He was there, and then he wasn't. The man- no, the thing dressed in black, the one with gleaming ruby eyes, and a treacherous scowl. The crowd gathered around only after Principal Garver fell to the ground, while it stood behind them watching, but it was as if no one saw him, or no one cared to notice.

Maybe it was my imagination. I've seen them since I was a kid. I blame the folk tales grandma used to tell me growing up. They messed with my head. Every time I tried to tell her or anyone that I saw things, things that should only be seen in nightmares, my mouth refused to push the words out, like if I told I'd be punished.

"Excuse me, Ms. Mcguire."

Brad Cooper, star quarterback of Ruby Falls High School football team raises his hand. He sits in the back with some of his teammates, Josh Hammond, and Charlie Walsh. All three sporting their red and black champion jackets from last fall.

"Yes, Brad."

"Um - is Principal Garver dead?"

Flashes of light beam into the classroom. The siren of the ambulance swirling around in my head. I'm half-listening, half-not. Most of my attention is focused on the spot where the man stood only moments ago but is no longer.

The students in the five rows of seats in front of me all stare. There are twenty of them, all with curious frowns on their young faces.

"I don't know, but we should focus our attention back to our schoolwork. So, let's try, shall we?"

Brad shrugs. He's a good student, mostly A's and some B's, but sometimes with the three of them in my class they can get rowdy and stray off-topic. I'm not saying we shouldn't discuss what happened, but since we don't know details, it would be best to leave it.

"Founders Day," I say, turning my attention back to the room.

They all look, but their minds have wandered.

"Ruby Creek has been known for many things. Like our quiet and peaceful hiking trails, having the best B&B within a fifty-mile radius, the sense of community, our yearly festivals, and so much more. I want you each to write a two-page essay on what Ruby Creek means to you."

The groans begin before I can even finish my sentence. The three in the back roll their eyes, kick back in their seat, and quietly throw their tantrums. There are a few students already jotting down the task in notebooks, and some stare blankly at me as if I've lost my mind.

Founders Day wasn't a day that I particularly enjoyed. The festivities were fun for the most part, and any squalls or fights with neighbors seemed to settle for at least a month leading up to it as everyone worked together to create a week of joy and celebration. Only, deep down the stories of the past mixed with folk tales of horrific monsters never sat well with me as a kid - in fact, they still don't.

"Ms. Mcguire?"

It's Brad again.

"Mr. Cooper, please tell me you have something important to add to the discussion. And no, no extensions, the essay is due Friday."

He runs a hand over his round shaved head and purses his lips. "Can we write about the nightwalkers?"

My blood runs as cold as death through my veins. Leaning against the wooden desk behind me for support, I grip the edges to keep myself from showing fear. I worry my face is already conveying that to them.

"You can write about whatever you want, as long as it's tasteful and truthful. While our folk tales are strongly believed in, we need to look at the FACTS surrounding them, so make sure you do your research."

"Ay, Ay, Captain!" He salutes me with a cheeky grin.

"Does anyone else have questions."

I let my eyes roam the classroom, waiting for someone to raise their hand, but instead my gaze flickers out the large windows along the wall to my right. They've got the stretcher out with a white sheet over the entire thing, under it sits a lump. Mr. Garver.

It's hard to not let my emotions get the best of me and let my students know, but when Mcknenna Young, class president shoots her blue-gray eyes in the same direction as me, I know she's caught on. Her face pales, and her usual pink cheeked glow fades. When she turns her attention to me, her eyes mist with fear and sadness.

I'm about to open my mouth to reach out to her when there's a knock on the door. It's the Assistant Principal Mr. Jacobs. His darkened eyes peer at me through the door.

"If you could please open your writer's notebook and free-write for a few moments. I'll be back shortly."

Their gazes burn into me as I close the distance between my desk and the classroom door. Every step in my black Doc Martin's sounds louder than it is. I'm hyper aware of every noise, from the shuffling of notebooks, and the scraping of chairs, to the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above.

Out in the hallway, Mr. Jacobs rests his tall lean body against the full-length lockers. He's not that much older than me, but he looks as if he's aged by twenty-years in a matter of a few hours. His perfect dark skin wrinkles in places I didn't know he had wrinkles.

My heart punches me hard as I wait for him to speak.

"He's dead."

"Do they think they have an idea?"

He shrugs. "No idea. Trish said there was blood."

Trish is the school nurse, and one of my best friends.

He runs a trembling hand over his short dark hair, then scratches the back of his neck. The image of that thing in a man's body with those intriguing eyes flashes through my head. Maybe it's me. Do demons really exist?

"Nore," he says, pushing himself from the locker and standing beside me.

"Yeah?"

"You looked a little green there for a moment."

"I'm sorry. I saw it all happen out on the front lawn and it just -"

He touches my shoulder, nodding, as if he knows exactly what I mean. He doesn't. It never gets easy. Watching people collapse out of nowhere when these "things" are around has not been easy.

"I get it. If you need the day-"

"No. No. I'll be fine. It's not the first time I've seen death in action."

His brows narrow as he releases his grip from my shoulder. "Okay then. I do need a favor."

If he asks me to call Harry Garver's wife I'm quitting on the spot.

"Okay."

"The new English teacher is starting today. He's in the main office. Harry was supposed to show him around, and I've got no other staff who can right now. I have to go out there and deal with the police."

I almost forgot with all the commotion that the new English teacher started today. Ms. Henley, the one before him, another victim of whatever it was that was happening. She passed away two months ago. While I wasn't there for the death, at the funeral I saw a female with the same eyes as the male from today. She stood behind the casket, watching, and waiting, as if she was searching for her next victim. No one saw her. In fact, I glanced away for a moment and when I looked back the priest presiding over the funeral was in the exact spot the woman had been moments before.

"Send him my way, I have two free periods."

"Will do. Thank you Nore. I appreciate it."

"Of course. Is there anything else I can do?"

He shakes his head. "No, but I will let you know if a statement is needed, since there were other witnesses."

My lip's part, the words dying on my tongue. Why can't I just say, I saw something standing near him when he collapsed, but no one else did. Okay, maybe I can't say it because it sounds bat shit crazy, but it's like there's something stopping me from saying anything at all.

"Okay. He'll be down before the bell."

We part ways, but for a moment I have to wait outside the classroom door to catch my breath and pull myself together for my students. Through the top window of the door, I peer in at them. Some kids are doing the work, others are fooling around. Charlie Walsh is propped up on the edge of Gena Russo's desk. She flips her chestnut brown hair at him. He grins that smile we all know a young girl like herself can't resist. There were so many guys like that in high school. Most of them I wanted to punch in the face, but I'm a teacher now so thinking about punching a student in the face is frowned upon. I hate how she eats it up, even as a teacher we hear the rumors and the ones about him pin him as a player.

I touch the handle of the door as the patter of dress shoes echo down the hallway. My hand freezes and a chill rattles me. Even my hands go ice cold. Swallowing hard, I lift my gaze to find an unfamiliar man walking towards me. His forest green eyes hold a tinge of red in them, but not like thing outside, it's different.

A sharp overwhelming scent commands my attention, like a smoldering fire. It's intoxicating and wraps around me like a flame hugging a log.

"Ms. Mcguire?"

I'm tongue-tied. This time for a whole different reason. I'm about to introduce myself when a seductive grin brightens his scruffy face.

With a brow raised he holds out a hand to me. "I'm Jaime Donovan, the new English teacher."

I contemplate taking it, but my arm is stuck, like my words. Nore, you're being ridiculous.

"Yes. I'm Ms. Mcguire. You can call me Nore."

I take his hand. Fire meets ice and I swear something sizzles between us.

The school bell rings signifying the period change, and my classroom door flies open nearly taking me out, but instead of being crushed by my students, I find myself trapped inside Jaime Donovan's rock-solid chest.

Several seconds up against him causes my heart to frantically skip beats. It's less than a minute but feels like a lifetime when I finally catch my breath and pull away. I stumble backwards. He leans forward and I throw up my hands stopping him from coming closer.

"Are you alright?"

There's something about the way he speaks. It's a low rumble, deep in his chest, but pierces through you like a needle in thread. Again, his green eyes find mine, and I'm intrigued by the specks in them.

"I'm. I'm okay. Um - so let me give you a tour."

His gaze wanders down my body. From my black ¾ length sleeve top, to the long flowy black daisy print skirt, and then my docs. For a tick his eyes widen, a soft grin following, before he presses his lips together and his eyes find mine.

"Lead the way."

"So, um. Interesting first day, huh?"

A light chuckle escapes him as we fall into step beside each other. Holy shit, he's tall. I don't know why I didn't notice it before. After a few heavy beats of silence, I speak up again.

"What room did they put you in?"

He clears his throat, and pulls a small, folded piece of white paper from the back of his black jean pocket. Now it's my turn to size him up. Button down black shirt, a button popped off at the top. Then below his belt line, tight black jeans, and shiny black dress shoes.

The deep veins in his large hand pop as he carefully opens the paper. My eyes glued to their thickness, and the large scar that goes from the left side of his left hand to his far-right knuckle.

"Room number 55."

"Oh. That's right around the corner here."

He's not very talkative and his shoulders are more tense than mine. Someone needs to massage those suckers. Clenching his jaw, he turns his head to the left and lowers his chin.

"Well, here we are. Is there anything else I need to show you, like the faculty lunchroom, bathrooms, um - do you need to see the rest of the school - I could -"

I stop talking, because when I glance up, he's grinning. He shakes his head.

"No. I got the grand tour when I came for my interview."

"Oh." My voice squeaks. Lovely. "Okay then. I guess I'll leave you to it."

I spin on my heels and catch something flash across the hallway. From behind me, Jaime swears under his breath. I gasp out loud at the thing I'd seen earlier, the one hovering over Mr. Garver.

Closing my eyes, I tell myself I'm seeing things. But when I open them again, he's still there heading towards me. I've never had one seek me out before. I hold my breath waiting for the impact, but it never comes. There's only darkness and nothing more.