The Yearbook and the Call

THE NEW JANITOR HANDED ME MY OLD HIGH SCHOOL YEARBOOK WITH A NOTE

The fluorescent lights in the deserted office hummed, reflecting off the polished floor as he approached my desk. I was hunched over a spreadsheet, the only sound the relentless click of my keyboard, when a shadow fell over my monitor. He stood there, a young guy I hadn’t seen before, pushing a cleaning cart that smelled faintly of ammonia and damp mop water, his eyes wide and a bit shifty. He looked incredibly nervous, clutching something worn in his hand.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he mumbled, his voice barely a whisper, eyes darting nervously around the cavernous, empty office space. “Someone left this in the break room. Looks like yours.” He extended a faded, dog-eared yearbook, the cover showing the crest of Northwood High, its colors muted with age. My breath caught; I hadn’t seen that thing in twenty years, not since I packed it away in my parents’ attic.

My fingers trembled as I took it, the familiar, slightly rough texture of the laminated cover under my palm. Tucked inside, a small, neatly folded piece of paper, almost invisible against the old pages. I unfolded it, the crisp sound loud in the unnerving quiet room. It was a single line, written in meticulous cursive, unsettlingly familiar: “They’re watching your calls about the inventory.”

A cold dread seeped into my bones, a sudden, piercing chill completely unrelated to the office air conditioning blasting quietly. I looked up, a dozen questions forming on my lips, but he was already pushing his cart away, turning the corner down the dark hallway, his figure vanishing quickly into the deeper shadows. My heart pounded against my ribs, a frantic drum.

Then, the light on my desk phone blinked, silently indicating an incoming call.

👇 Full story continued in the comments…I stared at the blinking phone, my hand hovering over the receiver. The note, the janitor’s strange behavior, the empty office… it all screamed danger. But who was watching? And what about the inventory? My mind raced, desperately trying to connect the dots. I cautiously picked up the phone.

“Hello?” I said, my voice barely a croak.

A voice, distorted and synthesized, answered, “Do not speak of the inventory. We know you know.” The line went dead.

My hand dropped the phone as if it were a burning coal. I grabbed my own phone, dialed security, but the call went straight to voicemail. Frantically, I dialed my husband, Mark, but it rang and rang, unanswered. Panic threatened to overwhelm me. I had to get out of there.

I slammed my laptop shut, stuffed the yearbook into my bag, and grabbed my coat. As I rushed towards the elevator, I glanced back at my desk. A single red rose, its stem dripping water onto the polished surface, sat in the middle of my desk. There was no vase. The flower wasn’t there before.

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside, jabbing the “Lobby” button repeatedly. As the doors began to close, I saw the janitor standing at the end of the hallway, his face visible in the dim light, a dark shadow cast by his figure. He was holding a mop, but he wasn’t mopping. He was staring directly at me, his eyes fixed, with a look of something that resembled sadness.

The elevator doors clicked shut, and I felt a sickening lurch in my stomach. The elevator descended slowly, and I knew I had to act now. I thought of the inventory, the missing parts, the shady deals I knew were happening. I’d stumbled onto something I shouldn’t have.

When the elevator doors opened again, I emerged into the lobby, deserted except for the security guard, who was slumped over his desk, snoring softly. This was a joke. I ran.

Outside, the city air was a welcome relief, but the feeling of being watched lingered. Where would they expect me to go?

I took off in the direction of the parking garage, but as I was walking, a car pulled out from the alleyway and blocked my way. Inside, I could see the janitor, now clean, wearing a suit, and a man behind the wheel with a cold look in his eyes.

The suited janitor rolled down the window. “Get in, Ms. Thompson. We need to talk about the inventory.”

I was at a crossroads. I could run, scream, and risk everything, or I could play along and attempt to understand the situation.

Taking a deep breath, I walked towards the car, and the door opened for me. “Alright,” I said, “Let’s talk.”

The man behind the wheel looked at me, and the suited janitor turned back to face me. “We know you found the note.” He paused, waiting for me to reply.

“And?” I asked, still confused.

“We know what the company is doing. We also know you are an honest employee, but the ones pulling the strings will do anything to cover their tracks,” said the suited janitor. “The inventory, the calls, everything has been manipulated. We were the ones who put the note in your yearbook to help you. We also rigged the security cameras, that’s why they were down. They are onto you, and you are going to die. The only way to stop them is to expose them.”

He handed me a flash drive. “They are watching, and so are we. Don’t make a mistake, and don’t trust anyone. It is now your responsibility to expose the ones that caused all of this.” The car then pulled away, and I was left standing there with the flash drive.

Now, with a feeling of dread and purpose, I knew the game was only beginning. I knew what to do. The city and its shadows were waiting.