Our story begins with a fifteen year old ninth grade girl who goes by the name of, “M’Shroom.” That name was dubbed upon her because the first person whom she bonded with and met was named “‘Shroom.” Her nickname was originally “Ms. ‘Shroom,” but eventually the words squished together to form, “M’Shroom,” which, coincidentally sounds like “Mushroom,” which is where “‘Shroom” comes from. But that’s another story. She currently attends Waisaiver boarding school, located in an unbeknownst-to-all-society-city. She’s an average girl who normally wears blue jeans, a black shirt, and a personal touch of her own, a pair of two different Converse every day. She wears her thick dark brown hair down with an occasional face frame. Her eyes were a unique mix of brown on the outer edge and green in the middle that everyone thought was strangely cool.

The final bell rang as M’Shroom forced her backpack closed. She was up and ready to leave when her teacher, Miss. Izumi, said in a loud commanding voice, “Ms. ‘Shroom!!! You’ve got cleaning duty today! You didn’t forget, did you (in this desolate city, there are no janitors, so some kids are assigned cleaning duty each day)?” She was the only person who would over pronounce her name to simply communicate with her. Or in this case, yell at her.

“What,” complained M’Shroom, letting on more annoyance than she had intended. M’Shroom was going to tell the teacher that she was mental, somewhat befuddled, and never said anything about cleaning duty. And as soon as the thought crossed her mind, Miss. Izumi gave her the infamous, cold-hearted, grey-eyed stare she gave all of her students when she wanted something done with little-to-no resistance. Everyone, even the staff, thought Miss. Izumi was the purest evil anywhere, a dictator, and was widely known for it. But no one had the guts to fire her.

Anyway, M’Shroom dropped her stuff in a furious rage on the closest desk. She glared at Miss. Izumi while she calmly collected her things and rattled the classroom keys around. M’Shroom thought briefly, “Miss. Izumi’s emotions, are so desultory. She never stays on one feeling. She’s very moody. I guess it must be old age or the fact she’s not married or something…” She then stomped toward the supply closet while muttering under her breath, “I don’t want to…I’m chock full of bad luck when I’m alone…stupid lady!!” M’Shroom didn’t realize she had raised her voice.

“Did you say something M’Shroom?” Her voice was low and threatening. It reflected her short image. She was no taller than four feet and four inches. There was this theory: Miss. Izumi is as evil as she is because there’s no room for the evil to spread out, making her nicer. All of the evil inside her is very dense.

“N-no ma’am…” M’Shroom stuttered. Miss. Izumi gave M’Shroom the keys, looked at M’Shroom’s fake, yet charming smile that fooled any one, and left.

Around five-forty in the evening, M’Shroom, in her blind fury, is obsessively cleaning the windows when she heard a scraping noise that sent chills down her spine. She turned to see the off-white, rectangular walls of the classroom, the newly bought, yet vandalized, desks, and…

“A missing trash can?” She questionably thought this out loud while putting down the Windex. She shrugged it off, grabbed the Windex, and returned to her job. She thus concluded it was her imagination. After only two minutes or so, she felt another presence in the room. She turned to double check because of her growing paranoia and saw a shadow moving incredibly fast. SCREECH…she heard it again, tensed up, and…WHOOSH! Something that sounded heavy was flying right at her. She dodged it just in time and it hit the window after slightly grazing her ear. The window, luckily enough, wasn’t too horribly damaged.

She began to panic. This caused her to yell out for help even though she knew that no one could hear her. She ducked down to avoid more of the object’s attacks and to see what was being flung at her. Whatever it was, she couldn’t find it, but she formulated a plan to get out of the classroom in the middle of the melee. Her adrenaline rush prevented her from thinking straight and clearly, which didn’t help her situation. Something was thrown at her again while she scrambled under one of the desks. This time she saw what was being thrown at her, the previously missing trash can. “Why would someone throw a…” she trailed off when she saw the trash can get back up, on its own, and hurl itself at the top of M’Shroom’s sad defense, ON IT’S OWN.

Her eyes dilated to incredible proportions and she scrambled to the third-to-last desk from the door as it dived at her again. What really scared her was that there was only one way in and one way out…for now, if her plan worked. Her overall plan was to sneak under the desks toward the exit in one piece, lock the door, then wait for the trash can to settle down a bit before she left, and when she got home she was going to hope and pray that after the weekend was over, the trash can was gone, or she’ll be moving to anywhere without possessed trash cans real soon. She couldn’t get her mind off of the possessed trash can.

How, she thought as she scampered to the next desk, careful not to fall all over herself, why was the trash can able to move…and why this one?! Of all the trash can… Then, remembering that no one was around to hear her, she began to talk aloud to herself. “Of all the trash cans in the school that could have been possessed it just HAD to be this one! Didn’t it?!” As she yelled in her blind rage, these questions stuck in her mind, and haunted it.

“The final desk,” she whispered joyfully while dragging herself to the corner desk right by the door. When the trash can retreated to hurl itself at M’Shroom again, she saw her chance to move for the door. It backed up too far and was moving slower, luckily enough. Maybe my luck is changing! So with that motivation in mind, she moved with her fullest effort toward the door, crawled out to safety, got up when she was in the hall, and slammed the door.

The trash can hit the door many times while she applied pressure so she could succeed in locking the door. Click! The door was finally locked and with that in her relived mind, she slid with her back against the door, onto the floor, sighing with exasperation. The trash can seemed to have settled down, for there was no ruckus or any sounds of thrashing around in the room. After sitting for a minute or two of mental rejoicing, she got up, twirling the keys to the class on her index finger, and walked away triumphantly while thinking about where she would like to transfer.