SURVIVAL

The Unseen Symptom

The corridors of Jefferson High school buzzed with an unusual fervor as whispers of Mr. Collins' return echoed off the lockers. Students clustered in groups, their eyes bright with the kind of excitement that only the unexpected return of a beloved teacher could bring.

"Mr. Collins!" a voice called out as he stepped through the main entrance. The greeting came from Sarah, a bright-eyed sophomore who always had her finger on the pulse of the school's latest news.

"Sarah, it's good to see you," Mr. Collins replied, his voice tinged with the warmth of genuine affection.The students gathered around, their faces a mixture of joy and something else—urgency.

"Sir, you won't believe what's happened since you've been gone," another student, Mark, said, almost out of breath."Oh?" Mr. Collins raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Do tell."

"It's the red virus, Mr. Collins," Sarah interjected, her voice a notch higher. "It's mutated!"A hush fell over the crowd. Mr. Collins' eyes narrowed, his mind racing with the implications.

"Mutated? How so?" he asked, his tone now serious."They're calling it the 'Invisible Symptom,'" Mark replied, leaning in closer. "People are carrying it without showing any signs, and it's spreading faster than ever.

"Mr. Collins felt a chill run down his spine. This was no ordinary return to school. This was the beginning of something far more sinister."Is it dangerous?" a timid voice from the back asked."That's the twist," Sarah said, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement.

"No one knows. It's like a ticking time bomb."Mr. Collins took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Alright, we need to stay calm and be smart. We'll tackle this together.

"The bell rang, cutting through the tension like a knife. The students dispersed, but the air remained thick with unease. As Mr. Collins walked to his first class, his mind was a whirlwind of questions. But one thought stood out above the rest: What if the virus wasn't the only thing that had changed during his absence?The day passed in a blur of hushed conversations and furtive glances.

Mr. Collins could feel the weight of the unknown pressing down on him.As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Mr. Collins found a note on his desk. It was unsigned, with a message that made his heart skip a beat:

"Meet me at the old mill tonight. There's more to the virus than you know."The note slipped from his fingers as the gravity of the situation settled in. Someone out there held the key to this mystery, and Mr. Collins knew he had to find out who—or what—it was.As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the school grounds, Mr. Collins stood at the edge of a precipice.

The old mill loomed in the distance, its silhouette a dark omen against the twilight sky.With each step he took towards the mill, the air grew colder, the night darker. He could feel the eyes of the unknown watching him, waiting.Just as he reached the mill's entrance, a figure stepped out from the shadows, their face obscured by the dim light.

"Mr. Collins," the figure whispered, their voice barely above a murmur. "You have no idea what you're up against."The door to the mill creaked open behind the figure, revealing nothing but darkness within.

"Who are you?" Mr. Collins demanded, his voice steady despite the fear that clawed at his insides.The figure stepped forward, the light revealing their face for the first time. Mr. Collins gasped, recognition dawning on him like a bolt of lightning.The figure was someone he never expected, someone who was supposed to be…

While talking to the strange figure an unseen guest in the school hallways echoed with the sound of footsteps and distant chatter, but Mr. Collins was engrossed in his own world, planning an adventure that would break the monotony of everyday school life.

Suddenly, a familiar voice sliced through his thoughts. "Ohh!! Mr. Collins, good to have you back!" Startled, Mr. Collins spun around to see the head teacher approaching with a wide grin.

"Ah, Mr. Thompson, it's a pleasure to be back indeed!" he replied, his eyes scanning the corridor for a glimpse of the enigmatic figure that had caught his attention earlier.Mr. Thompson clapped a hand on Mr. Collins's shoulder.

"So, what grand plans do you have for our students this term?"With a conspiratorial wink, Mr. Collins leaned in. "Well, if you must know, I'm planning a little... excursion into the woods. A treasure hunt of sorts, to teach them about nature and survival."The head teacher raised an eyebrow. "The woods? That's quite unconventional, Collins. What if—"But Mr. Collins cut him off with a laugh.

"Oh, come now, Mr. Thompson. What could possibly go wrong?"As they walked away, Mr. Collins couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching them. He glanced back one last time, but the corridor was empty.

That night, as Mr. Collins prepared his notes for the adventure, a shadow flickered across his window. He looked up just in time to see a figure disappearing into the darkness.The words "What could possibly go wrong?" echoed ominously in his mind as he sat alone, the thrill of the upcoming adventure now tinged with a hint of dread.

The next day, Mr. Collins stood before his class, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "Today, we embark on a journey into the heart of the woods," he announced, "a treasure hunt that will test your wits and your will to survive!"The students buzzed with excitement, chattering among themselves about what treasures they might find."Sir, what's the prize?" one student asked eagerly.Mr. Collins smiled.

"Ah, the greatest treasure of all, my dear boy—knowledge. But, there might be a few... special surprises along the way."The class erupted in cheers, their enthusiasm infectious. But as they filed out of the classroom, Mr. Collins's assistant, Ms. Parker, approached him with a frown."Mr. Collins, a word, please.

I've heard rumors about those woods. They say it's haunted," she whispered, her voice tinged with fear.Mr. Collins chuckled. "Haunted? Nonsense, Ms. Parker. Superstitions and ghost stories are simply figments of the imagination."Yet, as they set out for the woods, the wind seemed to carry whispers, and Mr. Collins couldn't help but feel a chill run down his spine.