Alam arrived at his next class.
The sign read: History 101 Lucho Nervios.
The sun was sinking low, painting the hallway in bruised orange and violet. The halfway lights flickered on, buzzing faintly, casting long shadows across the lined‑up students. The air smelled faintly of dust and old chalk, and the floor vibrated with the hum of distant machinery.
"I'm finally on time for one," he sighed, his breath fogging faintly in the cooling air. Then the bell rang, sharp and metallic, echoing down the corridor. Still, the students waited outside, shuffling their feet against the cold tile.
"Let us in, Profesor Nervios!" one student exclaimed, their knuckles rapping against the door.
"Yeah, we're tired of standing," another added, voice edged with impatience.
"There's something wrong with this guy. Why don't they fire him?" another student asked, arms crossed tightly.
"I heard it's really hard to fire teachers here," another student responded, shrugging.
One of the students banged and kicked on the door, the thud reverberating through the hallway. "Let us in!"
From behind the door came stammering and clattering — the sound of books tumbling, metal scraping, and something fragile breaking. Then several dead bots turned with a mechanical groan. The door crept open just a little, hinges squealing. Through the crack, Alam saw an eye peeking out, darting nervously back and forth.
"What do you guys want?" the male voice from behind the door questioned, trembling.
"It's time for class?" one of the students said, annoyed.
"Yes, Professor, let us in!" another insisted.
"This man is our professor?" Alam muttered under his breath, the stale hallway air pressing heavy on his chest. "This school just gets stranger and stranger."
"Class is canceled, go away!" the professor barked, his voice muffled by the door.
"You can't just cancel class without a good reason," one of the students protested.
"Cough, cough, I'm sick. Now go away," the professor said dismissively before slamming the door shut. The locks clanked and scraped as he rebolted them, each metallic click echoing like a prison cell.
"Umm… is he always like this?" Alam asked, his voice low.
"Unfortunately," one of the students replied with a weary sigh.
"I have an idea," another student said. He walked up to the door, fists pounding against the wood. "Professor, if you don't open the door, a meteor will come crashing down on the school!"
"A meteor?!" the professor shrieked from behind the door. The locks rattled frantically, then burst open. The door swung wide, the stale classroom air rushing out. "Why would you say that?!" he cried as the students filed in. His eyes darted like trapped birds. "Haven't you ever heard of Murphy's Law?"
"Nope, don't care," a student said casually, dropping into a chair.
"Well you shoul—" Nervios began, but Alam stepped through the door last. The door slammed shut behind him with a thunderous crack. "Ahh!" the professor exclaimed, recoiling, his shoulders hunched as if the sound itself had struck him.
"Umm… is he ok?" Alam asked.
"No!!!" all the students shouted in unison, their voices bouncing off the walls.
"Ahh!" the professor panicked again, clutching his ears. "Not so loud."
Alam slid into a seat, the wood creaking beneath him, and asked the boy next to him, "So what's wrong with him?"
"The way the story goes," the boy said, waving his arms theatrically, "he went into the woods near the Academy and fell under a powerful ancient curse that causes madness. Now he jumps at the sight of his own shadow."
"Personally, I think it's lady problems," another student said, leaning back with a smirk. "Any time I've ever seen a guy this messed up, it's because some chick dumped him."
"You're both wrong," a girl said, leaning in, her voice hushed but dramatic. "They say it was the great Taco War of May 5th. Legend says the professor brought a thousand Asada tacos to campus to celebrate a monumental day in his culture. After only a few minutes, all the tacos were gone."
"I bet I know how that happened," Alam muttered, picturing Fitz with greasy fingers.
"They say the tacos were so addictive the students rioted, demanding more, more, more. Overwhelmed by the chaos, Professor Nervios broke, and he's been like this ever since."
"Ahh!" the professor shouted suddenly, startling Alam, who had leaned forward, absorbed in the tale.
"What?!" Alam shouted back, his pulse spiking.
"Did you all see that?" the professor cried, rushing to the window. He yanked the blinds open, the slats clattering. His breath fogged the glass as he peered out.
"Not this again," a student sighed, rolling their eyes.
"It was her, I saw it!" the professor exclaimed, voice trembling. "La Llorona…" he whispered in terror, his lips pale.
"La Lo—What?" Alam asked, confused.
"La Llorona," a student replied. "It's a ghost lady."
"I saw her, I swear." Nervios's hands shook as he gripped the blinds.
"Yeah, yeah, professor, we know," another student said sarcastically.
"She was dressed in black, with a gold mask, like a cat."
"Uh-huh, we know, professor, we know," the sarcasm continued.
"She's haunting the school! It isn't safe," he said frantically, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Oh, boy," another student muttered, sarcastically.
"I'm afraid, I'm afraid," the professor just kept repeating, his voice cracking like brittle glass.
FOUR YEARS EARLIER
Thunder rattled the windows of Alam's old Gothic mansion. He rocked back and forth on the floor, Bruises blooming deep purple, edged with shadows against his skin. Rain lashed against the panes, and the air smelled of mildew and iron.
"I'm afraid, I'm afraid, it isn't safe," he muttered, his heart pounding like a drum. A knock at the door. He jumped, breath catching.
"I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "I don't know what I did, but if you tell me, I swear I won't do it again. I-I'll be good. I'll be good." His voice broke into a whisper.
"It's me, Gillian, Master Lestari," a woman's voice said gently. "May I come in?"
He didn't respond, just rocked harder, the floor creaking beneath him.
"I'm coming in, alright?" she said softly. The door crept open with a groan. An old woman in a maid's uniform stepped in, her pale, wrinkled skin sagging, gray hair pulled tight. Her bones cracked with each step. She carried a tray of medical supplies, the smell of antiseptic sharp in the air.
She set the tray down, then looked at Alam and sighed. "Oh, she's a horrid, dreadful woman, that stepmother of yours."
Tears streaked Alam's face. He sniffled.
"Oh, let it all out, child, come here," she said, opening her arms.
Alam stumbled forward and hugged her, sobbing. "She's a Rakshasi (Female Demon)! Why won't anyone believe me?!"
"There, there, I believe you," Gillian said, wiping his tears with a trembling hand.
"Why won't anyone stop her?" Alam asked.
"I've tried callin' the Police, but that evil woman has the Mayor wrapped around her little finger," the maid replied.
"I wish my dad were here," Alam whispered.
"I'm here for you, Master Lestari. I've the perfect place where you'll be safe from her," Gillian said. She pulled out a brochure. It smelled faintly of ink and paper. It read: Sunborn Academy, Where Stars Shine.
PRESENT DAY
The professor was still freaking out, his breath fogging the window, fingers trembling against the blinds. "She's out there, you have to believe me!"
"Yeah, right, Professor," a student said flatly, slouching in their chair.
"You have to believe me, you have to believe me," Nervios repeated, his voice growing quieter, like a fading candle.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, startled, and saw Alam.
"I believe you, Professor Nervios," Alam said, his voice steady.
The professor sighed with relief, shoulders sagging as if a weight had slipped off. "Good."
Alam's gaze drifted to the windows. At first, a thin mist blurred the glass, then the fog thickened until frost spidered outward in jagged veins of white. The panes groaned faintly as the ice spread, and the classroom lights flickered, casting pale halos against the frozen surface.
The air grew sharp and brittle. Alam's breath puffed visibly, curling into the cold, and beside him, the professor's exhalations came quick and shallow. A chill slithered across the room, crawling up spines and settling into bones. Students hugged themselves, chairs creaking as they shifted uneasily.
"What's happening?" one of the students asked, their voice trembling in the sudden hush.
Alam turned back toward the professor. Nervios's eyes were wide, reflecting the frost‑rimmed glow of the window. His lips quivered as he leaned closer, whispering with a voice that cracked like thin ice:
"She's coming."