Hey guys! I'm on a roll this week!

Probably won't be updating this weekend :/

This is intending to be a one-shot, but I'll continue if enough people want me too. And maybe the Avengers one-shot I did a while back.

A/N: No, this isn't Joseph Fink's personal fanfiction account. I bet he has one though. . . .

~palmtreedragons

Carlos was a bit nervous, if he was going to be honest. Walking through thee large front doors, Carlos mentally braced himself. Scrounging up the courage, he walked up to the front desk.

"Is Principle Pamela Winchell here?" Carlos asked. The woman behind the desk stared at him. . . . Carlos turned. No, there wasn't anything behind him. Or on his shirt. The woman continued to stare, a blank, bored expression on her face. "E-Excuse me?"

"Carlos!"

Carlos nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned, seeing his new boss. "Mrs. Winchell! Such an honor to finally meet you!"

Pamela politely shook Carlos' hand in greeting. Carlos' eyes lingered on the woman at the front desk, still staring off into nothing.

"I-Is she alright?"

"Who?"

"The lady behind the desk," Carlos pointed. Pamela looked at the woman, staring for an unmeasurable amount of time. Carlos shifted his feet. They told me Night Vale Academy was weird, but I thought they were kidding. Pamela abruptly laughed and slung her arm around Carlos' shoulders, leading him away from the office and further into the school.

"So wonderful it is you can be joining our staff, Mr. Carlos."

"Actually, my name is Carlos—"

"So tell me, Mr. Carlos, how do you feel about paper clips?"

Carlos blinked at her in confusion. They continued down the linoleum tiled halls, the floor a bright purple color that set off the starkness of the white painted brick walls. A painting of an eye was painted in purple, the school mascot, apparently. I guess lions and eagles are overrated.

Turning the corner, Carlos gasped as he saw the splattered walls. "Is that blood?" he cried.

Mrs. Winchell turned to look at Carlos. "Isn't art wonderful?" she asked with an unnervingly strained smile. Carlos, frozen in—shock? Horror? Perhaps utter confusion? Well, Carlos, after a long moment, meekly followed the principle, eyes locked on the disturbing walls. One more turned corner and Mrs. Winchell stopped in front of an old oak door.

"Is this it?" Carlos asked eagerly, trying to shake off his newly gained discomfort.

"Yes," came the simple reply. Pamela turned and wondered away. Carlos stared at the door. I'm going to be an actual teacher, he thought with disbelief. And a science one, to boot!

Carlos swung open the door. His confident façade burst to pieces when he noticed all the students were in the desks. Every desk was filled, for that matter. And every student was facing forward, utterly silent. "Oh. I'm terribly sorry, I didn't realize I was late." Carlos quickly made his way to the front of the classroom, dropping his messenger bag on the teacher's desk and picking up a piece of chalk. A bit odd they have blackboards and not whiteboards here. What school these days don't have whiteboards? "Well, class, my name is—"

He was halfway through writing Carlos when the room, the whole room, spoke in unison: "Carlos," they hissed.

Carlos dropped the chalk. What. The. Heck.

He turned. Each child was staring at him. They told you when you were speaking up in front of the class the staring could be intimidating, but. . . .

"Uh, well, um," Carlos stuttered. He took a deep breath. "I figured, as my first day of teaching, we could take it easy today and just take a trip to pick up our books at the library—" Carlos froze as the children hissed. No, really, hissed.

A girl in the front row stood up, pointing an accusing finger at Carlos. "Are you trying to kill us all? We just won the war, and you want to march into their territory? Do you have a death wish?!"

Carlos let out a nervous laugh. Kids will be kids, right?

"I didn't mean to offend you in any way. . . ?"

"Tamika Flynn," the girl replied, her voice filled with pride.

"All hail Tamika Flynn. Down with the Librarians," the class hissed.

"Uh huh. . . . I'm just gonna . . . go. . . ."

Once Carlos was out the door, he ran. He ran, and he didn't stop running.

Night Vale Academy was a maze. Not figuratively, literally. Halls intertwining and dead-ending, doors leading to solid walls, tripwires, stairs with steps missing, no bottom being seen below them.

Carlos would occasionally hear a voice come on the intercoms leading into halls and classrooms, informing of scheduling errors, changes or renovations in the school, or giving lists of things that didn't exist, which was highly inaccurate. After—minutes? hours? days?—Carlos came to a door. Not the usual old oak doors that led to classrooms, but a dark, metal door with a semi-opaque window. Carlos leaned in, listening to a voice from inside. Well, hopefully I'm not the only sane one around here. Or, maybe I'm the only insane person here. Carlos decided he would knock.

A man came to the door. Carlos blinked, the man not quite matching Carlos' image or the man who belonged to the baritone voice inside.

"Sorry to bother you," Carlos quickly apologized. "I'm the new science teacher here, and my class. . . . Well, not to sound rude or anything, but I think something's wrong with them—or maybe with this whole school! Maybe I'm just going crazy. I don't know anymore. I've been wandering these halls forever, and I can't find my class, and I don't know what to do. As a matter of fact, you're the only person I've seen since I entered the halls. . . ." Carlos trailed off. The man was staring at him, and for a moment, Carlos was worried he would be like every other person in this school. But rather than having a face devoid of all emotion, the man's face had a faint blush, and he looked at a loss of words.

Then, the man managed to croak out "Neat!"