The Staple That Wouldn’t Bend

Mariza’s room smelled like glue sticks and pencil shavings. Paper cranes dangled from a string above the bed.

Alice sat cross-legged on the floor, folding a worksheet into a little box. Her smile stayed put, but her fingers kept missing the creases.

“Do it slower,” Mariza said.

“I am,” Alice said. “See? Slow.”

A group of students drifted past the door. Someone hissed, “Monsters,” like it was a rule.

Mariza stepped in front of the peephole. “Say it louder next time,” she called.

Her phone buzzed. A class feed post showed a blurry photo of Alice in the cafeteria. The caption was mean. Mariza’s jaw tightened.

Alice reached for the phone. “Don’t read it.”

A bang snapped through the worksheet wing. The intercom crackled.

“Stay in your rooms—” it cut off.

Mariza slid the metal stapler under the door handle. Footsteps ran, then stopped right outside

The Box That Wasn’t There

The footsteps stayed right outside the door.

The handle jiggled once. Then twice.

“Open up,” a calm adult voice said. “Safety check.”

Alice, the demon girl with pale gray skin and amber eyes, leaned in. “Maybe it is a teacher.”

Mariza pressed her back to the door. “Or a kid doing a funny voice.”

She slid the stapler away and cracked the door just enough to poke out Alice’s folded paper box, the one meant to be a pretend mailbox.

“Here,” Mariza called. “Put your note in.

The hallway was empty.

The paper box bumped back through the crack like someone pushed it. A red stamp had appeared on the lid: DELIVERED.

Alice’s mouth went tight. “We did not stamp that.”

Mariza grabbed her phone and the box. “Front office. Now.”

Downstairs, the mail slots clacked by themselves.

A man in a flour-dusted apron set a tray of buns on the counter. “I am Mr. Crumb,” he whispered. “A student hurt kids near the worksheet wing.”

On the counter, dark ink spread like a fresh spill.

The ceiling speaker clicked.

“Stay in your rooms,” the flat voice said, as the slots rattled harder