This old abandoned house looks like a good place to lay low for a while.

Cops were on my tail for a long time until I turned off on the dirt road that brought me here. They zoomed right by and never noticed. Now, I can relax and sort things out as to what I'll do next.

Old man Anderson never saw it coming. A quick twist of the neck and he was history. The only problem was his old lady. Thought she was supposed to be away. She saw me, then took off running before I had a chance to catch her when she ran out of the house, screaming and yelling for help, so I just beat feet.

But I got what I came for. The silver chalice I was paid to steal and get it any way I could. The buyer paid me fifty-grand for this job, but right now, I have to stay low for a day or two, then I'll call him to let him know it's a done deal.

This old house isn't all that bad looking inside. Kind of odd since the outside is looking one breath away from falling down . But inside, you would think the cleaning lady, or a maid just left, leaving this place spotless.

Another odd thing is all the furniture; looks knew, well, for being what looks to me to be nineteenth century.

There's the kitchen. Probably nothing in the way of food I could eat or munch on. Kitchen is spotless, too. I wonder if people bought this old place and maybe had stuff brought in. Maybe they'll be moving in here before long. I should be long gone before that happens.

Welcome.

"Huh? Who said that?"

I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned quickly, my gun in my hand.

No one was there.

Slow down and breath, Danny. It's just your nerves.

You do know the penalty for murder, don't you.

I started sweating. Whoever said that I couldn't see them.

Don't be so nervous. You are safe here. Perfectly safe. No one will find you here, ever.

"Show yourself, will ya! Stop with the games!"

Oh, Daniel Addams, this isn't a game. But it is your end of the road.

"What do you mean by that?"

You have come to the portal of hell, Daniel. And there is someone who

wants to meet you.

"Who? There ain't nobody here. Show yourself, I said!" My hand started

shaking.

He means me.

I felt another hand on my shoulder, jumping forward, I spun to my left and fired twice before I dropped the gun to the floor.

"Oh, hell no! It can't be you. You—you're dead!"

Of course I am. You killed me.

"But—how? Why?”

You snapped my neck is how. And the why is the silver chalice in your pocket.

"This is crazy."

From behind me, the other voice spoke.

No, it isn’t crazy. This is your time where time stops for you.

Not listening any longer, I run to the front door. It wouldn’t open.

When the ringing, macabre laughter behind me became louder, that was when I knew my life was over.

so i go to class, set up the ppts for the morning torture. this time its math. math is not my subject of preferance to say the least. but times are hard, and the notebooks dont write themselves. we were going to do negative numbers, i open up the file and feel relieved that the slide rule is there and the animations work. i drink from my thermos, and the bell for the pre-class eye exercise ringing. the kids are going to swarm in any moment, with their sharpened sticks and sheafs of cold pressed wood pulp.

i hurry to the batrooms, before they crowd it, asking me friendly questions by the urinals.

“do you like pizza?” “can you use chopsticks?” is what i expect. but what i get is this. “teacher, the computer is broken” says Alan . he couldn’t wait for me to return to class, and figured out where i was. this young hunter will do well.

i finish up, demonstrarively take my time washing my hands. hygene is really an excuse here. he should know better than to interrupt a person when he is on serious business.

Alan, is beaming. he doesn’t feel concerned that there will be no computer. the thought of missing out on my beautiful, black and white presentation on value places does not move him. only the need to stirr up trouble. because there is only one other cannibal in class. Jimmy.

Jimmy, would in any other place would go to a special class. but the stigma of having.such a child is too great. so his parents threw some money at the problem and here he is. i know what drives his parents, they make a point if driving him to school in a porsche, which in my mind is the gold standard for middle class show offiness and douchbaggery. jimmy has it tough. he is the bottom at grades and almost anything else. he is miserable, or tired. i broke a few fights already, which were mostly one way. Alan stands by me as i inspect the damage. it is true, that the eboard is blacked out. i try turning it on, and off, i try all kinds of things, as Alan beams over this and blames jimmy repeatedly.

who dunnit? is a question I don’t want to answer. I dont have the heart to persecute Jimmy if it was him(and I doubt that it was) , and I don’t want to blame Alan for a frame-up. it could be that it wasn’t him. the boy seems happy, anticipating my reaction. I guess he saw similar bursts of anger from other teachers, directed at another kid, and is looking forward for the show.

so what to do?

after trying a few more things in my very limited computer skillset, I just give up, pretending that the peoblem is a naturally occuring one. the Jimmy never takes part in the lesson. he is too far behind, and i meet him only once a week. it is not me that will rescue him, sad to say. Alan, is visibly dissapointed that his evil plan did not work. perhaps grownups are not as predictable as he thought. he is unusually quiet for the lesson, brooding. this is the end. no justice was acheived. but no serious damage either. well, except for the negative numbers. my kids were not impressed by my artwork.