Narrated by an Unknown Voice
You might think you know what evil looks like.
Maybe you imagine a man with horns, a monster under your bed, or the shadow that breathes behind you in the dark.
But in our school, evil didn't hide in corners, it sat in classrooms. It wore uniforms, smiled for pictures, raised hands for attendance, and laughed during lunch breaks.
And maybe… maybe I'm one of them.
***********
The School That Forgot What Kindness Was
Our school was a factory of noise, cruelty, and tired teachers.
The hallways echoed with names spat like insults, desks carved with hate, lockers stuffed with torn notebooks and broken pencils.
It was a place where laughter meant someone else was crying.
The teachers? They weren't blind. They just didn't care.
One would sigh, "Kids will be kids."
Another would shrug, "It builds character."
And we—those who watched, those who said nothing—were worse. Because silence… silence was the loudest yes.
Then came Mr. Mard.
He was new—tall, quiet, always wearing a black suit that looked too formal for a teacher.
His eyes were a strange kind of calm, like he was watching the world from somewhere far away.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't smile. But when he looked at you, it felt like he could see something—something even you didn't want to see.
No one knew which subject he taught. He simply appeared, walking through corridors, stopping sometimes at random classrooms to "observe."
Some even called him "the Ghost Teacher."
And that's when everything began to change.
**********
The Girl Who Wanted to Disappear
Her name was Lenna.
You wouldn't notice her if you passed her on the street.
She was small, quiet, with a habit of holding her sleeves so tight you could barely see her hands.
She was the kind of student who said "sorry" even when others bumped into her.
And every day, she was bullied.
By three girls—Sandra, Mia, and Chloe.
They'd trip her, dump juice on her homework, whisper things that made her cry in the bathroom.
Sometimes they'd call her names in front of the teachers, who would only shake their heads and tell her not to "overreact."
Then one afternoon, something changed.
Lenna was called to Mr. Mard's office.
I don't know what he said to her—I only know she walked out looking like someone who had cried herself dry.
But a friend of mine overheard it.
He said Mr. Mard asked her one question:
"Do you want them to die?"
And Lena said, with tears trembling on her lips:
"Yes…. it hurts….it hurts too much to live."
Then Mr. Mard smiled—coldly, quietly—and said:
"I can grant that wish. But every wish has a cost.
If they die, you will take their place.
You will become what they were."
Lenna hesitated.
She begged to understand.
But pain makes fools of us all.
And so she accepted.
**********
The Next Morning
The next morning, the school was in chaos.
Sandra was found dead in the girls' bathroom—her face frozen in terror.
Mia died the same day, falling from the third-floor window, her arms stretched as though she was trying to fly.
Chloe… she didn't even make it to school.
Her parents found her in her room, her reflection shattered in the mirror.
Everyone whispered that it was a curse.
Some said it was revenge.
Some said they deserved it.
Lenna didn't cry at their funerals. She just stared, wide-eyed, as if she didn't recognize herself anymore.
**********&
The Transformation
At first, we felt happy for her because she was now free.
Then, slowly, things changed.
Lenna stopped apologizing.
She stopped trembling when people looked at her.
Then she began to smile—faintly, cruelly.
The same students who used to sit beside her, who offered her tissues and comfort, became her targets.
She mocked them, humiliated them, spread rumors that turned best friends into enemies.
And the strangest part? She didn't even seem to realize she was doing it.
It was like something else was speaking through her—something that had worn her skin but not her heart.
When one of the boys asked her, "Why are you acting like this?", she only said:
"Because it's my turn."
**************
The House of the Mirror
Weeks passed, and the school began to rot in silence.
No laughter. No joy. Just fear.
Rumors spread that every afternoon, Lenna would visit Mr. Mard's office.
Some said they saw lights glowing under the door.
Others said they heard whispers—voices that weren't human.
One student tried to follow her one night.
He never came back.
Two days later, Lenna didn't show up to school either.
Her classmates assumed she had transferred.
But the truth was worse.
Her grandmother found her in her bedroom, hanging from the ceiling fan, a broken mirror beneath her.
Scrawled on the mirror, written in her blood, were the words:
"The pain never ends… it only changes faces. Am sorry for those who i hurt"
" please forgive me"
***********
The Endless Cycle
After Lenna's death, things didn't stop.
Another girl was bullied next. Then she went to see Mr. Mard.
She too was found smiling days later, while her bullies screamed in nightmares they never woke from.
Each new victim became the next predator.
Each predator became the next victim.
Over and over, until no one could remember who started it all.
Sometimes, I wonder if the entire school was trapped in a loop of pain and vengeance.
Maybe Mr. Mard wasn't a man. Maybe he was the curse itself—the spirit of every hurt child who ever whispered, "I wish they would just disappear."
No one knows where he went after that.
Some say he vanished.
Some say he transferred to another school.
But late at night, when the wind moves through the broken hallways, the janitor says he still hears his voice whispering from the staff room—soft, almost gentle:
"Do you want them to die?"
**************
The Letter Found in the Desk
When the school finally shut down after a year of "unfortunate incidents," workers cleaning the classrooms found a note taped under a desk.
It wasn't signed.
But we all knew who wrote it.
"They told me killing would make the pain go away. But all it did was make the pain real for someone else. I see it now… I see what I became. The same monster that made me cry. Maybe this is what humans do—they trade pain like money, hoping one day someone will give them change."
"If you ever meet a man named Mr. Mard, don't make a wish.
Because he won't grant you freedom.
He'll only teach you how to keep the curse alive."
*************
The Unknown Voice
Sometimes I wonder who I am in this story.
Am I a survivor?
A witness?
Or maybe… I was one of them.
Maybe I too whispered yes.
Maybe I too watched them die.
You don't have to believe this story. You can say it's fiction, a warning, or an urban legend from a broken school.
But if you ever find yourself sitting alone, your eyes swollen from tears, and someone gently asks you, "Do you want them to die?"
Run.
Because that voice doesn't save you.
It replaces you.
************
The Quiet Classroom
Years later, the school was turned into an administrative building.
The classrooms were locked, their windows boarded up. But sometimes, when the cleaners pass by the old hallway, they hear faint laughter—followed by a whisper, too soft to be real:
"It's your turn now."
And when they peek through the keyhole…
They see a man in a black suit, smiling at an empty chair.
Stream Commentary; Tape #54. "HowTo Kill The School Bullies"
(Soft static hum. The chat fades in. Kai's voice returns, lower than usual, the glow of his goggle reflecting pale blue)
"Silence… that's the sound of a classroom after the laughter stops.
After the jokes rot. After the whispers cut too deep.
(He exhales slowly. The screen flickers—chat loading, usernames lighting up one by one.)
[@Jaija: … I can't even laugh this time. I can't. They were kids, Kai. Just… kids]
[@Ovesix: I feel sick. All those teachers, parents, everyone pretending not to see.
And now they're gone. All of them]
[@642: It's always the same, isn't it? Everyone's brave after someone dies.
They start posting "be kind" quotes, lighting candles, writing essays about awareness—
but where were they when those children were bleeding alive?]
[@Enchomay: You know what's worse? The school will call it a tragedy. They'll cry for two weeks, hang photos in the hallway, and then forget.
Like it never happened.
Like those kids never screamed for help]
(Kai stays silent for a while, his fingers tapping the microphone—three times, slowly, like knocking on a coffin)
"Do you feel that?
That heaviness behind your ribs? That's guilt trying to make a nest.
Because deep down, we all stood somewhere in that story.
Some of you were the bystanders.
Some of you… were the laughter.
And some of you are still the ones walking home, praying not to be noticed.
[@Jaija: That's cruel,Kai]
(Kai pauses for a moment)
"Cruel, yes. But true.
And truth doesn't care how much it hurts—it only asks that you don't look away.
(The followers go quiet. The chat slows, replaced by faint rain sounds in the background. Kai continues, his voice steadier now.)
"They wanted to be remembered.
Everyone of those students wrote their stories with their own blood so we'd read them.
Their vengeance wasn't about violence—it was about visibility.
Because in a world that refuses to see you, sometimes the only way to be noticed… is to become the nightmare.
[@642: So Kai, who's to blame? The bullies? The teachers? The system?]
"Everyone who saw and said nothing.
Everyone who heard and laughed.
Everyone who decided it was "kids being kids."
That phrase has buried more children than the graveyards can count"
[@Ovesix: they were crying for help, and nobody came. And now… everyone acts like they cared. I hate it. I hate them]
[@Enchomay: That's humanity, Oves.
They celebrate sympathy once the damage is irreversible]
[@Jaija: I just… wish they were saved before it came to that]
(Kai leans back, his goggle lenses dimming. His tone softens)
"Then maybe this is their revenge, Jai, being remembered by you.
By everyone of you watching.
They wanted someone to listen.
And you just did.
(A brief silence. Then, kai chuckles faintly—dry, bitter)
"Moral of this story?
If you ever see cruelty and call it "just a joke,"
you're signing someone else's obituary with a smile"
"I won't warn you about ghosts or curses tonight.
You don't need monsters for horror—humans do it better.
But if you ignore the silent screams long enough…
maybe one day, you'll hear them knocking on your own door.
[@642: Damn… that was heavy. So, what's next, boss? You gonna let us breathe or make it worse?]
(Kai grins slightly, tone shifting, that familiar dark charisma returning)
"Oh, we're diving deeper.
The next story is titled: "I"
[@Jaija: "I"? Just that? That's creepy already]
[@Ovesix: Sounds like it's gonna mess with our heads]
[@Enchomay: Or maybe… it's about identity. Ego. Self. Or maybe there's no self at all.]
[@642: Or maybe it's just Kai's autobiography. "I: The Man Who loves sugar and Haunts You]
(Kai, laughing softly)
Maybe, buddy. Maybe.
But I'll tell you this—when you finish "I,"
you'll start questioning who's really telling your story.
(The lights flicker. The camera zooms slightly closer. Kai leans in, whispering to the viewers)
So, grab your mirrors, my dear listeners.
Next time… you might see more than just yourself staring back.
STREAM ENDS