Hillside High

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
"Hillside High" is a short horror story that I came up with in my spare time. It's basically a short trip through my twisted fifteen-year-old mind.

This is all made up. I have no intentions of doing any of this. I just wanted to write a quick horror story.

Sources: News.

Submitted: December 17, 2016

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Submitted: December 17, 2016

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It was a quiet and normal September morning. Actually, no. It wasn't so normal. It was a very cold day for September. Fall started next week and we were already experiencing cold weather. Westwood is known for its cold weather, but I've never witnessed a single September day this cold in my entire fourteen years of living. Westwood is a small town located in Illinois on the edge of Smith and Newark county, so it's pretty hard to decide which county we belong to. Right now, third period just began. World history is my easiest subject, probably because I love it so much. We're about to resume our notes on the Roman Empire, which we failed to complete yesterday because of the bell. Mr. Garrett began the slideshow and I took out my notebook and began writing. I prefer writing in mechanical pencils since I think they look really nice and you don't have to throw them away after using them. Occasionally, people in my class will ask me to borrow a pen or a pencil. I usually decline and say that I don't have any even though I do. The reason I don't let anyone borrow anything is because I don't trust this school or the kids in it. My parents and I wanted for me to attend a private school but since "we aren't rich", as my mom says, I didn't. Right now, my grades are looking pretty amazing for a Freshman-who-was-put-in-non-honors-and-easy-classes (That's how I refer to myself). I've got straight A's and I'm trying to keep it this way for the whole semester, which ends in December. Hopefully, if I do keep these grades up, I will be able to attend honors classes next year, which will, finally, be challenging. We were halfway through the slide of Julius Caesar when the loudspeaker bell rang. When this happens, it's usually for a cancellation of a club or event, something that was missed during morning announcements, or a teacher or student who is to report to a designated room. "Attention Hillside High School. This is a lockdown. I repeat, this is a lockdown. This is not a drill," said Mr. Grean through the speaker. "Please remain in your classrooms and maintain your doors shut. I repeat, this is not a drill."

My heart stopped. Mr. Garrett ran to the door, shut it, and locked it. He then reached for the light switches and flipped them down."Go, go!" he said as he ran toward us. "Hide under the desks!"

My first reaction was attempting to jump out of my desk and to run inside the closet, but I could see someone in there already. I decided to run to the corner of the room and hide under a desk. I could hear people breathing heavily and some girls crying. 

"Shh! Be quiet! As long as we keep quiet, they won't know we're --"

A gunshot interrupted Mr. Garrett. My heart stopped once more. The girls now were screaming.

"Oh my god.." panted Mr. Garrett. I had no idea what to do. I never thought this would ever happen to me. I was used to all those lockdown drills we had in elementary school but I never thought it would actually happen. I decided to close my eyes and to begin to pray. Through the middle of my prayer, I was interrupted by another gunshot. The whole room was now full of crying, screaming, and panting. The gunshots seemed to be coming from downstairs. Our school is a two-story school, and this class is upstairs right above the main entrance. 

"Everyone, please, just remain silent," said Mr. Garrett in a worried voice. "We'll be okay, we'll be o--"

Another gunshot. After that one, I decided to pull out my phone and dial 911. I pulled out my phone out of the pocket of my sweatpants with my now shaky hands. Before I could even lower the brightness I could hear footsteps coming from the stairs next to our classroom. A girl screamed "No!" in a very loud voice and began crying. The footsteps neared our classroom. I paused for a moment. I then pressed the "Contacts" icon on my phone. The figure was now standing outside of our classroom. They banged the door four times with their fist. I scrolled down in my recent calls and stopped. I dialed the number and they immediately answered.

"Yes?" she answered.

"I love you, mom."


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