couldn’t see anyone and she couldn’t hear anyone, but the feeling persisted. Someone was watching her. It was that
prickly feeling you get on the back of your neck when you know someone is staring at you from behind. She caught herself several
times, jerking her head around to catch the voyeur. But of course there was never anyone there.
It was silly, she knew. Must have worked too hard, she told herself. Silly. But the feeling kept getting stronger and stronger
until she finally found herself just watching and no longer working.
She resolved to do something about it. She would tour the building. If she could convince herself that there was no one else
on the premises, maybe the feeling would go away.
She went from one end of the building to the other, checking each classroom and every closet and storeroom. Just as she had
known before she started, there was no one here but her. All she found was a light that the janitor had left on in the office.
She turned the light out and locked the office door while she puzzled over the strange feeling. Where had it come from?
She felt better until she reentered her classroom. Suddenly she was overwhelmed by an even stronger feeling of being watched.
It was overpowering and suffocating. She couldn’t handle it. She grabbed her coat and rushed from her room. The minute the
door was shut, the feeling went away. Her pounding heart stopped racing and her breathing slowed. And, of course, she felt
silly again. But she didn’t feel like going back in the room. Not that night.
As she walked to the front of the building she noticed that the office room light was on. She thought she had turned it off
but she must have been mistaken. How funny. She had locked the door but left the light burning. Must be more tired than she
thought. She turned the light out and relocked the door.
She locked the outside door of the school and started for her car. As she turned from the building she heard a sound. It was
indistinct but still recognizable because she heard it so often during the day. It was the sound of a child giggling. She
wanted to turn back to the building and search it once again, but she kept walking resolutely to her car. She resisted every
impulse to turn and look at the building, afraid of what she might see. She started the car and put it in gear, then, without
thinking, glanced in the mirror at the building. She saw nothing—nothing but the light in the office.
Several days later, the secretary arrived early to unlock the building. She was as dedicated as the teachers, handling many
jobs that were not normally part of the job description for a secretary. As she opened the door she heard a sound that can
send chills through a school worker. It was the sound of running water. Somewhere in the building a tap had been left on full
blast. She raced through the building, with thoughts of flooding and damage haunting her mind. As she opened each door she
just knew that the water would be on behind it. But she couldn’t find the source of the sound.
Several times, as she made her panicked inspection of the building, she heard faint laughter. It was as if someone, someone
young, was amused by her distress. She searched the building from top to bottom but was unable to find the expected waterfall.
Finally she stood in the office, listening to the water cascade, somewhere. She was about to call the civil engineering office,
when the front door opened. The morning teacher walked in.
She ran to her.
“You hear that? You hear the water? Where do you think that’s coming from?” she blurted out.
“Hear what? I don’t hear anything.”
The secretary stopped. She listened hard. There was absolutely nothing to hear. The phantom water leak had stopped abruptly
with the entrance of the teacher.
In spite of a lack of evidence, she did call CE. They went over the building and under the building and checked all the pipes
and valves and
prickly feeling you get on the back of your neck when you know someone is staring at you from behind. She caught herself several
times, jerking her head around to catch the voyeur. But of course there was never anyone there.
It was silly, she knew. Must have worked too hard, she told herself. Silly. But the feeling kept getting stronger and stronger
until she finally found herself just watching and no longer working.
She resolved to do something about it. She would tour the building. If she could convince herself that there was no one else
on the premises, maybe the feeling would go away.
She went from one end of the building to the other, checking each classroom and every closet and storeroom. Just as she had
known before she started, there was no one here but her. All she found was a light that the janitor had left on in the office.
She turned the light out and locked the office door while she puzzled over the strange feeling. Where had it come from?
She felt better until she reentered her classroom. Suddenly she was overwhelmed by an even stronger feeling of being watched.
It was overpowering and suffocating. She couldn’t handle it. She grabbed her coat and rushed from her room. The minute the
door was shut, the feeling went away. Her pounding heart stopped racing and her breathing slowed. And, of course, she felt
silly again. But she didn’t feel like going back in the room. Not that night.
As she walked to the front of the building she noticed that the office room light was on. She thought she had turned it off
but she must have been mistaken. How funny. She had locked the door but left the light burning. Must be more tired than she
thought. She turned the light out and relocked the door.
She locked the outside door of the school and started for her car. As she turned from the building she heard a sound. It was
indistinct but still recognizable because she heard it so often during the day. It was the sound of a child giggling. She
wanted to turn back to the building and search it once again, but she kept walking resolutely to her car. She resisted every
impulse to turn and look at the building, afraid of what she might see. She started the car and put it in gear, then, without
thinking, glanced in the mirror at the building. She saw nothing—nothing but the light in the office.
Several days later, the secretary arrived early to unlock the building. She was as dedicated as the teachers, handling many
jobs that were not normally part of the job description for a secretary. As she opened the door she heard a sound that can
send chills through a school worker. It was the sound of running water. Somewhere in the building a tap had been left on full
blast. She raced through the building, with thoughts of flooding and damage haunting her mind. As she opened each door she
just knew that the water would be on behind it. But she couldn’t find the source of the sound.
Several times, as she made her panicked inspection of the building, she heard faint laughter. It was as if someone, someone
young, was amused by her distress. She searched the building from top to bottom but was unable to find the expected waterfall.
Finally she stood in the office, listening to the water cascade, somewhere. She was about to call the civil engineering office,
when the front door opened. The morning teacher walked in.
She ran to her.
“You hear that? You hear the water? Where do you think that’s coming from?” she blurted out.
“Hear what? I don’t hear anything.”
The secretary stopped. She listened hard. There was absolutely nothing to hear. The phantom water leak had stopped abruptly
with the entrance of the teacher.
In spite of a lack of evidence, she did call CE. They went over the building and under the building and checked all the pipes
and valves and
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