Shaun Coffee-Todd realised he was last to leave the locker room again. He folded his towel and placed it into the plastic bag before putting it back into his sports bag. Although the bell had gone to signal the start of the next lesson he didn’t want to rush and just wedge his damp towel against his school books. He’d done that once before and had been forced to try and read out his essay on King Henry VIII that had become an ink-run, damp mess in his exercise book. His mistake in reading out a word that should have been ‘hunt’ had reduced the class of his fourteen-year-old peers to hysterics for the remainder of the lesson. Miss Wade wouldn’t thank him if he did it again.

He lifted his bag and threw it over his shoulder. The momentum almost threw him off balance. He often forgot just how much he was carrying around. He rolled his eyes and turned back to the bench, allowing the bag to slip from his shoulder on to the wooden slats.

He unzipped the side pocket and felt inside. His fingers curled reassuringly around the EpiPen. He always checked after his bag had been left unattended in his locker. Fourteen-year-old boys didn’t always think and, since a close call where he’d used a knife that hadn’t been cleaned of nut oil properly, he intended never to be without it again.

As he lifted the bag back onto his shoulder he stumbled forward as the force of something hit him between the shoulder blades. The fixed bench went nowhere, so he found himself doubled over the slatted seat.

His head was swimming at the force of the blow. He tried to throw himself backwards to get back to a standing position, when he felt a presence behind him. He tried to turn, but a line of fabric was being tied around his head, covering his eyes. He recognised the woolly texture of a scarf of some type.

‘Knock it off, lads,’ he called out, trying to call back over his shoulder.

There was no response.

‘Guys?’ he said, feeling the uncertainty settle in his stomach.

A few of his classmates had bundled him into the shower one time, fully clothed, and soaked him on his birthday. There’d been no ill will or malice. It had just been a bit of fun. He’d heard them baying and laughing in the background as they’d gathered behind him and pushed him towards the shower. They had been guffawing and nudging each other as they marched him across the tiles and into the cubicle.

But there was no noise now.

‘Wh-who is this?’ he asked, trying to stay calm as he was lifted up by his blazer.

There was no response.

‘What are you…’

His words trailed away as he was turned and turned and turned in a circle silently until he thought he was going to throw up. Again he wondered if this was some kind of prank. His friends trying to make him vomit but, other than the sound of his own rubber soles on the white tiles, he was surrounded by silence.

The anxiety began to build in his stomach as he felt his head spinning with motion sickness. Who was doing this to him, and why?

‘Please stop,’ he pleaded as the nausea began to rise over the anxiety.

And suddenly he was lowered to the ground.

‘What… Why…’

Two fingers pinched at his nose, forcing his mouth to fall open. Even though he knew his body was still, his head appeared to be moving as though watching a slow motion washing machine.

Something landed on his tongue. Instantly he recoiled and stuck out his tongue at the smooth saltiness that tanged. More alien objects landed in his mouth. The saliva in his mouth tried to do its job and encouraged him to chew.

But what??

He suddenly realised what was floating around in his mouth, touching his tongue, his gums, resting behind his teeth.

Nuts. Salted peanuts.

He felt the heat enter his body as the fear engulfed him.

He tried to spit them out, but a hand on his head and one beneath his chin had clamped his mouth closed.

‘Please…’ he tried so say. He had to make them understand what could happen if he didn’t get these nuts out of his mouth immediately.

His unfettered hands reached around him for his gym bag. If he could just get his pen. He heard the bag move along the floor as though being kicked out of reach.

More nuts were forced into his mouth as he tried to writhe away from his captor.

He could feel the nuts bobbing around in his mouth. His saliva was catching them like a tidal wave and trying to take them down his throat. His teeth switched to autopilot and began to chew automatically so that he didn’t choke. Smaller pieces of nut were being washed down his throat and into his intestines.

Shaun had been lectured repeatedly about the sudden release of chemicals that could send his body into shock. He pictured the histamine being unleashed to get him.

The facial swelling was immediate. He could feel the flesh on his lips and eyelids expand and stretch with each passing second.

The panic was growing within him. He needed his pen. Without it he was going to die.

He could feel his throat beginning to narrow, breathing was becoming harder. His breath rasped in his chest as he fought for each gulp of air, but someone had built a brick wall across his windpipe. He could no longer swallow, and the drool began to leak from his mouth.

He lurched forward as the pain ripped through his abdomen. The nausea followed, and he prayed he would not vomit. The scarf covering his eyes had slipped and was now resting around his mouth, but he was blinded by the tears that had formed.

There was no doubt in his mind.

He knew he was going to die.

As he fought to take just one breath into his lungs he saw a shadow cross the doorway. Someone was there. Someone had heard, and they had come to help.

He reached out towards them, but they were gone.

His arm fell back to the ground as he took his final breath.