Night Class

Poindexter was typing away frantically at computer number twenty-four, his favorite because it was the last computer in the last row of tables that made up the computer lab. Sitting here he didn’t even have to take notice of other students coming in and doing their baby work—putting together presentation slides or looking up things on Wikipedia. Staying as far away as possible from that kind of business was useful when Poindexter was working on 3d shaders that most of his peers wouldn’t even begin to understand.

Of course his demonstration program was ready and working, but just as he had descended the stairs to the lab he had thought of how cool it would be to include the other seven planets in the animation as well. They were only spheres, so it shouldn’t have been too complicated. But then, as was often the case with his projects, one thing had led to another and he had at least partially forgotten time.

He did notice when the door to the lab was opened and realized that one of the others had come to see how he was doing. He shrugged and closed the code he had been working on. He would show the original version of his demo, and it would be alright. He’d implement the multiple animated spheres and the necessary calculations and architectural changes some other time, and use the program again when the Astronomy Club went to observe one of the other planets.

“I’m coming,” he said into the dark room. “Chips, is that you?”

No reply. Whoever it was, they were just coming closer with slow and measured steps.

Poindexter pulled his USB stick with the demo program on it out of the lab computer and put it into his pocket. “Just shutting it down, one sec,” he said. “Who is that? Star Gazer?” They had probably not sent one of the girls; it seemed that girls had some sort of aversion to entering the computer lab at all.

The steps were now close, probably at the end of this row of tables. Poindexter turned around to see who was coming to get him, the mouse hovering above the shutdown icon on the screen.

Whoever it was had seen it fit to shroud himself in a dark coat that looked like—

“Is that an army blanket you’re wearing? That’s one lame Nightmare Night costume if you ask me!”

The hooded figure made one more step, still not speaking. Then, in one fluent motion, he extended one arm from underneath the army blanket he had wrapped himself into. The bluish light of the computer screen reflected brilliantly on the long blade of a large knife.

“What the heck, dude…?” The figure made another step. Poindexter tried to at least get a glimpse of the person’s face, but the shades under the improvised hood were too deep. “That’s not funny!” he yelped, realizing that the other guy was blocking his only way of escape—unless he was going to climb across the computer tables.

But he sure wouldn’t have to resort to these measures. This was just a prank, an attempt of scaring him.

“Look, you got me, real good, I was actually scared, but can you please drop it now?”

Instead of an answer the figure suddenly lunged forward, thrusting the knife at Poindexter. By sheer instinct he staggered backwards and the blade, aimed for his throat, only cut through empty air.

“What the heck, dude!” Poindexter cried out, catching himself on the wall behind him. With his back to the wall. Shit.

He didn’t wait for the attacker to strike again. Clearly they had lost all perspective on their so-called prank—even the worst bullies usually knew when to stop before things got seriously dangerous. Most of the time at least.

Using his chair to push himself off he leapt onto the table of computer twenty-four, careful not to knock over the screen. This little hesitation gave the attacker enough time to thrust the knife again, this time glancing off Poindexter’s right shoe.

“Dude!” Poindexter cried. “Stop that!”

He pulled himself past the computer and onto the other half of the table, again mindful of the screen—whether or not this prank had gotten out of control, he was not going to recklessly damage school property. Then, suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his left thigh. That a-hole actually cut me!?

Shocked by the pain he lost his balance and fell onto his left side, knocking over the screen on the other side of the table. He scrambled to get off the table and on his feet again, but as he tried to stand on his left leg the pain almost made him topple. He quickly glanced backwards to see what his attacker was doing. To his alarm he was not trying to climb across after him, but was moving to the end of the row of tables Poindexter was now standing in, again cutting off his way to the door.

“Dude, please, stop it! Leave me alone!”

The attacker still didn’t talk and instead just started walking towards Poindexter, the knife still extended. That’s my blood on that blade, he thought, and for a moment everything seemed to turn black before his eyes. I can’t freaking pass out!

He stumbled to his right, to the next row of tables—his only way out. He jumped belly-first onto the table again, this time not caring about the hardware on top of it. The attacker made a quick step towards him and drove the tip of the knife into Poindexter’s left foot.

Poindexter came crashing down from the table, entangling himself in the desk chair standing in the next row. As he tried to get up he slipped in some liquid on the ground and, trying to maintain his balance on his injured leg, he realized that his left leg wasn’t strong enough to support him anymore. Instead of getting up from the blasted chair he fell on his butt.

Shit!

He somehow managed to get up, but he had lost too much time. The attacker was again coming closer through the table row.

Poindexter pulled himself onto the opposite table, the last one blocking him from the exit door. If he could only make it there—

This time the attacker didn’t stab him in the legs, but instead gave him a strong push as he was trying to crawl across the computer table. He fell over and landed flat on the floor on the other side. He could see the open lab door, only a few steps away from him.

He pulled himself up on the table, sparing his left leg as good as he could. His trouser leg was soaked in blood by now and clinging to his skin. Again his vision dimmed for a moment, and he had to hold on to the table and the chair in front of it to not fall over.

When he could see clearly again, the attacker was standing between him and the door. He still couldn’t see his face, but Poindexter was certain that the bastard was smiling.

I’m bleeding like a pig and that guy is smiling, he thought, infuriated.

Without thinking he reached for the screen on the table next to him and tossed it at the attacker. The screen, being connected to the computer—number four, Poindexter thought incoherently, the one with the busted DVD drive—only flew for a short distance before landing on the floor.

The attacker made a menacing step towards Poindexter.

With no intention of just giving himself up Poindexter held onto the desk chair and started running at the attacker, pushing the chair like a battering ram. They collided heavily, and Poindexter lost his balance, crashing into the door frame and falling down again. Belatedly he noticed a new pain in his left shoulder.

He tried to get up, but now his left arm wouldn’t carry his weight anymore, and he fell on his face. With no other option he managed to get his right arm under himself and crawled through the door, painfully dragging himself forward. If he could only reach the others…

The attacker almost casually brought the knife down again, slashing Poindexter’s lower right side. He groaned but carried on. “Leave me… alone…”

He was suddenly lifted in the air by a few inches and tossed on his back. Looking up, he saw the attacker kneeling above him. He still couldn’t discern his face, and feebly brought up his right hand to pull away the hood. It felt horribly important to learn the attacker’s identity.

The attacker lowered the point of the knife, resting it on Poindexter’s chest for a moment. Then he pressed, and Poindexter screamed with what little air remained in his lungs as the blade slowly cut through is body.

At last the attacker pulled out the blade in a spray of Poindexter’s blood. The boy was wheezing, red foam bubbling out of his mouth. “Duude…” he whispered.

With one slick motion the attacker slit his throat and silenced him.

***

Trixie stopped a few steps away from the body. She made one clearly audible gagging noise, which turned into a soft high-pitched whine. Sunset hurried to close the last distance between the two of them and pulled her back by her hand. She didn’t need to take a closer look. Trixie reluctantly followed, walking backwards.

“Stop looking,” Sunset said hoarsely and, when her words didn’t have an effect, grabbed her shoulder and turned her around.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie has come to the obvious conclusion that we should get the hell out of here,” she said in a shaky voice.

“Yeah, let’s bail and call the police.”

“You don’t think whoever did this is still here, do you?” Trixie squeaked.

“Probably. We have to be careful.”

Sunset took the lead. Trixie remained close to her—any closer and Sunset would practically be carrying her. Dragging along scared girls seemed to become the theme for this night. Now all the lights in the hallways were switched off, the only illumination coming from the exit lights above the doors.

They proceeded cautiously, and it took them way longer to reach the school’s front entrance, repeatedly stopping to listen for any noises that might indicate that the killer was close. But the school, for now, was entirely quiet.

The street lights were shining through the glass doors of the main entrance. In the twilight the chains that were wrapped around the door’s handlebars were clearly visible.

“Chains,” Trixie deadpanned. “Clever. Real clever.”

“Didn’t you—?”

“Obviously these aren’t mine.” Trixie took a closer look at the padlock holding the chains in place. “A Yale. Not good.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a Yale lock. They’re almost impossible to pick, even for me.” When Sunset continued to look at her incomprehensively, she explained, “The Great and Powerful Trixie is extremely skilled at picking locks. But even my skills must fail in face of such a high-quality product. What are we going to do now?”

Picking locks? Sunset wondered, but now was not the time for discussing Trixie’s unexpected talents.

“Windows?” Sunset suggested. Trixie nodded.

They turned to the nearest classroom. Right next to it was the one where Trixie had placed the cupcake and the candles. Back when everything had still been a prank, Sunset thought. In the classroom the lights didn’t work, but they could see all they needed to see regardless.

“Did you ever notice that you can only open this small part up there?” Trixie asked, pointing at the windows.

“Can’t say that I have,” Sunset said. “Why would you build them like that?”

“To keep kids from jumping out and skipping class?”

“As if a window would prevent people from skipping class… shit!” Sunset hissed as disappointment rushed through her. Disappointment and cold fear. What if they couldn’t get out of the school? What if they couldn’t escape the killer? “What the hay are we supposed to do now?”

“You could smash it?” Trixie suggested feebly.

“Alright.” Sunset wasn’t sure about this at all. But the alternative was—no, in fact there simply was no alternative. She picked up the teacher’s chair and got in position in front of the window. “Stay back so you don’t get hurt.”

“Obviously.” Trixie took some steps back while still making sure to maintain a safe distance to the classroom door.

Sunset raised the chair and took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. She swung the chair and smashed it into the window.

The chair swung back, and the impact made her lose her grip. The chair bounced off the floor a few times, causing tremendous noise in the silent school.

“Not strong enough,” Trixie commented smugly.

“How is that possible?”

Trixie took a closer look at one of the windows. “It’s reinforced glass.”

“Who puts that in school windows? What exactly are they afraid of, drive-by shootings? In Canterlot?” She shook both her hands, which hurt from the chair’s impact. Trixie just shrugged. “Let’s try another.”

Trixie shook her head. “Unless you have the strength of a bear, we’re doomed.” Realizing what she had just said she leaned against a table, catching her breath. “We’re doomed!”

“We’ll be fine,” Sunset growled. “We just have to change location. Maybe he heard us.”

Trixie swallowed hard. “You think? Then what are we waiting for?”

They hurried out of the classroom and into the next one. The candles Trixie had put up were still burning, making the room much brighter than the corridors outside. Sunset rushed over to the teacher’s desk and blew them out while Trixie quietly closed the door. There was no need to further announce their presence.

No second too early. Slow and measured footsteps passed by outside in the hallway. Trixie and Sunset stared at each other with wide open eyes. The footsteps went past the door, and then the door of the neighboring classroom was torn open. Trixie jumped, and for a moment Sunset feared she might scream or make some other noise, but the younger girl remained silent.

After a short moment of complete silence—almost complete, how can’t he hear our breathing, it’s so loud and wheezing—the steps walked past the door again. To Sunset’s great horror Trixie began walking towards her—but she had to give her credit that she moved as silently as a cat.

Trixie closed the distance between them, never breaking eye contact. Only when she was standing right in front of Sunset, she spoke in an almost inaudible whisper. “We must stay absolutely still until he’s gone.” From this close Sunset could see that her eyes were wide open, and that she was shivering.

Sunset, not trusting her own voice to remain low enough, just nodded. For once she found the unnecessary closeness of another human being comforting when Trixie held on to her arm.