When I was a kid, there was a really special woman who helped out at my school. Her name was Uhta Simmons. 75 years old, frail and wheelchair bound, but you never met a more alive and active person in your life. She helped out at our school every day, was a mother to us all and helped with all the social events.
Late one summer night after a meeting at the school, Miss Simmons was stabbed to death by a junky for her wheelchair and the two dollars she had in her purse. We didn’t hear those details when we were informed of her passing during the moring announcement the next day, I foud those out watching the news that night.
Right after class I had to use bathroom. The ones in my school were located in the basement. The school was built in 1878 and all the rooms where huge, but the basement was a different world. I’ve seen things down there, but that’s for another story. Small halls, carmped narrow passages that lead to hidden places and two bathrooms. Large dark caverns were these bathrooms, urianls lining the walls, stalls hidden around a corner and a lager round water fountain in the middle for washing your hands. I made for the stalls as that was where I needed to do my business and pushed open a door expecting to see the toilet waiting for me…but there stood Uhta Simmons.
Her white hair hung limp around her small head, her face a writhing mask of anger and sadness. And large gaping black sockets where her eyes should have been. I realized the man who killed her had not intended to, as he had cut out her eyes so she could not identify him. She was very real and solid and not like other spirits I had seen. I was about to call her name when she screamed. It was like no sound I had heard in my life. Filling the room with a deafening wail and my blood with ice. She started to advance on me and I ran back to class faster than I ever thought I could run.
I never saw her specter again…and never went to the bathroom alone.