Does anyone remember the acronyms we had for school as children? Like seven cruel hours of our life. Funny, huh? Not until it’s true.

I graduated just 7 years earlier before revisiting. The place was closed down just 2 years after, and then burnt after 2 of being closed.

Outside the school, everything seemed great. The lawns were lush, everything was nice and tidy out by the front, the signs letters were all even. Everything seemed so symmetrical and perfect.

The innards of the school resembled a dark cave. The desks were rusty, our synchronized footsteps echoed in the halls. The lights were yellow and dim, blinkering every so often. Every color was monotone and washed in the sickly color of the overhead lights.

Classes were worse than the setting, the carpeted rooms have stains that could only be described as blood. The parents had no idea of the torment that went on in the place. All they knew is the children never came out the same.

Soon after leaving I’d been hooked up with a therapist, and prescribed THC products to treat my PTSD. It was my therapists suggestions that I come visit the remains of hell. It sends me into flashbacks of going to testify at court of the horrible things that went down in here.

Not everything that happened in here I can say without scaring someone. I just know that the remaining grounds are going to be eternally haunted, and the liters of lighter fluid were necessary for the vengeance of this school.