Winners of the Journal-World's Scary Story Contest from left are Alexandra Hoopes, a freshman at Bishop Seabury Academy, and Kyra Haas, sixth-grader at Veritas Christian School.

High School Division winner Bethann Starkebaum, a junior at Santa Fe Trail High School in Carbondale.

We asked area students to concoct a Halloween story of 700 words or less that started with this spooky introduction: “When I went to Room 101 for after-school detention, I didn’t recognize the teacher who was there waiting for me …”

We received nearly 200 entries from participants that were divided into three divisions: elementary, junior high and high school. Here are the winning entries:

Bloody Halloween

By Bethann Starkebaum
High School Division

When I went to Room 101 for after-school detention, I didn’t recognize the teacher who was there waiting for me. Most likely because it wasn’t a teacher, it was my aunt, Lillian. She was crying and her 19-year-old son, Seth, was trying to calm her.

As soon as they saw me, relief showed on both of their faces. Aunt Lillian ran across the small room and grabbed me by the shoulders. She buried her face in my neck and hugged me.

Seth pulled her off me and more calmly stated the obvious: “We were worried about you.” My aunt nodded and added, “There has been a terrible accident.”

My heart sank and I suddenly didn’t feel well. Looking between them, I asked, “Well, what is it?” When neither of them replied and just looked at each other, I grew frustrated. “Somebody just freaking tell me already!” I screamed as tears started to sting my eyes.

Continue reading “Bloody Halloween.”

Bad Chemistry

By Alexandra Hoopes
Junior High Division

When I went to Room 101 for after-school detention, I didn’t recognize the teacher who was there waiting for me. None of my classmates were in the room. Officially, detention didn’t start for another three minutes, but I didn’t want to get in any more trouble than I was already. The man behind the desk had jet-black hair, and his back was turned to me. He was reading intently at his desk, so I decided not to bother him. I sat down at a table near the back.

I hadn’t brought any books with me because I was told Mr. S. had a “special assignment” for me. It probably had something to do with cleaning the huge mess I had made in the lab room. I really didn’t mean to do it. What kind of teacher gives their students sulfuric acid to play with? I added the water to its concentrated form … and the rest is history. Leslie’s hand was burning and she was screaming like crazy. Suddenly, the whole table was ablaze. It was kind of funny – looking back on it.

I was getting bored so I decided to ask the teacher what I should be doing. I walked slowly to his desk.

“Excuse me sir,” I said, using my most polite detention voice, “I’m Peter, the freshman responsible for the … um … chemistry incident. Should I go get some homework?”

I don’t know why my voice sounded so shaky. I’m usually quite comfortable with teachers. This one sort of grunted and slowly turned around in his chair. I bit my lip to stifle a scream. The man’s face was burned all over. His skin was white and flaky, and his nose was stubby and looked like it was missing a piece or two. I tried not to stare, but his beady black eyes were eating through me. The man opened his mouth and with a rough, raspy voice he spoke to me.

Continue reading “Bad Chemistry.”

A Dreadful Detention

By Kyra Haas
Elementary Division

When I went to Room 101 for after school detention, I didn’t recognize the teacher who was there waiting for me. I entered the room. I closed the door securely behind me (Room 101 is a room that I have become very familiar with in these last few years and the door has trouble shutting).

The teacher, as I realized after a thorough look, was short with one of those mustaches that require lots of gel to get it to go into a little devil horn at the end. Unfortunately, he didn’t know these stashes only worked with a goatee. He wore a T-shirt, a tie and shorts with long gray socks and sandals. Talk about a fashion crisis! I almost smartly remarked that he should go on “What Not to Wear,” when I was silenced by his glare.

Something about his eyes stopped me. If you have ever seen a cat just before it pounces on a harmless mouse, you know why I stopped talking. “Sit” he said. I sat.

At my school, Silverstein Junior High, you give the teacher a slip signed by your teacher stating what you did and what the consequence was to be carried out. Well, I handed him my slip and he pointed to the chalk board.

I was to write, “I will not put a tack on my teacher’s chair; I will not put a tack on my teacher’s chair …”

At around number 10, on my way to 500, the room seemed to swirl. I saw the weird teacher’s head among the green swirls and purple background. “Thy doom is upon thy,” he cackled. “Join me or join the dark side.” I have always had trouble with my daydreams, so I told myself to remain calm. The room should come into focus in a minute. It did. But, the teacher was the same. He giggled and I backed up. What a freak, I thought. He should go to an asylum or something.

Continue reading “A Dreadful Detention.”

Here are the runners-up:

Silence at Dark

By Rylie Taylor
High School Division

When I went to room 101 for after-school detention, I didn’t recognize the teacher who was there waiting for me. Just seeing him gave me chills down my back. His nose was very big and bulky and it almost overflowed his face. The strangest thing was that the few hairs he had on his balding head were jet black. Before I could finish taking in his profile, his deep masculine voice spoke to me.

“Sit down, shut up, and don’t even talk. Whatever you do, no sleeping! I’m so sick of you kids thinking you can do whatever, well …” he rambled on and on and by the time he finished I was seated. I was more tired than ever.

I starred blankly at my book and before I knew it I was practically eating it. I was so tired. My face had fallen to the desk and before I knew it I was out cold.

My eyes squinted open and my body was hurting from sleeping in an uncomfortable position. I looked around and realized that the room has gotten much darker than before. I got goose bumps as I shivered. For some odd reason, it felt like the same chilling October weather outside was inside. I always hated Halloween.

I turned around to look at the clock; my eyes widened and my throat dried. It was eleven o’clock at night. I tried to swallow, but all there was to swallow was air. Air that was filled with my desperation and my inner-self being paranoid.

Continue reading “Silence at Dark.”

Scary Story

By Candice Meiners
Junior High Division

When I went to room 101 for after-school detention, I didn’t recognize the teacher who was there waiting for me. His hair was white and looked as though it could be blown away. He was dressed casually and his clothes appeared to be several sizes too large. His body had a thin, skeletal look to it and was unusually pale. Over his face was a red handkerchief. I decided he must be a sub, as he did not in the least resemble Mr. Sarong, who was the teacher in this room.

I hovered at the door frame, unsure of what to do. I cleared my throat in an attempt to wake him. The attempt was futile. Of all the teachers to get an after-school detention with. I walked up to him.

“Sir? I’m Mary DeWalz. I’m here for my after-school detention.”

Still the man did not respond. I walked forward and touched his shoulder. It felt strangely cold but I was not patient enough to process that observation at the time. “Excuse me, I’m here for detention.” I repeated myself. The teacher slumbered on. I felt a pang of annoyance, it wasn’t like I didn’t have anything better to do right now.

I shook him roughly by the arm and cried out loudly, “Hey! Wake up!”

I gave a gasp of surprise. His head had rolled to the side, facing me, and the handkerchief had fallen away to reveal what it had concealed. The man’s face was lined with age, but his skin had a starved stretched look to it. His mouth was hanging open slightly and it was noticeable that several of his teeth were missing. But most observable were his eyes. They were a grey-blue and had an empty, sightless stare that only the dead could master.

Quickly I backed away from the corpse, and opened my mouth to scream, but was unable to. I had backed into someone, and my scream caught in my throat, my breath gone. I whipped around quickly.

The person was Ms. Vise, my English teacher. Relief flooded through me, although I was still too on edge to recognize it.

I gapped wordlessly at the slight, dark haired woman for a moment and then I was babbling. “Ms. Vise, there’s a dead guy!” I gestured at the body. “I came in for after- school detention, and I thought he was sleeping, but then I touched him, and he didn’t move, and he’s dead, and we have to find someone!” I stopped breathing heavily, staring wild-eyed at Ms. Vise, waiting for her response.

Continue reading “A Scary Story.”

The Substitute

By Paulina Colombo
Elementary Division

When I went to room 101 for after-school detention I didn’t recognize the teacher who was waiting for me. His eyes were small, sharp black stones. His smile was curved, almost twisted. He wore black pants and a dark brown, stained shirt. I looked around to see if someone would walk through the door. No one did. He motioned for me to sit at a desk in the front row. I obeyed.

Detention stinks. Nothing to do except anticipate going home. I read the clock: 3:30. An hour and a half ’til I could go home. I looked toward the wall closest to me; a window was cracked. Just then a gust of wind forced the window to fly open. I raised my eyebrows.

Looking up at the board I read the name “Mr. Cadaver.”

“Mr. Cadaver, can I get a book to read?” I asked. Without responding, he slammed a dictionary on my desk. I shrugged and began to read the A section. “Aardvark: an ant-eating animal from Africa.” I started to flip pages. I closed my eyes to randomly choose a page. When I opened my eyes to the C section, I scanned over it. “Cactus – caddish – cadaver.”

“That’s strange,” I thought to myself. I looked at the board again. “Mr. Cadaver.” I looked back at the dictionary, “Cadaver: C-A-D-A-V-E-R”, spelled the same way. I read the definition: “dead body.”

Continue reading “The Substitute.”