One day we were in Creative Writing class. I was in the back corner of the room with some of my friends. We were working on a project that was due the next day. I accidentally dropped my pencil on the floor. It landed by the wall. I bent down to pick it up and I found a tiny door.
“Hey guys, look at this.” I said. They both followed my glance at the little door.

“There’s a door.” One of my friends said.

“Mrs. Howell!” my other friend called, “We found a door over here.” Mrs. Howell came over to see the door. She studied it a minute. It was very tiny. It looked very old. It was a very ugly brown color and it had so scratches on it.

“I know I shouldn’t ask you to, but do you think you can fit threw there?” Mrs. Howell asked, looking at me.

“Yeah.” I sat on the floor. By then it felt like the whole school was standing around me. My hand was shaking as I reached toward the little door handle. I twisted it but it didn’t open.

“It’s locked.” I said, feeling a little relieved.

“Here, maybe this will help.” Mrs. Howell went to her desk and came back with a little key. “They gave me this when I came here but I never knew what it was for.” She handed the little key to me. The key unlocked the door easily. Once the door was open, I took one last glance at the people behind me, then went in.

The room was dark. The only light came from the little tunnel-like door behind me, followed with a million shadows. I heard someone behind me yell “Do you see anything?” followed by a “Shh, she will tell us when she does.” I think I was too concentrated on the voices arguing behind me to know where I was going. The next thing I knew, there was a little boom followed with me on the ground. Nobody behind me heard me fall, thank goodness.

I got up and walked strait. I could not see anything. I had my hands out so I knew when I hit the wall. I rubbed my hands against all parts of the wall; I couldn’t find the light switch. Finally I found it and I flicked it on. For a second I was blinded by the light. I heard so students gasp so I opened my eyes. I saw kids. They looked my age, maybe a little older. I gasped, too.

“Who is that in my room.” An unfamiliar voice said. I looked up to find Mrs. Bobby, the teacher next door.

“What is this room?” I asked her.

“Why, it’s my dungeon for bad kids, of course.” Mrs. Bobby said.

“Hello 911? A teacher at our school has been holding bad kids hostage in a little room!” Mrs. Howell said, she sounded worried. She said our schools name, her name, and Mrs. Bobby’s name.

“Now you’re caught.” I said, smiling and feeling cocky “The police will be here any minute.” Just then I heard the police in Mrs. Bobby’s classroom. They came in and arrested her and that school never saw her again.