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casually mentioned one night, in an offhand manner, that he had been startled in one of the classrooms by a loud thump on the wall and when he’d gone next door to investigate, he hadn’t been able to find the source of the noise. Rakeem had revealed that he’d nearly jumped out of his shoes a few nights prior when a pile of textbooks on a teacher’s desk fell of their own accord, joking that he’d spilled his cleaning fluid and had ended up having to clean up his own mess instead of just the students’. When they found out a week or so later that both events had taken place in the same room, and that each of them had heard and seen other strange things around the school, they dropped all pretext of nonchalance and compared notes. Sure enough, they’d both experienced weird sights and sounds all over the campus. Which was why he’d wanted to tell Enrique—although he didn’t really know what he’d expected his boss to do about it.
     
     
    Now, of course, the head custodian thought they were the two biggest pansies on the planet. And the other workers were probably laughing behind their backs—or even planning some type of prank to scare them.
     
     
    Rakeem was right. He should have kept his big mouth shut.
     
     
    Carlos winced as the cart went over a crack in the concrete, clattering loudly. He glanced quickly around.
     
     
    What was he afraid of?
     
     
    That something hiding in the dark would know he was here.
     
     
    Carlos pushed his cart up the slight incline to the music room. Using his master key, he opened the door and walked inside, flipping on the lights as he did so. Maybe it was his imagination, but the lights in the classrooms didn’t appear to be as bright as they had been last year. None of the fixtures had been changed, but it seemed as if all over the school the illumination was dimmer than it had been before summer. He tried to tell himself that it was intentional, part of an effort to save electricity and cut down on energy expenses, but he couldn’t make himself believe it.
     
     
    Like members of the football team and the cheerleading squad, the kids in band returned to school a few weeks earlier than everyone else to practice. Carlos scanned the low risers on the left side of the room. Most of the instruments had been put away or taken home, but as always, a couple of them had been left out, and right in the center of the practice area, leaning against a metal folding chair, was a tuba. Carlos’ gaze stopped on the instrument. Overhead lights glinted off the circle of gold metal that surrounded the black hole at the center of the large horn, and there seemed something mesmerizing about the sight. He found it hard to pull his attention away. He kept staring at that dark opening, and it was as though his gaze was being drawn inside it, his mind swirling down like water in a whirlpool.
     
     
    He forced himself to look away. He felt chilled, frightened, and he decided that if he did not see any visible trash on the floor or furniture, if there were no major messes to clean up, he would leave. There didn’t really need to be any mopping or dusting done. The room would survive one night without a thorough cleansing.
     
     
    Mmmmmmmmmmmmm . . .
     
     
    Carlos jumped at the sound. It was a low sustained note, and for a second he couldn’t place it.
     
     
    Then he realized it reminded him of someone blowing on a tuba.
     
     
    He glanced quickly in that direction, but the instrument remained where it was, untouched, unmoving, its dark center in the midst of that gleaming gold seeming ever more eerie.
     
     
    Mmmmmmmmmmmmm . . .
     
     
    The noise continued, as though the invisible player possessed an unlimited breathing capacity and was planning to blow on the oversized horn forever.
     
     
    Slowly, a drumbeat started, though there was no drum to be seen. Together, the sound of the two instruments blended and coalesced into a funereal dirge.
     
     
    “Fuck this shit,” Carlos said aloud, hoping