They

He entered the school locker room as usual on his shift. He hated the stench of cigarette smoke that hung in the air. He enjoyed feeling superior when he sometimes caught his students red-handed. Unfortunately, he didn't know that they paid no attention to his oratorical displays about the harmful effects of smoking. Besides, he was too soft to enforce the smoking ban on school grounds. He didn't threaten the principal either, believing that wasn't the solution to the problem. He believed that it would also damage his pride and his teaching methods would be questioned. After all, what kind of teacher can't handle the problem of smoking in the school locker room? Thus, he and the students knew there was no point in kidding themselves and lived in a kind of symbiotic relationship. If that's too strong a word, at least they tolerated his verbal reprimands, and he wasn't overly obnoxious in that regard. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he began to look out for careless cigarette smokers. However, the room was empty, and just as he was about to patrol the school corridor, he heard a soft whisper addressed to him.

All the more startled because he hadn't noticed anyone before, he turned abruptly and saw a dark-haired girl, Anita F., 3rd grade, leaning against a locker. Before the stupor that grips the unsuspecting had subsided, she approached him, put her arms around his head, and began kissing him. He was unprepared for this turn of events; for a long moment, he stood there, allowing her to continue her earlier activity. However, he seemed to have retained his common sense, as he firmly pushed her away. He stared at her with the eyes of a paralyzed man, only fragments of sentences reaching him – "...I always... loved..., ...he didn't pay attention..., ...it bothers me that I'm a student..." His head was pounding more and more, the blood was pounding in his temples, and he couldn't utter a word. He leaned against the radiator and remained motionless for a while. When he finally regained his composure, he noticed that the girl had disappeared, and only the sound of her footsteps on the stairs reached his ears

.

The blue ceilings moved at a dizzying pace, exceeded only by the ever-changing figures in medical scrubs. They gestured frantically to each other, their faces contorted in terrifying grimaces. Among them was a weeping woman, trying with spasmodic movements to chop off one of the three roots of a massive tree with an axe. The others began to hysterically approach the tree like drowned men struggling to rise to the surface, a terrifying chill emanating from their lifeless eyes. His breathing became rapid, cold sweat beaded on his forehead; he felt they were coming towards him. He tried to climb the tree, but he couldn't move his legs. As they approached, he felt his efforts were doomed to failure. And just when he thought he couldn't bear it any longer, when he thought they were about to do the worst things he could ever imagine to him, a girl in a white dress with dark, curly hair tumbling down her back grabbed his hand. He felt relief; the terrifying creatures, for they were no longer human, began to recede. The safety emanating from his savior finally allowed him to calm down. He didn't know who she was, though he didn't recognize her face, though it seemed familiar. He only knew that he felt secure with this girl, and although she hadn't spoken a single word to him, he felt her warm, friendly touch on his hand. They held hands for a long time, but as time passed, her touch was no longer as warm as before. He began to feel anxious again. When he realized the girl's hand had grown cold, he heard footsteps approaching behind him. This filled him with a terrible fear. He was afraid to turn his head, but when the footsteps and moans became too close, he couldn't resist and turned away. He saw a woman with an axe in her hand, the same one he'd seen earlier. In her other hand, she held the root of a large tree. As he looked at her, he felt a ghostly coldness creep over his hand. He looked at her, then at the girl, who had turned deathly pale. He knew where he knew her from. A nightmarish roar escaped his lips. He wanted to throw his head back when he felt unexpected resistance, and he saw a woman crouched over his face. The charming blonde, her eyes worried, tried to reassure him.

"It's okay, it's just a dream, you're home, honey," she said, hugging him tightly. He was relieved to be in his own bed, but he still focused his thoughts for a moment and tried to decompress his nightmare. As soon as he gathered himself, he said to her, "God, you don't know how glad I am that you're here with me. It was a terrible dream, so realistic." She smiled at him and, stroking his head, said, "After seeing you thrashing around in bed, I have no doubt it was a realistic experience, but tell me, what did you dream?" He didn't want to revisit the unpleasant adventures he'd just ended, so he casually recounted his nightmare. Even as his narrative progressed, he noticed that telling someone had a beneficial therapeutic effect, as it released any remaining tension.

***

He'd met her a few years ago, on one of those balmy July afternoons that many people spend by the water, in parks, cool pubs, and any number of other places one might find themselves. He couldn't remember everything she'd bought that day, but in any case, she'd made a large purchase, which, as it later turned out, had been intended for an evening party. He'd stood behind her at the checkout of the Oczko delicatessen and had been watching her futile attempts to find a few missing złoty. You could say they knew each other by sight, as they'd passed each other on the street a dozen or so times during his university days, when he'd attended classes. She'd already caught his eye, the object of his nocturnal sighs. Now he watched her clumsily struggle with her pockets, which supposedly held some loose change. The whole struggle was quite comical, and it was compounded by the already sizable crowd of nervous customers jammed at the cash register, from which came some sarcastic comments. Finally, the resigned girl gave up and decided to put the bottle of Sofia aside. He decided that now was the perfect moment, and in a burst of gallantry, and probably with hopes for something more, he paid for the Sofia, which they might have drunk later that same evening—though he never gave up hope—and so the bottle of Sofia, worth a few złoty, played a significant role in their lives, and even later became an indispensable part of romantic dinners for two and other special occasions.

***

"I'm terribly hungry, honey," he said, placing a morning kiss on her face. "Will you have time to make me some scrambled eggs? I'm so craving..." He didn't finish, as she interrupted him: "You have eggs in the fridge. If it weren't for your nightmares, I wouldn't have overslept. Sorry, I can't, I'm going!" He instinctively glanced at his watch; it was almost eight. He looked at the fridge regretfully, stood up, left the table, packed the day's lesson plans into his briefcase, and then left the house with a gurgling stomach. On the way, as he did every Thursday, he bought "Przekrój" and rushed to introduce Polish youth to momentous moments in human history. A few minutes later, he entered his workplace. The hands on his Casio read twenty minutes past eight, which was soon confirmed by the loud bell announcing the break. The students began to pour out of the classrooms into the hallway, a haven of rest before the second period, which was scheduled for five minutes later. It was even quiet; the students were quieter than usual, which initially puzzled him. However, when he passed two policemen in the hallway, he suspected the calm, or rather the uncertainty, of this ruthless school animal. "They must have raided again," he muttered to himself, and with a slight smile, he opened the door to the teachers' lounge, known by the students as "the den of behemoths." He greeted those present, then placed his briefcase on the table. Before he could even sit down, Mrs. S., a kind and demanding teacher, nicknamed "hexa" by the youth because of her appearance, approached him with tears in her eyes. He had never seen her in such a state before. Before he could consider what might have happened, he heard: "Tragedy, Mr. Marek, tragedy!" and the woman burst into tears again. "Listen, Marek, a tragedy has happened," said the portly blond Henryk D.. "Anita F. from the 3rd c. committed suicide last night by overdosing on medication. When the ambulance arrived, she was still alive; she died on the way to the hospital. Since this morning, the police have been interviewing teachers and some of the students." And there was such a cool girl... Marek! What's wrong with you? Man? Suddenly, a scene from the school locker room flashed before his eyes, fragments of a dream, his legs buckled beneath him, he felt a strange fullness in his empty stomach, he turned pale, and beads of sweat beaded his forehead. The hexa suddenly became a real hexa. Henryk resembled a huge monster, his head began to spin faster and faster, and then he slumped to the ground. Cold water was poured over him to regain consciousness. His mental acuity slowly returned. Thanking for the help, he announced he was going outside to get some fresh air, asking Mrs. B to keep an eye on his students.

***

He sat down on a bench near the school playground. Class III-C was just starting their PE class. Henryk, flying with his diary, asked him if everything was alright, and he nodded yes. He was thinking. He was thinking about Anita, about her confession, he was thinking about his prophetic dream, about the mess he'd made in the teachers' lounge today. He was afraid that everyone knew about his affair, which in reality never happened. He didn't know what could have gone through this girl's head, what she was telling her friends. He thought that in a moment he'd have to have a conversation with one or two men in uniform. He was afraid of losing his job, of the social ostracism he would surely face if it turned out this girl had taken her life because of him. He even pictured the headlines in the local newspapers portraying him as a monster. He was a young, conscientious history teacher who had been working with young people for barely two years, whose life was only just beginning to offer prospects for further development, and who had a loving wife. Sure, would she even believe him if everyone accused him of that girl's death? Maybe she'd leave and leave him alone? He was so afraid of loneliness. They didn't even have children because they'd been putting off the decision. Besides, she'd recently started a job at a private construction company as a human resources officer and didn't want to go on maternity leave so soon. Human resources officer? – he thought. He couldn't get used to it, because he always associated the women in that position with old lampucers who spent half their time slacking off over cups of coffee. As he pondered, he noticed the kids leaving the playground; the lesson was drawing to a close. He decided it was time to head to the behemoths' lair; he couldn't just miss his second lesson of the day.

***

When he got home, he realized he hadn't eaten anything yet today. Agnieszka hadn't gotten home from work yet, so he opened the fridge and took out the ground beef she'd left him yesterday. She always cooked dinner for two days. He wasn't picky in that regard. He briefly considered boiling potatoes, but he'd had a terrible day and was too tired to peel them. He decided to eat them with bread. As he finished his meal, he heard familiar footsteps. As usual, Aga approached him from behind and gave him a passionate kiss on the neck. "I'm exhausted, honey," she said, throwing her purse on a chair and grabbing a glass of his cold peach juice. There was something devilish in her voice. It was the familiar tone of a new outfit. "Guess what I bought today, honey?" And while he frowned, trying to guess what gift she'd gotten herself today, she pulled a sexy lingerie set from her purse. "Do you like it, honey?" "She said, dangling a pink and white push-up bra in front of his eyes. He smiled in approval of her taste, and if ever he'd demanded to see her in that alluring outfit, he didn't do it today. "Honey, I'd like to talk to you," he said.

***