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Hi listeners, I'm Mike Supporkin and I have a story I want to tell you.

A story about a student with a supernatural grudge.

So, gather round and listen.

Close.

I hate my teacher.

It's a small school, meaning Mr. Morgan is the only available option as an English teacher for the ninth graders.

There's no way around taking his class, so every weekday I go into my last period and quietly hate his guts.

The thing is, Mr. Morgan is actually pretty nice.

He's good at his job. He doesn't hassle any of the kids. He doesn't give too much homework.

He's not the most popular teacher, but he's far from Nellie's favorite.

Nobody else seems to have a problem with him. Except me.

I hate him, and I don't know why.

The first time I met him was months ago. I had freshman orientation night.

He smiled at me and told me how nice it was to meet me.

He said he was excited to have me in his class.

It seemed like he really meant it, too. I looked directly into his kind green eyes and wanted a taram apart.

I wanted to shake him, make him rattle inside. I still do.

Maybe I hate him because he brought the nightmares back. Or at least that's definitely what it feels like.

I used to have them when I was little, but they stopped years ago.

I had them again on orientation night, though, and so many nights after that.

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