Horror Short story

The Things That Burned
Everybody hates after school homework help. Maybe that's why no one was at the school with Grace and I. The halls were not there normal bright red and blue. They were eerily quiet and dim.  The air was crawling with a strange emptiness.“Wow I've never seen it this empty before.” Grace said.
“Yeah, me either it’s weird. Usually there are more teachers than this.” I replied.
“Maybe they are all in a meeting or something.” She said.
“Yeah I don't know but it's creepin’ me out.” I said as a shiver ran down my spine.
“I guess let's go to the library and start on this research, woo hoo!” Grace exclaimed sarcastically. We started toward the Library noticing the further we got into the school that there were no teachers, principals or hall monitors at all which is extremely unusual.
We turned the corner into the library. My heart skipped out of my chest and into my throat. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Grace nearly fall on the ground. My eyes focused and he came into view.
“Mr. Gates what are you doing!” I said with my shaky voice and my heart racing.
“Cleaning. ” The Janitor said dismissively, but we could tell he had something else spinning in his mind. He walked down the hall and turned the corner briskly like he had somewhere to be.
“That man gives me the chills.” Grace whispered. I shook my head and brushed off the feeling. We settled down in the library getting right to work on our research. Every year the administration assigns a research project to the senior class and the best essay wins a $40,000  scholarship awarded from the school district. This years topic is the history of your school. Me and Grace are working together and if we win we are splitting the money.
“Why does the topic have to be boring the minute we become seniors.” Grace sighs.
“ I don't know but let's get to work I don't want to be here all night especially considering that it's super creepy here after hours.” We start digging for facts. We start digging for facts and search for what seems like forever and we find nothing interesting enough to write an essay about. Until I get to the city construction records.
“This is it, Grace, I found it!” I exclaim
“Wait really! Read it to me!” I can hear the excitement pouring out of her.
“According to the Bloomsdale construction records our school was rebuilt 30 years ago after a fire incinerated everything along with all the teachers and a student's.” I read.
I don't even finish before Grace intrudes,
“That's it we need to write about that!” She says
“I know! It would be perfect!” I continue to read “According to this link no one likes to talk about it because it was such a tragedy.” I brush through the list of teachers not recognizing any. “Ten teachers and one student life was lost.” I skim through other links and stories until I get to an article about the boy. “His name was Jack and in the picture he looks pretty tall and lanky. Brown hair and a strong structured face.” I pause to look up Grace, she's staring at something behind me. She lifts a finger and points behind me.
“You mean like him.” She utters. I turn slowly and behind me there he is. Standing in the corner all burnt and charred. A high pitch scream pierces the air and he sprints at us. The lights go black just before he reaches us.