Whispers in the Dark by Chase J. Jackson Page A

Dorian’s mom, Mrs. Fuller, left,”
Mrs. Ramsey said, pressing a button on her office phone.
    â€œHello, Helen. It’s Karen,” a woman’s voice said. “I don’t know what’s going on up
there at that school, but Dorian hasn’t been the same for the past two days. He wakes
up screaming in the middle of the night, and he just stares and mumbles to himself
like something has scared the daylights out of him. He’s refusing to eat or go anywhere.
Now, if I find out that something has happened to my son at your school, you’re going
to have a serious situation on your hands!”
    With a stern look, Mrs. Ramsey said, “Now, I’m going to ask you again. Is there something
you’re not telling me? Because I’ve known Dorian and his family since he was eight
years old, and nothing like this has ever happened. We are a family here at Finley
Academy, and when one family member is hurt or upset, we’re all hurt and upset. So
tell me exactly what happened between you and Dorian.”
    I had to tell her. Maybe, like Denise, she knew that something wasn’t right at this
school.
    â€œOkay,” I said, leaning forward. “After I spoke with the twins and Dorian, the twins
left the classroom. But there was something in the room besides me and Dorian, like
a shadow figure or something, that was standing behind me. It was as if it was watching
us. Dorian saw it, too.”
    â€œCould it have been your shadow, Mr. Ramirez?” Mrs. Ramsey asked.
    â€œNo! It wasn’t!” I responded. “I moved to see if it was my shadow, but it didn’t
move. It wasn’t my shadow. Like I said, it was as if it was just watching us. Then,
we both saw it move slowly out of the room.”
    â€œAnd it was just you and Dorian in there?” Mrs. Ramsey asked.
    â€œYeah,” I nodded.
    â€œYou know what this sounds like to me?” she asked.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThink about it, Mr. Ramirez,” she said, looking into my eyes. “You and your student
were left in the classroom together by yourselves, and now he’s terrified to the
point of not returning to school.”
    â€œWait! Are you saying I did something to Dorian?” I asked, appalled. Mrs. Fuller’s
message said nothing about me—so why was Mrs. Ramsey saying it was my fault?
    â€œI didn’t say anything,” Mrs. Ramsey said, calmly. “You said that. But if I find
out different, you will be charged and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”
    The bell rang.
    My heart pounded, and I could hardly catch my breath. Another panic attack was coming
on.
    â€œNow, get to class,” she said, nastily.
    â€œI had nothing to do with what happened to Dorian!” I yelled.
    â€œGet to class, Mr. Ramirez,” Mrs. Ramsey said, looking back down at her paperwork.
    â€œYou have to believe me!” I told her.
    â€œGet to class, Mr. Ramirez,” she repeated.
    I couldn’t believe it. She really thought I had something to do with what happened
to Dorian. Or she wanted to pin it on me. Now this was going to spread across the
school and make me look like some type of pedophile. I should have never said anything.
    I had to talk to Dorian and Dorian’s mother to clear this up. I wouldn’t be getting
any help from Mrs. Ramsey; that much was clear. I walked out of Mrs. Ramsey’s office
and went to Denise. “Denise, you have to help me. You have to call Dorian’s mother
for me and let me talk to her.”
    â€œOkay. Is everything all right?” she asked.
    â€œNo, just do this for me,” I said, impatiently.
    Denise scrolled through contacts in her computer, then picked up her phone and dialed
a number. She handed the phone to me. I waited for the ring, but the number wasn’t
in service.
    â€œIt’s not working,” I told her. “Is there another number?”
    â€œThat’s the only one I have in the