A week had passed since my life had settled back into something resembling normal. Richard had returned to school, absorbed once again in his demanding schedule, while I kept myself occupied with my own academic responsibilities.
One of the tasks assigned to me was a research project. I was fortunate enough, or so I thought, to have been paired with Teacher Kenneth. He was approachable, patient, and carried the kind of quiet intelligence that made working alongside him both easy and inspiring.
We spent long hours discussing methodologies, exchanging ideas, and drafting our work. But that fragile sense of routine was shattered the following morning.
When I arrived at the campus, the air felt unusually heavy, almost suffocating. Groups of students huddled together, whispering in hushed, panicked tones. As I walked further, the murmur grew louder, until my steps faltered.
There, in the open field, chaos unfolded.
A crowd had gathered. Police officers and forensic doctors moved briskly around the scene, their voices curt and professional, yet weighed with gravity. The flag of our school had been draped across a lifeless body, its fabric fluttering faintly in the wind. My heart stopped when I realized who it was.
It was Teacher Kenneth.
I froze where I stood, disbelief rooting me to the ground. The image seared into my mind, the stillness of his form, the pale outline beneath the flag.
"What happened to Sir Kenneth?" I managed to whisper, my voice trembling as I turned to the school principal, Dr. Bethany, who was standing beside me with arms folded tightly, her face pale.
"Kenneth was found dead," she replied, her tone heavy with sorrow. "He was discovered hanging from the flagpole. By the time the security guard arrived, his body was already cold… frozen."
The words struck me like ice. My knees threatened to buckle beneath me. Just yesterday, I thought of the messages he sent, the way he still seemed so full of life, busy, but fine. How could he be gone, just like that?
A police officer soon approached, notebook in hand, his expression neutral but his gaze sharp.
"Miss," he said firmly, "we need to record a statement. You were known to have worked closely with the victim."
I swallowed hard, nodding. "Yes… but not recently. Sir Kenneth asked us to move our sessions online for the past three days. He said he was busy… I didn't think much of it. He sounded fine, even though he mentioned being tired."
The officer jotted down my words, pressing for more. "Did he show any unusual behavior? Strange messages, odd remarks, anything?"
I shook my head, helpless.
"No. None of us noticed anything. He was always professional. I never imagined…" My voice trailed, breaking under the weight of the reality before me.
Around us, other teachers and students were being questioned. Everyone shared the same disbelief, the same hollow denial. There had been no signs, no cries for help, no forewarning of such a grim ending.
The campus fell under a heavy silence, broken only by the clipped orders of investigators and the faint flapping of the flag overhead. Classes were suspended indefinitely. The school declared it was necessary. There had to be a thorough investigation.
But as I walked away from the field, my chest ached with a gnawing unease. Something about Kenneth's death didn't feel natural. It didn't feel right. And deep inside, a whisper of dread told me that this was only the beginning.
When I returned home that evening, the landlady stopped me in the hallway.
"Someone delivered a package for you," she said with a polite smile, pointing to a medium-sized box sitting on the counter.
The moment my eyes fell on it, a strange heaviness filled my chest.
Something in me whispered, "Don't touch it, don't open it here."
Instead of bringing it up to my apartment, I carried the box with me and walked until I reached the nearby park. The place was alive with people, children running, couples laughing, the occasional street vendor calling out prices. The normalcy of their lives gave me a fragile sense of safety.
I sat on a bench under a streetlamp and slowly opened the box.
Inside were photographs.
Sir Kenneth's photographs.
And resting on top of them was his favorite necktie. One I had seen him wear countless times, the deep blue fabric neatly folded as though it were freshly pressed.
My hands stiffened. Beneath the pictures and the tie was a card. I flipped it open, already dreading the words.
"Did you enjoy my gift?"
For a long time, I simply stared at the note.
My face remained blank. My body did not shake. Not a flicker of emotion crossed me. It was as if the box had stolen them all, hollowing me out until nothing was left but silence.
The world around me carried on. Children still laughed. A dog barked. Someone sold roasted chestnuts near the fountain. Yet to me, everything sounded distant, muffled, as though I had slipped underwater.
Carefully, I returned everything back into the box and closed the lid. I stood, walked to the nearest trash can, and tossed it in without hesitation.
I told no one.
Not the landlady. Not the police. Not even Richard.
Sir Kenneth's death had shaken the school, but I chose to bury this quietly, pretending it had nothing to do with me. Whoever sent the package must have wanted to see my reaction, to test me, to toy with me.
But they would get nothing.
Not fear.
Not panic.
Not even curiosity.
I am clean. I am uninvolved.
At least, that is what I kept telling myself as I walked away from the park, feeling the invisible weight of unseen eyes following me into the night.
The air around me felt heavier, like the night itself was pressing closer. I could almost taste the danger, thick, invisible, circling me like a predator waiting for its moment.
My fingers trembled only once as I fished my phone out of my bag. I scrolled to Richard's number and pressed call. The ringing tone stretched endlessly, each second sharper than the last, until a flat, cold sound replaced it... busy line.
He must be tied up with something in City X. Maybe classes, maybe his family. I clenched my jaw.
This wasn't the time to panic him.
I opened our message thread instead, staring at the blinking cursor before typing...
[Don't come to my apartment if you arrive in City C. Give me a heads-up.]
I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the send button. Then I pressed it.
A simple message, but it carried every unspoken fear I had.
The thought of him walking into whatever shadow had decided to hover over me, no. I couldn't let that happen.
He didn't deserve to be dragged into this darkness.
I locked my phone and held it tightly to my chest, exhaling slowly as though the gesture might shield him from whatever was drawing closer to me.
For the first time in years, I felt small. Not weak, but watched. Hunted.
And somewhere deep inside, I already knew... this wasn't just a prank.
This was a warning.