing told her that maybe he- no, focus, just go and grab your book. He'll be here when you get back- along with your book, get your book and study, everything will work out.

She passed a jogger with her dog, thinking nothing of how awfully late it was, how bizarre to see a jogger this early in the morning. All she thought of was her own dog, how she missed him. He'd be snuggling with her sister now, she'd be completely forgotten. The thought saddened her, but she was at the high rise. She pushed the door open; the air was brisk, colder than it usually was, but it was October, and winter had long set in in the North. She pressed the elevator button, and it blazed orange while the vessel shot down from some high-up floor. She watched it descend down the glass tube, until it settled and opened its maw. The doors closed around her like jaws and whisked her sharply up. Again, it settled, and she stumbled out, nauseated. She took a breather, checked her watch, two-twenty, my roommate'll be asleep. As she inserted the key, she visualized exactly where the book was, so that she could hurry in and out. She wouldn't risk turning on the light- she'd have to fumble. The lock to her door clicked open, and it swung open to reveal a sleeping mound of roommate in the far bed. Even so, her hand went out of habit to light switch on the wall just inside, but she corrected herself and lightly stepped forward. The girl tried to keep quiet, she knew better than to wake someone asleep. She flinched even at the thought. In the sticky darkness, she shuffled about her dresser until she found the book she needed, turned, and quietly closed the door behind her. All was quiet on the hall. Two twenty three.

The girl awoke the next morning in the library, a small indentation in the think textbook from her cheek. Her next was sore from the odd position she'd slept in; she couldn't remember falling asleep, but figured from the odd looks of the librarians that it had been quite some time ago. Embarrassed, she looked briefly around for the young man. She was grateful that he was nowhere to be found, but thought of the rumors that might be spread and, ashamed, quickly packed away her books. She slung her book bag over her shoulder on her way out of the library, keeping her eyes fixed on the carpet.

She came to the high rise, only to find it surrounded by cop cars, emergency vehicles, newscasters. A small crowd of students had gathered, what happened, I heard, she told me, I wonder- The girl passed a newswoman, not much older than she, blonde hair and a low cut top to reveal just enough cleavage to entice viewers. Her voice was serious, but the girl could hardly comprehend her over the growing noise. She buried her way deeper and deeper into the high rise until finally breaking through the doors. Policemen stood in groups inside the lobby, some talking to students or faculty, some talking to each other, all concerned and distressed. No one noticed the girl as she rode the elevator up, as she got out on her floor. It was quiet up here, away from the evacuated crowds. Most of the doors were open, water from fresh showers tracking footprints in the carpet, shaving cream spilling over sinks and outfits yet worn lying on beds. She turned the corner to find her door solidly shut, two yellow strips of police tape marking a thick X over the frame. The sheriff and deputy stood by the door, the former rubbing his temples. The girl, surreal distortion obscuring her view of rationality, couldn't feel anxiety, couldn't feel a threat as she came up to her door. The deputy put his arm against her chest, you can't come in here, but she writhed away, ducking under his arm and tearing through the tape. She opened the door and screamed.

On the far bed, her roommate lay disemboweled, her organs pulsating over her sheets, glistening and stinking through the morning light coming in through the window. Her eyes, what remained, were open, her throat slashed. She was nude; one of her breasts was slit so that the adipose drained and pooled in the cavity that was now her stomach. Her thighs were darkly bruised and beaten, her genitalia mutilated. Her hair had been pulled out, ripped out her scalp, and littered her sheets. The girl vomited, but, wiping her mouth on her arm, looked up to find the most horrifying thing of all, that chill which made her feel as though she, too, had been disemboweled and that she, too, was being somehow stalked.

There, on the wall, smeared in blood, were written the words, 'It's 2 AM- aren't you glad you didn't turn on the lights?'"

Yes, I'm aware that it's an urban legend, but I wasn't at the time, so cut me a little artistic license, okay? I have one more, if you'd like to hear it. Let me know. Anyway, please share your childhood scary stories here!