Undead | Psycho Series Book 1

KRISTINA NAOMI YAGAMI "The case exploration method's first step is to factor it … blah … blah …” I zoned out halfway reading the sentences written on the board. Sir Herbert's chicken handwriting made no sense. At all. I scrutinize the writing the best I can, trying to decode that weird piece of art, my eyeballs burning, but my mind turned blank. I have no idea how Calculus works. I fiddle Edmer Cower's handkerchief that I stole from him earlier – err, I think the appropriate word is borrowed. He isn't aware it's been missing from his bag for an hour. He's oblivious. The front door jolts violently, earning all the students' attention including mine. My eyes shift from the board to the front door. Geez, whoever it is, don't they know how to knock? Don't they have any decency left? This is a free country, I get it. But come on, man. Cedric Newman whose three seats away from me and closest to the window, unlocks the door with a frustrated sigh. I lean near Edmer to see who's behind the door. I couldn't see anything from the windows because of the blue curtains, "Cedric, who's at the door?" Sir Herbert asks while scribbling with his favorite marker. Don't forget the signature chicken writing. You never forget his hand writing. You simply don't. No offense to Sir Herbert, but if he doesn't change his hand writing sooner than later I might fail this class. No one will understand his subject if he's the only person who can understand his writing. In contrary with what I just said, maybe he doesn't understand it, too. Cedric steps out of the room and looks around, but comes back with a bitter look on his face, "No one's here, Sir." he replies, "Alright. Lock the door. It must be those mischievous middle schoolers again," Sir Herbert incoherently mumbles to himself. Cedric quickly returns to his seat. I caught Edmer staring at me from my periphery. I raise an eyebrow, a futile cover up to hide the handkerchief from his view. He still isn't aware that I'm holding his handkerchief hostage. His eyes squinted, imitating Carlo's. Lol. "Give me back the handkerchief, Yagami." he groaned. "Nice try, Cower, but you're not the only one who uses last name basis. No! I will not give it back!" I retort and tighten my hold on the object. I didn't let go of it no matter how hard he pulled it away from me. Sir Herbert doesn't seem to mind the readability of his writing which gave me the opportunity to reach for Edmer's black, G – Shock watch while he's writing on his notebook. When I felt the watch's surface in my fingertips, a hand clasps around mine. My mouth shapes into an O, but before I can feel my voice crack, someone beats me in my own game. "Ahh!” I lift my head up, startled by the siren scream that originated from nowhere. I rolled my eyes when I recognized who it was. It's only Julianne Parker. The class b***h. Boy, she loves to play attention seeker. "Sir Herbert, James pinched me!" she complained while glaring at James Caldow whose hands were up in surrender. Everyone knows how dirty that rascal's mind is; no need to act innocent. I wipe the sweat from my brow. Thank God I was cut off by Julianne's scream. If she hadn't, Sir Herbert would have given me a breach form of minus one in conduct and a slip to a two – hour detention after class. I’d rather stuff my face with Uncle Yamagata's broccoli juice than stare at Sir Herbert's wrinkles all day, thank you very much. The door clutters again, but this time, it became more violent. That alone doesn't bother me. What bothers me is where it's coming from. The backdoor. It's a universal rule for all private catholic schools that back doors aren't used for entrance. Okay, maybe that's a bit overrated. It's a universal rule for everyone with a front door and a backdoor. It's a civilized people thing, okay. The backdoor clutters violently in repetitive intervals. I almost believed that the person behind the door is creating new drum patterns for the upcoming band auditions. Sir Herbert ignores it for a couple of seconds, but when it produces horrid feedback from the class, he finally turns to investigate. If my cursive handwriting is worse than understanding an Asian language I have never heard about, Sir Herbert's chicken handwriting is worst. Believe me when I tell you it can cause headaches the second you see it. I'm not exaggerating. For example, Mandarin. Yeah, Mandarin makes my head ache. Especially when people talk, you don't know if they're making up gibberish or actually telling you to get out of the way. #TrueStory "Remmuel, check who's outside the door! Please!" Sir Herbert pleads off – tune. I snicker. It reminds me of my voice whenever I sing in the shower. Ha, good times. Edmer shoots me a look. "What?" I asked. Remmuel jumps in shock when the door clutters again. I laugh. He ends up balling on James' lap. He pushes him to the floor in disgust. "Eww, man! I know I'm handsome, but I'm not interested in homosexual relations!" he eccentrically boasts. Remmuel slaps him across the face before scrambling to his feet to unlock the door. That's when the screams began. A kid covered in spluttered blood falls head first on the marble floor next to the trash bins. Julianne sprouts from her seat and ends up on the other side of the room in five seconds flat. Regina and Mickee scream and hide behind the boys in the middle row seats. The boys howl and laugh, believing this is just a prank set up by the other eleventh grade students. Obviously not. It's not yet Halloween. I momentarily forget about the handkerchief in my possession and Edmer grabs the opportunity to retrieve his item. He smirks smugly at me while waving it in front of my face like a prize. I ignore him. I'm staring at the kid whose half - dead on the floor, barely hanging on for dear life. He's covered in so much blood it's hard to see pass through without getting psychologically disturbed. Sir Herbert doesn't see the kid. "Remmuel, who is that?" He's still writing on the white board as we speak. For Pete's sake, stop writing on that white board and pay attention to what's going on for a second! I don't approach the kid. I'm frozen in my seat, too afraid. If I approach him, something bad will happen. It's in the pit of my stomach, churning like acid on skin. "Sir!" Remmuel lets out an effeminate scream. He trips on the way and crawls as fast as he can away from the kid. I can make out the official I.D. lace of our school hanging around the boy's neck. He must be an elementary student. The question is, what is he doing in the fifth floor when all elementary sections are in the third and second floor? Why is he covered in blood? Did he kill someone? Did something happen? Did someone die? Is there a zombie apocalypse happening downstairs as we speak? Is it the end of days? Is there a shooting downstairs and we're all oblivious up here? The boy moans like a ghost which made us all shriek in surprise. Sir Herbert finally turns around and when he does, the boy meets his gaze. "Oh for the love of Mary Immaculate, what happened to him?! Reed, Caldow, help the poor boy!" he demands. Remmuel and James hesitate at first, but when Sir Herbert glares at them like Mother Gorilla, they scurry like mice to help the boy up to his feet. They carry him up by wrapping his arms around their shoulders. As they do, he lets out a painful groan that sent shivers down my spine. That's when I see the large bite mark on his neck. A chunk of flesh has been ripped off from his neck. He moans again. I shudder. Something's not right. "R-run ..." he whispers audibly, almost too quiet for the class to hear, "What did you say, son?" Sir Herbert asks. "Run. The undead have risen.” "Ahh!” I gasp out loud. My chest feels like it's about to explode. My head throbs and I find it difficult to move. I fall back on the bed. Just a dream, it's just a dream. I look around and see the familiar color of my wallpaper. Baby blue. I'm still in my room. No zombie apocalypse happened. Oh, my God. Why would I dream such a thing? I check the alarm clock beside me. 5:25 a.m. I still have an hour and thirty minutes before school starts. Thanks to my nightmare, I woke up earlier than my grandmother. I crawl out of bed, but I fall on the carpet instead. "Okay, ow," I rub my nose. My gaze falls on the life – sized mirror staring right back at me. My hair resembles a bird nest and dark violet rings surround my eyes. I look like the dead. I blink and shake the thought away from my mind. Stop thinking apocalyptic thoughts, Kristina. Now is not the time to reminisce that horrid nightmare. I shakily stand up, only for the carpet to catch my ankle which made me fall on my back. Just great, I moan in pain. Today is not my day. "Magomusume, nani datte?!”Granddaughter, what was that?! Uh – oh. O bāchan's awake. "Nani mo, O bāchan! Watashi wa chōdo kāpetto ni ochita," Nothing, grandmother! I just fell on the carpet. I shouted back. I crawl back on my bed before mourning for my throbbing ankle. "Despicable child, you are so clumsy!" she yelled from the kitchen. Why does she always wake up before me? It's not fair! I can't use the shower for another half hour whenever she wakes up earlier than me. My ninja skills must be rusty. My phone rings and I check to see what it is. Oh. It's just my alarm. I need to stop thinking a zombie apocalypse might happen soon. I breathe through my nostrils. Stop thinking that's going to happen, Kristina. Relax, it's just a weird nightmare. There's nothing to worry about. After all, nightmares don't exist. God, I'm such a paranoid.