 My name is Emix Moth, and every day I fear for my life. In my job, many things can go wrong, have gone wrong, in fact, that even death himself would face palm at my refusal to quit, yet I can't complain. I am completely free to leave my job whenever I want to, but I haven't and don't plan to. You see, I work in a school that deals with kids. I put parenthesis as they aren't kids. They just, through one reason or another, have the appearance of children, though please note, they aren't human at all. We don't teach them subjects like math or English, nor could I as I barely did well in school myself, honestly. But we teach them subjects more questionable, how to lure in victims, proper removal of certain body parts, and so on. I know what you may be thinking, why help if I don't have to? Why not just walk away from the job? I wish I could give an answer that would satisfy both you and my ever-growing guilt, yet I can't, as I don't know why I stay myself, honestly. I'm human. I'm not under a contract, spell, or curse. I have seen other teachers come and go through my years working here and leave just fine. I even stay in touch with one, Miss Olive, a kind lady. She was the teacher of Class 2C before she had to move due to family issues. The only time a teacher has died is due to trying to hurt the students or being targeted by them. Some teachers, Mrs. Katz comes to mind personally, deserved it, while others did not. We may be their teachers, but to them, we are still potential prey. We aren't protected, and our lives could end at any given moment. I used to keep track of the number of close calls I had encountered yet had to stop for my sanity. I choose to stay though, because I do enjoy the work. Not the murder part, I promise, but being able to help and possibly guide my students. My current class has stayed roughly the same ever since I started, as the only time it changes is when a student leaves for a multitude of reasons or a new student joins us. They aren't required to be here. This isn't like a human school. They choose to come. I think that's a decent amount of info about me and the school for now. I want to share about my students and what it's like in my classroom, partly to hopefully help myself understand why I choose to stay, and partly as a way to relieve some of the guilt I have for staying. For safety reasons. I won't be saying any of my students' names, but rather just describing them. The girl with a basket of eyes was the first student of mine that I met. She gives the appearance of a small scrawny girl with golden hair and blue eyes. The longer you work here though, the easier it is to see their real forms. To me, she is roughly the same, yet she wears a bandage that covers half her face and carries a basket full of eyes, as her name implies. She lures victims in by acting lost and scared. If she likes their eyes, she'll offer them a treat from her basket, claiming she bake the goodies herself. If they agree, she'll take one of their eyes. It's not a pretty sight, yet it's an even worse one when they refuse. The first time I saw it, I was on tour with the last teacher of 1C, Mrs. C. She was finishing up the tour and she was leading me back to the main office, when the girl with a basket of eyes appeared. I was told by Mrs. C that she was a new student that started a few days ago. Mrs. C crouched down to eye level and I heard her ask what was wrong. The girl replied by asking if Mrs. C would like a treat that she had baked them herself that morning. I noticed the woman stiffen. She silently stood up and turned to me, placing her hands on both sides of my shoulders. She told me that if I couldn't stand what I was about to see, that I had to turn away and find another career, that the kids need someone strong. I just stared at her, puzzled. Mrs. C turned back to the girl and fully knelt this time. Mrs. C gave her a small hug and apologized, for she didn't want any baked goods. I used to get nightmares about this before it was covered up with more recent memories, kind of like layers of dirt, except a bit bloodier and gross. The girl frowned and uncovered her basket. I gagged at the sudden sight of eyeballs. At the time, she only had three in her basket, a small number compared to now. I leaned on the wall for support and watched as the little girl pulled out a melon scooper. I almost didn't hear her, but Mrs. C whispered that the little girl does worse if you try to run. I watched as she gently scooped the first eye. I promptly threw up as I heard a sickeningly loud pop and the wails of Mrs. C falling over in pain. I glanced over and the girl surveyed the eyeball, a look of disappointment as it had been damaged. I watched her start for the next one and took a shaky step forward before falling to my knees. I knew what I was signing up for and I didn't want to turn back. Mrs. C had taught here for over 40 years and I wouldn't let my predecessor down. With shaky hands, I grabbed the girl's hand in my own. She watched curiously as I did. I proceeded to help show her the proper way to remove an eyeball without causing extra damage to it. Tears were streaming down my face as I struggled to not throw up again. After she inspected the second eye and added it to her basket, she forced the ruined one in Mrs. C's mouth. I threw up again. Due to the loud wailings of Mrs. C, a staff member arrived to see what was going on. They asked if the girl was done and I silently nodded. They lifted Mrs. C and left. I turned to the little girl who looked at her collection of eyes in awe. All except the most recent one had small dents or cuts due to messy removal. The newest one was, for the most part, perfect. She proceeded to get up and hug me tightly before running off with her basket. The next day on my desk, I had found a jar with a single eyeball floating in it. I still have it to this day and I swear I can feel it watching me. I keep meaning to get in contact with Mrs. C as she did survive, yet I can't quite get the courage to. Allow me to offer you some advice in case you ever run into my student. If you were ever offered a baked good from a little girl, don't try to run. Explain that you are sadly full, yet know someone who would love a baked good. You can take her to a stranger, it doesn't matter, as long as you take her to someone else before she gets impatient. And she does get impatient quite fast. I am sorry to say that you can't walk away safely without sacrificing someone else. It's a hard decision to make. I know that full well myself. I'm Emix Moth and I work for a school that helps inhuman kids. I fear for my life every day. It's been nine years so far, soon to be ten. When that happens, I'll be re-evaluated and asked if I would like to continue to work here. I hope to figure out my reasons for staying before that day arrives. Until then, I'd like to tell you about my students and perhaps my co-workers and their students. Stay safe, Emix Moth.