Friday 13th.

He shivered as an unspoken dread passed over him. Pulling his knees up from beneath the desk, he promised himself that this was not real.

All day the tension had been building up, ready to explode and spill over at any given moment. And all because of a single date.

‘It’s Friday 13th,’ stated his mother, placing a plate in front of him at breakfast.

‘Yeah,’ said his brother, grabbing his heavy bag, straightening his tie, preparing for the future oddity that was Secondary School. ‘Watch out for ghosts, Danny. The music room at your school is haunted.’

His mother had admonished him, saying ‘James, don’t scare your brother,’ whilst assuring Danny that ghosts are not real. But there was still that empty anticipation inside of him, that horror-filled trepidation that something would happen.

The bell for break ran out, loud and clear in the dim silence of the classroom. Danny jumped in his seat at the sudden sound, earning a few sniggers from nearby classmates – if you could call them mates at all.

The teacher dismissed them, and twenty three pupils stood up, thrilled to be out of their seats and fifteen minutes closer to home-time freedom. Danny didn’t move.

“Come on, Daniel,” sing-songed the teacher, a false impression of happiness plastered over her face. “It’s break! Go outside, go have fun with your friends.”

Slowly he dropped his feet to the floor, shivering slightly again as he stood. The teacher beamed at him, all smiles and laughter and happiness. He refused to let his eyes fall on her, to give her that satisfaction, and kept them glued to the ground as he traipsed onto a playground scene that was, literally, chaos.

Children shrieked and screamed, pushing past him, knocking him out of the way. He stood, transfixed, as a girl rushed past him, face and features contorted.

“She’s possessed!” squealed the girl’s friend. “The ghost’s in her!”

“I saw her!” exclaimed a boy, grabbing Danny’s shoulder. “I saw Bloody Mary!” And then he was gone again, words hanging in the muddled air.

Danny turned to face the window of the upstairs music room, movements slow and hesitant. A white shiver seemed to linger there, pane slightly frosted in the November cool.

It’s the ghost.