Narrative Essay On Zero Hour

Zero Hour

My teachers a murderer. Or a vampire. Well at least I think he is. . .

I can’t quite remember what got me interested in Mr. Waverly but I will never forget the facts I unfolded about him. Something about the look in his deep set eyes or the way he talked gave me the impression there was something more behind him, and although nobody else knew what I was talking about, it gave me an unnerving feeling towards him that I cannot explain.

It was the first day of school, and it was another cloudy and gloomy day in Michigan. This couldn’t help the feeling all the students had after the excitement of seeing your friends ended and it left all the students feeling somber. This also marks the beginning of Mr. Waverly. He was my biology

teacher and didn’t really give an out of the ordinary first impression. I imagined his class as another boring class, and I would have to sit through it just like the rest. But there was something odd about him that I noticed in the first week of school I couldn’t quite place a finger on. Whatever it was, it kept me wanting to come to his class, not because of what we were learning about science, but because of what I could learn about him. I began to notice that part of what I was noticing was his composure, he seemed to stare, unblinking, at nobody in particular as he spoke. And his voice was thin and relatively toneless, that gave him an aura of suspicion. My friends and classmates didn’t seem to take much notice of him so the reason I’m writing this is because I kept it mostly to myself. And when I tried to tell someone what I uncovered, they didn’t believe me.
I should probably start off on the first time I noticed something particularly odd.

I had a doctors appointment previously and had missed that hour of school, so I came in after school ended to talk to him about what I missed. When I knocked on the door there was a hesitance which I disregarded at the time but later realized to be important. He then said, “come in”. I walked in feeling a bit uncomfortable, and asked him what we did that day. He went on to explain what we did, but I momentarily lost focus on what he was saying and stared at his arm, hopefully being unnoticeable I watched as a patch of blood seeped into his long sleeved dress shirt on his

forearm.
I interrupted him, saying “excuse me your arm is bleeding”. Rather disregarding it, he just looked down and continued talking as he covered it up. The rest of the conversation seemed to last forever as I tried not to look down at his arm while he spoke. The blood made me queasy, but didn’t seem to faze him. I went home and completed my homework, it took a long time, mostly because my focus wasn't entirely on my work. The whole time I was running the possibilities through my head of what the blood was from. I came in early to school, the first place I went was Mr. Waverly’s room, and there was light coming from under the doorway so I assumed he was there. My imagination started to flutter away as I thought he might not have left all night, but reality brought that inside. I then went to the library and started researching about why there would have been blood on his arm, and I came to this conclusion. . . First, a highly likely scenario was that it was an accident and I am largely overthinking the issue. Second, he is depressed and committing self harm, and third, he has a psychiatric condition called renfield's disorder and has a compulsion to drink it.

This new development in my thinking caused me to fantasize a bit. I thought about the likelihood of a real life vampire and stopped thinking about him. As the semester went on and I was focusing on school, I seemed to notice less odd things about Mr. Waverly, but I soon realized that this was because I was getting used to it. This changed when the chilling theory of him being a vampire became all too real. . . I began to notice more validation during our dissection unit. We were dissecting frogs in class and I know what you're thinking, “you just think that because the idea is in your head”. But i’m telling you, this is something real. It was an obvious fascination and enthusiasm shown by him during the duration of the unit that even got my best friend Collin interested. Up until this point he, and the rest of my friends laughed and took no notice of my idea, but this got him thinking again, and it was great to have someone to spill it all to besides this paper.
The next day, I brought colin in to school early with me, we began to research more and more about renfield's disorder, and found that drinking your own blood is stage one of a three stage process.

The first stage is also called auto-hemophagia, and the second, is when animal blood starts to be consumed. And third and finally, they move on to the blood of other humans. Including murder. But also robbing blood banks and even from voluntary donors. This concept, although not concrete and highly unlikely sent shivers down my spine, I pointed to my computer screen where I found this and Colin gave me a nervous look, “yikes”, he said. I’ll never be able to look at Mr. waverly again, and I will forever second guess my actions when I’m around

him.