There are people in this world who were born to be the outcasts, the misunderstood, and the completely unusual. Those with this unfortunate fate often find themselves alone amongst others to whom they cannot relate, Collins was a shining example of such a person. To the untrained eye Collins was a somewhat taciturn young boy with little desire to express himself; an outward appearance that contradicted with his innermost longing to be utterly and completely ordinary. The year was 1952 and the weather grew as harsh as the mocking of Collins classmates as the frigid wind whipped across Collins colorless cheeks he hurried his pace toward the school desperate to escape the ruthless weather. Lambertville High School was known for its marvelous architecture, rich history, and to some it’s wicked past, a past which Collins was very intrigued with.

Built in 1854, Lambertville High was the brilliant jewel of the small town of Lambertville only to be ripped from all its glory in 1926 when a ghastly fire consumed the great walls of the impressive school. Witnesses of the tragedy will not soon forget the screams of pain and pleas for help of the pitiful high school students who were left to drown in a sea of flames that wretched New Jersey night. Since then the school has been rebuilt and opened to the public as of 1928; however, on the stillest of nights when the sky has turned as black as the ashes of the forgotten school some claim to have heard the grim calls of the former Lambertville students. To most the rumors of the lingering souls were enough to make them a bit wary of the mysterious building. Collins however saw not horror or sorrow in the schools past only loneliness.

“How awful,” he would often think to himself as he looked upon the current school grounds “to think that an entire school with so much history can be gone in an instant. Children wait all their lives anticipating high school to determine what their future might be and what kind of lives they might live. For  students to perish in the very place where their futures were only beginning to be realized then to be confined there for all of time, how lonely.”

Collins had a very different view on the world than most of his classmates his days were spent alone and his free time often spent formulating his masterful escape from the horrific town. Over the years Collins had established his place among his peers as the odd one out, the boy who could never fit in. Collins, of course, tried his best to change this image by sharing his ideas, making his hobbies known to his classmates, and attempting to make genuine friends. All attempts ended in failure and the situation worsened as Collins went from ignored to tormented. Maybe it was this torment that drove him to stay till after dark that calm Tuesday night; maybe he was looking for the a friend as lonely as he. So when the cloak of night fell upon the grand school and Collins could no longer endure the howling winds icy slap he made his way toward the school driven by his loneliness.

Collins walked toward the school climbing the stone steps to the large, familiar building and entered through the front door. The carefully placed tile floors gleamed even in the moonlight. The rays of light flooding through the large windows reflected off the perfectly polished floor creating a smooth bleached surface as though Collins was skating across a crystal clear lake frozen over in the midst of winter. Though the school had been rebuilt in an attempt to achieve the previous architecture one could still identify the lack of authenticity. The walls had a clean coat of white paint free of any chips or reminders at all really of the schools past. The lockers stood tall along the entrance walls each with new numbers, new owners, and new treasures to hide from the outside world. Lambertville High School was merely a shell of its former self the character of the school was engulfed in flames and brought to nothing along with the students. Rebuilding the high school was the first step to covering the town’s dark past and the best the citizens could do to put the memories of the victims in the back of their minds.

Collins walked the halls with confidence his eyes shifting back and forth; he scanned the school for any signs of the ghosts his peers were so convinced haunted the halls. Many words can be used to describe Collins Miller but coward was not one of them. After looking for close to half an hour Collins decided he needed to be more direct to draw out the students he was in search of.

“It’s okay to come out,” Collins called in a gentle tone “I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve heard the rumors about this school and I only wish to talk.”

“We know that sweetheart,” said a voice from behind Collins. Jumping and letting out a yelp of surprise Collins whipped around to come face to face with a plump older women. In the dim light, her snow white hair stood out against the blackness of the deserted school. She wore a dress that fell to her ankles along with a large sweater the color of the fallen red leaves outside the school walls, made from a worn down material with obvious snags along the front. 

“We understand you here Collins,” the mysterious woman said, “Never have I seen a young boy with more difficulties in school than yourself. You needn't be afraid; my students and I own the night it is the only time we are feared in this school, the only time we are remembered.”

“Students are you a teacher?” Collins asked in confusion.

“I was a teacher dear my name is Mrs. Grant my students and I have been at this school a very long time.” She said with a smile that emphasized the wrinkles around her mouth from many years of wearing the same pleasant smile to her classroom each day.

Collins stared at the kind women for a long time before putting the pieces together in his mind. Mrs. Grant was a teacher at the school before the fire; Collins could only assume she had been trapped in the school her name and face forgotten by the people of the town. Mrs. Grant’s dreams were brought to ashes along with the school leaving her an empty duplicate of the place she once loved.

“Why don’t you come with me?,” Mrs. Grant said to Collins extending a pale wrinkled hand in his direction “I’m sure you and I have a lot we can talk about.”

Collins followed Mrs. Grant down the long hallway getting further and further from the large windows that lit the entrance of the school in a pale moonlight. The two walked in silence as the halls grew darker; the polished tile ceased to shine and was replaced with a slick floor as black as coal. After walking to the opposite end of the school, Mrs. Grant stopped in front of a classroom door, one that Collins recognized as his English class.

“This was my classroom before the fire,” Mrs. Grant said “It looks quite different now, but it’s where I feel most at home.”

It was only then that Collins realized the situation he was in, alone in a dark school talking to a women who had died years ago. Yet he did not feel afraid. Collins liked the way Mrs. Grant had put it “at home” because that’s exactly how he felt. Mrs. Grant, the classroom, the empty halls, they all felt familiar to Collins he had never felt more comfortable around a person in all his life.

Night after night Collins returned to the bizarre school and each night he returned, his conversations with Mrs. Grant grew longer and the bond between the two grew deeper. This was all Collins had ever wanted a friend, someone to be honest with to laugh with to complain to. Though the time spent with Mrs. Grant was lovely, school continued to be a daily obstacle for the young boy. Mrs. Grant was all Collins had their time spent together was the highlight of all his years spent in Lambertville High School.

For a few blissful weeks, Collins’s days passed in a blur he paid no mind to his usual tormentors and spent his nights in the silent school with Mrs. Grant. With Mrs. Grant to keep him company Collins rarely felt the crushing sense of how alone he was among his peers in school, this did not go unnoticed. Terry Brown is an average high school brute who spent the majority of his time destroying others days. Though he had many to terrorize each day Collins held a special place in Terry’s heart as the most satisfying to harass, what could be better than taking something else away from a boy who had nothing?

“What do you do every day after school Collins?” Terry asked with a sneer shoving the scrawny boy against a brick wall leaving scratches up and down Collins arm. ”I’ve heard rumors Collins; people tell me you have great little chats with ghosts when everyone leaves the school. Well, at least that’s the lie you seem to have spread. What makes you think you’re so special? Plenty of use have gone back to this school at night and found not a single ghost why should they appear for you?”

Though he would have normally written Terry’s question off as entertainment for a tyrant who enjoys the pain of people lesser than himself; Collins found he could not forget Terry’s words. “What makes you so special” rang over and over in Collins head as he sat on the frosty grass that had turned a pale brown after autumn had taken its toll on the small town. Why was it that Mrs. Grant appeared to him, why did he feel such a connection to her? Collins spent hours on the same faded grass as pestering questions flooded his mind to the point where tears of frustration filled his eyes. It was time Collins got his answers. Collins stormed through the school doors stomping through the halls with all the rage of a hurricane stopping only when he reached Mrs. Grant’s classroom door.
Striding in confidently Collins looked Mrs. Grant in the eye before asking “Why? What is it about me? Why don’t I fit in anywhere else but here? Why can I see you?”

Mrs. Grant looked at Collins at first in surprise but her expression slowly melted into one full of sympathy. ”You were always a curious boy my Collins. You always had so little to say to anyone one else but me. Some things will never change I suppose. Maybe that’s what you wanted to start over to try your hand in making friends with a new class of students, a new generation even! You must see it now dear; you are one of us we are all in this school together.”

As Mrs. Grant spoke her complexion grew paler with each world until a sheet of paper could not compare to the shade of white her old skin had turned. Mrs. Grant’s hair began to singe and sizzle falling away stand by strand to ashes on the ground. Collins began to back away prepared to run from the women he had moments ago held so close to his heart; that is until Mrs. Grant pulled a beautifully crafted silver mirror from her desk that shone like a diamond in the night. Mrs. Grant slowly walked toward Collins and held the beautifully crafted mirror in his direction.Collins came face to face with his reflection and watched in horror as the ashes fell slowly to the ground and his short, raven, hair turned to dust. Collins skin hissed and ghastly burns appeared along the skin covering his once young porcelain face the smell of burning flesh filled the stale school air.

“Things would have been much simpler if you hadn't started the fire in the first place,” Mrs. Grant said with a sad smile ”you could have saved yourself from a lot of pain. Really though who could blame you dear? All you ever wanted was the company of your peers. Now you have that with us here, at school, forever and always.”