Big Bad Reveals Itself and Another Story Begins

I started writing my silly story today after I lost my nerve with my S.A.D. story yet again. Finding the right words isn't as easy as I had hoped, but I'm working on it. The more I write of this story, the more I clearly see that this is indeed a very, very, very rough draft. The idea is all there, but the writing is not. Today more than even the first day I sat down and wrote my first sentence in years, I realize how atrophied my writing skill has become. Used to be, when I couldn't find the words, I'd just stop, for fear of making the story not perfect from the get go. Now, it's different. I still have that fear, but I'm soldiering on, taking it one sentence at a time. With each word, I'm telling myself that it's okay, go on. The words don't have to be there just yet. They will come when the idea is there and concrete. I often lose sight of that. But when I do, I tell myself it's okay, I just need to take a break and work on another story. Rinse and repeat. And so I worked on my silly story some. Might be I work on several stories at once, taking a long time to finish even one. Nonetheless, my resolve to finish each will not waiver.....more or less. For now, six new sentences in which the Big Bad is revealed...-ish:

He walked to the door not realizing he was about to die. He should have known, though. The door was locked. The janitor always unlocked the door in the morning for him.15 years and the janitor never forgot. What was going on? He tried the door knob again. Locked. He heard a scuffling sound and then a muffled bark of laughter and what sounded like a yelp of pain. Two kids, perhaps, groping each other. He smiled at the thought, remembering what it was like to be a teen again. Another giggle, this time much louder, sounding very sinister. He reached into his pocket for his keys. He was unnerved by the laughter, but his composure remained. It was just some randy students, he told himself again. He had been through worse many times before. He heard soft metallic clicks within as he brought the room key to the keyhole. He froze. That sound was familiar to him. As familiar as own family. Bullets being loaded into a magazine. Not here, not now! This was NOT happening! Not at my school. If he had known what was really going on on the other side of the door, he would have run right then and forgotten all that he had heard. But he was a scientist at heart and by profession. Curiosity came with the territory, and fear never stopped him from investigating. He grabbed his keys from his pocket. As his fingers worked to find the right key, he looked at the doorknob and became more confused by the situation. Where a keyhole is supposed to be was instead a smooth sphere. He looked left and then right and then up at the room placard. In place of numbers was "BANGFUCKIMDEAD". Now he KNEW someone was fucking with him. He banged on the door and turned the doorknob again. There was a loud dry sucking sound, like someone sucking on the straw of an empty glass of soda trying to get those last few drops. And like someone flicking a light switch, he was inside his classroom.The light was blinding but he could make out the shapes of the dissection tables and his desk as well as something he couldn't quite make out. He heard a low, slow laugh as the light began to dim. As his eyes adjusted to the changing light, the shape before him began to come into focus. There was a sack laying next to the form, that's what he was able to make out first. as the form became clearer, the less sense things seemed to make. Guns and bullets, hundreds of them. But they weren't stacked or piled, they were collected into a humanoid shape.