Crazy Classroom Horror Stories
Being a teacher is not an easy job—but these crazy classroom horror stories are on another level.
1. How Do You Not Notice?
My mother is a middle school teacher so she’s got some stories, but this one is absolutely unnerving. As a class was getting new assigned seats and waiting at the front of the classroom while the teacher reads out names and seats, a girl, who was pretty quiet but not exactly ‘loner’ status, lanced a boy in the back with a pair of scissors completely unprovoked.
She jabbed him deep enough to puncture a lung and somehow, this kid didn’t notice. It wasn’t until 10 to 15 minutes later when he asked to use the restroom and another teacher saw the back of him soaked in blood.
After they figured out what happened and who did it, the authorities were called and she was taken to a children’s facility.
My mother stopped in at the end of the day to chat with the principal about the incident and what the principal described was quite disturbing.
She apparently sat there the entire time the authorities were talking to her about what she did and why she did it and she had absolutely no remorse. She sat there and nodded. No tears. Gave no reason why she did it.
When she was told she would be going into a children’s facility—nothing...no reaction. She just sat there staring. This wasn’t revenge for something this boy did, they weren’t friends and my mom said he’s the sweetest thing who enjoys his small group of friends and Pokémon. She did this completely randomly.
2. Essay Or Manifesto?
I had a student once write a very terrifying and unsettling personal narrative essay. I forget exactly what the prompt was, but it was about an educational experience.
It started off with the student talking about how he had always felt alone and isolated and out of place as a student, and it quickly disintegrated into how he was coveting his pretty female teachers.
He said that he felt overly protective toward them, and that he was jealous when other male students talked to them, eventually revealing that his deepest desire was to cut off his male classmates' faces and wear them as a mask. I had never before felt such a bone-tingling dread before while reading an essay.
I spoke with my dean about this, and we called the counseling and advising department, read sections of the essay to them, and they said they would handle things from there on out.
The student was withdrawn from my class, and for the next two class periods, an officer was placed at the door of my classroom in case the student showed up.
Here's the kicker: the next year, one of my students told me that her boyfriend was in my class the previous year and that he really enjoyed my class. I asked who it was, and she revealed that it was the student who wrote that bone-chilling essay.
I so desperately wanted to tell her, but privacy laws wouldn’t allow me to.
3. Maybe That’s The Launch Sequence
I was a teacher’s assistant. We had a rocket day where every student made mini rockets to be launched. They were in 5th grade and in the cafeteria and I was walking around to help anyone who needed help. One little girl called me over from my class. I came up and asked, “What’s up?” because everyone was almost done at that point. Her response floored me.
She looked me straight in the eye, and slowly licked the side of the rocket. Like a seductive lick. I had never been more uncomfortable up to that point.
4. One Man’s Trash…
I was teaching 7th grade a few years ago. One of my students is a bit...off. Not "off" like "I'm going to harm you," but "off" like "I have an old toy chest full of all of my haircuts and a picture of my mom's pretty friend".
I will call this kid Carmine. One day, Carmine comes to school and you can hear that he's pretty sick, his nose is clogged and that stuff isn't going anywhere.
Oceans of molten mucus clogging up his nose. He's snorting every five seconds, blowing his nose, hefty meaty blows of the nose. Filling tissue after tissue. On this day, in my class, everyone was reading independently.
I scanned the room to find Carmine hunched over his book, sideways in his chair, blowing his nose violently into a tissue.
I thought man, poor kid, should probably be home sleeping or something. Then I thought OH GOD WHY as Carmine opened the hefty, soggy tissue, looked suspiciously around the room, and took a big ol' lick of the contents. Then another. Then I walked up behind him, as calm as I could muster, and said, "Hey, Carmine, throw that away, please".
The look in his eyes was not one of disgrace. It was more like the greedy, defensive look I get when I approach my dog as he's gnawing on a bone. The look was 100% NO THIS IS MINE, YOU CAN'T HAVE IT. I didn’t want it, Carmine, I didn’t want it.
