12 Jul I Saw My Professor Die

Posted at 11:01h in Strange and Unexplained by CreepypastaStories.com 0 Comments

📅 Published on July 12, 2020

“I Saw My Professor Die”

Written by Matt Dymerski
Edited by N/A
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

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🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available

⏰ ESTIMATED READING TIME — 6 minutes

Rating: 9.17/10. From 12 votes.

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The day I accidentally witnessed my physics teacher die horribly, I didn’t know what to do. I went to my classes in a daze, sat there stunned for hours, and wondered if people would think I had something to do with it if I reported it. After much anguish, I finally resolved to call the police when I got home, but I never got the chance. On my walk past his house, Professor Randall was sitting on his front porch as if nothing had happened.

He noticed me staring, and he waved.

On pure reflex, I waved back.

Then, absolutely horrified, I walked on past.

I didn’t go home. Instead, I went to my friend Dustin’s house. He lived one block away from the Professor, and he was in the same physics class. There was a chance he would understand. If he didn’t, he could at least help me snoop.

Dustin was skeptical. “You saw him die?”

“Yeah.” I acted it out in his living room. “I missed class and his office hours yesterday, so he told me to drop my homework off at his mailbox in the morning. When I went by, his front door was drifting in the wind, so I checked it out. I heard something in the basement, and when I looked down the stairs, I saw him fall in a vat of acid.”

“A vat of acid? Why would our physics professor have a vat of acid in his basement?”

I suddenly felt rather stupid. “Good question. I ran out of there and didn’t get a chance to look around much.”

“Well, then let’s see what we can find out.”

That was the answer I’d been hoping for. Together, we walked toward the Professor’s house, approaching through back yards and from behind fences. When we reached his place, we crept along the side, only to find that his basement windows had been blocked by cardboard on the inside. We couldn’t see anything, but we could certainly smell something.

I winced at the acrid nostril-burning odor. “That must be the acid.”

He wasn’t so sure. “Is that what acid smells like? I have no idea.”

We heard a car pull out of the driveway up ahead. After a tense minute, we walked around to the front of the house to find him gone. I was intent on leaving, but Dustin had other ideas. He slid open a window, then crawled inside.

I followed, if only because I needed to know that I wasn’t crazy.

“Over there,” I whispered, and we crept toward the basement door.

Dustin went to open it, then flinched. “It’s hot!” Holding his sleeve over his hand, he carefully turned the knob. When the basement door opened, we were greeted with a blast of acrid humid heat. We both covered our mouths and noses, then took a few steps down.

I saw it. “There!” But it wasn’t a vat of acid. It was a wide plant of some sort, curled and closed, like a Venus fly trap in waiting. It looked big enough to hold a person. “He must have been… in this…”

Daring to briefly touch it with a covered hand, Dustin countered, “Are you sure he wasn’t just leaning over it?”

I shuddered at the memory. “I saw his face melting off his skull.”

He froze. “Oh.”

That was when we heard the car pull back into the driveway outside.

We looked around in a panic, but there was nowhere to hide except behind the couch-sized plant itself. We hunkered down and waited, breathless, as we heard his footfalls descend into the basement. Dustin and I exchanged worried glances—but we didn’t have to wait long. The Professor pulled a leaf at the base of the plant, and it opened up next to us, releasing more foul-smelling hot air.

Then, he dove right in, face first, clothes and all.

The two of us leapt up in a panic. While I quickly took off my jacket to get smoking spots of splashed acid away from my body, Dustin looked into the open plant.

He grabbed my arm forcefully. “Look.”

We watched as Professor Randall’s flesh melted away, skin first, followed by organs, leaving a skeleton. That, too, dissolved over the course of several seconds. Once there was nothing but green liquid darkened brown by gore, the contents sluiced away, as if someone had opened a drain.

We ran.

We ran.

Back at Dustin’s house, we screamed at each other for a good hour, just trying to understand what we’d seen. After that, we went home, vowing never to speak of it to anyone. Neither of us wanted the police thinking we had anything to do with whatever the hell we’d just witnessed. For my part, I remained awake in bed that night, reliving the traumatic sight over and over. I didn’t sleep at all.

Imagine our surprise when Professor Randall was teaching physics class the next day—grey slicked-back hair, hawk nose, and single mole, the same man we saw every day. If anything, he seemed more energetic than usual, perhaps even animated.

Dustin and I sat stock still the entire class, just staring.

When it was over, we both followed him at a distance. He walked the entire way home—his car was in his driveway when we arrived. He was not a young man by any means. How had he gotten to campus?

We didn’t dare get any closer. However, the next day, Dustin decided to stay and watch his house to try to see if our Professor was traveling another way.

When Professor Randall arrived to teach class, I texted him, Dude, you missed him. He’s here.

Dustin wrote back, WTF? He never left. No chance.

Confused, I waited until class was over, and then followed the Professor again. This time, he didn’t walk home. Instead, he slipped into a disused janitor’s closet at the far end of the building. I tried the door after a couple minutes, and found it locked.

He’s here, Dustin texted.

What the hell was going on? He straight up walked into a closet here. I’ve been right outside the entire time. There’s no way out. Also, he’s only been in there five minutes.

I have a theory. Hold on. I’ll be there soon.

I waited, nervous, until Dustin arrived.

He pulled a crowbar out of his backpack. “I have a feeling we’re going to find another plant in there.”

When we managed to force our way in, he was right. Behind several shelves, we found another couch-sized fly trap plant. I backed away from it, but he approached it.

“You know what I think this is?” He pulled the leaf at the bottom, and it opened up to reveal an organic leafy bed glistening with unknown depths of acid. “I think it’s a transporter, somehow.”

“The hell? Like from Star Trek?” I moved one step closer. “How, though?”

“Well, he’s not dying when he jumps in, clearly,” Dustin thought aloud. “And he’s getting places faster than should be possible. He’s been so excited since that week he had off last month. Do you think he found something on his trip? This impossible plant? I bet he hasn’t even told anyone yet.”

I wasn’t buying it. “It melts you. How could it be a transporter?”

“I dunno. That’s what the transporter does, in the shows. It breaks you down into tiny pieces, then reconstructs you at the other end.” He took a deep breath. “Acid still breaks you down, right? If that even is acid. It’s a transporter, just not the way we expected.”

Still intending on saying something skeptical, I stepped forward—but, probably thinking I was going to pull him away, that prompted him to jump.

He leapt in sideways, not face first like the Professor had.

He splashed in shoes first, and sank in up to his waist.

I stared.

He turned and looked at me.

Then, he began to scream with absolute horror.

I reached out as he began to sink, and I managed to grab his hand. I braced my feet against the base of the plant, but a vine-like tongue wrapped around his torso and dragged him down. Once his jeans had melted away, the green acid turned brown, and I knew his legs were dissolving. I tried as hard as I could, but his terrified screaming was like a drill in my brain, and my heart hammered so hard in my chest that I thought I would pass out and get dragged in, too.

He didn’t die fast enough.

I let go, but he was still alive when he sank fully in. I watched his face dissolve, leaving just a screaming skull with melting eyes—until his lungs filled, and the sound became a bubbling moan of agony. Mercifully, finally, he sank away completely, just before the liquid sluiced away like it had at the Professor’s house.

Half-crying from the horror, half-laughing from the shock, I wandered out of that janitor’s closet in a state of pure wide-eyed emptiness. The only thing I could do now was hope that Dustin had been right.

I drifted away from campus, then down the suburban streets toward his house.

I knocked.

After a few moments, I heard footsteps. The door opened, and—Dustin answered. “Oh, hey buddy.”

Confused and full of adrenaline, I asked, “Did it work?”

“Yeah. I teleported!” He tugged on his shirt. “Clothes and all. Ended up in the Professor’s basement and managed to sneak out. My cell phone even survived the trip somehow.”

Barely able to control myself, I demanded, “Then why the hell didn’t you text me?!”

“Text you?”

I grabbed his shirt with two fists. “I thought you were dead! You were screaming, and dying, and I saw you dissolve—”

He shook his head and laughed. “Screaming? What are you talking about? I jumped in and my feet basically hit the ground instantly. Never even touched acid. Teleportation’s easy! Can’t wait until the Professor goes public with his discovery. I gotta get me one of those plants. Maybe even two!”

Oh, God. So that was how it was.

I took a moment to process what had really happened.

I let go of his shirt then, and patted the rumples down. “Cool. Yeah. Sorry I freaked out there.” I turned and started heading away, my blood ice cold.

He asked, “See you in class tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” I called back without looking, too shaken to face that stranger again. “See you in class… Dustin.”