Congratulations, you’ve been selected as the professor job for the night class at Hollow Glen Public School. Your pay: $64 an hour. Follow the rules, and you’ll do just fine.At first glance, it seems like one of those rare, high-paying professor jobs that universities whisper about—short hours, good pay, and no paperwork. But the fine print hides something much darker.
🎓 The Offer That Seems Too Good to Be True
The Hollow Glen Public School is located just beyond the edge of town, beside an abandoned cemetery. Locals say it’s been closed for decades. Yet the contract you receive looks official, with a government seal and real contact numbers.
The offer sounds tempting:
Salary: $64/hour
Hours: 12:00 AM – 7:00 AM
Role: Night Class Professor
Bonus: Free lodging if needed
Most people searching for professor jobs would jump at such an opportunity. You almost do—until you notice a handwritten note at the bottom of the page:
“Follow every rule. Do not improvise.”
You tell yourself it’s a harmless prank. But by the time you sign, your curiosity has already trapped you.
🌒 The First Night Begins
You arrive at 11:45 PM. The building looms large against the cemetery fence. The hallway smells of chalk and rain.
Inside Room 4B, the clock ticks toward midnight.
Then—at exactly 12:07 AM—you hear footsteps. Many of them.
Rule No. 1 flashes in your mind:
The night students arrive exactly at 12:07 AM. You’ll hear them before you see them. Don’t greet them until they’re all seated—it confuses the new ones.
They enter silently, their shoes echoing on the floor. Thirty students take their seats. You count them without meaning to—and realize the number never changes, no matter how often you count.
Welcome to one of the strangest professor jobs imaginable.
🧠 Rule No. 2 – When the Chalkboard Writes Back
Around 1 AM, as you’re explaining 19th-century poetry, the chalk begins to move on its own.
Neat white letters stretch across the board:
“Professor, can you hear us?”
You remember the next rule.
If the chalkboard writes by itself, erase it immediately. Those aren’t lesson plans—they’re invitations.
You wipe it clean before the sentence finishes. The temperature drops ten degrees. A low sigh ripples through the room, like thirty people exhaling at once.
You continue teaching. The students keep listening. The chalkboard stays still—but you know it’s waiting.
🕰️ Rule No. 3 – When Time Runs Backward
At 2:30 AM, a girl in the second row raises her hand.
“Professor, may I leave early?”
You check the clock. The hands spin backward.
Rule No. 3 says:
If a student asks to leave early, check the clock. If the hands spin backward, let them go. They’re not leaving—they’re returning.
You nod silently. She thanks you and walks toward the door. When she passes through it, the hallway lights flicker—and you realize her shadow didn’t follow.
You mark her as “present” anyway. It feels safer that way.
🔥 Rule No. 4 – Ignore the Fire Drill
At exactly 3 AM, the intercom buzzes.
“Attention faculty and students. This is a fire drill. Please proceed to the West Wing immediately.”
You freeze. Rule No. 4:
Ignore the intercom at 3 AM. The West Wing burned down long ago.
Through the window, you see a faint red glow coming from that direction—fire without smoke, light without heat. The students don’t react. They keep taking notes, eyes fixed on you.
You keep speaking. You don’t dare stop.
Because in this profession, silence is invitation.
🌅 Rule No. 5 – Dismiss Before Dawn
By 6:50 AM, the classroom grows quiet. The students close their notebooks. You recite the final rule in your head:
Before sunrise, dismiss the class and wait. You’ll hear chairs slide back one by one. Then leave.
You thank them for attending. Chairs scrape against the floor, one after another, until only the front row remains.
Then, as the last chair moves, the lights flicker out.
When they return, the classroom is empty.
You wait one full minute before stepping into the hallway. The rules were clear: never leave early. Never look back.
💼 Why You Stay
Most people would quit after one night. But the pay is real. The funds appear in your bank account before dawn.
You tell yourself it’s just another one of those mysterious professor jobs that run through government grants or experimental education programs. You tell yourself the cemetery stories are exaggerated.
And maybe they are.
But every time you leave, you feel eyes watching from the classroom windows—thirty faint silhouettes, still waiting for their next lesson.
🏚️ The Secret History of Hollow Glen
According to local archives, Hollow Glen Public School shut down in 1983 after a fire consumed its West Wing during an evening lecture. The professor on duty was never found.
Every few years, a new “job listing” appears on obscure academic forums—promising high pay and easy hours for a “night class instructor.” Each time, a new name accepts the position, works one night, and disappears from public records.
It’s unclear whether the administration is even real. But the contract’s signature line always bears the same message:
“Education Never Ends.”
🧩 Lessons for Night Professors Everywhere
Whether you teach real students or spirits of memory, the rules of the classroom never change. Respect time. Respect silence. And above all—respect the boundaries between what learns and what listens.
Among all professor jobs, this one is unique. It pays well, it teaches patience, and it reminds you that education, in some places, truly never ends.
But if you ever receive that midnight email titled “Congratulations, You’ve Been Selected for the Night Class”—think twice before signing. Some lessons aren’t meant to be retaught.
🪦 Final Thoughts
When dawn finally breaks over Hollow Glen, you lock the classroom door and step outside. The wind from the cemetery feels warm for once.
In the distance, the school bell rings—not at 7 AM, but at 7:07.
You glance back only once. The classroom window glows faintly, as if thirty unseen hands are already waiting for the next lecture.
Your phone buzzes: Payment received.
Congratulations, Professor.
You’ve just completed another night shift in the strangest of all professor jobs.
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