Nathan Field hated exams. Not in the normal ugh-I-hate-math kind of way—he loathed them like they were some cosmic joke aimed directly at him. His hands would sweat, his heart would race, and he'd stare at the paper like it was written in another language. Today wasn't going to be any different.
The classroom was freezing, even for January. Nathan adjusted his glasses and rubbed his palms against his jeans as he walked to his assigned desk at the back of the exam hall. Rows and rows of desks were lined up with precision, like little coffins waiting to trap the souls of teenagers.
Mrs. Kline, the invigilator, stood at the front of the room. She was the kind of woman who looked like she never smiled—thin lips pressed into a straight line, gray hair pulled into a severe bun.
Nathan slid into his chair. The desk wobbled slightly. He glanced at the paper already waiting for him.
History Final Examination
Time Allowed: 3 Hours
He exhaled. "Three hours of hell," he muttered under his breath.
"What's that, Field?" The voice came from the desk in front of him. Charlie Wells—school jock, self-appointed king of the idiots, and Nathan's favorite pain in the ass—grinned over his shoulder.
"Nothing," Nathan mumbled.
"You nervous?" Charlie asked, leaning closer.
Nathan stared at him. "What do you think?"
Before Charlie could respond, Mrs. Kline's voice cut through the room like a razor blade.
"Eyes forward, Mr. Wells. The exam is about to begin."
Charlie turned back around, chuckling to himself.
Mrs. Kline moved to the podium and tapped the microphone. It let out a short burst of static before she spoke. "No talking. No cheating. You may begin now."
The room fell silent.
Nathan picked up his pen. For the first twenty minutes, he stared at the paper, trying to make sense of the first question. His brain felt foggy like he hadn't slept in days. The sound of pens scratching on paper around him made his skin crawl.
And then he noticed something strange.
The clock on the wall above Mrs. Kline's head wasn't ticking.
Nathan frowned, looking up at the clock. Its hands were stuck at exactly 9:13 a.m. The second hand trembled as if it was trying to move but couldn't.
He looked around the room. No one else seemed to notice. Charlie was scribbling away, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. Sarah—the class brainiac—had already filled half her answer sheet.
Nathan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The room felt colder now. He glanced at Mrs. Kline, but she was staring out over the students, her face blank and unreadable.
Then he heard it.
A faint ticking sound.
It wasn't coming from the clock. It was coming from... beneath the desks.
Nathan froze. He leaned down slightly, peering under his desk. The floor was empty—just scuffed tiles and gum someone had stuck there years ago. But the ticking grew louder.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
He turned to the desk next to him. Jenny Carter was sitting there, her pen moving mechanically, her eyes fixed on her paper. She wasn't blinking.
"Jenny?" Nathan whispered.
She didn't respond.
"Jenny," he said again, louder this time.
Her head jerked toward him like a puppet on strings. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
Nathan recoiled. "What the hell..."
Jenny turned back to her paper, her pen moving faster now, her hand a blur.
Nathan looked around the room. One by one, he noticed it: the students weren't just writing—they were all writing the same thing. The same thing. Their hands moved in perfect unison, their pens scratching the same pattern onto their papers.
"Mrs. Kline?" Nathan called out, his voice trembling.
Mrs. Kline didn't respond. She was standing completely still, her eyes fixed on the door at the back of the room.
Nathan stood up. His chair scraped against the floor, the sound unnaturally loud in the silent room.
"Mrs. Kline!" he shouted.
She turned to him slowly. Her face was... wrong. Her eyes were black, like pools of ink, and her mouth twisted into a grotesque smile.
"Sit down, Mr. Field," she said, her voice layered with something that didn't belong—a low, guttural growl that echoed through the room.
Nathan backed away, his breathing ragged. "What's going on?"
The lights flickered. The air seemed to hum with electricity. And then, all at once, the students stopped writing.
They turned to look at him, their faces pale and expressionless.
"Nathan," they said in unison, their voices hollow and monotone. "Finish the exam."
Nathan bolted for the door. His sneakers squeaked against the floor as he ran, but before he could reach the handle, Mrs. Kline stepped in front of him, moving faster than should've been possible.
"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, tilting her head. Her neck made a cracking sound that turned his stomach.
"Let me out!" Nathan shouted.
"You have to finish the exam," she said, her voice calm but ice-cold. "Everyone must finish the exam."
Nathan's hands clenched into fists. "I'm not doing anything until you tell me what the hell is going on!"
Mrs. Kline smiled wider, her teeth sharp and gleaming. "The exam isn't for you to pass, Mr. Field. It's for you to survive."
The room began to shift. The walls seemed to ripple like they were made of water. The desks dissolved into shadows, the students fading away one by one until only Nathan and Mrs. Kline remained.
Nathan's heart pounded in his chest. "What are you?"
Mrs. Kline's smile disappeared. Her face began to change, her features melting and twisting until she was no longer human. Her skin turned gray and cracked, her eyes glowing red like embers.
"I am the examiner," she said, her voice a guttural roar. "And you... are failing."
Nathan stumbled backward, falling to the ground. The shadows around him began to close in, swallowing the light.
And then he saw it—the exam paper still in his hand.
The questions had changed.
They weren't about history anymore. They were about him. His deepest fears. His darkest secrets. Things no one should have known.
He stared at the first question:
"What did you see in the mirror last night?"
Nathan's breath caught in his throat. He had seen something. A figure standing behind him, just for a split second, before it disappeared.
The second question burned into his vision:
"How long can you hold your breath?"
The shadows crept closer, and Nathan felt the air being sucked from his lungs.
The final question appeared, written in thick, dripping ink:
"Will you make it out alive?"
Nathan looked up. Mrs. Kline—or whatever she had become—was standing over him, her grin impossibly wide.
"Time's up," she whispered.
Was the exam hall real, or was Nathan trapped in another dimension?
The End
Always: A Romance and Horror Thriller - https://storylinespectrum.blogspot.com/2025/02/always-romance-and-horror-thriller.html
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