The Ghost of Blue Street

The Hauntingly Peculiar Activities Within Shore’s Gates

H. R. Gluskie

AS I WALKED UP BLUE STREET ON THE 31ST OF OCTOBER, something in the air just seemed a little bit off. Whilst of course it was Halloween, and therefore a gloomy, miserable day with the occasional frightening lightning strike and murders of black crows perching on the main gate, I simply couldn’t put my finger on what this supernatural force was. The only ambiguous message I saw was a poster on the front gate reading, ‘The English GOAT will return once more and what have you.’ Hand on magnifying glass and eyes alert, I continued up to the locker rooms, where everyone seemed to be having a jolly fun morning, unaware of the terrors that would mark this day as a fateful one.

Deciding to opt for the smarter option of skipping Period 1 to investigate, I made my way over to the Deputy’s office to see if they knew anything about this idiosyncratic atmosphere. However, that lead quickly halted to a stop as the lights were off and the door locked – the Deputy hadn’t arrived yet.

It was interesting. Very interesting. I mean, why wouldn’t he be here yet? Scratching my ‘appropriately shaven’ beard, I thought I had better be heading back to Period 1, seeing as I was merely being superstitious, and there was nothing odd about this day. This was until I spotted the one thing that made my insides swirl, and my vision fall fuzzy – a grey line on one of the sandstone pylons. Extracting my magnifying glass, I placed my eye up to the grey coating of loose specks and shards; it was only recently engraved. I dabbed my finger on the remnant and tasted it, like any sane inspector would, revealing it to be some type of rusted metal. I followed the corridor down, spotting more of these mysterious grey lines. With more and more steps I took, the more frequent these lines became, as well as uncovering the occasional rusted nail or bolt lying on the ground. The marks came to a stop as I looked up; I was at the foot of the Headmaster’s office. Right at that moment, a perfectly timed lightning bolt struck from above the building, as I heard a terrifying cackle come from within, and a bone chilling shout of “It’s alive!” echoing throughout the School.

Silently climbing to the Office’s side window, I peered through the corner of the glass for all my hairs to stick up on end, and one cold drop of sweat to glide down my back. It was Dr Mansfield, or should I say Frankenstein!? A huge 8-foot man, resembling Dr Mansfield, but stained a greenish-yellow with those rusty nails protruding from his neck. With that size, he could destroy classrooms, terrorise students, or god forbid, set the new bench press record! I slipped off the ledge and fell to the floor, creating quite a ruckus that they sure would’ve heard. Sprinting back through the tunnel and to the safety of Tutor Group, I took one last glance at where this monstrosity had occurred, but as I did, what seemed to be some sort of hooded figure with fangs dashed through my peripherals…

Frightened to my core, I tried my best to play diary ping pong adequately, but I became too distracted by these peculiar going-ons occurring ‘rn’. Stepping outside, I approached the bubbler for a mental-reset, but lest, when I held the button down, alphabet soup started pouring out of the hole. First a ‘T’, then an ‘E’ and ‘N’, followed by a quick ‘O, N’. I couldn’t decipher what this befuddling message was, ‘Ten On’ doesn’t seem to make much sense. Just as I was about to leave, six more letters came speeding out, ‘E, T, H, R, E, E’. And then it hit me… 10-1-3: Mr Fitsemanu’s room.

 

Whilst the Science Department would know I’m not much of a Dr Seward myself, I sprinted over and froze in the corridor leading to Mr Fitsemanu’s door. I heard a voice coming around the corner from inside the room. A deep, intimidating voice saying over and over, ‘I vant to suck your blood’. I finally built up the courage to peer through the door window, but to my dismay, no one was present. All of a sudden, however, a pale-faced Mr Fitsemanu emerged from behind the door and gave me a clear display of his pearly whites. It was surprisingly, a very friendly smile, until I noticed the red-tinged fangs in the corners of his gums. An audible gulp escaped my throat as I bolted back out to safety. With any luck, I can only hope the Weird Sisters aren’t lurking around here too!

I started my questioning around Period 3. I figured I needed a larger scope of witnesses if I was going to get anywhere close to solving this peculiar case. Whilst most students hadn’t encountered anything strange and believed today was just another ordinary day, one frightened Year 7 attested he saw a Ghostface mask outside the sidegate near the Oval. I hurried over in search of this critical clue, but it was simply not there. The bell tolled and summoned me to Period 4; Extension English, with an agitated Mr Penn. Continuing our study of the ‘voluptuousness wantonness’ within ‘Dracula’, and peculiarly watching the opening sequence to ‘Scream’, I couldn’t help but notice Mr Penn eagerly checking his watch. He ended the lesson abruptly at 12.30pm sharp and swiftly made his way out of the classroom. I opted to follow him – could he be the conductor behind this intricately orchestrated monstrosity? He glided through the School making a turn into the Drama Department. Taking one look behind him, he opened the door leading underground and silently entered.

I waited a minute so as not to arouse any suspicion, but made my way down to a pitch black costume room. I heard the ruffle of cloth, and the footsteps of heavy boots. My hand felt its way to the light switch as I hesitantly flicked the switch. What opposed me was horrific: two cloaked figures with the Ghostface mask staring coldly into my soul, their glistening daggers reflecting so brightly under the chilling basement light. With each step I took backwards, they would take one step forward. I decided to make a break in the tension, sprinting out the door and taking three steps at a time, I made it to the cover of the sunlight, gently encompassing the beating of my exasperated body. I continued running until I reached the front gate, setting myself aside to catch my breath. I reflected on the two Ghostfaces; who was this second figure? And suddenly, it all seemed to appear so obvious. The ‘English Goat returning’, a dynamic duo, and a mask left at a side gate no current teacher would enter. It was none other than the works of Mr Penn and Mr Tzantzaris. Still out of breath, I leant my hand on the front gate. Instead of the anticipated brick, my hand met paper, and as I looked up, I felt my heart sink. The paper read:

Teacher Costume Contest, Lunchtime 31 October, 2023