Haunted Rayne

6 - The Rebel's Recess

Rayne Foster never really enjoyed physical education unless it involved dodgeball or softball. Ever since the tender age of three, Rayne struggled to play well with others. Her greatest joys were found in pushing boundaries, pranking people, and stumbling into fistfights. The word "teamwork" only brought frustration.

Today, however, Rayne bounced down the stairs to the gymnasium faster than a five-year-old on Christmas morning. The isolation of her new post-murder world was becoming unbearable, and part of her, just a tiny part, wondered if that loneliness attributed to her recent mental decline. She had only been at this school for a day, and the hallucinations were getting worse.

On her way to the locker room, she caught sight of another dark shape in her peripheral. Her heart skipped. When she spun around, the mass whirled around with her, looping under her arm before swooping upward. From the black vapors, a torso began to take form, long dark fingers reaching towards her. Its empty face stopped just inches from hers. She began to tremble.

Students in the vast hallway watched as fear gripped her by the ankles, halting her footsteps midstride. They watched her eyes widen with terror, a pebble of sweat dripping down the left side of her face. But they couldn't see it.

Why couldn't they see it?

Rayne opened her mouth, but the mass started to whisper.

The sound was dreadful and distant, like the soft drone of a broken washing machine in a closed laundry room. Rayne covered her ears and stomped through it, muttering, "Not real, not real, not real, not real."

She reached the locker room and tried to strike the whispers from her mind, but they were still there, a persistent fly buzzing in her ear. She even found herself swatting the air a few times, recoiling as if she'd felt the displacement of air tickle her skin.

"Not real, not real, not real, not real."

Just like the rest of the campus, the locker room was buffed and polished to a perfect shine; Rayne could see her reflection in the white and green tiled flooring. The other girls were changing into gym clothes, showcasing decorative thongs and matching bras, arguing over whose was more expensive.

Rayne retrieved her lock and gym clothes from the female coach's office, but she was reluctant to change. When she thought no one was looking, she stripped down quickly, trying not to draw attention to her black bra and boy shorts. She had lost so much weight since the accident; her skin sank in around her collarbone and her eyes sank in above dark circles. Not to mention all the sickeningly green and yellow bruises that covered her body.

"Look, girls. I think we've just uncovered patient zero," someone said. Rayne pulled up her black gym shorts and spun around. It was Bianca Hawthorne. The girl was shadowed by two of her friends—the strawberry blonde from English class, and a girl with almond eyes, feathered bangs, and caramel highlights in her black hair. Wearing her T-shirt tied above her navel, and her gym shorts rolled down, Bianca laughed. "Better run, girls. Before she bites you."

"Shut the fuck up, Bianca," said Rayne.

"Excuse me?" Bianca stepped closer, placed a hand to Rayne's shoulder, and pushed. "You wanna run that one by me again, you ugly zombie bitch?"

"Did I stutter?" Rayne shoved passed her and in between her two friends. Before she could blink, one of them grabbed her by the hair and yanked backward as hard as lawnmower starter rope. It was the strawberry blonde. Rayne heard the girl scream and looked up just in time to see a good chunk of her hair clumped in the girl's hand. Also startled, but still wanting to seem tough, Rayne improvised a grin. "Patient zero, huh? Better not give me a reason to bite you."