Free The Fallen Parler: Part One (A supernatural mystery thriller) by B.C Safari

Sasha sobbed, pointing into the wall. The befuddled expression on Mrs. Quabble’s face was replaced by the same lines of horror that Sasha and Junior modelled. Naturally, the teacher was perplexed at the presence of a gaping passageway where a bookshelf should have been. So, when her eyes caught the familiar face of Headmaster Williamson, lying dead at the bottom of the spiral steps, Mrs. Quabble’s knees gave way. First, although, she pronounced a scream that was almost as excellent as Sasha’s. Mrs. Quabble circled the air twice and made as if to faint. She would’ve surely banged her head if Junior did not catch her fall. Soon after, Charlotte surfaced from the dense crowd of students. It was Charlotte’s first inclination to preview the spectacle that had rendered Mrs. Quabble unconscious. When she did, she was horrified. Invariably, the verdict would be ruthless murder. It took a single glimpse to confirm so. His eyes were wide open, frozen still, as if fright and terror occupied his last moment. Junior wished that he could disremember Mr. Williamson’s vacant eyes, but there was something scarily familiar in them. Williamson modelled the same dying gaze as Allan Roterbee. It was the very same expression of unadulterated shock. Post mortem analysis revealed that Allan Roterbee had probably struggled when he realised he was moments away from death. But why would a suicidal man ever want to fight for his life? Surely, there was something deeper behind Mr. Roterbee’s pain-filled eyes. As for the headmaster, rumours for his own cause of death had only just begun to swirl.
    No one ate that lunchtime, no one dared talk either. To the best of the school board’s knowledge, Mr. Williamson had been away on a conference for the past two weeks. To find him very dead, at the underside of a secret pathway, was a scandal that would shake the foundations of Shorebridge town forever. To the disappointment of avid theorists, the secret passageway was found to lead to nothing but the basement of the school, which contained a large network of pipes and spider webs. The basement contained no obvious evidence as to who or what was responsible for the death of Mr. Williamson. It was presumed that the murderer must’ve been able to bypass all the security measures of the school. This presumption would have been made concrete if the murderer was, indeed, an outsider to the school. But what if Mr. Williamson’s murderer was someone who knew the school well? Someone who’d worked inside the school, alongside teachers and students. Undeniably, Percy Williamson was one of the most charismatic men in Shorebridge. He had been the headmaster of St. Andrew’s college for what seemed like a lifetime; not many of the Shorebridge locals could even remember his predecessor. Regardless, Williamson was a most revered citizen of Shorebridge. He often told anyone who was fortunate enough to meet him, ‘if I had not been a headmaster, I would’ve probably ended up as a watchmaker because it’s my greatest delight to make order out of disorder.’ No one ever seemed to know what the old man was talking about, yet one could not help but warm to the always-cordial Mr. Williamson. Unlike the draconian headmasters of schools in neighbouring towns, Mr. Williamson did not rule over St. Andrew’s with an iron fist. He held all pupils and staff in a type of esteem that compelled them to show him equal respect… and, of course, abide by school regulations. Because of this, St. Andrew’s College had been a harmonious, progressive school for several years. It was difficult to fathom how someone could ever murder Mr. Williamson, as aside from healthy competition with other headmasters, which he sparingly engaged in, Percy Williamson had no bad blood with anybody in Shorebridge. By the time the police had arrived at the scene, Mr. Williamson’s body had already been layered with pristine white blankets and wheeled out to the ambulance van at the school