Mission: Spiral

“I could use a coffee.”

Takeshi stood up. The chair behind him groaned in protest, its wheels squeaking against the floor. He reached for his cup, a white porcelain one. There was already a little crack on the handle, so he made sure not to cut himself.

After two buttons, the grinding of beans followed by the low, mechanical hum reached his ears. Takeshi leaned against the counter, eyes wandering across the empty staff room.

Only one other desk still had its light on.

Igurashi sat there, perfectly still, his back hunched slightly over his table.

The brewing stopped.
Takeshi reached for his cup, the smell of roasted beans lingering in the air.
On his way back, he glanced at the clock.

00:12.

He blinked.

Can’t be right.

His wristwatch said 00:12.

Both ticking. Both wrong.

Must be the batteries… or I’m just tired.

The chair creaked again as he sat down. The monitor’s light flickered against the wall, painting faint shadows that didn’t seem to move with him. He glanced across the room to the one other teacher still there.

Igurashi hadn’t moved an inch since Takeshi had made coffee.

Huh… seems like he is in his own world, checking his pencils again.

He reached for his coffee.

Took a sip.

…Cold.

Ice cold.

Takeshi lowered the cup slowly, watching a thin trail of steam that wasn’t there.

Strange. I just made this…

The hum of his computer grew louder. Sudden bursts, like a ravaged breathing.

Maybe it’s time to go home.

Takeshi pressed the power button of his computer. Nothing.

A second time.

Nothing.

The third press finally made the screen go black. The faint hum died away, leaving only the soft buzz of the fluorescent lights above.

He swung his bag over his shoulder and went straight to the exit.

“Goodbye, Igurashi-sensei. Please don’t overwork yourself.”

No answer.

Igurashi sat there in silence, perfectly still, staring at a black screen. No typing. No breathing. No blinking.

Just silence.

Deafening silence.

Takeshi paused, frowning slightly. Puzzled, he looked at the strange sight in front of him.

Weird day. Guess he’s just… deep in thought.

Another creak and rattling.

He stepped into the hallway, and the world went dark.

Only a thin stripe of moonlight crawled in through the window, just enough to paint pale lines across the floor.

Again, the door creaked shut.

Creak.
Rattle.

His steps echoed down the corridor. Loud and sharp.

Every step felt like the sound of a gunshot.

He reached the stairs and the air grew colder.

The moment his foot touched the first step, the darkness swallowed the last trace of moonlight.

Every step carefully chosen.

Click.

Click.

The sound of his shoes faded into the black, swallowed whole.

He paused.
Listened.
Nothing.
No wind. No hum. Just the dull pounding of his own pulse.

Another step.

Then another.

The final stair met his foot. Safe ground again.

Wait.

Did I turn wrong? I went down, didn’t I?

At the end of the hallway, a faint glow.
A single, pale rectangle in the dark.

The light from the staff room.

The same one he’d just left.

Its yellow, familiar light burned into his eyes.

No… that’s impossible.

Again, the stairs down.

He grabbed the rail, cold metal, slick with something.

He felt it through his gloves.

But the darkness denied his vision.

His steps picked up.

Click, Click, Click…

Quieter. Each step swallowed by the dark.

His foot met the floor again.

Wait…

Wait, wait. Something’s not right.

Did I get drugged?

Am I hallucinating?

The faint glow again. Flickering, almost dying.

A single drop of sweat slid down his temple.

And the air grew even colder.

Cold.
Freezing.

His breath turned into mist.

And vanished in the blink of an eye.

Swallowed by the void.

He moved faster, each step cutting through the silence.

Or so he thought.

No sound followed.
No echo.
Not even the faint scuff of his shoes.

“…eshi…”

The word slipped through the dark like a breath.

Thin. Scratching.

Almost drowned by nothingness.

Ice crawled up his neck, creeping along his spine.

He stopped.

Turned.

His eyes darted across the hallway but there was nothing.

Just darkness.

Endless, everlasting darkness.

He rubbed his eyes.

What the hell… what’s happening here?

The light from the staff room pulled at his gaze.

The door stood open.

A silhouette.

A frame he knew.

“Ah! Igurashi-sensei! Good to see you.”
Never thought I’d say that.

His shoulder loosened a little.

A blink.

Gone.

Light erased. And Igurashi dissolved with it, like a shadow dragged beneath water.

Takeshi froze.

His eyes went wide.

Unable to move.

“…eshi… Takeshi…”

His heart stuttered, like an invisible hand would control it.

Again, he rapidly turned around, hoping to identify the source.

“…Why?”

Still unable to see anything, the voice crept into his ears.

Frantically, he looked around, trying to find the source.

The voice grew louder with every word. Warped by the distance, yet they sounded close.

“…Why did you do this?”

Distorted and frail. The echo lingered.

Takeshi tried to answer. His lips moved. But no sound.

He grabbed at his throat. No injuries. No wound. Just silence.

He couldn’t move. It felt like he was held back. Not by someone. By something.

Whatever it was.

He was sure. He wasn’t alone.

“Why us…?”

Suddenly, the voice seemed clearer.

His whole body began to shake. Lightly at first, then violently.

Sweat ran down his temples, stinging his eyes.

He knew that voice.

Gunshots.

The thunder of rifles. No bullet was ever fired. No muzzle ever flashed.

Only the sound. Loud enough to burst his skull.

Takeshi clamped his hands over his ears, pressing until it hurt.

The silence came back.

Then —

“Ridiculous.”

The voice cut through his defense like a blade.

“You can’t escape what you have done!”

Something snapped inside him.
A dull thud echoed as his knees hit the floor. His palms pressed harder against his ears.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Takeshi’s voice trembled. Barely more than a rasp between his teeth.

The floor’s chill seeped through his pants, crawling up his legs like frostbite.
Then… warmth.

Slowly spreading from the cracks beneath the doors, wrapping around his knees.

He froze.

A metallic sting filled the air. The smell of iron and wet soil.

He didn’t need to look.
He knew. Knew too well.
This was the smell of the dead.

When he finally forced his eyes downward, the floor was drowning in red.

Panic forced its way into his head.

He stumbled backward, trying to escape the spreading liquid.

But every step only made it worse. Crimson splashes leaped from his shoes, painting the walls like open wounds.

The floor turned slick beneath him, almost pulling him down.

His breath came in sharp, broken gasps. Each inhale burned like glass.

Fingers tensed, he grabbed the nearest handle and pushed.

Only to be greeted by darkness.

He slipped inside and shut it behind him, chest heaving.

“You can’t run! You can’t hide!”

The distorted voice was right next to him, whispering into his ears.

And the smell remained. Iron, sweat, rot.

But something was off. Normally there should be a classroom.

Desks, chairs, blackboards.

Instead, soft ground.

Heat. Suffocating heat that struck like a hammer. The air was thick, wet, burning his lungs with every breath.

He looked around; the world changed. No lights, no walls, no doors.

The school was gone.

Replaced by jungle trees, soft mud and broad, glistening leaves.

And the darkness remained. like ragged breathing.

Endless, pulsating, alive.

“You remember? You remember what happened here?”

The voice carried a faint mockery, cutting deeper than any scream.

“See what you have done!”

Around him, bodies lay scattered.

Or what was left of them.

Bodies covered in blood, dirt, missing limbs and torn flesh.
The smell was unbearable.

A gruesome scene. But Takeshi couldn’t take his eyes off it.

Takeshi froze.
He knew those faces.
He knew them.

Something inside him snapped. The light in his eyes faded, leaving only emptiness.

Then, one by one, the heads turned. Bones cracked. Necks twisted as their eyes locked on him.

Wide, lifeless, accusing.

“You left us!”

“You broke your promise!”

“We should have never listened to you!”

“What do I tell my son? He is alone!”

“We suffered, in pain… How will you make up for that?”

The voices inside his head began to overlap. The flood of words drove him crazy.

“Stop… STOP IT!”

Takeshi screamed from the bottom of his lungs. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

In the blink of an eye…

They stopped.

And again—

Silence.

Not even a heartbeat. Only death.

The faces stared at him. Following every tiny twitch of his body.

Breath in.
Breath out.

Like a broken dam, the voices returned. Screaming, overlapping.

Takeshi clutched his head. Every muscle screamed to run, but his body refused to move.

There was no escape.
Only despair.

Between the screams, something else joined in.

Something was coming for him.

Thud.
Thud.

His gaze fixed on the muddy ground. He didn’t dare to look.

But when the thuds stopped, a pair of boots appeared in his view.

They stood right in front of him. Caked in mud, soaked in blood.

Old, familiar, worn by someone he once knew.

He froze, tried to withstand it.

Something forced him to look at the person.

He knew that woman.
He remembered her.

It stared at him. Half her face was gone, torn away.

The other half twisted into a grin no human could make. Stretched too wide and showing too many teeth for one mouth to hold.

The eyes glowed crimson, veins pulsing, wet with blood.

When she spoke, a voice of pure hatred and laughter.

“You should have died back then. Now die! Die! DIE!”

He didn’t see the movement, and suddenly cold metal pressed against his forehead.

A shot.

Then nothing.

Only darkness.

***

The next thing he saw was the ceiling of his bedroom. Takeshi lay in his bed, feeling the soft breeze coming from the open window. The moonlight spilled across the room just enough to outline his furniture.

He sat up.

His shirt clung to him, soaked in sweat. The wind brushed over his skin, sending a chill down his spine.

A quiet sigh escaped him.

Sometimes it happens, waking up at night because of a bad dream, but Takeshi hadn’t dreamed for a long time. He dismissed the thought almost instantly.

A bad dream? Can’t remember…

He grabbed a clean shirt and made his way to the bathroom.

He flicked the light on, squinting his eyes from the brightness.

In the mirror stared someone pale, hollow-eyed, as if he had just died.

Leaning against the sink, he let the water run.

Then his hands slipped.

The next thing he saw made his breath hitch.

Blood.

His palms, his fingers. All of them smeared with the crimson fluid, dark and fresh.

His heart pounded. Breathing turned shallow.

What the…?

He scrubbed his hands under the faucet. The water turned pink, then cleared again.

No cuts. No wounds. Nothing.

Only the faint smell of iron.