The one who writes back

For around three years, I worked as a freelance school caretaker across the UK.

Whenever a school was short-staffed or waiting to hire a permanent caretaker, I’d be sent in to cover the role. Some assignments lasted a few days. Others lasted several months. Once a permanent replacement was hired, I’d move on to the next school.

In November 2020, I was assigned to a secondary school in Liverpool called All Saints.

At the time, schools were just beginning to return to normal after the COVID restrictions.

On my first day, I met the site manager, Tom.

Tom was in his seventies and had worked at the school for over twenty years. He was friendly, easy-going, and knew every inch of the building.

The school itself was old, but it had been modernised over the years. Three floors. Long corridors. Modern security systems. Keycard access. Motion sensors. Heavy security shutters.

Tom showed me around and explained my duties.

I would be covering the late shifts and Tom does mornings until they find a permanent caretaker.

3 PM until 11 PM.

Teachers would leave by 6 PM.

At 6:30 PM, I would unlock a side gate for an external company that rented the sports facilities outside.

At 10 PM, I would conduct a final walk-through, lower the security shutters in each hub, arm the motion sensors and leave.

Simple.

My first few hours were uneventful.

The teachers seemed friendly enough.

A few joked about my age.

Most caretakers they’d known had been much older.

At 6:30 PM I unlocked the side gate, secured the main entrances, grabbed my clipboard and started my first proper inspection of the building.

Around 7 PM, I reached the Mathematics hub on the third floor.

One classroom door stood open.

The room was empty.

The lights were off.

Everything looked normal.

Then I noticed the whiteboard.

Written neatly in black marker across the centre were four words.

“WELCOME TO ALL SAINTS”.

I laughed to myself. It was probably left by a teacher.

I continued my shift and thought nothing more about it.

The following evening the message was different.

HOW WAS YOUR FIRST DAY?

I stood there for a moment.

Same classroom.

Same handwriting.

Long, thin letters.

Neat but somehow shaky.

I erased it and carried on.

The next night there was another.

“Check the science hub”

Annoyed, I checked the science hub.

There was a broken light so I went to the store room got a new bulb and came back and replaced it everything was fine and nothing out the ordinary happened.

Over the next week, more messages appeared.

Eventually I mentioned it to Tom.

He chuckled.

“It’s probably one of the teachers helping you out.”

I accepted the explanation.

At least at first.

Then the messages changed.

YOU LOOK TIRED.

YOU DIDNT CHECK THE HISTORY CLASSES PROPERLY.

YOU SHOULD FIND A NEW JOB

That bothered me.

I am used to jokes and I enjoy a good laugh but some of these messages seemed personal.

The next day I spoke to the Maths teacher Mr Harvey and I asked him could he stop leaving messages on the board but he insisted it wasn’t him and that it’s probably one of the kids messing around.

That night I checked the maths room and I was relived to see there was nothing on the board it was blank.

I went to the science Hub and there was a message on that Board that said

WAS YOU WORRIED ID FORGOTTEN YOU

I was fed up so I wiped this off the board and carried on my walk around.

I checked the CCTV.

Nothing.

The following day I started work I checked the cameras while the staff was still in the building to see who was writing these messages when I got an email from the headmaster saying he’s happy with my work and he hopes I am settling in ok

Once again I opened the side gate at 18:30pm

I do my walk through trying to spot any issues this time no messages on any of the boards.

I got back to my Office and froze someone set up a board in my office and it said

YOU CANT ERASE ME

I stared at the board for several seconds.

My mouth had gone dry.

Something felt wrong.

Like I’d accidentally become part of a conversation I never agreed to join.

The first sensor alert happened two weeks later.

At 10 PM, I attempted to set the motion sensors.

A warning appeared.

MOVEMENT DETECTED – FLOOR 2

The system refused to activate.

Grabbing my torch, I searched the building.

I noticed a small amount of light in the ICT room it looked like someone left a PC monitor on so I went in … I pointed my torch towards the PC and there was no one there but when I went to turn the monitor off I could see on the screen that someone had accessed the CCTV software meant just for the Caretakers only me and Tom should have access to this. I locked up the school and left for the night.

The following day I asked Tom about this and he assured me that no computers but ours has the software for CCTV so when the children had left I took Tom to the PC I’d saw it on and shown him what I’d seen he was baffled he said that this must be an old version because many of the new camera was not on this device and some of the old ones that where broken and no longer have any feed are here but showing no signal. I asked Tom one of the no signal CCTV Boiler room is this the same as the one called the Plant room on our system and he explained No this was the old Boiler room which is a small building located on the far side of the football field. I asked is it still in use and he explained no it’s all been capped off and decommissioned it’s all locked up and even we don’t have the keys to it.

That night, the old boiler room stayed in the back of my mind.

I wasn’t even sure why.

The building was over fifty years old. It wasn’t unusual for old rooms and forgotten spaces to exist.

Still, something bothered me.

Why would somebody access an outdated CCTV system?

And why did it include a camera feed for a building nobody used anymore?

At 10 PM, I started my final lock-up.

As I armed the motion sensors, the warning appeared again.

MOVEMENT DETECTED – EXTERNAL BUILDING

I frowned.

The school itself was clear.

The alert was coming from somewhere outside.

I checked the sports facilities to make sure everyone had left. The football pitches were empty.

When I returned to my office, I immediately noticed something was wrong.

My toolbox was open.

Inside, tools had been moved around.

Missing were my Stanley knife and a screwdriver.

I knew I’d locked it.

For the first time since the messages started, I genuinely felt afraid.

I called the police.

When they arrived, I explained everything.

The messages.

The CCTV software.

The sensor activations.

The old boiler room.

One of the officers suggested we check it.

The building sat on the far side of the football field, hidden behind overgrown bushes.

The padlock on the door had been cut.

The police entered first.

Almost immediately I heard shouting.

“Police! Stay where you are!”

A few moments later they brought a man outside in handcuffs.

He looked filthy.

His beard was overgrown.

His clothes were stained and torn.

He couldn’t have been much older than thirty-five.

Inside the boiler room they discovered a mattress, camping equipment, food supplies and dozens of notebooks.

The room connected to an old service tunnel that led beneath part of the school.

It was obvious he had been living there for months.

Possibly years.

The notebooks contained hundreds of entries.

Teachers’ names.

Caretakers’ routines.

Times people arrived and left.

Which classrooms were empty.

Which doors didn’t lock properly.

And there were photographs.

Hundreds of photographs.

Most were taken after hours.

Pictures of classrooms.

Corridors.

Staff members.

Even Tom.

Then one of the officers handed me a photograph.

It was me.

Standing in the Maths classroom.

Looking at the whiteboard.

The man had been watching me since my first day and I didn’t even know he existed.

As the officers led him away, I asked him one question.

“Why the messages?”

He looked at me for a moment.

Then he smiled.

Not a threatening smile.

Almost a sad one.

“You were the first person who answered.”

That was the last thing he ever said to me.

I finished my assignment at All Saints three weeks later.

The boiler room was demolished.

The messages stopped.

Everything went back to normal.

I’ve often wondered how he knew my name.

The police found years of notes about staff members in his notebooks, but none of them ever explained where he got his information from. Or how long he had been there.

The first message I found in my office wasn’t actually:
YOU CANT ERASE ME.

At the time I didn’t think anything of it.

But when the light hit the board at a certain angle, I could just make out something that had been partially erased above it.

Two words.

HELLO KIERAN.

Credit: Byro