Jake Coleman's POV
James clenched his jaw.
He looked at me like I had just morphed into a completely different person.
When he finally asked, "How did you know?", I could tell—he wasn't accusing me.
He wasn't testing me.
He was just… stunned.
And honestly?
I didn't blame him.
To James, I was the fool.
The loudmouth.
The guy who once tried to high-five a fire extinguisher for "saving lives."
The one who taped googly eyes on the class skeleton and called it "Bone-ald Trump."
I was the guy who never took anything seriously.
But now?
Now I was something else.
Someone who spoke like he knew the rules of this nightmare before the first scream.
I didn't answer James right away.
Didn't smirk.
Didn't crack a joke.
I just looked at him.
And deep down, I thought:
(Shit. I was supposed to be the comedy relief character.)
So, I did what I always did when the pressure got too real.
I slapped a grin on my face and tried to laugh it off.
"AHAHAHA!" I blurted; way too loud. "D-Did I ever tell you? I'm into horror stories and stuff. This is, like, totally normal for me! You know how my grandma used to read creepy folklore stuff? Real old-school stuff. Cursed chalk, haunted teachers, mouth-erasing banshees—classic grandma bedtime stories!"
I forced out a chuckle, hoping it'd smooth things over. "This? This is just one of those. Probably a hallucination from eating cafeteria meatloaf. You feel me, James?"
James just stared at me.
"...o-okay," he said finally.
He didn't buy it.
But he didn't push.
Because even he could tell—
I was scared.
And that was when it happened.
A voice sliced through the tense silence like a chainsaw through a violin.
"Bullshit! This ghost story crap is nonsense!"
I turned.
Oh no. Not him.
Christopher Dell.
Every school's got one.
The guy who peaked in eighth grade.
Big. Loud. Mean.
Walks like he owns the hallway.
Thinks bullying is a sport.
He once made a kid cry just for liking Dungeons & Dragons.
He gave wedgies like it was his job.
Now here he was, arms crossed, chin up, with the kind of smirk only a future disappointment could wear.
He pointed at the chalkboard.
"Let me show you all just how fake this is. Probably a dumb prank by Mr. Landon or one of the other teachers. Y'all are acting like toddlers."
(Oh shit. He's going to die.)
I watched as he stomped toward the board.
This idiot. This absolute unit of denial.
The kind of guy who mocks the horror movie rules and then dies first.
Classic Christopher Dell.
He grabbed a piece of chalk—yes, touched the chalk like it owed him money—and started to write.
"I will not be scared of fake-ass ghosts."
One sentence.
Loud. Clear. Arrogant.
A second reaction.
Two down. One to go.
My stomach dropped.
The classroom wasn't just tense now.
It was like the air turned thick—like invisible hands were tightening around our throats.
James turned to me, face pale.
"Jake… that was the second, right?"
I nodded, heart racing.
Then, across the room, the lights flickered.
And the board erased itself.
Not slowly. Not naturally.
But in one violent swipe, as if an invisible hand had slashed the sentence away.
The chalk snapped in two.
And for the first time since this began… something moved in the reflection of the windows.
Something faceless.
(Okay. Yup. Time to run. Time to leave this reality and move to Canada. Or the moon.)
But no. Of course not. Because Christopher Dell, big dumb gravity-defying idiot that he was, just laughed.
"See? Freakin' magnets or some shit," he scoffed, tossing the broken chalk to the ground like it insulted his mother. "You nerds need to stop wetting yourselves over Scooby-Doo bullshit."
He turned his back to the board.
And that's when it happened.
The classroom lights flickered again—twice this time. And then everything froze.
Not like "ooh, spooky stillness.
I mean the air stopped moving.
Like the entire classroom had been vacuum-sealed.
And then… chalk squealed.
That high-pitched, nails-on-glass sound. But we weren't near the board. No one was.
(That's his warning. That's his sound. Holy shit, it's real. Mr. Chalk is real.)
James whispered behind me, "Jake… the third reaction…"
I nodded slowly. "Y-Yeah."
Three interactions with the board = Mr. Chalk appears.
Writing on it?
That's one.
Mocking it while looking?
Two.
Laughing while facing the board?
Three.
Christopher had completed the trifecta of stupid.
I opened my mouth to say something. Maybe to warn him. Maybe to say goodbye.
But I was too late.
The lights went out.
Pitch-black. Except…
Except for the board.
A deep red message burned across it now like it had been etched with molten fire:
"I WARNED YOU."
And then—BANG!
A thunderclap, like a massive hand slamming the chalkboard.
Everything fell silent.
And I don't mean like, awkward math-class silent.
I mean utterly, cosmically silent.
Like someone had deleted the sound from the world.
Christopher turned—finally—and that's when we saw him.
Mr. Chalk.
Seven feet tall.
Faceless—his skin smooth, featureless like an eraser had scrubbed his identity clean.
His coat was tattered and old, like it had been buried with him.
A thin, glowing chalk stick hovered in his right hand, bleeding red dust like it had cut someone.
And his tie?
Ink-black and snapping in wind that didn't exist.
He stepped forward without a sound. His shoes didn't even make contact with the floor.
But we still heard the echo of footsteps.
I wanted to scream, or maybe vomit, or maybe throw Christopher at him like a sacrifice.
But I couldn't move.
Mr. Chalk stopped right behind Christopher.
He raised his glowing hand—
And slammed it flat against the board.
The chalkboard lit up in white. Christopher screamed… but we couldn't hear it.
Because his scream—
Had no sound.
His mouth disappeared.
Just smooth skin. As if it had never existed.
His eyes rolled back, his body slumped, and he collapsed like a broken puppet, limp and silent on the floor.
Then—his final words, the ones he'd yelled before this all began—flickered onto the chalkboard.
"This ghost story crap is nonsense."
I stepped back.
(Oh my God. His last words are the new haunting message...)
James covered his mouth, eyes wide with a horror that didn't need words.
I wanted to say something—something clever, something brave.
But all I managed was:
"...Holy shit."
And then I looked across the room—at her.
Sophie Tanaka.
She was shaking.
Elegant. Tall. Ponytail perfectly in place despite the fear in her eyes.
She looked like a girl who should be starring in some melodramatic high school drama—not a ghost story.
Fourteen years old. Rich. Confident.
Too perfect.
Too composed.
But right now? She was crumbling.
And worse—she was looking at me.
Not James.
Me.
As if I was the one who knew what to do.
As if I had some kind of plan.
(No. No, no, no. You're supposed to look at James. In the original story—you looked at him.)
But her eyes… they weren't following the script.
They were pleading.
Why?
Why me?
I don't have the answers. I'm not the psychic boy with hidden trauma and an eventual power arc. I'm the comic relief! The designated survivor! The extra!
(I'm not supposed to matter.)
But I guess that didn't matter anymore.
Because the world around me had changed.
The silence that came with Christopher's disappearance broke—like shattered glass.
And now?
The screams started.
Students panicked. Some ran to the door. Others just stared at the chalkboard like it would explode.
But only some of them were… wrong.
The background characters blurred. Their faces generic. Their actions looped, like cheap NPCs in a haunted game.
Only a few remained sharp. Focused. Important.
Lucas. Tommy. Lena.
The main cast.
And—
Ryan.
Who wasn't supposed to be here.
He wasn't supposed to be alive.
He stumbled toward me, pale and shaking.
"W-What do we do now?" he asked.
His voice was alive. He was really alive.
Because of me.
(Shit. He wasn't supposed to survive Chapter 1. That's why the story's unraveling. That's why Mr. Chalk appeared this late and this time it was Christopher but he was a delay, not a trigger. So yep I changed something. I messed it up.)
James looked at me, too.
And I looked at him.
(You bastard. You're the one with powers. You have telepathy. You have telekinesis. You have plot armor and a trauma backstory. You're supposed to destroy Mr. Chalk eventually—but you're still hiding it? Tsk.. Is it because of me… haysst)
James opened his mouth—then Sophie stepped closer.
Her voice trembled.
"How did you know? All of this?"
I looked at them.
I grinned like an idiot.
"From my grandma," I said, and winked.
Silence.
Like, real silence.
Sophie blinked. James tilted his head like I'd grown a second one.
I didn't care. Because I was just getting started.
I clapped my hands together and stepped into the center like I was teaching Haunted Kindergarten 101.
"Alright, children, gather round! Welcome to Ghost Busting for Dumbasses, starring Jake Coleman, PhD in Not-Dying. Today's topic: How to not get erased from existence by a faceless ghost teacher with chalk-based trauma!"
I strutted like I was doing stand-up at a funeral.
From my pocket, I pulled out a red Expo marker.
Click.
The sound echoed like it was sacred.
Everyone stared.
They stared. Some crying. Some trembling. James didn't say a word, but I saw it in his face—he was waiting.
And I?
(How the fuck did I have an Expo marker? Hello? I'm a fucking class clown—of course I always have one. Emergency pranks. Doodle warfare. Fake blood. Mustaches on classmates mid-nap. This baby is my Excalibur.)
I cleared my throat dramatically and pointed at the chalkboard.
"Rule one: Avoid Blackboard Engagement. You can talk. You can whisper. Hell, you can karaoke the High School Musical soundtrack for all I care—just don't look at the board while doing it. That thing is like Bloody Mary's evil twin who teaches Social Studies."
Someone whimpered in the back.
I pressed on. "Rule two: Break the Original Chalk. There's a secret drawer under the teacher's desk—look for a loose floorboard. Inside, you'll find the OG Chalk of Evil. Snap it like a glowstick at a rave, and poof—he's sealed for a month. But don't sniff it. I don't know what kind of cursed asbestos that shit is made of."
Lucas blinked. "How do you even know this?"
"My grandma" I winked at him
"Rule three: Speak the Forbidden Line Backward. You know the one—'I will not speak when it is not my turn.' Yeah, say that, but backward. Three times. While facing away from the board."
Ryan raised his hand.
"Don't raise your hand like we're in a real class, you're gonna summon this bastard faster," I snapped. "Anyway, yes—it's hard. Yes, it sounds like demonic Sims dialogue. But if you mess it up, you get a free mouth-erase, so practice carefully."
Tommy muttered, "This can't be real."
"Oh, it's real, baby," I grinned, "and we're still mid-quiz."
I kept going, lifting a desk and flipping it dramatically. "Rule four: Disrupt Classroom Order. Make it messy. He's a ghost with OCD—can't handle chaos. Desks perfect? He's strong. Desks flipped like a WWE cage match? He's weak."
Lena quietly tipped over a chair. I gave her a thumbs-up.
"Rule five: Cover the Chalkboard. Cloth, tarp, your gym shirt—I don't care. Just block it. No board = no evil tweets from the ghost dimension."
"Rule six: Write in Red Chalk. And the phrase has to be: 'You Are Not My Teacher.' It's like telling a vampire you're not Catholic—breaks the spiritual bond. But it only works if you haven't already responded to the board. If you did, congrats—you're spiritually enrolled in Chalk U."
James finally spoke. "That... actually makes sense."
I winked. "I know. I hate it too."
"And last one, kiddos," I held up a clandle "(don't ask) Light from a candle. Electric lights are his thing. Match-lit candles? That's old school. He can't stand them."
Tommy blinked. "You just... had that?"
"I'm always prepared for dramatic monologues or cult rituals," I replied proudly.
The candle flared to life.
And for a moment—just a moment—the room felt safer.
Then I leaned in, eyes serious.
"Look, I know I'm the dude who high-fived a mop for 'cleaning up the competition.' But right now? Y'all are stuck with me. So you better pay attention, 'cause I got this cursed classroom's number."
I held the Expo marker like it was a wand.
"And I'm about to rewrite the syllabus."
[+22 Attention Points — "Dramatic and engaging explanation."]
(Let's gooo. The system loves me. I knew yelling at traumatized teens with ghost rules would pay off.)
To be continue