mother to care for. Right now I’m the bitter one, because I have to go into my classroom, plug in my laptop and watch security camera footage to find out if that same decaying woman ripped open my bag of clothes and cut them into ribbons to spite me, because she hates her own daughter so much.
“I can’t, sorry, I have marking to do.” My tone is brusque and unfair. I’m walking away from her as she stands staring after me. All she ever does is try to help me, and I can’t find a way to be grateful. It hurts to be around her while my life is falling to pieces. It hurts to be around anyone happy, because I see the way I suck the happiness from the room.
It’s a relief to open the door to my classroom, and a relief to close it behind me. I dump the books on my desk and quickly set up my laptop. I don’t have a lot of time, and I’ve got a complicated system to work out. I spent most of last night reading and rereading the booklet I received with the installation.
I log in and pull up the camera feed from the front of the house. It takes me a couple of attempts, but soon I’m able to rewind the feed and play short busts through the night, rewinding and fast-forwarding until I find activity on the recording. There’s the neighbour’s cat again; a fox comes sniffing up to the bag and I freeze, wondering if my paranoia was just that… but then the fox turns away and runs into the night.
It’s not until about 4am that there’s movement again. It’s so quick that I almost miss it. I rewind and watch again. It’s almost a blur.
A figure darts from the hedge on the left of the screen towards our door. Then it disappears. I catch my breath, try to calm my heart, and watch again. The figure is almost completely in shadow and little more than a black blob in the darkness. But, despite its being hunched over, it’s almost certainly a person. The problem is, the person disappears directly underneath the camera, which is affixed to the wall above the door. They must be crouched down next to the step where the charity bag is still sitting.
I keep watching the recording. For almost thirty seconds, nothing happens. Then I start as a gloved hand reaches out and snatches the bag of clothes. The sickness in my stomach rises to my throat. I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep it down. I need to keep a clear head. I need to watch the rest of this recording and find out exactly who is stalking me and why. But there’s little else to see. At one point, some of my clothes fly up into the air, making me gasp. I’m watching a person destroy my things for no apparent reason. More of my clothes are thrown into the air, and then there’s another blur and the vandal is gone.
I sit back in my chair, covered in cold sweat, defeated and drained. I was so convinced that this would show that Mum was playing a cruel joke. Instead, I know no more than I did yesterday. The figure was so hunched, and moved so fast, that it could have been anyone. I didn’t even assess their physique. They could be fat or thin, male or female.
The children begin to filter into the classroom as I start to watch the footage from Mum’s room in fast-forward. About two hours in, the camera goes blank. I pause the feed and try to rewind it.
“Miss, are you going to do registration? Shall I do it for you?” Alice being a goody two-shoes again.
I pick up my register and read out the names of the students, but all the time—even as I’m marking ticks next to their names—all I can think about is the video feed. Why did it go blank? Could Mum have figured out what I’ve done? Did she turn the camera off somehow? And if she did, how did she do it without walking up to the camera? I would have seen her do it. Perhaps the camera is faulty. The timing is disastrous, but these things do happen.
It’s a struggle, but I force my concentration back to the children. It’s not their fault so much is going on in my private life. They still deserve an education.
“I can’t, sorry, I have marking to do.” My tone is brusque and unfair. I’m walking away from her as she stands staring after me. All she ever does is try to help me, and I can’t find a way to be grateful. It hurts to be around her while my life is falling to pieces. It hurts to be around anyone happy, because I see the way I suck the happiness from the room.
It’s a relief to open the door to my classroom, and a relief to close it behind me. I dump the books on my desk and quickly set up my laptop. I don’t have a lot of time, and I’ve got a complicated system to work out. I spent most of last night reading and rereading the booklet I received with the installation.
I log in and pull up the camera feed from the front of the house. It takes me a couple of attempts, but soon I’m able to rewind the feed and play short busts through the night, rewinding and fast-forwarding until I find activity on the recording. There’s the neighbour’s cat again; a fox comes sniffing up to the bag and I freeze, wondering if my paranoia was just that… but then the fox turns away and runs into the night.
It’s not until about 4am that there’s movement again. It’s so quick that I almost miss it. I rewind and watch again. It’s almost a blur.
A figure darts from the hedge on the left of the screen towards our door. Then it disappears. I catch my breath, try to calm my heart, and watch again. The figure is almost completely in shadow and little more than a black blob in the darkness. But, despite its being hunched over, it’s almost certainly a person. The problem is, the person disappears directly underneath the camera, which is affixed to the wall above the door. They must be crouched down next to the step where the charity bag is still sitting.
I keep watching the recording. For almost thirty seconds, nothing happens. Then I start as a gloved hand reaches out and snatches the bag of clothes. The sickness in my stomach rises to my throat. I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep it down. I need to keep a clear head. I need to watch the rest of this recording and find out exactly who is stalking me and why. But there’s little else to see. At one point, some of my clothes fly up into the air, making me gasp. I’m watching a person destroy my things for no apparent reason. More of my clothes are thrown into the air, and then there’s another blur and the vandal is gone.
I sit back in my chair, covered in cold sweat, defeated and drained. I was so convinced that this would show that Mum was playing a cruel joke. Instead, I know no more than I did yesterday. The figure was so hunched, and moved so fast, that it could have been anyone. I didn’t even assess their physique. They could be fat or thin, male or female.
The children begin to filter into the classroom as I start to watch the footage from Mum’s room in fast-forward. About two hours in, the camera goes blank. I pause the feed and try to rewind it.
“Miss, are you going to do registration? Shall I do it for you?” Alice being a goody two-shoes again.
I pick up my register and read out the names of the students, but all the time—even as I’m marking ticks next to their names—all I can think about is the video feed. Why did it go blank? Could Mum have figured out what I’ve done? Did she turn the camera off somehow? And if she did, how did she do it without walking up to the camera? I would have seen her do it. Perhaps the camera is faulty. The timing is disastrous, but these things do happen.
It’s a struggle, but I force my concentration back to the children. It’s not their fault so much is going on in my private life. They still deserve an education.
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