It was bizarre. The problem had been solved. Or had it? Nobody knew whether this was a temporary respite, nor how long the calm would last. For months there had been an unimaginable, raging tempest. The perfect storm before this uneasy calm. Peace did now reign but it was unnerving. This establishment had lived through…How could you describe them? Unusual times. It had seen and experienced things that you could write books about. Nobody could yet predict whether this episode would be the latest in that long line of unexpected events. The flood. The fire. The funds. All ‘f’s. Except one: the illicit goings on behind closed cupboard doors. Oh ok, they were all ‘f’s. In this neck of the forest things happened four times in a blue moon and lightning struck thrice.

Witnesses to the night before- and there were none- would have heard a series of unexplained sounds as the rippling murk reached out to receive its free gifts. A cluster of visitors crowding the edge as the day’s cataclysmic events reached completion. A glimmer of satisfaction. The soft glow of gratification. Silent faces locked together in brief recognition of the problem they had shared. Time standing still for a few seconds. But that was then.

The boss had been alerted to a serious absence issue earlier, on entering the building. Eight members of his staff had phoned in sick.

“There’s obviously some kind of virus going round,” he acknowledged.

“Although Rob Hardwick has pulled his back. Can’t drive,” replied his PA.

“Really? Who else?”

“Pete Blackwell has damaged his hand while mixing cement for a wall, careless sod. He’s in A&E. Might be in later. Julie Rushworth is laid up in bed.” The list continued.

Laid up in bed? Bad back? They’re definitely together, he thought.

“Oh well we’ve got to get on with it. We will need their jobs covering.”

These last few months had been a nightmare before Christmas and Easter combined. So much insubordination and rule-breaking. There had been a general marauding and malingering in all parts of the building. There were so many elephants in the room that you heard the herd everywhere you went. It was an inescapable stampede that trampled every semblance of normality and humanity. There was a complete lack of respect for his authority and changes had had to be brought on to the front burner. He felt like he was inescapably caught between elephant turds and elephant faeces. This steaming stench of rotting respectability hindered the vision regularly snorted out of his nostrils. He went over to the coffee machine, switched it on and hoped that caffeine would alleviate his impending crises. For the next three hours he sat at his desk and tried to formulate a plan that would keep the masses in check. He made calls, searched online, made notes, crossed them out, drew diagrams. A crisis point required decisive action and he would be the one to take it.

He was in mid formulation of his master plan when the PA walked in with breaking news. It was, she announced, all calm on the northern front. Not a single incident had occurred throughout the entire morning.

“What do you mean? None? Not a single one? Are you sure?”

“I mean that not one person has failed to follow instructions, nobody has refused a request.”

“Well it’s not going to last. Shall we take bets on when we get the first call for help?”

On the upper level, sat at her desk, was, however, one person who knew that it would last. Rachael Smith had stood alongside Rob Hardwick, Pete Blackwell, Julie Rushworth and five of her colleagues the previous evening as they threw into the gloomy waters eighteen delinquent students who had made their life hell for months. The drugged bodies had sunk straight to the bottom of the filthy river. Desperate times required desperate murders. Three weeks previously. A respectable staffroom. Nine staff. End of a tether. Bloody kids. Who do they think they are? A seed sown. The germ of an idea. The head was right to say that there was a virus going round, only it was a virus of their imagination. Rob Hardwick had damaged his vertebrae carrying bodies which were considerably heavier with feet encased in concrete. Pete Blackwell had never used a concrete mixer before. Julie Rushworth was laid up in bed, celebrating with a female colleague, who had discovered new tendencies in the exhilaration of their murderous frenzy. Rachael Smith was setting homework. Now they could finally get on with the job of teaching kids who wanted to learn.

©Cre8ivation