This is simply ridiculous. I’m 16 years old. I have a driver’s license, a car, and a job at the local bookstore. I’ll be old enough to vote and start college in less than a year and a half. And yet, here I am at the old dominion high school principal’s office. I skipped a class, and now they are planning to give me swats. Paddling? Five hundred years ago I would have already been married, and had a couple of kids.

I’m staring at Mr. Johnson’s assistant. She is a forty-something, short, skinny red head. At the moment she is smirking slightly and giving me the side eye. Stupid bitch.

Mr. Johnson comes out and looks at me. “Erika, you can come in now. Mrs. Green, will you join us please?” I straighten my skirt and follow Mr. Johnson and his assistant into the office. He speaks again. “Erika, we already discussed why you are here. You have been skipping classes. I talked to your dad, and he seemed pretty frustrated. This is a serious offense. If you miss any more classes you won’t graduate on time. I am going to give you five swats with the paddle. I need you to bend over and put your elbows on this desk. I will not begin until you say ready. If you move out of the way, you will get the swat again. Do not put your hands back, and do not move or I will have Mrs. Green hold you in place. Go ahead and get in position and say ready, when you are ready to begin.”

I start to cry and bend over the desk on my elbows. I am wearing a black skirt that is a little too short. It is starting to ride up. There is a slight breeze from an air-conditioner somewhere blowing on the back of my thighs. I feel my panties showing. My white halter top is loose fitting. It’s hanging down so that my breasts are partly visible. I am glad I wore a covering bra today. I wonder if that pervert is looking at my breasts. I reach back and pull on my skirt. It doesn’t help. I finally say “Ready” in a voice that is shakier than I want it to be.

Mr. Johnson:

I enjoy watching her bend over the desk. I can see her white and pink panties. She reaches back and tries to pull her skirt down. The fabric stretches down for a moment and then rides up a little more instead. I can pretty much see her whole ass at this point. She finally says “Ready” in a weak voice. I can see her size D tits through the arm holes of her shirt.

I bounce the paddle on her ass for emphasis. I look up at the clock for a moment. It stares back with a simple 2:22. I don’t really care what time it is, I’m just drawing this out. I can smell her from here. It’s muted, like sweet oranges and hairspray. She is slightly acrid. My nose hairs burn a little when I inhale. I feel mildly inebriated. My head faintly swims.

After a moment, I hit her as hard as I can. I draw way back, and put my weight into it. She slumps forward. They often try to move, and it pisses me off, so I hit her again, quickly. I look at Mrs. Green. “She moved. That first one didn’t count.” Mrs. Green nods silently.


I am really embarrassed. The blood is hot in my face. My ears must be bright red. That asshole taps the paddle on my butt like he is Casey at bat. I can hear his quick breathing. There is a loud wooden pop, followed by extreme pain. An explosion in my bottom that runs through my core into my chest, and all the way down my arm.

My world starts to sun set. I fall forward onto the desk. There are little points of light, in a swimming sea of twilight. My vision is dull and shapeless. I vaguely feel him hit me again. I can’t get my breath. I try to push off the desk, but I’m not strong enough. My mind is foggy. Something is wrong. I hear him hit me a third time as I black out completely.

Mr. Johnson:

I hit her again. She slides forward a little more. Mrs. Green starts to speak, “I think something is wrong…” I cut her off. “Nonsense! She just doesn’t want to take her punishment. Erika, I know this hurts but you need it,” I say through gritted teeth. This spoiled little bitch isn’t going to get away from me with a little faking. I hit her again. She doesn’t move much. I hit her again. I hit her one last time and she slides off the desk onto the floor.

Mrs. Green jumps on the ground and grabs her “Oh god, she’s not breathing, she has no pulse.” Mrs. Green starts doing CPR. I’m watching as she does chest compressions. After a few she holds Erika’s nose, puts her mouth on Erika’s and blows, then goes back to doing chest compressions. She alternates this pattern for a long time. My stomach is sick. I need to vomit. I keep checking the clock. I am terrified. I could go to prison for this. I’m the first guy to make a good prison rape joke. I’m squeezing my asshole closed thinking about it.

A full ten minutes passes. Erika doesn’t wake up. I look down at Erika’s blue lips and realize it’s over. The sound of that woman pounding on her chest and blowing hollow air into her dead body starts to annoy me. It is like a slow water drip that I can’t stop hearing. I push Mrs. Green squarely on the shoulders to get her to stop. “She’s gone. We need to move quickly or we are going to jail,” Mrs. Green looks shocked and on the verge of tears. I explain, “If we can put her in a bathroom stall across the hall, someone else will find her, sure she’ll have some marks, but they’ll never know she died while we were spanking her if we move her now.”

Mrs. Green looks disgusted, but she doesn’t argue. I check the hallway. It’s completely empty. So I pick her up while Mrs. Green keeps watch. The 30 steps from the door of my office into the women’s toilet are the longest of my life. Again, to our luck, all of the stalls are empty. I set Erika down on a toilet. She slopes back. I look at Mrs. Green. “Pull her panties down,” Mrs. Green starts to cry.

I grab her shoulders and shake. “No, bitch, no time for that. We are both going to die in prison if you don’t hurry the fuck up. So no crying right now. Hurry up!”

Mrs. Green pulls Erika’s panties down to her ankles and then starts to cry again. I slap her hard across the face. “Pull your shit together!” We exit the bathroom. It appears we haven’t been seen. I feel extremely relieved, but I can tell Mrs. Green is falling apart.

About an hour later the janitor finds Erika. I call 911. I act properly upset, and properly surprised. We bury Erika on a sunny Wednesday afternoon. I call off school for the day. It’s a sad affair. I manage to squeeze out a tear or two. Mrs. Green cries like it is the end of days. The entire town of Friendship, Oklahoma comes out to push Erika into the ground with some roses and carnations.

The next week, it all goes back to normal. I go to work. I come home. I cook dinner. I clean up a little, do the dishes, and watch some TV. Then, at a reasonable hour, I sleep. Tonight I come home from school and do my normal routine. I eat tacos for dinner, I finish the dishes, and mop the kitchen. I then marathon watch some Mama’s Family on Netflix, until about 10 o’clock.

As usual I turn off all the lights, and lay down to go to sleep. My house is dark and cold. It smells faintly of pledge and old wood. It is comfortable and safe. My bed sheets are cool and my comforter is warm and soft.

I start to doze off, right on the border of the dark abyss, I hear light footsteps approaching my bed. It is the light scraping of women’s flats on my hardwood floors. Somewhere in the fog of twilight I say out loud, “Who’s there?” At that moment, I feel her warm breath in my ear, as she says that one word, weakly and quietly, “Ready.” She is three inches from my right ear. I can see her in my peripheral vision, but I don’t want to turn to look. I smell sweet oranges and hairspray, and something else, like meat that isn’t quite bad but is on the verge of being rotten. I look at the clock to distract my mind from immediate panic.

It’s 2:22. I can still feel her warm breath in my ear. I stare at the clock. Its reddish orange numbers burning in the dark. I want to get up. I try to get up. My body won’t move. Absolute and unabating terror racks my body in waves. The shivers move up and down my back. My flesh is covered in goose bumps. I’m sweating the sweat of the insane and the dying, harsh and cold.

Her hot breath continues to enter my ear canal in a slow constant rhythm. I try to say I’m sorry, but it sticks in my throat. I make a noise like a bullfrog being killed. I keep staring at the clock.

She moves one hand very slowly across my face in an arc towards my left cheek. Her index finger is curled a bit. She gently starts to caress my left cheek with her finger. My face recoils where she touches it. I try to scream but it sticks in. I am whisper screaming because I can’t get my breath. Her flesh is chilly and spongy, like lunch meat.

Very, very slowly, she starts to lean her face into my vision. I can see her in my peripheral vision inching into my view. I want to close my eyes, but I can’t. Her neck makes a popping noise as she turns like someone cracking two peanuts open in their hand. Her face comes into my view. Her eyes are totally white. There are no pupils, and no irises. Her flesh is colorless. She is grinning. Such a huge grin, too many teeth. No human has that many teeth. Her face is lean. I can see the lines of all the bones. The skin is stretched taunt with long black hair that has become dry and straw like.

I lose control of myself and start to sob. I unashamedly piss the bed. Erika opens her mouth, and I smell chemicals and spoiled meat. When she speaks, her voice sounds like two voices at once, one of them is high pitched and almost screaming. The other is a girl's voice crying. All she says is, “Kill Mrs. Green.”

For the first time, I notice Mrs. Green is in my bedroom. She is standing facing the corner like a naughty child. She is wearing simple red, cotton pajamas. I see her shoulders moving in a heavy cry.

I walk incredibly slowly into the kitchen. The tile is cold on my feet. I grab my six inch chef’s knife from the wooden block where it lives. I have the fleeting feeling that Mrs. Green is going to regret that I haven’t sharpened this in a while.

I walk a little more quickly back to the bedroom. I wonder if I do this right if I might be spared. I decide maybe there is a way out of this. Maybe it just wants blood. Erika is standing next to Mrs. Green with those hollow eyes grinning at me when I return. My panic returns. I avert my eyes as I approach Mrs. Green.

She is still facing the corner, crying quietly. I do not pause. I pull my knife up to her throat and push it against her flesh from behind, drawing it across while pushing in as hard as I can. She makes a gurgling noise but does not put up her hands or try to defend herself. I then stab my knife into the base of her skull. I can hear blood running onto the floor. She falls over. The knife is still lodged in the back of her skull, the friendly green handle visible to where the blade disappears into her hair.

Erika speaks again, in that same dual voice of crying and screaming. “Now, you!” I try to resist. I try to run. I try to say no. I have no control over my own motor functions.

I go to the garage and find some hemp rope and tie a noose. I stand on a platform table that I use as a work bench in the garage and tie my noose to one of the beams in the garage. I’m sobbing again, but I can’t stop. Once the rope is secured I put it around my neck. It is scratchy, like a potato sack.

I see in my peripheral vision that Erika is standing next to the table. She stares at me and I know what she is waiting for. I don’t want to. So I stand here and wait. I try to beg, but I can’t speak. I try to remove the rope, and I still can’t.

So I stand here. I have been standing here for hours. I don’t know exactly how long it has been, but I can see the sky through one of the windows in my garage door. It has gradually changed from a dark black, to navy blue color. My legs are weak. My back hurts. I’ve been crying for a very, very long time. My neck itches and I have to pee again. The burning in my legs is so intense, I fear I might fall over.

Finally, I give up. In a voice that is weaker than I want it to be I say “Ready.” She makes me wait for several seconds, and then suddenly, the table is gone.

Written by brettinok
Content is available under CC BY-SA