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Educated and intelligent, dark eyes behind a meticulously selected frame
Dressed up in a suit, a display befitting his status
An enigma, enthralling, luring
Missing person posters all over the bay.

A thread spinning their fates together,
Intertwining, snapping closed, holding tight
The master and his student,
The hunter and the prey.

Only when it’s too late all becomes clear,
Posters withered, a storm raging
If only I could go back another moment,
Before the storm, and all the decay.

As I rush half asleep, I make it through the door just before my professor. Something about him is off, he is far too calm when so many of his students have gone missing. His lesson never slowed and I struggled to keep up with notes today. I wonder if he is keeping us busy so we can't dwell on our dwindling class. The bell snaps me out of my thoughts. As I go to leave I briefly think to ask him about it, but something in his look keeps me moving. Some questions are better left unasked...

Something isn't right with the English prof,
new to the town, buttoned up, and soft
At least on the surface, so calm, so polite,
but something he carries just doesn't sit right

He came in September, the skies turning grey,
and ever since then, things don't feel the same
Books rearranged, like they move on their own,
students go missing, then wander back home

He speaks like remembering dreams,
stares too long, and smiles in between
At night, his window flickers green,
his silhouette grows eerily tall and lean

The dean asked questions. Now he's gone.
The lectures keep droning on and on
The prof just smiles, all calm and polite
but something about him doesn't feel right

Sweet smell of summer air,
Arrival of the Siren's heir,
A sickly smell beneath our feet,
Unwitting maidens be defeat.

The Sun do set a bit too soon,
Day by day, noon by noon.
His audience with eyes enraptured,
Lured aptly by his vocal captures.

Tomorrow daylight never comes,
The parents wonder, students numb.
My classmates won't depart our campus,
They're blind and deaf against his antics.

A knife is tucked within my britches,
Walk to the board to write in scritches.
Get close enough to wield my blade,
Slide home the weapon in no delay.

The creature lays upon the floor,
The clouds they part, nightime no more.
We all stream out the place in horror,
Not one tear shed for him in sorrow.

Lesson learned, strangers beware.
Next time we'll screen you toe to hair.
If you bring discord to our town,
We'll make you gone without a sound.

He was an odd one, that much was sure
Wherever he went, dogs would bark and babies would cry
Some thought, he had the devil in him, others thought he was born unfortunate
No one knew much about him, not where he lived, not where he came from
He just appeared one day, started teaching and knew the inns and outs of our little town
Whenever people would ask him about his past, about how he knew everything that went on in town
He would just smile at them, that sickly toothy smile, whisper something in their ear
And then we would never find them again

I never see the principal at school anymore.

That might sound normal for a college, but my tiny school in my tiny New England town was far too minuscule to fit concepts like “normal.” The couple hundred students on campus who were stuck in this tiny, bleak town had no chance to complain, just as they had none to move away to a city with a respectable population number.

My thoughts continued to whine about nothing as I sat outside the English teacher’s office waiting to ask my professor a question. The principal’s office was on the other side of the hall, but a thin layer of dust on the mat confirmed his absence.

He used to wander around the halls of the three whole buildings that made up the campus and talk to the students: a little nosy and obnoxious, but friendly overall. Why hide himself away now?

My meanderings were interrupted by the Professor’s door opening. His head popped out of the doorframe as he apologized for making me wait.

“Please, Ms Anderson, take a seat.” He said warmly, returning to his desk.

He was a very pleasant professor, from what I’ve seen so far. He’s only been here since the start of the semester, but all the students like him. He’s very clear and passionate about language arts while still feeling approachable and easygoing. He’s also very attractive, with a face young enough to make the student body wonder about his age.

I took my seat in the brown wooden chair in front of his desk. His room was almost comically stuffed full of bookshelves and books, towering precariously on every empty nook and cranny except the chairs for students in front of the doors. Even the window was all but blocked with shelves, with little sunlight disturbing the occupants.

Despite his messy office, his clothes were immaculate if somewhat... nondescript. His dark brown suit was nice but seemed generic enough to have been just as likely from the 19th century as the 21st one. Same with the style he wore his almost-long black hair.

I always thought that seemed odd, considering how youthful and energetic Professor Opiri was with his students, that he dressed like an old, stuffy scholar.

“A penny for your thoughts?” He interrupted my continually distractable musings.

“Oh, nothing, sorry. I had a question about something you said in class.” He smiled and nodded here. “You mentioned the origin of the idiom ‘be careful what you wish for’ was related to a Chinese saying, and then talked about it’s connect to the Greek mythology of king Midas. So, what is it’s true entomology?”

The professor was silent for a few moments, then looked out the window (or where the window would be if not hidden behind two large bookshelves).

“Tell me, Ms Anderson, how would you expect a professor to have a definite answer to a question whose roots lie in millennia past?”

I blinked blankly at him, but he continued:

“Even the phrase I used earlier—’penny for your thoughts

Something isn't right with the English professor,
A stranger in town, a mysterious fixture.
Since he stepped on campus, with a curious gleam,
He’s turned the quiet halls into a restless dream.

His words, once gentle, now twist and sway,
Like shadows that dance at the break of day.
A whisper of secrets beneath his guise,
Unraveling truths behind benevolent eyes.

Could it be his mind, a labyrinth unseen?
Or a hidden story in a past so keen?
The town watches on, both wary and intrigued,
As the professor’s presence begins to intrigue.

In every syllable, a hint of the unknown,
A puzzle unsolved, seeds of doubt sown.
Something isn’t right, but what, we cannot tell-
Just that his arrival has cast a strange spell.

Something changed the day Professor Alaric arrived.

Before him, everything at the university had been ordinary, predictable. But Alaric was different. He didn’t look like a typical professor—his clothes were vintage, almost antique, and he carried a weathered leather briefcase that seemed older than the building itself. His voice was calm, deliberate, and carried the weight of another time. There was a strange, almost hypnotic quality to the way he spoke, and his presence commanded attention in a way no one could explain.

Students sat silently during his lectures, hanging on every word. It wasn’t fear or admiration exactly—it was something else. Something no one could quite put their finger on.

No one knew anything about him. He never spoke of his past, his hometown, or any family. He was never seen in the faculty lounge or around campus outside of class. Nobody knew where he went during breaks. There were even rumors that he never left the old office at the end of the hall.

Strangest of all, no one could recall how he’d been hired. There were no announcements, no welcome emails. One day, he was just there.

Months passed. Then, one chilly spring morning, the calm shattered.

His face was suddenly everywhere—on the news, on posters, online. WANTED, the headlines read. No explanation, no charges listed. Just his name, his face, and a warning to contact authorities if seen.
The campus was stunned. Students and faculty stared at the posters in disbelief.

But Professor Alaric was gone.

No one saw him leave. His office was empty, his belongings vanished. The only thing left behind was a single sheet of paper on his desk—blank, except for a small ink blot in the corner.

And the strangest part? The news never followed up. No arrests. No investigations. Just silence.

As if he had never existed at all.

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