There were rumors about the old janitor. Some said he never left the school. Others swore he died in the basement and just… kept cleaning. But everyone agreed on one thing: don’t touch his bucket.

Harrison didn’t believe in ghost stories. He was a junior now—too old for that nonsense. So when he and his friends found the rusted metal bucket in the boiler room during a dare, he didn’t hesitate. It was filled with murky gray water that smelled like bleach and something older—mold, rot… maybe something dead.

He kicked it.

The bucket didn’t tip. The water didn’t even ripple. It just gulped, like it swallowed the kick. Then the floor went wet—really wet—as if the entire boiler room had started leaking.

Then came the mop.

It dragged itself across the floor with a slop and squeak, soaked and slimy, moving without a hand to guide it. Harrison backed up. His friends ran. But the mop followed, swinging like a weapon, dripping that same gray water.

By the time Harrison made it back upstairs, the hallways were flooded ankle-deep. The lights flickered, and the water was spreading, fast. Doors swelled and stuck in their frames. Students screamed, slipping and scrambling.

The janitor appeared by the trophy case. At least, that’s what it looked like. His body was half-translucent, dripping, face warped like wet newspaper. He didn’t speak, but Harrison could feel the message.

You made a mess. Now clean it up.

That’s when Harrison remembered something from science class—about greywater, contaminated runoff, and how certain chemicals could neutralize it. It clicked: ammonia cancels out bleach. He’d just reviewed chemical interactions that morning. It was a quiz question.

He ran for the chem lab, nearly faceplanting twice on the slick floors. Inside, he found what he needed: ammonia, and a funnel.

He sprinted back, poured it straight into the bucket before it could scuttle away.

The water hissed. The mop froze mid-swing. A putrid steam rose, and the entire hallway began to dry, like someone hit rewind on a flood.

The janitor’s ghost gave a low, gurgling sigh… and vanished.

The bucket still sits in the boiler room, but now it’s dry. Harrison makes sure no one ever goes near it.

And maybe science class isn’t so useless after all.