10:15
J. Dean
Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 J. Dean

Other titles by J. Dean at Smashwords.com:
The Summoning of Clade Josso
Fraidy-Cat
Jungle Prey
One Favor Before You Go…

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**

Miss Stevens threw it away.
The class had erupted into quite a raucous laugh when she had taken the strange, quivering pile of black goo away from Sarah, who responded with a sheepish grin and a giggle shared by Justin and Lindsey.  It had been tossed casually among the three of them, done with a timing of each throw coordinated with Miss Stevens’ turning her back to him in order to point out something else on the screen.  A couple of snickers had clued the teacher in that something was happening, and one properly executed play (the “turn-around-and-snap-back-to-face-the-class-without-warning” route) rewarded her with a glimpse of the flying blob planting itself squarely on Sarah’s desk with a solid, wet slap.  
As usual, the chuckles of the three guilty parties in the case of the flying goo-thing were replaced with the typical reactions to the news that Miss Stevens intended to call each of their homes after class.  Sarah just pressed her lips together with a sheepish, guilty grin and a shrug of the shoulders.  Lindsey pleaded with Miss Stevens to not follow through; after all, another call home meant that mom might speak to the cheerleading coach about suspending her from the team, and heaven forbid that something like that would happen.  Justin broke into a loud-mouthed protest of not doing anything wrong that had all the conviction and believability of a man clad in black, standing next to an opened safe in the middle of the night with hands full of cash, whose defense was that he was just cleaning the shelves.  
The ringing bell interrupted Justin’s rant of injustice at the matter.  Miss Stevens waved them out, watching them as they slowly filed through the doorway, interrupted only by Tyler, who asked if he could make up his quiz from last Wednesday after school.  No can do, as Miss Stevens had an appointment with her eye doctor at three; but making it up on Monday during class wouldn’t be a problem.  He thanked her, then turned and marched out to join the cacophony of slamming lockers and babbling mouths.

**
The analog clock read 10:15. Five minutes to make the calls.
She could have waited until lunch to do it, but lunch time was short enough already, and a glimpse out the window told her that it was too nice a day to be sitting inside for any unnecessary reason.  Gold sun poured down upon green leaves and flooded a soft carpet of grass.  She’d definitely take her lunch outside today.  Better to do as much talking as possible now to parents than to miss out on the taste of paradise being offered on the other side of the window.  After all, tomorrow’s forecast called for rain.   
Moving to her computer, she brought up the student information.  There it was-neatly arranged in alphabetical order, with addresses, parent names, and of course the all-important phone contacts.  More than likely, the parents were at work, so messages left on the answering machines would be enough for now.  Just as well; she wasn’t interested in making small talk about flying goo.
First call: Justin.  Hiding the receiver under her neck length brown hair, she finger-punched numbers and listened to the distant ring while her eyes drifted back to the seductive weather conditions that flirted with summer, beckoning her to come out and soak herself in a shower of sunlight and warmth that would drench her with rejuvenation.  
Why hadn’t she called in sick today?
Another ring, still no answer.  Better hurry this up; the next class would be filing in any second now.  Still, the rhythmic operation of the locker doors continued outside, along with polyphonic gossip, punctuated with the infrequent delighted squeal of an ecstatic girl at the news that the football team quarterback might have the hots for her.
Outside, shadow dampened the sunny landscape.  Miss Stevens’ lips formed into a slight pout.
A third ring.  More shadow, less sun, to the point where Miss Stevens began to wonder whether or not she had mixed up the forecasts.  Maybe today was supposed to be the intended arrival for the thundershowers.  Or maybe the weatherman had (again) made a wrong prediction.  So much for a sunny lunch outside.  
She glanced back at the clock-still 10:15.  It’s not even been a full minute?  There was no second hand, so there was no telling how long it would be until the minute hand would advance.  But certainly this had to have taken more than a minute by now!  Any other time, like on Miss Stevens’ prep, the minutes flew by, making a fifty-minute block of time set aside for the preparation of the class day feel more like twenty minutes-on a good day.  Now, all of a sudden, the clock refused its hasty rush.  On the one hand, that was fine with her; she could use the extra time.  Wishful thinking; the clock battery’s probably going dead.  She’d pick one up after her appointment.
She looked back at the window with disappointment, and the disappointment gave way to a perplexed stare.
It was nearly dark outside.  
Dark.  Not just clouded over, but dark, as if the sun had suddenly decided to drop from the face of the sky.  The trees and lawn could barely be made out, little more than deep purple forms against a backdrop of what looked like a tangible black.  Granted, Miss Stevens had seen storms darken the landscape before, but not like this, especially without even a hint of a gust of wind or the distant rumble of thunder to accompany it.  There hadn’t been anything more than a slight breeze just a few minutes ago, and a closer examination of the sky earlier revealed not even a hint of a storm on its way.  
Now the sky-sun and all-had been swallowed up, and the result was an unusual settling of a deep, artificial twilight over the land.  Very dark-and still.  
A restless apprehension brushed over Miss Stevens, not just because of the strange phenomenon outside, but also because the stillness was accompanied by sudden realizations about two other unusual points of attention. 
The first was that there was no fourth ring from the phone.  Nor was there the familiar sound of a voice on the other end of the receiver, either live or by answering machine.  Nor had there been the sound of a disconnecting click, followed by an annoying, repetitious buzz that indicated the other line was unhooked, or busy.  There was simply nothing after the third ring.
Which led Miss Stevens to the second realization; one which troubled her even more than that of the strange atmospheric metamorphosis, or the suddenly non-existent phone call.  Both of those, as disconcerting as they were, did not send off any major alarms, nor did they make her feel as strikingly helpless… or even just a little bit afraid.  
Not like the second thing she noticed.
There was no noise at all coming from the hallway.

**
Any other time, the clicking of Miss Stevens’ black high heels-an accessory she seldom left the house without, especially to compliment the black knee-length skirt and ruby red sweater that modestly showed off her well-kept figure-would simply be part of the morning routine, drowned out by the collage of everyday sounds that would resonate in the halls during passing time.  Now, as her feet descended upon the waxed tile floor, the clicks stood out with an awkward, almost embarrassing volume.  
Across the hall was Mrs. Tabor’s room.  Miss Stevens looked in, casting her gaze rapidly around the room.  She was greeted with empty student desks and a teacher desk that was just as vacant.  Books were neatly stacked, some opened, with pencil and paper next to them, ready to be used.  But there were no users.  Back out into the hallway again, passing a row of bland, grey lockers and posters announcing tomorrow’s ball game.  More snaps of heels against floor, to Mr. Wolverton’s room (Funny enough: she had been thinking about asking Mr. Wolverton-Mike, that is-about joining her at the concession stand tomorrow night to help out.  Maybe a nice dinner at Bonadelli’s afterward, too..).  Another uninhabited room greeted her.
A left turn to the eighth grade hallway revealed two more rooms in the same condition; had there been an assembly called?  Miss Stevens didn’t think so.  She would have remembered something like that being announced at the staff meeting on Tuesday, or would have seen it on Email.  She loved assemblies; a nice break from the classroom routine, and usually one that simply required her to bring a stack of detention slips and give the evil eye to misbehaving students, accompanied by the wagging of a slip as a warning.  But there had been no assembly called, not one she was aware of.
And this was no emergency drill.  No fire alarms droned with their incessantly annoying blare.  Nor was there any announcement over the intercom that signaled any evacuation, and a lockdown did not entail the snappy exodus of the students.  There had been no discernable sounds of panic from the hallway, just the regular chatter and business of everyday kids who were going about the business of being kids.  And all of a sudden, those sounds had been extinguished.
The gymnasium-that’s where everybody had to be.  There had to have been an assembly called, and she just hadn’t been told about it.  Wouldn’t be the first time something like that had happened.
Yes, that made total sense to Miss Stevens.  But even that logical conclusion did not completely push away the fear that seemed to be creeping in from the fringes of her mind.  Nor did it explain the ominous absence of daylight outside.
She walked past a side entrance-a foyer sandwiched between two sets of double doors that led to the parking lot.  Much darker out there now than it had been when she had been back in her room.  Dark as night; maybe too dark for night.  Even if it had been completely night outside, Miss Stevens should have still been able to have seen the shining glow of the red white and blue gas station sign down the road, easily visible from the school.   When Miss Stevens had been up here for parent teacher conferences well past eight-thirty, she could see the distant but clear sign; it immediately drew the attention of anyone exiting the building as the most obvious source of illumination in the area-save for the occasional passing twin points of car headlights that would drift past in the night.
But there was nothing out there now.  The darkness was more like an artificial shroud that blanketed the world, instead of the natural absence of light that followed sundown.  
The idea of suddenly springing out through the double doors and making a frenzied beeline toward her van exploded in her head.  She shook it off, giving a nervous chuckle at the notion.  How silly it was to be afraid-yes, the darkness outside was unusual.  Yes, the apparent absence of everybody else in the building made it unsettling.  But come on-there had to be some sort of reason for all of this.  Things like this only happened in the minds of demented horror authors, right?  This was school, junior high-weird enough in and of itself, but not weird enough to justify blatant irrationality!  
Yes, that was it; just something a bit different, out of the ordinary.  Nothing to completely freak out about and run screaming-and running in high heels was a bad idea anyway.
She smiled at thought of the visualization of the last comment, moving toward the gym.  Most of her fear had been pushed back.  
Most of it.

**
The pushed back fear returned with an avalanche-like vengeance.
Miss Stevens pushed open the doors, half expecting to see some sort of crazy surprise planned on her behalf-a thousand grinning students, faculty, and administration, screaming a raucous “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” or some other surprise, to which she would have to sheepishly reply that such a surprise was not necessary or was planned in error (Her birthday was in mid-December anyway).
Instead, the surprise she found could have had the word VACANCY hung in the middle of the air.  The massive room carried with it no sign of life, the fluorescent bulbs above shining their bland illumination down upon the hardwood floor.  The doors to both locker rooms on the other side were propped open, but only lightless shadow occupied their thresholds.  The skeletal, metallic remains of vacant bleachers rested upon the far wall, without the slightest hint of living meat occupying their seats.  Above, the gigantic analog clock, protected from the impact of stray basketballs by the crisscross of protective metal, read quarter after ten.
Ten-fifteen.  Just like her room clock.  Just like every other clock she had seen so far.
Miss Stevens stopped to listen for any hint of a squeaking sneaker, or the bounce of a voice rebounding off the floor and walls of the gymnasium.  No such sounds came.  She called out a timid shout, repeated it more confidently.  The echo of her call faded, with no response given to fill the void of unsettling silence.  No, not quite a full silence; her breathing seemed to fill her ears.  This in turn caused her heart to race, and she could feel a sense of panic wanting to seize her, to make her scream.
No, can’t do that; that would solve nothing.   And it might-
Might what?  Alert something to your presence?
No.  Stupid thought.  There was nothing here, nothing at all, good or bad.  No shadowy, grimy things crawling out from the shadows, possessing scale-covered claws and daggers for teeth, hungrily slithering across the floor in order to consume body and soul.   Ridiculous.  Let your fears get going like that, and you’ll start seeing things that aren’t there.  Time to stay rational.
Then again, rationality seemed to be the most irrational position to hold right now.  
So what now?  Go back to the room?  Keep walking and checking the other classes?  What was the point; a voice inside her said that she’d just find more empty rooms.  What about the office?  Surely somebody had to be there, somebody who could tell her what was going on.  After all, Miss Stevens was here; it only made sense that there had to be other people here too.  If nothing else, she might find out what’s going on here.  Maybe turn on the radio or the TV in the back, maybe get an explanation as to what was going on with all of this darkness outside.  
Alright, the office it is.
Miss Stevens began to move toward the door, when a sharp smack resonated through the gym, making her jump, turning her around.
She saw it strike the ground again with a second smack.  The dull, brown basketball bounded upward, back down again, a third smack.  Up again it went, although not nearly as high as it did on the previous bounce.  The smacks dribbled out into a rapid fire of small taps, then into a silent roll as it moved along the floor, toward the opposite wall.  
A sigh of relief passed through trembling lips.  She glanced down and saw that her hands also shook with a nervous tremor.  The fear and dread had sneaked up on her, and she was surprised to find how scared she felt.  She’d become accustomed to the silence, though hoping that the presence of other people would break it; and now that someone-something-had broken it, she received it as less than a welcoming indicator that she was not alone.
She pressed her foot down in the direction of the area from which the basketball probably came-an unseen corner of the gym, hidden in part by the protruding bleachers.  A momentary hesitation motivated by apprehension made her pause; the glimpse in her mind of the imaginary monsters that didn’t exist tried to manifest themselves as a projected vision, waiting in the corner for her, licking their lipless jowls in anticipation to make a raw meal out of her.
There’s nothing there, nothing at all.  No monsters, at least.
Certainly not.  And no more letting her imagination get the best of her.
She pushed her other leg forward with a deliberate push, a push of reality over wild speculation.  Another step she took, forcing the struggling vision of the not-really-there-monster to push back with a struggle.  With each advance toward the corner, her resolve strengthened, as more of the hidden alcove revealed itself to be without any sign of phantasms waiting to cause her bloody demise.
The alcove was revealed to her, empty.  At first, this brought relief to Miss Stevens; her imagination proved to be no more than just that.  But on the other hand, the subtle current of uneasiness did not let up.  Nobody was there, and yet the basketball did bounce from this area.  She glanced at the artificial tunnel created under the bleachers, braced upward by the various metal supports, revealing the triangular opening at the other end of the gym.  Nobody in there either.  It was shadowy, but not so dark that a person would have complete concealment.  No-just an empty area once occupied by mischievous students, stale concessions, and dust bunnies.
Satisfied, Miss Stevens resolved to head back to the office.  She plodded out of the alcove, toward the exit-
And froze, her eyes widening, a gasping cry escaping her parted lips.

**
He was tall, quite tall, almost absurdly tall, dressed in something black and sleek, like a matching sport coat and slacks, accompanied by a plain black shirt.  The arms hung by his sides in a limp manner, giving the impression that the figure was standing in a slouched position.  He had made no noise entering the gym-an odd thing, seeing as how the gym doors could not be opened or shut without the slightest sound of a click, a sound that in this silent environment would have been as loud as gunfire.
But that’s not what made Miss Stevens gasp.
It was the disproportionate head.  The face, specifically.
It had to have been at least three times as large as the average head, ballooning outward from the shoulders and neck in some strange, almost comedic manner, as if it were the finished product of an artist who specialized in macabre caricatures.  The shape of the skull was rectangular, almost block-like, similar to the old movie photos of the Frankenstein monster that Miss Stevens had seen; but the particular head on this man-or this thing-carried with it a flat, almost one dimensional appearance, as if she were looking at something that had been painted or posted on a sign.  Atop the head was a flat line of black hair, slicked down, clinging to the scalp, as well as to the sides of the head, just above the oddly prominent ears.  And then the face-
The face.  That horrible, disturbing face.
It was covered in a layer of skin that tightly clung to the skull, in a color that could best be described as uneven shades of white.  The jaw line came down in a grotesque, unnatural angle, giving the pointed chin an odd, elongated look.  Spread out just above the chin were the pressed lips of a wide, toothless smile that made the corners of the mouth appear as if they were pushing the smile wider than the actual face.  Above the smile, a nose pushed outward, coming to an unusually crooked point.   
And then the eyes…
The eyes, the most disturbing part of it all.  Two lidless, bloody orbs with black pits for pupils at their centers, so large and bulging that Miss Stevens feared that they might explode from their sockets.  And with them, it looked at her, right at her, with such a ravenous sense of intent that it could have been paralyzed her with panic.
But it didn’t.  One moment it was there, looking at her with that strange and unnerving close-lipped smile and those haunting, unblinking eyes; and then it wasn’t.  No sooner had the gasp come out of Miss Stevens’ mouth than the apparition winked out of existence.  
Miss Stevens huffed out a few hurried breaths, her stare fixed upon the spot where the strange being had been only a second ago.  She blinked rapidly-her eyes had welled up with salty water-and wiped the potential tears with the back of her sleeve.  It did not return.  Her face tore away from the spot, spinning around the gym in a frantic search, half expecting to see it somewhere else: on the bleachers, under the basketball hoop, near the alcove, right next to her-
Nowhere.  Whatever it was, it was gone now.  Another figment of her imagination.
No.  
It had been there.  It was real enough; she could even recall it casting a slight shadow on the wall behind it.  She wouldn’t have dreamed of conjuring up such a hideous sight-nothing like that.  No, her imagination invented things more traditional: monsters with teeth and claws that shred the living to easily cooked strips, fit for deep frying in soybean oil.  But this thing, this “balloon-head”, was something else, something frightening in a different way, not in the sense that it looked like it intended to eat her (although that may not have been out of the question), but that it had some sort of other devious plan in mind for her.  Some sort of plan that made the idea of being eaten alive by Miss Stevens’ imaginary friends seem alluring compared to the diabolical workings written on the haunted, happy face of Balloon-head.
The tingle of adrenaline in her bloodstream urged her to get out of there, to run to the exit and leave-and not just out of the gym.  Forget the office, forget about the disappearance of the now non-existent students and staff, forget it all: just run out, and run toward that set of double doors.  Go into the night, take her chances getting to the van, and drive home.
Drive home?  To what?  More darkness?  What if this phenomenon isn’t just a local thing?  What if it’s all over the town, or the country, or even the world?  What if it’s somehow connected to Balloon-Head?  Is he involved with any of it?  Is he the mastermind behind all of it?
Is he orchestrating this all to get me?
Miss Stevens advanced toward the exit, breaking into a modest trot, almost afraid to look behind her, for fear that two large red eyes and a white-faced smile would be perched upon her shoulder.  

**
Still silent and empty were the classroom halls, and Miss Stevens was now grateful in part for that.  Solitude wasn’t such a terrible condition when the alternative was to share company with a nightmare.  Better to have nobody good around than to have something bad to keep you company.  
Under another grey clock she walked, still frozen at quarter after ten.  Time was still dammed up by this strange occurrence, the rest of humanity had been swept away with the receding tide, and she had been left to flounder in the drying out bed.  Apparently, nobody told her that she needed to be prepared for such a possible oversight (We’re sorry, Miss Stevens, but you should have purchased your ticket at the local store advertising irrational and unexplained phenomena.  Oh, and watch out for Balloon Head, too.  Have a nice day!).  A thousand questions could be asked about this whole, abnormal mess, and it wouldn’t change the fact that she felt as if she were running for her life.
The glass double doors were up ahead: good.  Her keys were in her skirt pocket, pressing against her thigh with an uncomfortable pressure that she didn’t really mind right now, as they reminded her that they were her way out of here.  Her dark brown leather purse remained in her classroom.  Forget it; just get out.  She’d been in this building long enough.  
Her right hand plunged into the pocket, fingers wrapping around cool, jagged metal.  The left hand planted itself squarely into the “Push” panel of the door.
Balloon Head was standing there, between the first and second set of doors, in the foyer.
Miss Stevens shrieked, stumbling backward, almost losing her balance.  She caught herself, face frozen with wide eyes and a dropped jaw.  Balloon Head began to approach her, and it struck Miss Stevens in the back of her mind (although only peripherally, as it was not an area of great curiosity at the moment) that the legs did not move at all.  It coasted toward her, as if being blown by a leisurely breeze.  The blazing red eyes and menacing smile did not take their attention off her in the slightest.
It passed through the doors-through them, without opening them-and closed in on her.
Another scream filled the halls from Miss Stevens.  She turned, beginning to run, moving as fast as she could.  A heel broke, turning her ankle sideways.  It hurt-not a sprain, but not particularly comfortable, either.  She shook her shoes off in succession before continuing her shoeless sprint, grimacing at the residual stab that caused a throbbing in her ankle.  She didn’t look behind her; she didn’t dare look behind her.  But she didn’t have to.  She knew, she could feel, that it was still following her, floating after her in that strange, ghostly way.
There-on the right, her door stuck out into the hallway, still open.  Heart mercilessly beating against her chest, she broke into her fastest run, stocking-covered legs pumping and rising, watching as the distance between her and the door closed rapidly.
At the door she stopped, her hand slipping around the external knob, giving it a quick turn.  It remained locked; she always kept it locked from the outside, in case she needed to not be disturbed.  It prevented unwanted intruders from simply opening the door and coming in, as happened on other occasions, when Miss Stevens had neglected to do so.
Now was the perfect time to keep out an unwanted intruder.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something black and white moving down the hall, getting larger, closer.  Gritting her teeth, she slipped into the classroom, pulling the door shut as hard as she could, the slam resonating like a gunshot through the hallway.
Miss Stevens dropped to the floor, drawing her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her nylon-encased knees.  Heavy breathing gave way to soft sobs, then a full-blown bout of weeping, her eyes shutting tight, praying and hoping that this was some sort of bad dream, that all of this did not exist, and that it would all be back to normal as soon as she opened her eyes.  Tears ran down her face, cutting through the eye shadow and the blush, leaving their tracks traced on her cheeks.
The crying slowed down, as did the breathing.  Spasms of sobs interrupted her deep breaths.  She opened her eyes, unwrapping her knees and pulling herself up to a full standing position, glancing at the window with cautious curiosity.  Was Balloon Head still out there, waiting for her, to push its hands through the glass and pull her through it, as soon as she looked outside?
No, it could have come in already.  It had moved through the still shut double doors; it could have done the same here, couldn’t it?  Or could it only move through glass?  Was there something about the overall makeup of wood that prevented it from getting her?
She moved her head closer to the window, peering out its corner.  No Balloon Head.  More and more of her face filled the pane, her head rolling from one side to the other, eyes shifting down the other end of the call: still no Balloon Head.   For whatever reason, it had declined to pursue her, and had left her alone.  Her forehead rested upon the window, the feeling of smooth, chilled glass spreading across her skin, relieving the flushed weariness away from her.  By now, the sobs had gone, replaced by smooth inhaling and exhaling.  
Relief, what a beautiful thing.
No, this hadn’t answered her questions about what was going on; she still wondered what had become of everybody else, and why night seemed to have come during mid-morning.  It hadn’t even allayed her fears about the floating monstrosity that had been stalking her outside, but at least for now Miss Stevens felt as if she had overcome a major terror, that it was temporarily put on the back burner.  For now, she felt safety and refuge in her classroom.
Ironic, really-she had heard all of these lectures about her classroom being a place of safety for her students, a place of refuge for those who didn’t come from a good home.  She had certainly endeavored to do so, with limited success-not all students took the invitation to consider this room a temporary escape from the drudgeries and problems of life, but for those who did, Miss Stevens did her best to make them feel welcome, to help them rejuvenate and refresh as much as they could in this tiny little oasis, planted at the center of a desert that spanned several areas of their lives.
And now, here it was for her, safety from something else, something more than just a psychological or an emotional problem.  It was something very real, very unknown, and not at all appearing to be friendly.
But she couldn’t stay in here forever.  No telling exactly whether or not Balloon Man and this phenomenon would pass on soon, or if they intended to hang around here for a little while and continue to plan whatever they intended to plan to do to her.  
She had to get to the van.  It was the only possible way to escape.  This place was… haunted.  No, that wasn’t quite the right word.  This thing didn’t strike Miss Stevens as a ghost, per se, but rather as something else.  Something more evil.  Still, “haunted” seemed to be as good a word as any to describe it.  It haunted the school, roamed the area, looking to do evil, looking for her.  And it-
A strange feeling interrupted her thoughts, an odd awareness.  
A presence.
She abruptly turned around.
Balloon Man was smiling back at her, almost upon her.
Miss Stevens began to scream…

**
When Mrs. Tabor had opened Miss Stevens’ room with her key, she and Mr. Wolverton hustled into the room, advising the waiting students to remain outside until they came back and said it was alright to come in, both of them hearing the loud scream that emanated from the room only seconds earlier.  They found Miss Stevens collapsed upon her desk, her face a mess of streaked makeup, her stocking-clad feet without  shoes, and her room phone off the hook, an angry tone buzzing from the receiver to confirm the obvious.  They helped her up, repeatedly asking her if she was alright; she, not sure how to respond at first, babbled about whether or not they were okay, that she was glad that they had all made it back safely, and something about red eyes and a smile.  At the mention of the last, she broke into another round of defeated sobs and tears.
Mrs. Tabor told her that she would go tell the office what would happen, and that a substitute would be called as soon as possible.  Mrs. Beaufort was on her prep time, and would be able to sit with the class until then.  Mr. Wolverton took Miss Stevens’ arm, and helped her out, noting that she walked with a slight hobble as they passed the now sizeable crowd of students and negotiated their way toward the office.  
Miss Stevens held her head low, barely noticing the expressions on the faces of the students she passed, most of them wearing concern and confusion, a few of them staring impassively at her.   She occasionally glanced up, offering a feeble smile, the corners of her mouth forced upward as bravely as they could be, but not supported by the weary defeat worn by the rest of her sad face.
On they went, down the hallway, past a wall of lockers, most of which had been shut, but a few remaining wide open, probably startled by the scream Miss Stevens had let out as the passing time was coming to an end, Mr. Wolverton explained.  She was hearing him, but not listening, instead staring at the contents of the opened lockers-disorganized piles of papers and books, hanging jackets, graffiti littered inside the panels, and the posters of hunks and babes who graced television and the movies. 
Of particular interest was the very last locker that Miss Stevens passed before entering the locker-free main hallway which led to the office.  A scattered trail of paperwork bled out and onto the floor, leading to a pile of textbooks stacked in the lower part of the locker chamber.  Above, a crumpled paper bag sat on a shelf, next to an unopened juice drink.  Several pictures adorned the interior of the locker door, and below that, a poster.
Miss Stevens’ eyes dropped to the poster, seeing a glimpse of something that drew her from her absent-minded state.  
The poster was a picture of a face-a blocky, bloated face, possessing a pointed chin, with skin colored by varying hues of white, upon which was plastered an abnormally large close-lipped smile, situated under a pointed nose and two bright red eyes.
The picture of Balloon Man grinned at her.
Miss Stevens let out another piercing scream.
The clock read Ten-nineteen.
 
**
Dear Reader, 
I want to thank you for taking the time to enjoy my short story, and hope that you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. This story will be included as part of a future short story collection, which will be distributed on digital text in the near future. If you liked this story, or any of the other stories I have placed on Smashwords please feel free to give it a public review, and let me know what you thought as well personally by leaving me a comment on  or Email at  . I appreciate your feedback and also invite you to check out the first novel of my epic series, , as well as my other works, also available on Smashwords. 
Sincerely, 
J. Dean 

About the author: J. Dean is the author of the Vein project, his first serious venture into the realm of professional writing. A graduate of the University of Michigan, he teaches foreign language in public school and also gives private tutoring sessions, but is hoping that the Vein project will serve as a springboard for becoming a full-time writer. Mr. Dean plays bass guitar and co-writes music for the progressive rock band Episodic, and enjoys other hobbies such as target shooting, martial arts, and cuisine experimentation in the kitchen. He and his wife have two children and live in Michigan.