Short Story: Who's The Killer?

Warning: This contains mentions of fictional violence and murder

It was a string of murders across the academy. Bodies were turning up around every corner, police tape blocked off most of the buildings. Yet we were told to go about our days as if there was no looming threat above us all.

The worst of it was that nobody knew who the killer was.
It could be anyone.
From the students, to the teachers, to the principal.
Nobody wasn’t a suspect.

There were a few students caught carrying knives around, their reason was to protect themselves from the killer. After multiple interrogations, they were let free.

Some of the teachers completely ignored the murder scenes, and when questioned by us, they would simply tell us we were crazy or making up stories.

The principal himself had little to no interest in the case either, ushering out students and even police. He’s stopped allowing students to speak to him now, because we’re "too nosy for him."

As I stalked through the hall high on alert, I always felt like I was being watched.
Either by the killer themself, or just other students watching around them.

Nobody used the restrooms anymore unless they went in groups. Most people have taken it upon themselves to use the garden outside so that they can’t be cornered. Disgusting sure, but humans will do anything to survive, including throwing their friends in front of the gun.

Somebody came forward one day, telling the police that they saw the killer, but refused to say anything more out of trauma. That being their disregard for their friends’ safety, using them as a human shield when there was room for both of them to get away.
Yes, they were a survivor with trauma. But in my eyes, they were just as much of a killer as the one on the loose.

And so we went about our studies, terrified of being the next victim.
Weeks went by, then months.
The bodies kept coming, the fear kept creeping, and the threat never left us.

Nobody was caught, the police didn’t do anything.
But as time went by, we all came to understand just who was behind it.

The entire academy covered everything up, never once did it hit the news, the papers, the internet.
Nothing.
It never left the doors. The only thing that did was the bodies in the stretchers.
Not even families were contacted until the body was already disposed of.

Yet when students questioned the police, they pointed fingers at us, never the academy or its employees.

We were trapped, bound by education in a building full of killers.
We all know the staff are behind it, the police are working with them. But we don’t know why.

All we can do is try not to die.
And live with the knowledge that we’ll never know who the killer is.