HIIII! (story)

Chapter 1: A spot to talk… I wanted to go see my favorite teacher, Mister Finch, when I saw a dead body on his floor. Apple. I never really liked her, but her broken neck and blank eyes made me step back. Her body reeked of gore, and my eyes teared up, stinging as tears stained my cheeks. I held my mouth and my nose. She had to have been there for a couple of days. My breath hitched, turning into a wet, choking sound in my throat. I backed away, my sneaker stepping directly into the drying, dark pool of blood surrounding Apple’s head. I didn't even notice. The smell was thick, metallic and iron-rich, clinging to the back of my throat. Mister Finch? I thought, my mind struggling to process the scene. Where is Finch? The room felt unnaturally cold, the shadows in the corner seeming to writhe and stretch even though the room was dead silent. I looked at Apple’s limp hand, her fingers pale and stained, and a memory flickered—me mocking her just last week. The guilt hit me harder than the smell, a physical weight in my chest. I needed to run. I needed to scream. But I found myself frozen, staring into her dead, wide-open eyes, realizing that whatever did this was probably still watching. "Apple?" I whispered, though I knew she couldn't answer. I took a hesitant step closer, ignoring the instinct screaming at me to turn and bolt. As my tears dripped onto the floorboards, I realized the ink-like stains on the floor were still... moving. Slowly crawling toward my feet. A cold breeze swept through the closed room. Instead of breaking down, I smiled. Laughing manically, I pointed at her dead body calling her a "loser" . I smiled, my pupils thinning. "What a sucker!" I say kicking her body. I pulled out my phone call Roy, just giggling like a middle school girl. "You son of a *Quack*! You died?" I say while waiting for Roy to answer. He picks up the phone. "Hello my cute little femboy with a propeller hat!" I hear silence before I hear him yawn and reply "what is it pookie?" he says groggily. I laughed, almost wheezing. "Shes a goner!" I giggled. Just staring at her lifeless self. "WHAT?! You sicko!" He screamed at me. I didn't feel guilty."...Shes a goner!" I giggled, spinning in a circle, my sneaker leaving smeared tracks in the iron-scented puddle. Roy finally sounded awake. "Who? What are you talking about, Isaak?" "Apple! The loser! She's finally dead, Roy! Right here, right in front of me!" I screamed into the phone, the cold air in the room making my teeth chatter, but I couldn't stop smiling. "She looks like a doll with a broken neck!" Silence hung on the other end, heavy and tense, before Roy spoke, his voice ice-cold. "Don't move. I'm coming over." I dropped the phone, looking back down at Apple's body. The dark pool was still crawling toward my feet, and I felt like dancing. The dark, viscous stain continued its slow, deliberate crawl, merging with the puddle surrounding Apple's lifeless form, but I just watched it, mesmerized by the way it caught the dim light. I felt an inexplicable surge of energy, a frantic need to celebrate this sudden, violent end that had turned our tense, petty rivalry into this absurd, quiet scene. "Roy, you're not listening, she's actually gone, totally trashed!" I cackled, spinning around in the middle of the room, my sneakers leaving smeared, dark tracks that matched the ink-like substance, ignoring the way the cold air made my breath hitch. I felt absolutely no guilt, only a strange, cold thrill, a feeling that I had finally won some invisible game I hadn’t known I was playing, watching the way her head sat at that unnatural angle. I didn't care about the cops, the mess, or the fact that Roy was driving over here to see this spectacle, to see the "femboy with a propeller hat" truly lose his mind in the middle of a gruesome crime scene, The stillness in the room was louder than my laughter, a heavy silence broken only by the sound of my own manic breathing and the distant, increasingly frantic sounds of the city outside, which felt like it was on another planet. I looked at my phone, now laying on the floor near her hand, the screen cracked but still illuminated, almost expecting her to reach out and pick it up, to tell me I was taking this joke too far. I began to pace, taking giant steps over the expanding ink-pool, pointing my finger at her, calling out all the times she had made me look stupid in front of the others, feeling the manic laughter bubble up again, almost choking me. I was dancing now, a slow, macabre waltz around her broken body, my hands flying in the air, imagining that this was just a scene from some dark, indie movie where I was the misunderstood star, finally getting my revenge on the villain.