After Hours Detention, Room 13



The slip was blank except for the room number. No time. No reason. Just 13.
The lights in the hall were dead. Room 13 was not. She was already standing there, smiling like she had been waiting since the building was built. The grin was too wide. It did not reach her eyes. It reached past them.
Desks sat in rows like empty pews. Something was written on the board that had not been there at last period. The letters looked wet.
“Close the door,” Miss Crowe said.
Her voice was soft. The room swallowed it.
“Detention doesn’t end when the bell does. Sometimes it doesn’t end at all.”
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