Obsidian Shards: Afro-Horror Tales

The Overseer

Author's Note:
This is a true story, but it was not told to me by a real person. 

Hey man, I gotta tell you something. But if I tell you this, then you have to promise me on God that you won't tell nobody else about this. And I don't need your judgment neither. I know it sounds crazy, but that's not me. You know me, you know I'm a regular dude trying to be good with God like the rest of us. Keep that in mind, okay?

So you know how a lot of schools are run like prisons, yeah? Metal detectors on every door. Doors leading outside of the school, that lock during the day even if they aren't supposed to. Whole place set up like a panopticon so a faculty member can stand on one spot and see everyone in the halls, right? Well, back when I was just starting out, I noticed one of those faculty dudes standing in that spot. From this little edge of blue tiles that rounded the corner into the next hall, you could see every single thing that happened all the way from Ms. Zaire's class all the way to Ms. Arnetta's. I walked through one of those hallways every day since I was four years old, but I never really thought about them or looked at the adults that would be there. And for some random reason one day, I just saw him.

Bruh, there were maybe fifty kids in the hallway with me, but this dude was looking right at me! Even at eight years old, I knew there was something odd about that. It made me stop dead in my tracks. I wasn't scared or anything, just confused.

He didn't say anything to me. Didn't even tell me to hurry up and get inside my class room. Man just looked at me with a mostly straight face. He had one of those frowns you can't really see, you know? It was a tired, bored look, like he'd been watching me for way longer than he wanted. But that boredom wasn't enough to make him look away. The man just kept staring at me.

Finally, I turned away. Walked into my class and took out my homework and did my best to focus. But I couldn't get him out of my head. I'd look up from my desk or away from the teacher all casual, right? And I'd just slightly move my eye in the direction of the window of my class's door. Each time I did that, I'd pull my eye away like lightning was running through it, because I would cross gaze with the man every single time.

Before you even start all that, no it wasn't an accident nor a coincidence. Yeah, you can accidentally look into someone's eyes. I do it all the time and I know you do, too. But this was different. I could feel that he didn't just happen to be looking in my direction, he was looking at me! He was always looking at me.

You know what I did? I just made up my mind not to look at him. Somehow I thought that maybe he only looked at me when I was looking at him. I started making real good grades after that. I would be so set on not looking at this dude that I refused to look away from my teacher or my books.

Then there was this one day, and I think Khalil told you this story before, when this fight broke out during a stormy day with a substitute teacher. It wasn't a real fight, just a bunch of us boys acting like we had no home training, screaming and fussing and throwing shit everywhere. Whole class got involved, and the substitute just ran around the room screaming at us to stop. Once we'd all settled down, she turned in her report to the office, and they sent Mr. Wallen down to see us. You already know the stories about him. A big, black, tank of a man who we only saw whenever we'd done something really bad.

Bruh, when I tell you that man screamed at us! I can still feel the vibrations going through the air and hitting my bones. I remember the tears I was forced to hold back while I silently prayed that this man did not call home and tell my parents what all we'd gotten into. Mr. Wallen didn't care, I don't even think he noticed. He just kept shouting and fussing about how we were the worst class in the school, how we were acting like animals, and how we'd better learn quick before we grew up and got beat down for acting the way we did. I remember seeing kids squirming in their chairs, picking their hair out, and straight up crying as Mr. Wallen's gross, sweaty body shook with the booms of his voice.