Tabitha Grace was simply washing her hands in the girl’s bathroom when she felt uneasy. There was an odd feeling something was watching her, it’s eye burning onto her back. She turned off the cold water and pulled out a paper towel to dry her hands. Throwing the paper away, she glanced behind — where the stalls were located. All of them hung open except for one; the fourth and last stall. It had been closed when she came in as well, but it wasn’t until now it had registered in her mind.
(knock…knock)
Her conscious whispered repeatedly. She stood there for a moment, deciding whether to go to her next class or to knock on the stall. She could leave now and ignore it; that was the easy way out. Her hand tingled with anticipation. She shouldn’t, but she wanted to. And, in the end, she did knock. There, of course, was no reply. “Hello?” She called. Nothing. She drew in a breath, “Are you okay in there? It’s passing block you know…don’t want to be late.” Silence. Her mind was screaming to go — leave. Run. But her feet were glued to the ground. She had to look; to see.
(run)
She pressed her hands against the stall, the door fell open, stopping half-way open. It’s croak echoed across the walls. Tabitha slowly glanced down. A foot. She made a small gasp. She pulled the stall door open more. A leg…then an entire body. A very bloody body. She drew back, a hand over her mouth. It was the girl she always seen walking the halls to their classes. The girl she continuously passed by almost every day. The girl that once caused her to trip while walking to English and apologised profusely for it. The girl who she never learned the name of.
Tabitha dashed towards the closest adult there was, completely forgetting her backpack and cell phone by the bathroom sink.
The girl’s name was Claire Priest. She was 16.
Simple Writing; 