I was in the bathroom when the alarm sounded.

When it shattered the silence like a stone through soundproof glass, I flinched. The bloody piece of toilet paper that was staunching my nose fell to the ground, leaving a smear of red on the tile. No time to care about that now. This wasn't a drill. I could tell. This was a fire. An actual fire. I could feel the freezing panic working its way throughout my chest like wire through clockwork.

I had to get out. Of course, I thought, running towards the door, this is just my luck. The only person in the basement besides the creepy custodian. His name was McShore and he was the monster lurking in the basement halls. He hated kids. And he was a racist. His favorite name for me was "the ching chong—"well, I'd better not finish that. I wouldn't be surprised if he had tried to trap me down there.
Oh yeah. Sorry. I'm Erin Kahn. (Yes, like Genghis Kahn. I know, I know) And this is the other demigod diaries.

I'm sure you've heard of the first one. The handbook like anecdote collection so wonderfully crafted by Camp Half-Blood's scribe. Rick. He's a nice guy, actually.

This isn't like that at all. This is my personal account, taken straight from my journals and turned into an entertaining—and educational—guide to make it alive to camp. Although, thinking back, I didn't do so good… Anyway. Back to the basement of Orlando Glade Middleschool, under the eighth grade classrooms.

I was running down the halls, and the gradually heating air made my skin tingle. I could smell smoke, a glowing orange flicker in the ceiling caught my eye. Of course the fire was right above me. Great. I looked down the hall way and saw McShore, in his beige uniform, a bucket of greasy water in tow. He was holding his mop like a weapon, and his normally perfectly curled pumpkin locks stuck to his face in a wavy glob. His eyes held nothing but hatred when he looked at me, but he turned around as soon as I approached, and seemed to be surveying the area. His mop was completely dry. The air was becoming cloudy and sections of the ceiling were beginning to crumble into ash.

"Why aren't you moving?" I yelled. Impulsive tears ran down my cheeks. It was my body's way of trying to get the smoke and ash from my eyes. When I wiped the wetness from my skin, by cheek burned. My sleeve came away bloody. My nosebleed. I saw my finger's trembling and even though I felt strangely calm, I knew I was terrified. But I crushed my feelings down into the pit of my stomach and let them congeal along with my anger at McShore for not leaving the building.

Obviously he was mentally shortened. It was all up to me. I would have to find a way out alone. I started scanning my surroundings. The basement exit was on the other side, down a badly lit hallway. However, now it was glowing fluorescent orange with the burning ceiling chunks of death. Fun.

The stairs were inaccessible.

How did a fire even spread this fast?

I would soon get my answer.

A strong hand clamped on my shoulder, and the fingers seemed to dig into my flesh. I tried to duck away, but another hand wrapped it's rough fingers around my throat. McShore turned around, his eyes wide. His sweat stained mop handle slipped in his shaky hands as he tried to stab whatever had grabbed me. I stared straight at his face. I didn't want to turn around. A crunching sound from below made me wince and him scream. He fell to the ground, where more crunching promptly followed.

I turned around, and what I saw made my heart stop.

His arms were thick and scaly, but roughly humanoid. He had two lizard-like feet, complete with suction cups and long claws. He had a person's face, but it was made out of the same silvery black scales as the rest of him. His eyes glowed a harsh amber. And in those eyes, beyond the black reptilian pupils, I recognized someone: my math teacher.

And that is what convinced me to run.

It took a few minutes for Mr. Scotts to catch on, but eventually he did and I heard his thundering footsteps chasing me. I ran down the fiery hallway, and realized the door was barricaded. I cursed under my breath. The only way out now was down to the boiler room. I ducked behind a row of lockers and hoped Scotts would leave. My breathing was almost as loud as my heartbeat, and the blood roaring in my ears. I started to come up with a plan.

I looked back the way I had run from behind the lockers, and saw the now hazy and smoky figure of Mr. Scotts bent over…oh, God, was that McShore? He was eating the dead body of McShore. His legs were splayed across the floor, oozing blood and spread at odd, unnatural angles. The crunching. That had been his bones. And even though I had always hated the custodian's guts, I felt a strange twinge of sadness. But a larger one of disgust.

Maybe it was the fact I had just witnessed murder, run a long distance, was terrified, or thought I was going to die, but I threw up. Yep. All over the floor behind the lockers in the basement of my burning school. Luckily, it was mostly bile.

I had a thought: what if I climbed into one of the lockers? But, no, I'd just get melted. Or crushed. Or killed in some other way. Not the best idea. That's when I decided: the boiler room was the best way to go.

I ran down the steps, took a left, and entered the boiler room. Huge heating tanks lined the walls, and the floor, walls, and ceiling were all brown stone. Everything was completely silent. Until the hissing began.

At first I thought it was the monster. Then I turned and realized it was the monster…slashing a hole in one of the tanks. Steam filled the air, and I could feel the burns forming on my face. The monster darted around between the clouds of steam, slashing more and more tanks. I covered my face and tucked my hands into my sleeves. I sunk to the floor against the wall. I couldn't see anything, I couldn't breathe, I was in pain. It was over.

I'm never getting out.

I was almost relieved when I felt the monster's claw against my cheek, its scaly fingers wrapping around my throat, lifting me off the ground…

"Do you know how much those cost?!"

Shink!

I dropped down and felt my head collide with something hard. Warm liquid oozed down into my mouth, and it tasted coppery. Dust hit me in the face, making me shut my eyes.

The smoke finally got to my brain, and I let go.