Head for the teachers lounge

You head through the eerily empty corridors of your old high school, towards the teachers lounge. You can hardly imagine you'd ever come here willingly. The whole room smells like old cigarettes and coffee grounds, and you find lots of both pretty much everywhere. The carpets are sticky, and the walls and ceiling are covered in stains. Has it always been like this?

You sit down on the cheap couch for a moments rest, when you hear thumping coming from the closet. The door is locked, the key still hanging from the handle. You consider opening it and see what's in there, but you notice a mini fridge from the corner of your eye. Your stomach growls. Whatever is in there could wait a few minutes.