Your True
Tales
April 2004
– Story
of the Month
Weird Time
Rift
by Sophie
My senior year of high school, almost four years ago now, a friend and I shared an odd display of some sort of time-rift, I think.
We were experiencing a normal school day in the spring of our graduation. It was lunch time and we were in the cafeteria of our high school going through the lines and getting food. I was alone when I first noticed something odd about a teacher, Mr. B., standing a few feet away from me. He was not a teacher I had ever had and I believe he worked in some sort of temporary capacity at the time. Mr. B. was in his late 50s and had a thick head of salt-and-pepper wavy hair. His back was to me and clearly from the crown of his head in a circle that pretty much encompassed about a six inch diameter in the of the back of his head there was no hair, but instead a messy, nasty open wound.
The flesh was glistening with blood and there were pieces of flesh hanging off everywhere within the abrasion. This injury was clearly a concave in his head. It was eerily similar to that scene in The Sixth Sense when the boy is approached by the ghost of another boy who says something to the effect of, “I know where my dad keeps his gun,” and he turns and back of his head is missing. Not only was I was taken aback by the fact that he was walking around with a serious gash like that without a bandage or anything covering it, but that no one around him other than me seemed to be concerned or even noticing. I watched carefully and not one person around sneaked one of those furtive glances you give to people with ostentatious injuries. The chatty sophomore girls standing behind him were no less than a foot away from this horrible sight and not a single one of them pointed or anything.
I was really feeling odd and had completely lost my appetite. My friend Lydia walked by at that point and I grabbed her and told her to look at Mr. B. Her eyes became very round and she looked back at me. She said, quite seriously, “He’s going to get an infection walking around like that.”
“You see it too?” I asked.
She nodded. “Good,” I said, “No one else seems to see it.” Mr. B. got his food and moved away from the food serving area and into the main dining hall. We discreetly followed him. Following the trend, no one around him even when he sat down with a group of teachers seemed to notice. This wound looked like it would be quite painful and he seemed not to feel it at all or carry his head tenderly. Our friends were sitting in another part of the room so Lydia and I headed over to them and excitedly told them about what we had seen. This is where things get even stranger.
No one could remember seeing Mr. B. or his strange head wound that day or seemed interested in discussing it. This only increased Lydia and my frustration, so finally we dragged another friend, Leslie, over to force her to look. Leslie got this sort of strange look on her face when she looked at Mr. B.'s head. We eagerly asked if she could see it too. She shook her head. She just said she thought this was stupid and she walked away quickly. We ran after her and bombarded her with questions: Why did she look so strange? Didn’t she see it? Why wouldn’t anyone talk about it? What was the big deal? She just looked at us and said in a very uncharacteristically terse and brusque manner that she just “felt” she wasn’t supposed to talk about it with us. We demanded to know what she saw and I remember her very plainly saying to me, “Sophie, I didn’t see anything, but FEEL very strongly that you aren’t supposed to be seeing whatever it is you and Lydia can see. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” True to her word, she refused to speak about it any further.
I should point out, that none of my friends are “new age” or into the paranormal or anything like that. We were your average yuppie kids who drive SUVs and wear L.L. Bean. We didn’t speak about “feelings” in the way Leslie was speaking to us. Lydia and I dropped the subject and went on with the day as usual. We sought out Mr. B. again the next day and there was hair covering all of his head and no trace of the wound we had seen before. I questioned Leslie about what she said to us some time later and she couldn’t even remember having the conversation. We found this strange, but time made us forget as all things like this fade away.
I have only come to remember this story when I heard an interesting piece of news from a friend whose little brother still goes to our old high school. Mr. B. died in late February of this year. He fell backwards off his roof while cleaning gutters. He hit the back of his head and sustained fatal injuries. I believe if I knew the exact date of the day we saw his injury three years ago it would correspond to the day he died this year.
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