Things to Do in Detention When You’re Dead

Beaverton High School, Mid-October

“Mr. Jackson,” she said, while he ushered them into the building, “as you can see, I could not secure daycare. Do you really need a TA for today?”
Mr. Jackson ignored her. He slammed the door behind them, and Sissy jumped. He strode forward, not even bothering to turn on the lights to the school and led them down a dark hallway. Nothing but emergency lighting illuminated the way.
“Maybe this is a good opportunity to teach your son about responsibility, Miss Zaslavsky,” Mr. Jackson said over his shoulder.
Petra gave him the middle finger, and Jonathan did the same while shouting with excitement. The others laughed while she tried to get her son to perform some other hand gesture. Mr. Jackson didn’t seem to notice or care. He brought them further into the building until he stopped at the basement stairs.
“Can’t we just clean a classroom or something?” Sissy squealed. “There are spiders down there!”
“The custodial staff keeps this place quite clean and pest-free,” Mr. Jackson said. “Now, I need you to help me with a little project. It will take an hour of your time, tops. Then you’ll be free to go.”
“But Principal Sokol said it would be six hours!” Urkel said, and Jack kicked him. Petra was pissed too. An hour of pay wasn’t even worth the gas. Not that she paid for her own gas or had driven her own car. However, something wasn’t right, and she’d be happy to leave as soon as possible.
“I know what the principal said, but it’s my prerogative to administer punishment as I see fit,” Mr. Jackson said.
“What does this project involve?” Petra asked warily.
“Nothing,” Mr. Jackson replied. “You’ll just need to sit there.”
“Dude!” ‘Baking’ Aiden exclaimed. “Sign me up!”
The others nodded in agreement. Petra didn’t like it, but she didn’t really have a choice. It was either go in a basement with a psycho teacher or spend the following Saturday with Coach ‘Justice’ (Justin). His detentions always involved toothbrushes and locker room floors and the TAs always got stuck with bucket duty. At least there was safety in numbers. If Mr. ‘Jack-off’ pulled out a butcher knife, she could throw Urkel in the way and get to safety.
Mr. Jackson smiled in that weird staring-into-the-void way and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll be with you the whole time.”
That was precisely why she was worried.
A half hour later, they were all sitting on wooden benches around something that could only be described as a three-dimensional piece of Celtic art, with crisscrossing metal ribbons weaving up to an apex where a crystal ball glowed like the moon. It looked like a mad scientist and a Wiccan had decided to create an apparatus that would make both Gandalf and Nikola Tesla proud. If ‘Creepy McCreepson’ hadn’t been the artist, Petra would have found it to be beautiful. Instead, it was a little terrifying.
“What are we supposed to be doing, again?” Sissy asked, glancing into the darkness at their backs, as the only light source was the object.
“We wait,” Mr. Jackson said, and smiled. Then in a moment of awkwardness, he began to hum. It was a melancholic song that sounded like the soundtrack an ancient evil would play while cruising for souls to devour. The students glanced at her, and she shrugged.
Jonathan tugged at her sleeve. Her son was getting bored with just sitting around and would want a snack any minute now. Petra hoped her dad packed some applesauce in the diaper bag or there would be hell to pay.
“Bro,” ‘Baking’ Aiden said. “Can I go have a smoke?”
“You know you can’t do that on campus,” Mr. Jackson said.
“But I have a prescription!”
The globe at the top of the art sparked, and they all jumped back. Mr. Jackson said, “It’s time!” He continued his Creep Folk Fest performance. This time, he sang words in a language Petra had never heard, and she watched a lot of Netflix with subtitles. It sounded like if Satan and Cthulhu decided to sing a terrible 80’s love duet. She could swear someone else was singing…
The crackling intensified, and a draft in the room turned into a breeze.
“I’m out,” Petra said, and grabbed her son. She walked towards where she thought the door was. A thick gray mist had filled the room. Mr. Jackson grasped her arm. He belted out demonic lyrics, and the breeze turned into a gale. The sphere spewed sparks into the air.
Petra yanked her arm free and made her way through a vortex that engulfed the room.
“No!” Mr. Jackson yelled between breaths. There definitely was another voice. “The seating arrangement is important!”
The wind was full hurricane-force now, blowing everything around that wasn’t nailed down. Mr. Jackson could barely take two steps toward her. Sissy held onto Jack with one hand and attempted to keep her skirt from flying up with the other. Urkel held onto the bench. ‘Baking’ Aiden giggled and said, “Whoa.”
Petra could barely hold onto her son but attempted to muscle her way through the force. The gale was just shy of sweeping her off her feet. Mr. Jackson belted out the song’s crescendo.
The cyclone howled with intensity, and right at the peak, lightning shot from the crystal ball and zapped Jack and Sissy. Their eyes glazed over, and they slumped to the ground. The lightning came for Mr. Jackson next, and then Baking Aiden.
Petra held her son to her chest. Her son clapped and said, “Again! Again!”
Her legs were about to give out. Urkel was stuck on the bench. He managed to utter, “Please, help me.”
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” Petra said and turned back to get Urkel.
Jonathan grinned and spouted, “Shit! Shit!”
A bolt of lightning took out ‘Magic the Dorkening,’ and before she could turn away, one came for her and Jonathan next.