Somehow survival seems possible today. The sun looks warm and upbeat coming in the open window, and the classroom is way less creepy in the daylight. It drastically improves my mood. Making sure I’ve got my hunting knife in my pants just in case, I slip out the classroom door and pull it closed.

On the other side of the door, my mood dims. There are piles of papers strewn about, broken desks and dried-out rodent droppings. Ceiling tiles hang in saggy fragments or lie in bloated piles on the cracked tile. In one corner I see a small rib cage. Some rat, long dead and forgotten. Each doorway could hide any number of horrors. My eyes trace down the long dark halls. I could turn back to my quiet classroom, but my burning throat won’t let me.

I slip down the creepy hallways, peeking in each room. The classrooms look just like ours with small differences. One has larger desks for older kids. Our cute posters are replaced with faded charts and graphs pressed in that same plastic covering. One room has no desks, just piles and piles of wet and rotting garbage. Another looks like it had once been a music room. A tilting, three-legged piano grimaces at me with its black and white teeth strewn on the floor. I pass a room with a fallen roof, exposing one corner to the sky. Each room is coated in undisturbed layers of dust or mildew. No one’s been in here in some time.

I should go in the classrooms and dig through the cupboards, but I’m a coward. Maybe with Ethan and Clie behind me I could brave pulling open those doors to see what’s behind. Animal nest, bugs, spiders, or worse. I think about the body Clay found. I can’t face something like that on my own.

I turn the corner and spot a cracked porcelain water fountain. It’s a long shot, but I hit the button. Nothing. I push open the door labeled Ladies’ Room. Inside there’s no windows, so it’s pitch black, and besides, if there’s no plumbing, there’s no water in there anyway. I let the door slip shut and turn down another dark, garbage-filled hall.

Near the front of the building, I find what used to be the greeting center. Though it takes me a while, I sound out the word Office on the sign. With big windows facing the front, there’s enough light to see in. Disheveled chairs, their fabric turning to dust, line the wall leading up to a receiving counter. A dust-encrusted crystal dish still perches delicately on the counter top, but whatever was in it has long since been carted off by mice. Another chair lies wheels up behind a paper-covered desk.