Full Body Chills - Mary Will Be A Good Little Girl

Episode Date: October 19, 2022

A story about the history learned at a derelict school.Mary Will Be A Good Little GirlWritten by Laurie Faria StolarzYou can read the original story and view the episode art at fullbodychillspodcast.com. Looking for more chills? Follow Full Body Chills on Instagram @fullbodychillspod. Full Body Chills is an audiochuck production. Instagram: @audiochuckTwitter: @audiochuckFacebook: /audiochuckllcTikTok: @audiochuck

This episode was produced with audio effects in full surround sound. For the best experience, we kindly recommend you listen with headphones. Hi listeners, I'm Nikki Boyer, and I have a story I want to tell you. A story about the history learned at a derelict school. So, gather round and listen. Close. and listen close. I don't really like to talk about this story much, mostly because it still freaks me out,

even after all this time. But years ago, not long after I'd graduated high school, my friend Adria asked if I'd help her out on a special project. Now, Adria is a realtor and has a real eye for style. She always has. In high school, for example, she was the one tasked with planning the decorations for the prom or the class banquet and even our graduation. She also helped our mutual friend Jaden style her entire wedding. She's just really good at all that stuff. Colors, decor, architecture, you name it. Well, around that time,

Adria got a listing for a small, private, family-run elementary school called Edgewater Elementary. According to Adria, Edgewater had been closed for years and years due to a number of factors, dwindling admission numbers, tired faculty, mediocre reviews, and a difficult commute. It was a 30-minute drive from the nearest highway exit, not exactly convenient for most parents who lived and worked closer to a larger city or town. Adria also mentioned there'd been an ongoing family dispute over whether or not to fix up the school and reopen under a new name.

But in the end, the family members decided to sell the school and split the proceeds. That's where I came in. Adria asked if I'd help her stage the school for resale. I barely have 24 hours. Long story short, I have two school administrators interested in the property. I need an extra set of hands and immediately thought of you. We could get there Friday night, work all day Saturday, all the furniture and cleaning supplies are already there,

and the two administrators are coming on Sunday. What do you say? It could be fun, don't you think? Fun may have been a stretch, but I wanted to help her out. Adria had certainly helped me out in the past, including scoring me an amazing apartment during my post-grad days, so I was happy to go. She gave me the address, and I drove out. Three hours on a Friday afternoon. It was raining that day, making visibility slim. Not only were the streets narrow and desolate, but so many of them looked the same, bordered by woods, farmland, or other abandoned properties. To make matters worse,

phone reception was patchy at best. My nav kept cutting out, which Adria had warned me about. But still, it wasn't the most peaceful drive, even in the daylight. Finally, after a few wrong turns, I arrived at the Edgewater property. I pulled up a long driveway that cut through the woods. The school was a good distance from the road, but when I got to the actual grounds, I could understand why someone would want to build here.

The campus was gorgeous, even with the rain, like something you'd see in a storybook. There was a natural play area nestled in a grove of pine trees. Wooden climbing structures, cherry blossom-sprinkled picnic tables, a huge sandbox made of logs, and what must have once been a garden, all overgrown now. Honestly, it looked enchanting. I could almost picture the children playing on the seesaw or taking turns on the tire swing. The building itself was a bit different from what I expected. More like a house than a school. A long, red, one-story ranch with a row of tiny stained glass windows.

Adria wasn't there yet. At least, I didn't see her car parked anywhere. I sent her a text to tell her I had arrived, then tried the door, worried it wouldn't open. But it did. Adrian must have planned ahead, knowing we may miss one another. She even left me a gift. I stepped inside, flicked on the lights and was greeted to a flower bouquet, an array of daisies and tulips.

And I opened the car. The words, thank you so much for coming, were written in perfect printed penmanship. The inside of the school looked like it was stuck in a time warp. Desks from the 70s, lined linoleum floors, all under dim fluorescent lights. A large green chalkboard was set up at the front, and the words, Welcome Miss Haley, were handwritten in loopy cursive letters. Clearly Adria's sense of enthusiasm. The interior looked like a one-room schoolhouse, with smaller rooms branching off the main one. I did a quick walk around the place to get my bearings. The smaller rooms looked to be offices or meeting rooms, while a larger room had carpeted mats strewn about, as though for seating.

I sat down my bag and couldn't help but notice a smell, like rotten fruit circling around the room. I went looking for the source, wondering if maybe the garbage hadn't been emptied, but it had. The fridge and cabinets had already been cleared as well. Despite the rain, I ended up opening a few windows. I checked my phone. There was still no response from Adria, which was unlike her. I mean, she obviously knew I was coming. Plus, she was super responsive, replying within minutes. But now, I was genuinely worried. Had she gotten into an accident? Was it a family emergency? It was nearing dinner time, so maybe she was just out grabbing us something to eat. Or maybe she hadn't been getting my texts because of the patchy reception. I couldn't know. However, I decided I'd give it a little more time and get a head start

with some of the cleaning. I went around dusting bookshelves, wiping tables, and washing the chalkboard clean of Adria's message. As I did so, I noticed, beside me, a row of lockers, about four feet tall. All of the doors were open except for one. I was a little curious and more than a bit bored, so I went over and checked it out. Every other locker had been emptied, so when I opened it, I was surprised to find a dark gray coat, a red lunchbox, and a pair of dirty rubber boots. On the floor of the locker was a crumpled up piece of paper. I picked it up and smoothed it out. It looked like a spelling test.

The name, Mary, was printed neatly across the top. Most of the words had little red check marks beside them, indicating she'd spelled the word correctly. But about a fifth of them were marked with big red X's. Across the top of the test in the same red ink, someone had written the words, not good enough, try harder next time. I closed the locker and stood up.

And then, all of a sudden, I heard a voice. You're being watched now. How does that make you feel? Does it make it all better? Deep breath. I told myself, don't panic. Slowly, I turned around to find... no one there.

The voice, it was a male voice. It sounded like it might have come from somewhere else. Maybe outside? I'd opened the windows, after all. Except I was in the middle of nowhere. Not even remotely within earshot of a street or anything else. Nervously, I followed the voice across the main room and into the room with the carpeted mats. As I got closer, I heard a faint humming or static.

A large projector screen lit up the wall. A movie was playing, an old black and white film from the 30s or 40s, maybe. The scene was grainy, showing a young girl around 7 or 8, balled up on the floor with tears running down her face. The girl's mouth was moving, as though she were speaking, but she had no voice. The light from the projector shined bright, blinding me. Spots shot out in front of my eyes as I went to click it off. But before I did, the screen went black. And so did the room. You're being watched now. How does that make you feel? Does it make it all better? I ran out, every inch of me trembling. Was the movie on a timer? But how did that make any sense? After all these years? Maybe one of the owners had been staying at the property at least part-time.

The door hadn't been locked. Whatever the answer, I wasn't about to stay. Not by myself. I grabbed my phone to call Adria once again. It didn't connect the first couple of times, so I moved to the end of the building closest to the street. That worked. Her voicemail played, but it came out staticky and broken. Hey, this is Adria. I'm sorry I missed you.

If you're calling about a listing, please indicate the street address and best time to reach you, and I'll call you right back. Hey, A. I'm here at the school, and I've been here for about an hour, but please call me back. I'm worried about you and not the most comfortable here on my own. This place is super creepy. A loud beep cut me off. Was her mailbox full? I hung up. It was dark now and raining even harder.

I could hear it pelting against the windows like there might have been hail. Some of the old fluorescent lights, they let out a gnawing buzz and began to blink. I tried using my phone again to call Adria's sister. The call went through. The line started ringing, but then the reception went south and was replaced by static. What was I going to do? I'd been at the school alone for over an hour now. Finally, I decided I'd give Adria another 30 minutes, only 30 minutes, and then I would drive somewhere that had reliable Wi-Fi and make more calls. I was about ready to resume my cleaning. I mean, it was about all I could do other than worry about Adria or creepy projectors,

when I noticed a set of fresh, muddy tracks on the floor. And I mean fresh, fresh, like the mud was still soaking wet. The shoe print was small, like it belonged to a child. I circled back to the locker with the spelling test and quickly grabbed one of the rain boots. The tread was a perfect match. I backed away, only just noticing the chalkboard. There, written in cursive letters, Mary will be a good little girl. Mary will be a good little girl. Mary will be a good little girl. Mary will be a good little girl over and over and over again at least 50 times.

Without a second thought, I ran for the door. But it was locked. I twisted and shook the knob, but it made no difference. The door wouldn't even budge, like it was just a thick, solid panel of wood. Don't panic, I thought. I can be resourceful. I went for the windows, just as they came slamming down. I bolted across the room in search of a second exit, maneuvering my way through the pantry area, moving boxes and crates along the way. Finally, I found another door, but just like the first one, it was completely

boarded up. Thick planks of wood were nailed across. Even the knob had been removed. The only thing that hadn't been boarded or torn off was a small glass panel. The window was barely wider than my head. No way I was getting out through there. But looking outside, I was startled to see a little girl. She was just standing there in the rain, her long, dark hair clinging to her sides.

I could barely make out her features, but saw she was watching me with wide, unblinking eyes. It looked like she was mouthing something, but I couldn't hear her. She then raised a hand, pointing like she was drawing something in the air. And suddenly, across the foggy glass, words appeared. They came out backwards, reversed, but still I could read them. Do you see me? My heart tightened into a fist.

I looked around for something hard and heavy. Spotting an iron sitting atop one of the boxes, I grabbed it, angling the point outward, and using all of my might, I plunged it through the glass, only to discover the glass wasn't there. Nothing shattered. There was no small square of glass. The entire door was boarded up with planks of wood. I scrambled for my phone, unable to wake it up. I spun round and round, searching for a way out, something that would help, anything. At the same moment, the movie cranked on. You're being watched now. How does that make you feel? Does it make it all better? And then my message to Adria played back inside my head over a loudspeaker. I wasn't quite sure. The voices repeated over and over, mixing together, echoing around in my skull.

A moment later, the lights buzzed again and then went out completely. I sank to the floor, not knowing what to do. Panic shot through my veins. Desperation filled my mouth The taste of bitter acid I crawled my way to the door Over the muddy footprints Navigating the black darkness All while trying to wake up my phone

But nothing was working I laid down on the floor My nose pressed into the small space At the bottom of the door I could smell the faintest hint of fresh air I breathed it in Not wanting to move not wanting to think

and my mind and body shut down and somehow in that sliver of calm I fell asleep when I woke up again it was hours later the following morning the lights in the school were back on. The voices

had stopped. The windows were open. The sounds of birds chirping carried in the school. I got up, my hands trembling, and I tried the door. It opened, and I made a beeline for my car. Thankfully, it started, and I immediately sped off. As soon as I had a good signal, I called Adria. Hey, it's so good to hear from you. What happened? Where were you? What do you mean? You called me.

We spoke three days ago and you asked me to come help you stage that schoolhouse. I was there all night. Wait, what? Is this a joke? You had two administrators coming. They were interested in the property. I went into more detail, which made no sense because this had all been her idea. But Adria insisted she never called me, that she never received my texts or messages, and that she had no idea what I was even talking about. The last time we spoke was two weeks ago. Are you feeling okay? Was I? My head ached.

I checked my texts and outgoing calls. The ones I had sent to Adria the night before were no longer there. My last outgoing call had been the previous morning to book a haircut. And my most recent incoming call from Adria had been two weeks before that. Just like she'd said. But you know what's weird? Just this morning I got a listing on a creepy little schoolhouse. A place called Edgewater Elementary. Oh, but I'm really sorry.

I'm not sure what happened this weekend, but your story sounds kind of crazy. Do you want to come by my place to talk some more? I told her I'd call her later and hung up. After I got home, I did a little research on Edgewater Elementary. As it would turn out, the school had a bit of a reputation. But that reputation was far from glowing. A few months before Edgewater closed, a student there, an 8-year-old girl named Mary Janice, had died. According to an article and a thread of comments, it seemed Mary had a history of acting

out as a way of getting attention. It seemed that none of her teachers really cared for her and her family was only worse. All of which might have gone unnoticed except one day Mary, pretending she was invisible, walked into traffic. It's because she always felt alone, whether at home or at school, one reader wrote. Another person responded, people only saw Mary when she was bad. My stomach grew into knots. I thought back to everything I saw at the school, the do you see me written on the glass, the movie with the crying girl, and the promises to be good strewn all over the chalkboard. Without thinking, I reached into my pockets and felt something crumble in my hand. I pulled it out. Mary's spelling test. I forgot I even had it.

I sat with it for a while, just thinking to myself. But then I grabbed a pen, and with a little thumbs-up sticker, I crossed out the try harder next time and wrote, good job. The following week, I made a trip back to Edgewater Elementary. Of course, I made sure to go during the day and with a few friends, but I brought along the test, sealed in an envelope with Mary's name, which I slipped beneath the door. I also left a note. It read, Dear Mary, you are not alone, and you are not invisible.

I see you. I hear you. Love, Haley. P.S. Nice job on the spelling test. Full Body Chills is an AudioChuck production. This episode was written by Loree Faria Stolarz and read by Nikki Boyer. This story was modified slightly for audio retelling, but you can find the original in full on our website. So, what do you think, Chuck? Do you approve?

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