Black Mold
There was a leaking pipe outside Miss Jameson’s classroom. There was a little alcove in the wall containing a section of pipe with a valve on top that was slowly dripping onto the shelf. The leak was small, and the drips were relatively infrequent, but it had been dripping for some time now, and it had gotten worse as the weeks had passed.
She’d told the headteacher that something needed to be done, and he’d promised that he’d look into it, but nothing ever got done in this place unless you threatened to hand in your notice. It already smelled rancid, and she told him that if it was left any longer then black mould would start to grow.
He’d responded with “yeah, yeah, I understand,” but he didn’t understand, really, did he?
She was furious when she came in that morning and saw the discoloured paintwork on the wall at the end of the corridor. A very thin veil of mould was now beginning to spread across the wall beneath the alcove, just as she’d said it would.
She shook her head, grumbled to herself, and went inside, swearing that today was the day she’d finally threaten to walk if nothing got done. It was just a small maintenance issue! What the hell was taking so long?
She sat in the classroom going over papers as she waited for the kids to arrive and stewing in her anger. She could still hear the rhythmic dripping of the pipe outside. The sound was muted by the closed door, but it was still audible. Drip. Drip. Drip.
She clutched her head and sighed through gritted teeth. She felt another pounding headache coming on. She’d been getting headaches more often in recent weeks. She couldn’t tell if it was the result of a burgeoning health problem or from the stress of having to deal with everyone around her.
She never got the support she needed from the headteacher, and her class really weren’t helping.
End of school exams were coming up. None of the kids were doing particularly well, and they were all giving her an incredibly hard time. She seemed to be getting a bit better at making them all shut up and stop constantly whispering to each other about what they were going to do during lunch break. Teaching a class of pre-teens really was like pulling teeth sometimes. Especially with Bobby Thompson, the class clown. She’d just about given up on Bobby.
She didn’t think that she could possibly feel any more stressed about the situation until the class had arrived, she’d managed to get them to quiet down, and she was about to start the lesson, when her eyes began wandering over to the wall by the door. She faltered, and tried to push through the distraction, but she found it almost impossible to focus.
“Okay, if you’d all please turn to page twelve of your textbooks. Today we’re going to be…going to be looking at…” she squinted at the patch of wall in the corner. “…a-alkaline metals…”
It was very faint, but the wallpaper in the corner was starting to look faintly discoloured.
It was then that she realised that the mould was starting to grow inside the classroom.
She could barely contain her fury as she gritted her teeth and pushed on with the lesson.
Something had to be done. Now.
*
Miss Jameson phoned the headteacher over the lunch break. She knew she was only supposed to use his mobile number in emergencies, but this was an emergency as far as she was concerned.
“Look, Greg, either you get maintenance to come down here and deal with this pipe first thing tomorrow morning, or I’m handing in my notice…No, I don’t care that you’re taking a personal day! And really, another personal day? How many personal days is that this month? Look, it’s disgusting! It’s toxic! It’s bad for me, it’s bad for the kids, and what happens if the board finds out about this? Or the kids’ parents? How is this going to look?”
The useless headteacher blustered and offered his usual excuses about tight budget allocation.
She responded by asking what would happen if a kid got sick and the parents decided to sue.
He eventually conceded and said that he’d make sure the maintenance guy was there and had dealt with the problem by the start of the first lesson tomorrow morning.
“…thank you,” she snapped, and she put the phone down.
She breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
She sceptical, but for a moment, she believed that she’d done it, and that something was finally going to get done.
*
Miss Jameson came in next morning at about 7ish. She was incensed to see that the mould was still there, and it had gotten worse overnight! The shade was thicker and darker, and maintenance weren’t even here yet! There was no way that they’d be able to get this dealt with by the start of the first lesson! Greg was such a liar!
“Hello, Miss Jameson,” said a voice behind her.
Miss Jameson gasped and jumped, holding her hands up in fright as she turned around.
“Jesus Christ!”
There was a tall thin man standing directly behind her. He was wearing black overalls and a gas mask and was carrying a toolbox and a small yellow barrel with a hazard symbol and the words ‘TOXIC CHEMICALS’ printed on the front.
“Don’t sneak up on people like that!” she snapped.
“My apologies, ma’am,” he spoke in a slow and sinister drawl. His voice was made all the more unsettling by the fact it was being filtered through the gas mask. The lenses were mirrored so she couldn’t even see his face. The voice sent shivers down her spine.
“What’s the mask for?” she asked.
“Safety. I work with extremely dangerous chemicals,” he said.
“I…a-alright, okay, could you fix the pipe, please?”
“The pipe has already been taken care of.”
“I…oh.”
She turned back around and saw that he was right: the pipe was no longer dripping.
“But-but you haven’t gotten rid of the mould,” she said.
“Oh, you wish for me to banish the black mould from the wall?” he asked.
She frowned.
“Well, yes, of course. It’s bad for the kids, isn’t it?” she was shocked that she had to explain that to him. That and his choice of words seemed incredibly strange to her. Banish the mould?
“Very well,” the man said. “I will do as you wish, but just so long as you remember that all actions have consequences.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Every action has a consequence,” the man said. “Are you prepared for what might happen if the mould is removed?”
She frowned.
“Look, I don’t have time for whatever game it is that you think you’re playing! I have a class to prepare for! Just get it done!”
The man sniggered.
“As you wish,” he said.
She gave him a curt nod and went into the classroom to prepare for her lesson, shutting the door behind her.
*
Miss Jameson was surprised to find that the man had done as requested and finished cleaning the mould by the start of first lesson. She briefly smiled when she saw that the mould and the man had both vanished when her pupils started arriving, but she hadn’t felt anywhere near as satisfied as she’d hoped. She was grateful that the mould was gone, but something about the man’s tone and his way with words bothered her. The words ‘all actions have consequences’ really stuck in her craw.
The morning lesson went by fairly quickly and she started handing out mock exams after the kids got in from their lunch break.
“Just answer as many questions as you can in thirty minutes. Your scores will be used to predict your final grades and-is something the matter, Christian?” she sighed.
“Sorry, Miss Jameson,” Christian coughed. “I-I feel like I’ve got something stuck in my throat.”
“Hmm, how long has it been going on f-?“ she was cut off before she could finish her question by another burst of coughing and spluttering.
She had her suspicions that Christian had started smoking behind the bins during lunch breaks. That was probably what was causing this.
“Do you need to see the nurse?” she asked.
“Um, yeah, I think so, it’s-it’s getting worse,” he gasped through his coughs.
If she was right that smoking was the cause of it, then she didn’t want to indulge him, as it was something stupid that he’d done to himself, but she didn’t know what else to do. She gave in and let him trudge out of the classroom and off to the nurse’s office.
She was about to move on and continue handing out papers when she noticed something on Christian’s desk. She stopped a moment. She put the exam papers down, and she peered closer at a small clump of black sticky stuff that appeared to have come out of Christian’s mouth. She’d never seen phlegm that looked like that before. It almost looked like a little squished dead insect.
“Miss? Are you okay?” one of the kids asked.
“I…y-yes, yes, it’s nothing,” she stopped and shook her head.
Miss Jameson continued to hand out the exam papers and tried to put it out of her mind.
*
Kimberly was the one having a coughing fit the next day.
“Miss! I think Christian’s given me whatever virus he had,” she said.
Christian hadn’t shown up for school the next day. Miss Jameson had been meaning to go to the nurse’s office to see if he was lying or if the nurse had figured out if it was related to cigarettes, but she hadn’t had the time in the end.
She didn’t have much cause for suspicion when it came to Kimberly. Kimberly was a good girl. Kimberly was one of her only kids she could stand. Kimberly would never take up smoking.
Kimberly then interrupted Miss Jameson’s train of thought with another fit of coughing.
“Um, fine, you can go to the nurse’s office,” said Miss Jameson.
“Thank you, Miss,” said Kimberly, and she got up and staggered to the door.
“Right, today we’re going to be-” Miss Jameson was then cut off as Bobby started having his own coughing fit.
“Oh, honestly, Bobby!” she sighed.
“No, Miss, I’m not faking it! Can I go to the nurse?”
“No!”
“Please, Miss!”
“No! I know what you’re like! I know you’re just trying to get out of class, Bobby!”
“But Miss!”
Bobby then coughed louder, and he made a strange wheezing sound. He started shaking and beating his chest as he tried to force something from deep inside his throat. Miss Jameson marched over to him.
“Bobby, stop this right now-” she then stopped and did a double-take. Bobby’s face had gone completely white. He continued his hacking cough, and then out of his mouth came a huge clump of coal black sludge.
“What…on…Earth?” she recoiled as the disgusting slop hit the desk with a squelch. This was much, much bigger than the strange lump of matter that Christian had coughed up the day before. This lump was about the size of an apple.
“Um, I-I-I, alright, go to the nurse!” she stammered.
Bobby got to his feet and stumbled off towards the door. Miss Jameson stepped closer to the vacated desk and peered in closer at the bizarre lump that had come out of the child’s mouth. This wasn’t phlegm. This wasn’t like anything she’d ever seen before. She got a pen out of her pocket and prodded the congealed lump of wet sticky matter. It trembled at the touch of her pen, almost like it was alive.
“Eww! Miss!” Emily, who sat behind Bobby, winced in disgust, but Miss Jameson ignored her.
“It can’t be,” she muttered to herself, chilled and horrified.
The lump of matter was still shivering.
Another child near the back of the room started coughing.
*
“Greg, please, you have to help me!” Miss Jameson spluttered into the phone.
She was pacing back and forth outside the classroom as the kids did another mock exam. The kids were supposed to be working quietly, but the occasional coughing fit from another infected pupil punctuated every few seconds of silence.
“They all seem to have contracted this weird illness. I’m not sure what it is.”
“Oh, they’re probably just faking it. Exams are coming up. You know what kids are like, Louise,” the headteacher said dismissively.
“No, it’s definitely real, and all of them have it. They’re coughing up this weird black stuff.”
“It’ll just be cigarettes doing it. I bet you they’re smoking something weird and foreign; you know what kids are like.”
“But it’s not normal, Greg. When you look at them, they look sick,” she stopped pacing and glanced through the little window in the door to the classroom. The rows of pale discoloured children were all sat at their desks scribbling away, much slower than usual. Just writing alone appeared to be a phenomenal effort for the kids.
Miss Jameson turned away and started pacing again.
“Their skin is turning grey! It’s not normal! I swear, they all need to be sent home!”
“Jesus Christ, the wall, the pipe, the kids, it’s always something with you, isn’t it, Louise?”
“But-but I-“
“-They’re probably smoking something weird that makes them go a funny colour. Probably doing it deliberately just to get sympathy. I told you; it’s the exams are coming up. They’ll do anything to avoid work. That’s what children are like, Louise, you should know this by now!”
“I’m telling you, Greg: you need to come and see this!”
“I will do no such thing! I’m taking a personal day! I’m entitled to personal days and I intend to enjoy this one! I don’t want to be interrupted again, Louise! Good day!”
“But-but I-“
He hung up.
Miss Jameson looked back to the window to the classroom. The children seemed to have gotten worse in the time she’d been looking away. The shades of grey appeared to have gotten darker. Was it just the light in there? It couldn’t have been.
Miss Jameson opened the door and marched inside. She went to open the blinds, and upon doing so, she found that the swirling grey clouds had totally eaten the sun. The amount of light in the room hadn’t even increased.
She turned back to face the class. Their skins were all still turning darker shades of grey as they coughed and spluttered. They were getting worse right before her eyes.
“Miss,” Sophie whimpered pathetically from the front row. “There’s-there’s something wrong with my arm,” she mumbled, and she held up her right arm.
Miss Jameson’s mouth dropped open as she saw a large growth of black fungus on the sleeve of Sophie’s fluffy pink jumper. The black lump was pulsating and spreading across her arm. The black growth then started trembling. There was a horrible squelching sound as the trembling became more and more violent. Then, there was the sound of ripping fabric just prior to the sound of tearing flesh. The child screamed as her entire arm fell right off and hit the floor with a splatter. The flesh inside was infected with the pulsating black matter.
Miss Jameson screamed and fell to her knees in shock and horror as the child screeched and wailed and thrashed her fleshless arm stump about. The child then passed out and slumped to the floor beneath her desk.
None of the other kids reacted at all. They were all too busy crying out in horror at their own growths of black mould that had suddenly began to break out all over their bodies. The black growths pulsated violently as they grew and grew and swallowed the children’s limbs.
Miss Jameson bolted to the door and screamed out into the corridor.
“SOMEBODY! HELP!”
She tried all the classrooms in the corridor, but everyone had mysteriously vanished. Miss Kemel, Mr Simmons, all of their classes were gone. This didn’t make sense. Where was everyone?
No one responded to her cries for help.
She couldn’t leave the children.
Her hands were trembling as she held up her phone. She called for an ambulance.
“H-hello. I’m in classroom 3C at Westerbrook Primary! I-I need an ambulance! Immediately!”
“What’s your emergency, Ma’am?”
“It’s the kids! There’s this-there’s this weird black stuff growing all over them! A little girl’s flesh just started falling off!” her voice broke as she sobbed in confusion.
“Okay, I’ll send someone over to deal with it immediately,” the lady on the other end of the line sounded strangely calm. Emergency service operators are supposed to respond calmly to all calls, but she was talking as if what Miss Jameson had just told her wasn’t completely insane.
“Um, just one question, ma’am,” said the lady on the other end of the line, “this black stuff growing on the children; it’s not…mould, is it?”
“Wh…what?”
“Is it a mould problem? Did you have mould growing in your classroom?”
“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“If it’s a mould problem, then I need to send in a specialist.”
“…wh-what?”
*
Miss Jameson sat at her desk and waited.
The children weren’t moving anymore, well, they weren’t moving themselves. Any signs of movement were the trembling masses of black matter. The webs of mould had grown all up their bodies, covering their faces and clothes in lumpy black fungus. They didn’t even look like children anymore. The mould was devouring them.
The door then slammed open. Miss Jameson bolted to her feet and staggered over to see the shadow of the maintenance man stood outside in the corridor.
“You!” she cried out.
“Hello, Miss Jameson,” he said in that sinister drawl of his. “I hear you’re having some regrets.”
“Wh — wh-what is this?” she wailed. “Why have you done this?”
“I didn’t do anything, Miss Jameson. You did. I warned you. All actions have consequences. You wanted the mould to leave the wall; the mould had to go somewhere,” he sniggered. “You wanted the rot gone, now the children pay the price.”
“I…J-J-Jesus Christ,” she fell to her knees and stared at her hands, trembling. “What-what-what do I do now?”
“You wish to banish the mould from the children?”
“Put it back! Take it back! P-p-please! I’ll do anything.”
“That’s not so easy, Miss Jameson. You can’t go back to how things were. Things will be different.”
“P-p-please…please…just make it right.”
“…alright,” he said.
He leant down and picked up the yellow barrel of toxic liquid. He unscrewed the lid and walked forward to the nearest mould-encrusted child sat on the end of the row. He raised the barrel over the child’s head. She could see the fumes rising out of the opening.
“Remember, Miss Jameson: you asked for this. All actions have consequences.”
She clutched her mouth in horror. She tried to scream, she but couldn’t. Her eyes were fixed on the pulsating child-shaped mass beneath the barrel.
And then, he emptied the barrel over the child’s head.
*
They found Miss Jameson in the morning. Her face was a milky white and she was rocking back and forth in her chair. She was gibbering to herself under her breath.
They couldn’t figure out what she was saying at first, it just sounded like nonsense. It took them a while to figure out that she was reciting the formula for Hydrofluoric acid.
The conclusion the police drew was that that was what she had used on the charred skeletal remains of the children sat at the desks in the classroom. Their skeletal faces with empty eye sockets were all facing towards the front.
Everyone was doing what she wanted. They were all model pupils at last.
Originally published as ‘Black Mold’ in Night Terrors Vol 9 from Scare Street, available on Amazon.
Listen to the dramatized version on my podcast Abnormal Stories
https://play.acast.com/s/625864f58ef2de0015f5bf87/62700c5b0241f8001255658c
