Barbara Becker anxiously checked her watch for the third time in five minutes under the buzzing fluorescent lights. These Friday night detentions were always a drag, but tonight felt different. The air hung heavy in the classroom, thick with teenage drama and unspoken tension.

  She watched as Jessica Tumblerlee's pencil tapped an agitated rhythm against her notebook. The blonde cheerleader hadn't written a word of her assigned essay on "Why Vandalism Is Wrong." Instead, she kept shooting furtive glances at that odd Kevin boy, who had his nose in his notebook, doing what he was supposed to do.

  Barbara suppressed a sigh. After twenty years of teaching English at Moon High, she thought she'd seen every variation of teenage rebellion. But painting Mr. Johnson's prized dairy cows to frame the rival team? That was a new one.

  The wall clock's minute hand seemed frozen in place. Barbara's coffee mug sat empty on her desk, mocking her with its bone-dry interior. Just forty more minutes until she could finally head home to her DVR'd episode of "Real Housewives."

  "Ms. Becker?" Amber Hearts' sugary-sweet voice cut through the silence. "Can I use the restroom?"

  "No." Barbara didn't even look up from her crossword puzzle. Seven letters, 'celestial body.' *Planet*, she penciled in.

  "But—"

  "You should have gone before detention started."

  Amber slumped back in her chair with a huff. Barbara caught Tiffany Barns rolling her eyes in solidarity with her fellow cheerleader. The squad's unity would have been admirable if it weren't so irritating.

  The minutes crawled by like molasses in January. Barbara's crossword offered little distraction—she kept reading the same clues over and over, the words blurring together. Maybe some coffee would help. It wasn't like these kids were going anywhere. The janitor should have locked up all the exits so no one could get in or out.

  "I'm stepping out for a moment," she announced, rising from her chair. "Anyone moves, and it's another week of detention."

  The threat earned her a collection of sullen glares. Barbara ignored them, gathering her empty mug. She'd learned long ago that showing weakness to teenagers was like bleeding in shark-infested waters.

  The hallway stretched before her, empty and dimly lit. Most of the overhead lights had switched to their energy-saving evening mode, casting alternating pools of brightness and shadow. Barbara's sensible shoes squeaked against the freshly waxed floor, the sound echoing off the metal lockers.

  Something pink caught her eye.

  Barbara stopped, squinting at a strange substance near the exit doors. It looked almost like someone had spilled paint—a thick, viscous trail that glistened wetly in the fluorescent light. But there was something off about it, something that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

  "Those kids," she muttered, stepping closer. If this was another prank, she'd have them in detention until graduation.

  The substance had an odd, pearlescent sheen that reminded her of soap bubbles. As she watched, it seemed to... shift? No, that couldn't be right. She needed that coffee more than she'd thought.

  The trail led toward the student restrooms. Barbara followed it, her irritation growing with each step. The cleaning staff would have a fit about this mess.

  The girls' restroom door stood slightly ajar, that same pink substance smeared across its surface. Barbara pushed it open, wincing at the sharp creak of hinges.

  "Hello?" Her voice bounced off the tile walls. "Is someone in here?"

  Silence answered. The restroom appeared empty, but there was more of that strange goo pooled beneath the last sink. Barbara approached cautiously, her nose wrinkling at an odd, metallic smell that hung in the air.

  A soft sound caught her attention—something between a squelch and a slither, coming from somewhere down the hall. Barbara backed out of the bathroom, her heart suddenly hammering against her ribs. She told herself she was being ridiculous. She was a grown woman, for heaven's sake, not some teenager jumping at shadows.

  Still, her hands trembled slightly as she pulled out her phone's flashlight. The beam cut through the growing darkness, revealing more of that pink trail leading toward the basement stairs.

  "Hello?" she called again, louder this time. "Mr. Russo? Is that you?"

  The janitor often worked late on Fridays, cleaning up after the football games. But why would he be in the basement?

  The basement door stood open, darkness yawning beyond it. The light switch clicked uselessly under Barbara's finger. *Perfect*. She swept her phone's beam across the stairs, revealing more of that strange substance coating the handrail.

  Something moaned.

  Barbara froze, one foot hovering above the first step. That sound... it hadn't been quite human.

  "Mr. Russo?" Her voice came out smaller than she'd intended. "Are you down there?"

  Another moan, longer this time, filled with something that might have been pain. Barbara's instincts screamed at her to turn around, run to the office and call security. But if someone was hurt...

  She descended slowly, her free hand trailing along the wall. The temperature dropped with each step, and that metallic smell grew stronger, mixing with something else—something organic and wrong, like meat left too long in the sun.

  Her light caught movement in the shadows near the old furnace. Barbara's breath caught in her throat.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Mr. Russo hung suspended against the wall, partially obscured by what looked like a web of that pink substance. But it wasn't static like a web should be. It pulsed, rippled, *moved* across his body like something alive.

  And his face—oh God, his face. It seemed to be melting, features running together like wax under a flame. All he could manage was that terrible moaning sound.

  Barbara's scream stuck in her throat. She stumbled backward; her phone clattering to the ground. The light spun crazily, illuminating glimpses of horror—more pink substance creeping across the floor, something large moving in the shadows, a flash of too many teeth.

  Something cold and wet wrapped around her ankle.

  This time, Barbara's scream tore free. Something yanked her off her feet, phone skittering away into the darkness. Her nails scrabbled uselessly against the concrete floor as the darkness dragged her into the shadows.

  The last thing she saw was her phone's beam catching a twisted reflection in a mass of writhing pink—something that might have been a face but wasn't, not quite. It picked up her phone and swallowed it.

  Then the darkness swallowed her whole.

  *****

  Jessica repeatedly checked the clock under the buzzing lights. It was 10:30 PM. Ms. Becker had been gone for over an hour and a half, and something felt... off.

  Jessica shifted in her hard plastic chair, her inner wolf pacing restlessly. The familiar scents of chalk dust and teenage anxiety were being overshadowed by something else—something that made her hackles rise. Wrong. Dangerous. Other.

  "Okay, this is getting ridiculous," Tiffany said, dropping her nail file onto her desk with a clatter. "Where is she?"

  "Maybe she fell asleep in the teacher's lounge," Amber suggested, not looking up from her phone. "She did that once during finals week. Found her face-down in a pile of textbooks."

  But Jessica barely heard them. Her enhanced senses were screaming at her now, picking up traces of something that shouldn't be there. Something that definitely wasn't human.

  "I'm going to look for her," Jessica announced, pushing back her chair.

  Tiffany's head snapped up. "Are you crazy? We'll get in even more trouble!"

  "Better than sitting here all night," Jessica countered, already moving toward the door. "I'll be back before she notices."

  "Your funeral," Tiffany muttered, returning to her manicure.

  Kevin caught Jessica's eye as she passed his desk. "Be careful," he whispered, his dark eyes serious behind his glasses. Next to him, Salina gave a small nod, her black-painted fingers drumming an anxious rhythm on her desk.

  The hallway stretched before her like a canyon, emergency lights casting eerie shadows across the rows of lockers. Jessica's footsteps echoed in the emptiness, each click of her cheerleading shoes amplified in the silence. The strange scent grew stronger with each step—a nauseating mix of raw meat and vomit that made her stomach turn.

  Something's wrong. Something's very, very wrong.

  She passed the chemistry lab, the gym, the cafeteria. No sign of Ms. Becker. The smell was overwhelming now, coating the back of her throat like rancid syrup. Jessica fought the urge to gag, wishing she could dial back her enhanced senses.

  A movement at the end of the hall made her freeze.

  "Ms. Becker?"

  The teacher stepped into view, and Jessica's relief quickly morphed into unease. Ms. Becker was smiling—a wide, fixed grin that looked painfully stretched across her face. The putrid smell was radiating from her in waves.

  "Oh! Ms. Becker, I'm so sorry," Jessica stammered, taking an instinctive step back. "I was just worried because you'd been gone so long—"

  "Jessica." Ms. Becker's voice was wrong somehow, like multiple voices layered on top of each other. "I need your help with something."

  Every instinct Jessica possessed was screaming at her to run. But what could she say? Sorry, my werewolf senses are telling me you're not human anymore?

  "Actually, I should probably get back—"

  "Follow me." Ms. Becker's smile stretched impossibly wider. "I need help finding my keys in the janitor's closet. Unless you'd prefer another detention?"

  Jessica's heart hammered against her ribs as she followed Ms. Becker down the hall. The teacher's movements were jerky, almost mechanical, like a puppet on strings. They stopped at the janitor's closet, and Ms. Becker gestured for Jessica to enter first.

  Cleaning supplies cramped the small space, the sharp smell of bleach barely masking that horrible meat-rot stench. Jessica's enhanced vision picked out mops, buckets, and bottles of cleaning solution in the dim light.

  The door slammed shut behind her.

  Jessica whirled around. "Ms. Becker, what—"

  The words died in her throat as her teacher convulsed. Ms. Becker's body shuddered and rippled, her skin taking on a sickly pink sheen. Then, with a wet, tearing sound, her flesh melted.

  Jessica stumbled back, knocking over a shelf of cleaning supplies. Pink goo dripped and stretched, forming impossible shapes as Ms. Becker's features dissolved. Human faces emerged from the writhing mass—dozens of them, screaming in silent agony.

  "Oh god," Jessica whispered. "Oh god, oh god, oh god."

  The thing that had been Ms. Becker lunged forward, its many mouths opening in a cacophony of screams. Jessica's werewolf reflexes kicked in, and she slashed at it with extended claws. But her hand sank into the creature's gelatinous body, and cold, sticky tendrils wrapped around her wrist.

  Panic surged through her as the creature pulled her closer. Jessica thrashed wildly, her free hand scrabbling against the shelves. Her fingers closed around a can of bug spray, and without thinking, she brought it up and sprayed directly into the nearest screaming face.

  The creature released her with a shriek that sounded like a dozen people being tortured. Jessica didn't wait to see what would happen next. She charged the door, channeling every ounce of her werewolf strength into a desperate kick.

  The door burst outward with a crack of splintering wood. Jessica bolted into the hallway, holding the bug spray, her cheerleading shoes squeaking against the linoleum as she ran. She had to warn the others. Had to get them out before that thing could—

  A chorus of inhuman screams echoed behind her, and Jessica ran faster, her mind racing as quickly as her feet. How many more of those things were in the school? How many other teachers or students had been... replaced?

  One thought pounded through her head with each footfall: What the hell was that thing, and what did it want?

  *****

  Jessica burst through the detention classroom door, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her cheerleading uniform clung to her skin, damp with cold sweat. The familiar scent of chalk dust and teenage anxiety hit her nose, but underneath it lurked something else—something alien and wrong that made her werewolf senses scream danger.

  “There’s something here!” She shouted as her heart raced.

  "Jessica?" Kevin's voice cut through her panic. He half-rose from his desk, brow furrowed with concern. "What's wrong?"

  "You look like you've seen a freaky horror movie," Salina added, her usual sarcasm giving way to genuine worry.

  Jessica slammed the door behind her, pressing her back against it as if that could keep the horror at bay. Her enhanced hearing picked up something slithering in the hallway—wet, thick, and utterly inhuman.

  "Ms. Becker," she managed between gasping breaths. "I found her, but it wasn't—it wasn't her."

  "What do you mean it wasn't her?" Tiffany's voice dripped with skepticism. "Did she slip on a banana or something?"

  "There's something in the school." Jessica pushed away from the door, forcing herself to stand straight despite her trembling legs. "Some kind of... monster. Made of slime. It looked like Ms. Becker, but then it—it tried to eat me."

  Amber let out a sharp laugh that died quickly when Jessica didn't join in. "Okay, this isn't funny anymore."

  "Do I look like I'm joking?" Jessica held up her arm, showing the tear in her uniform sleeve where the creature's tendril had grabbed her. "It lured me into the janitor's closet. If I hadn't found that bug spray..." she held up the can. “It would have-”

  "Bug spray?" Mia raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Against what, a mutant cockroach?"

  "You're being crazy," Tiffany declared, flipping her red hair over her shoulder. "This is probably just some weird prank you're pulling to get us out of detention."

  Jessica's enhanced hearing picked up more sounds from the hallway—a wet slithering getting closer, accompanied by an odd clicking noise that reminded her of teeth chattering. Her wolf instincts screamed at her to run.

  "We need to get out of here," she insisted, moving away from the door. "Now."

  "Right," Mia rolled her eyes. "And get suspended on top of detention? No thanks."

  "What's more important?" Jessica spun to face her squad mate. "Getting grounded or staying alive?"

  "Drama queen much?" Camella perched on her desk directly beneath the ventilation shaft, arms crossed. "I'd rather sit here all night than have my parents ground me until graduation."

  A fresh scent hit Jessica's nose—something rancid and chemical that made her want to gag. It was coming from...

  Above.

  "Camella, move!" Jessica lunged forward, but she was too late.

  A thick, pink tentacle burst through the ventilation grate with a sound like tearing metal. It whipped around Camella's waist before anyone could react. Her scream pierced the air as the appendage yanked her upward.

  Jessica grabbed Camella's flailing hand, her werewolf strength the only thing keeping her friend from being instantly dragged into the darkness. The tentacle pulsed, its surface rippling with an iridescent sheen that made Jessica's stomach turn.

  "Hold on!" She dug her heels in, straining against the impossible strength of the creature. But even with her supernatural powers, she could feel Camella slipping away.

  "Help me!" Camella's fingers clawed at Jessica's arm, tears streaming down her face. "Please, don't let it—"

  The tentacle gave one final yank. Camella's hand tore free from Jessica's grip, her scream echoing through the ventilation shaft until it cut off with horrible abruptness.

  "Oh, my god." Amber's voice shook. "Oh my god, oh my god."

  "Run!" Kevin shouted, already moving toward the door.

  The cheerleaders didn't need to be told twice. They bolted from the classroom in a panic, their shoes squeaking against the linoleum floor. Jessica stood frozen for a moment, staring at the now-empty ventilation shaft. The metallic tang of fear-sweat filled the air, mixed with something else—a sickly sweet odor that reminded her of rotting fruit.

  She'd failed. She'd had supernatural strength, enhanced reflexes, everything she needed to save Camella, and she'd still failed.

  A wet slapping sound from above snapped her out of her paralysis. The creature was moving through the ventilation system, hunting them. Following them.

  Jessica sprinted after her friends, her wolf senses alert for any sign of the monster. Whatever this thing was, it had just declared war. And Jessica Tumblerlee—cheerleader, werewolf, and protector of Moon Valley—was going to make sure it regretted that decision.

  But first, they had to survive the night.