White is for Magic by Laurie Faria Stolarz Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laurie Faria Stolarz
my best to move toward the classroom. But when I get there, there's an e-mail note tacked up on the door announcing that detention has been moved to the basement.
I hurry my way down two flights of steps and charge through the steel door at the bottom.
There's a wooden sign that reads DETENTION FOR STACEY BROWN hanging on the wall. It points down the long and narrow hallway that faces me.
I begin making my way in that direction, wondering why the sign only lists my name--why I'm the only one with detention down here.
The sparse, yellow overhead lights cast down over a hallway littered with custodial debris--paint cans, rollers, rags, some mixing sticks, a custodial uniform balled up on the floor. The walls and floor are a deep green color, just a layer of paint over bare cement, and there are doors on the right and left. I try the closest door to the left. Locked. I try another. Also locked. I continue down the hallway, listening at
58
a few of the doors, trying the knobs. But it's like this place is completely deserted.
Like maybe this has been a mistake.
I'm just about to turn around and head back when I hear something coming from the end of the hallway. It's a slapping sound, like someone's feet hitting against the cement floor.
"Hello?" I call.
The slapping stops.
The end of the hallway is still several yards away. I take a few steps closer, noticing a large gray door at the very end. "Hello?" I call again.
Still nothing.
I wonder if maybe this whole thing is yet another stupid joke, if maybe someone's watching me right now, trying to hold in a fit of laughter. I look around, toward the ceiling and then behind me.
"Hello?" I call out again. "This isn't funny."
No response.
I turn to leave, walking quickly at first, but then gathering speed.
The slapping sound starts up again; I can hear it echoing off the walls. I hurtle through the steel basement door at full speed and scramble up the stairs in complete darkness, the lights in the stairwell all switched off. There's a set of doors at the top. I feel for the handles and try pushing them, but it's like they're chained. Like I'm trapped.
I pound my fists against the doors, kick at the handles to try and break the lock, yell with all the energy I have for someone to come and help me. But it's deathly quiet.
59
The steel door to the basement opens. The sound of footsteps makes its way toward me, up the stairs. I squat down in the corner.
"Stacey?" says a male voice. 'Are you here?"
I don't say anything.
"It's okay," he says. "It's just me."
I squint to try and make out a face, like that will make a difference.
"It's me," he insists. "I knew I'd find you here."
"PJ?" I call out.
I wait several seconds before beginning my way back down the stairs. "Where are you?" I walk through the door at the bottom. Still no one. "PJ?" I call out. I can hear someone laughing at the end of the hallway. Why is he doing this? How is this supposed to be funny?
I start down the hallway again, following the sound of laughter. It leads me closer to the slapping sound. Maybe I should just go to it. Maybe the answer to getting out of here is behind it.
Focusing on the weathered gray door at the end, I wonder if it might be the way out. It seems darker the closer I get to it, the yellowy overhead lights more dim and sparse. I keep moving toward the door, the sound of the slapping getting louder, so close now. I take several steps, squinting to make out the shadows that play to the right of the door. They jump back and forth to the beat of the slapping. Like someone's there. Waiting for me.
"Hello?" I call.
Just a few yards away now, I can make out a looplike shadow against the door. And just to the right of it, scribbled
60
6o
1
on the ground in a dark red color, is a giant letter M. It's staring right up at me.
"Stacey," says a girl's voice.
I freeze. There's a walloping inside my chest, pushing through my skin, freezing me in place. I know that voice. I'd
I hurry my way down two flights of steps and charge through the steel door at the bottom.
There's a wooden sign that reads DETENTION FOR STACEY BROWN hanging on the wall. It points down the long and narrow hallway that faces me.
I begin making my way in that direction, wondering why the sign only lists my name--why I'm the only one with detention down here.
The sparse, yellow overhead lights cast down over a hallway littered with custodial debris--paint cans, rollers, rags, some mixing sticks, a custodial uniform balled up on the floor. The walls and floor are a deep green color, just a layer of paint over bare cement, and there are doors on the right and left. I try the closest door to the left. Locked. I try another. Also locked. I continue down the hallway, listening at
58
a few of the doors, trying the knobs. But it's like this place is completely deserted.
Like maybe this has been a mistake.
I'm just about to turn around and head back when I hear something coming from the end of the hallway. It's a slapping sound, like someone's feet hitting against the cement floor.
"Hello?" I call.
The slapping stops.
The end of the hallway is still several yards away. I take a few steps closer, noticing a large gray door at the very end. "Hello?" I call again.
Still nothing.
I wonder if maybe this whole thing is yet another stupid joke, if maybe someone's watching me right now, trying to hold in a fit of laughter. I look around, toward the ceiling and then behind me.
"Hello?" I call out again. "This isn't funny."
No response.
I turn to leave, walking quickly at first, but then gathering speed.
The slapping sound starts up again; I can hear it echoing off the walls. I hurtle through the steel basement door at full speed and scramble up the stairs in complete darkness, the lights in the stairwell all switched off. There's a set of doors at the top. I feel for the handles and try pushing them, but it's like they're chained. Like I'm trapped.
I pound my fists against the doors, kick at the handles to try and break the lock, yell with all the energy I have for someone to come and help me. But it's deathly quiet.
59
The steel door to the basement opens. The sound of footsteps makes its way toward me, up the stairs. I squat down in the corner.
"Stacey?" says a male voice. 'Are you here?"
I don't say anything.
"It's okay," he says. "It's just me."
I squint to try and make out a face, like that will make a difference.
"It's me," he insists. "I knew I'd find you here."
"PJ?" I call out.
I wait several seconds before beginning my way back down the stairs. "Where are you?" I walk through the door at the bottom. Still no one. "PJ?" I call out. I can hear someone laughing at the end of the hallway. Why is he doing this? How is this supposed to be funny?
I start down the hallway again, following the sound of laughter. It leads me closer to the slapping sound. Maybe I should just go to it. Maybe the answer to getting out of here is behind it.
Focusing on the weathered gray door at the end, I wonder if it might be the way out. It seems darker the closer I get to it, the yellowy overhead lights more dim and sparse. I keep moving toward the door, the sound of the slapping getting louder, so close now. I take several steps, squinting to make out the shadows that play to the right of the door. They jump back and forth to the beat of the slapping. Like someone's there. Waiting for me.
"Hello?" I call.
Just a few yards away now, I can make out a looplike shadow against the door. And just to the right of it, scribbled
60
6o
1
on the ground in a dark red color, is a giant letter M. It's staring right up at me.
"Stacey," says a girl's voice.
I freeze. There's a walloping inside my chest, pushing through my skin, freezing me in place. I know that voice. I'd
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