Alternate Allure

"Okay, guys, what do you want?" Mikey crouches in front of the refrigerator. "Omelet pizza or pizza omelet?

"What's the difference?"

"Okay, you caught my bluff"

The four brothers hear their phones receive a notification simultaneously, causing everyone to check the group chat.

"Hey, did you guys read MC's text?" Donnie asks, setting his laptop aside.

"Yeah"

"Yup"

"Mhm"

"What do you think they mean they're being attacked by a crazy laser-shooting old lady?

"They might have pulled another all-nighter" Leo comments. "They could be hallucinating"

"We count that as an emergency, right?" Donnie closes his laptop shut, his concern growing.

"I guess"

The four brothers stop what they were doing immediately. Breakfast can wait.

"Let's go!"

- - - - - - - - - -

You press yourself as deep as you can into the locker. Your breathing's a mess-shaky, uneven-but you cannot make a sound. Not with those slow, heavy-ass footsteps echoing just outside.

Your phone is clutched in one hand. Your inhaler in the other. Both are lifelines. Only one can actually save your ass in the next five minutes.

'Just hold on. The boys are coming. Any minute now... any minute...'

But the tiny, suffocating space? The dead silence, except for the occasional mechanical whir from Ms. Campbell, makes your skin crawl. It's all grinding your nerves to dust, making your chest tighten, breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

'No. No, not now...!'

Your vision swims. Your hands won't stop shaking. Your breaths are too shallow, too quick. You need air. You fumble with your inhaler, nearly dropping, but you manage to shove it against your lips and press down.

The hiss echoes.

A shadow blocks the slats.

'Shit.'

The locker door is violently ripped open like it's made of paper, revealing Ms. Campbell's dead-eyed, definitely-not-human stare.

You don't think. You act.

With every ounce of panic-fueled strength, you slam the locker door into her face. It actually makes her stumble-not much, but just enough. You squeeze past her, ignoring the fiery pain in your shoulder, and bolt down the hall.

Her footsteps are loud. Too loud. And way too fast.

You risk a glance back. She's gaining.

'Think, think!' You wheeze, scanning for anything that'll slow her down.

You spot a precarious stack of chairs ahead. Perfect. As you sprint past, you shove them over. The clatter buys you a moment, but Ms. Campbell easily plows through the obstacle.

You hurl yourself into the science lab, slam the door shut, and lock it like your life depends on it-because, well, it does. Just to be extra safe, you grab a stool and jam it under the handle.

The second you take a breath, the whole door shudders, nearly flying off the hinges as Ms. Campbell's pounds it so hard the metal actually bends.