Shadow School #1

by J. A. White

  “These are my people friends,” Cordelia said. “My rabbit friends don’t come over until next week.”

  “Don’t be smart.”

  “Sorry,” Cordelia said, knowing that she got snappy when she was nervous. It was the first time she’d had guests in the house, and she wanted everything to go right. “I remember there being pretzels at some point.”

  “Your dad already ate them.”

  “Goldfish?” Cordelia asked, growing desperate now. “Cookies? Popcorn?”

  “Check the top shelf. That’s where I hide all the junk food.”

  Cordelia pulled over a stool and, after some digging and shifting, finally found a box of crackers. She fanned a row of them along the edge of a plate, then added hummus, carrots, grapes, and a spoonful of peanut butter.

  Mrs. Liu finished typing something with a flurry of keystrokes and looked up. “It’s nice to finally meet your friends,” she said. “Agnes is . . . interesting. And obviously very intelligent.” Mrs. Liu grinned and raised her eyebrows. “Benji’s really cute.”

  “Stop,” Cordelia said, reddening.

  “I’m just making a casual observation. What are you guys up to down there?”

  “Homework and stuff.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re finally settling in,” she said, her eyes returning to the screen. “I know this place isn’t as exciting as San Francisco, but there’s something to be said for a calm, relaxing life. It just feels safer here.”

  Cordelia thought of a dozen replies to this, each more sarcastic than the last, and finally decided to just kiss her mom on the cheek instead.

  She carried the snack plate downstairs to a rec room with books, board games, and an old Wii U console that Cordelia never used. Benji and Agnes were sitting at opposite ends of the couch. For the most part they got along okay, but that was when Cordelia was there to bridge their friendship. They normally didn’t spend any time alone.

  “Dig in,” Cordelia said, placing the snack plate on the coffee table.

  Agnes eagerly swiped a carrot through the hummus. Benji, looking somewhat disappointed by the choices, halfheartedly picked at the grapes.

  “This is so fancy!” Agnes said. “I should have chipped in and made some brownies!”

  “Seriously,” Benji said.

  “You’re welcome,” Cordelia said, glaring at Benji before turning to Agnes with a smile. “You can make brownies next time if you want.”

  “Next time?” Agnes asked.

  “Yeah,” Cordelia said. “I mean, this isn’t the only time you’re ever coming to my house.”

  Agnes beamed like a kid who’d just been given an open pass to Disney World. After all this time, she still can’t believe we’re really friends, Cordelia thought, disappointed in herself for not being a better one. She wasn’t as popular at Shadow School as she had been at Ridgewood, but Cordelia had managed to strike up a few passing friendships with other kids in their class. Agnes, however, remained an outsider, awkwardly hovering at the edge of conversations even when Cordelia tried to include her.

  I have to do a better job. The dead aren’t the only ones who could use some help.

  “I thought it would be easier if we met at my house,” Cordelia said. “It’s so hard to talk at school.”

  “Especially with all the food flying around,” Benji said.

  “Yeah,” said Cordelia, leaning back in the couch. “So . . . what the heck was that? I assume it’s somehow connected to the ghosts—because what else could it be?—but none of the other ghosts can make things fly through the air.”

  Agnes raised her hand.

  “We’re in my basement,” Cordelia said, “not school. You can just talk.”

  “I think the man you saw at the back of the lunchroom was a poltergeist,” she said.

  “Isn’t that just another word for a ghost?” Benji asked.

  “Not exactly,” Agnes said. “It’s a special kind of ghost that can move objects around. The term actually originates in Germany, where there was a—”

  “Okay,” Cordelia said. “That certainly fits. But we’re in the lunchroom every day. If that’s his ghost zone, then why haven’t we seen him before?”

  “Maybe it works differently for poltergeists,” Agnes suggested. “He might not have a ghost zone.”

  “You mean he can go wherever he wants?” Benji asked. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “It’s just a theory,” Agnes said.

  “And a good one,” replied Cordelia, “but it doesn’t tell us why he decided to let loose with the poltergeisting in a crowded room. The other ghosts we’ve seen want nothing to do with people at all.”

  “I’m not sure that’s even a choice,” Benji said, picking up another handful of grapes. “I don’t think the ghosts are ignoring people on purpose. They can barely see us. Every so often someone will laugh really loud or drop something, and then a ghost might glance in their direction, but other than that, it’s like we’re invisible.”

  “What if someone walks through a ghost accidentally?” Agnes asked. “Someone like me who can’t see them?”

  Benji and Cordelia shared a quick smile.

  “What?” Agnes asked.

  “You did it yourself last week,” Cordelia said. “Walked right through the mailman on the second floor. Then you just kind of wrapped your arms around yourself and said, ‘The school’s chilly today.’”

  Agnes looked grossed out, but also a little annoyed, as if Cordelia and Benji had been keeping a secret from her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Cordelia said, glancing at Benji. “It seemed like one of those things you don’t mention. Like when someone has spinach between their teeth.”

  “It’s not like that at all,” Agnes muttered.

  There was an awkward silence.

  “The teachers said this happened before,” Cordelia said, trying to change the topic. “What do you make of that?”

  “Could have been the same guy,” Benji said. “This poltergeist. It’s not like he’s getting any older.”

  “But why?”

  “He’s a ghost,” Benji said. “He scares people. It’s what he does.”

  “I don’t buy that. There has to be a reason.”

  “Have you ever heard of a snakehead fish?” Agnes asked.

  Cordelia and Benji exchanged a baffled look.

  “They’re fascinating,” Agnes said. “Most people think they’re scary, since they have these big yellow eyes and razor-sharp teeth—kind of like piranha, only snakeheads can grow up to four feet long. The really cool thing is that they can actually survive on land for a little while. This way when they run out of food in one body of water, they can slither across the grass to their next slaughtering ground.”

  “So killer fish that can walk,” Cordelia said. “Thanks for the nightmares.”

  “Snakehead fish are indigenous to Asia and Africa,” Agnes continued. “But about fifteen years ago, some idiot dumped a few northern snakeheads into a pond in Maryland, and now there are over twenty thousand of them up and down the Potomac River, eating everything in sight and making a mess of the entire ecosystem. It’s not really their fault, though. The snakeheads were never supposed to be there in the first place.”

  “Like the ghosts were never supposed to be in Shadow School?” Cordelia asked, trying to figure out where Agnes was going with this. “They’re the snakeheads?”

  “No,” Agnes said. “We are.”

  Cordelia shifted in her seat, trying to knead some sense out of Agnes’s words. Why is she comparing us to a hungry predator? All we’ve been trying to do is help.

  “I don’t get it,” she said.

  “As far as I can tell, Shadow School was humming along just fine before us,” Agnes said. “Ghosts were trapped in the school. They faded away. New ghosts replaced them. I don’t pretend to understand what it means, but there was definitely a certain order to things—until we came along and s
tarted sending ghosts into the Bright. It was foolish of us to think there wouldn’t be consequences. There has to be a reason why so many ghosts are trapped inside Shadow School. What if someone—like this poltergeist—wants it that way? And we’re screwing it up?”

  “Then why wouldn’t he just stop us?” Benji asked.

  “He might not know that we’re the ones causing all the trouble,” said Agnes. “Only that someone is messing with the way things are supposed to work. Maybe what happened today was a general warning. ‘I know what you’re doing. Now cut it out or else.’ Could be that ten years ago, someone was freeing ghosts, exactly like us.”

  “You think it could have been the man who was killed?” Cordelia asked. “David Fisher?”

  “Makes sense,” Agnes said. “There’s no reason to think that only kids can see ghosts. What if he was freeing them and didn’t stop, so something made him disappear?”

  Cordelia felt a chill run through her entire body. She had grown comfortable being around the ghosts. They were still scary, but as long as she was cautious, she believed she was safe.

  If Agnes was right, it changed everything.

  “Come on, guys,” Benji said. “Ghosts are one thing. But the idea that we’ve made some telekinetic ghost angry? That seems a little far-fetched.”

  “More far-fetched than sending spirits to their own personal hereafter with baseball caps and eyeglasses?” Cordelia asked. “Everything about Shadow School is far-fetched! We have to at least consider the possibility that Agnes is right.”

  “Thank you,” Agnes said, beaming with pride. “Obviously, the most logical plan from this point onward is to hold off on freeing any other ghosts until we have a better understanding of what we’re—”

  “Whoa!” Cordelia exclaimed, so loud that Agnes jumped in surprise. “We can’t just stop. Those ghosts need us.”

  “I’m not saying we should stop forever,” Agnes muttered, her previous confidence shattered. “But it might be a good idea to take some time off until we figure out what’s going on here.”

  “And how many ghosts will vanish in the meantime?” Cordelia asked. “How many will we lose while we’re sitting around doing nothing?”

  “Not nothing,” Agnes said. “Research. That’s an important part of any scientific study.”

  “This isn’t a scientific study, which you—” Cordelia swallowed the second part of her sentence: which you would know if you could actually see them. Agnes was sensitive about her inability to see the ghosts, viewing it as some kind of failure on her part. Criticizing her for it would be unfair and cruel.

  “What do you think?” Cordelia asked, looking for an ally in Benji. “I mean, if this threat is so ‘far-fetched,’ like you said, then there’s no reason to stop. Right?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “But I’m with Agnes on this one. We kind of jumped headfirst into this whole thing. It might be a good idea to take a step back and make sure we’re not doing anything stupid.”

  “But the ghosts—”

  “Are dead,” Benji said. “We’re not. I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Well, I think we should keep helping them,” Cordelia said, feeling her face grow warm as she tried to keep her temper in check. “But it’s a group decision, so . . . whatever.” She sighed and gave Agnes a begrudging smile. “I do agree that a little research is a good idea. It’s time we figured out why all these ghosts are haunting Shadow School in the first place. And I know exactly where to start.”

  12

  Archimancy

  It was the day before holiday break, and no one, including the teachers, was taking school seriously. By mid-afternoon, Cordelia had completed two word searches, snipped out a blizzard’s worth of snowflakes, played several “educational” games on the Chromebook, and helped Ms. Patel scrub down the beakers and graduated cylinders. Even Mrs. Machen was in a festive mood, giving them a packet full of fun puzzles instead of the usual worksheets. Benji called it a Christmas miracle.

  At last they reached gym, the final block of the day. Cordelia and her friends had decided that this would be the best time to put their plan into action, so as soon as they arrived, she handed Mr. Bruce a small bag of chocolates tied with red and green ribbons.

  “Happy holidays!” she exclaimed with her biggest smile. “I hope you like chocolate!”

  “Thank you, Cordelia,” Mr. Bruce said, looking surprised and a little touched. “I love chocolate.” He patted his stomach over his Manchester United jersey. “Maybe a little too much.”

  “Oh no!” Cordelia exclaimed, as though she had just remembered something.

  “What is it?”

  “I got chocolate for Mr. Derleth too, but I forgot to give it to him! Is it okay if I run it over now?”

  Mr. Bruce didn’t normally allow his students to leave class, but either the holiday season or the unexpected gift had put him in a more lenient frame of mind.

  “Sure thing; just make it quick.”

  After giving Agnes and Benji the thumbs-up sign to let them know that the first part of their plan had been a success, Cordelia grabbed a second bag of chocolates and quickly made her way to Mr. Derleth’s room. Cordelia had peeked at the schedule hanging behind his desk and knew that he didn’t have a class this period. If all went well, he would be alone in his room, either grading papers or preparing lessons. Cordelia wished Agnes and Benji were coming as well, but they had decided it would be better if only one of them spoke to Mr. Derleth. He had a fragile quality to him, like a wounded animal, and they didn’t want to scare him off.

  When Cordelia got there, the door was open. She knocked on it and peeked inside the room. Mr. Derleth was sitting at his desk holding a pair of small tongs in his hand. In front of him was a blue photo album, its binding cracked with age.

  “Hey, Mr. Derleth,” Cordelia said. “I brought you some chocolates!”

  “You didn’t have to do that, Cordelia,” Mr. Derleth said. “But thank you. Come in.”

  Cordelia placed the bag of chocolates on the desk. The corners of Mr. Derleth’s mouth twitched the slightest bit. It was the closest he ever came to a smile.

  “What’s this?” Cordelia asked, looking down at the photo album.

  “A silly obsession of mine,” Mr. Derleth said. “Philately. Stamp collecting. I started this collection when I was your age, and I guess I never really stopped.” He slid the tongs, which were flat at the ends, into a small box on his desk and retrieved a stamp of a swallowtail butterfly worth thirteen cents. After a quick inspection, Mr. Derleth carefully added the stamp to a page that already had two neat rows of butterfly stamps.

  “Cool,” Cordelia said. The fact that he enjoyed collecting stamps was the first personal thing that she had ever learned about Mr. Derleth. He didn’t tell the class stories about his life like other teachers did. She didn’t even know if he was married or had any children.

  “There was actually something I wanted to ask you,” Cordelia said. “Do you have a sec?”

  Mr. Derleth placed the tongs on his desk and closed the album, giving her his full attention.

  “Shoot,” he said.

  “The first day of school, you mentioned that Shadow School had an interesting history,” Cordelia said. “I know that Elijah Shadow designed the building and then died in a fire, but I was hoping to learn more. There’s nothing online, and the librarian at the public library could only find one brief mention in an architecture textbook.”

  “The Shadow family is secretive, to say the least,” Mr. Derleth said. “I had to really do some digging. Old letters, public documents, journals. Things like that. What is it you want to know?”

  “Everything,” Cordelia said.

  Mr. Derleth scratched his beard, mulling this over. He seemed perplexed by Cordelia’s interest, but intrigued as well.

  “Elijah Shadow was a genius,” he said. “The son of two former slaves, without any formal schooling—and yet he still managed to become a renowned architect at a very young
age. This was the late 1800s, mind you, not so long after the Civil War. For a black man to be designing mansions for wealthy white people—you understand how impressive that was?”

  “I don’t think I can,” Cordelia said.

  “No,” Mr. Derleth said. “Me either. But I imagine he had to be twenty times better than any other architect just to stay in business. It helped that he married his childhood sweetheart, Hallie Washington. She was his rock in hard times. The 1800s became the 1900s, and they had a baby girl, Wilma. Life was good.”

  Mr. Derleth’s features grew grim. Cordelia could tell that the story was about to take a dark turn.

  “The baby died, didn’t she?” Cordelia asked in a quiet voice.

  “No,” Mr. Derleth said. “I’m happy to report that Wilma lived to a ripe old age. Married a haberdasher, had a boatload of children. But Elijah’s wife, Hallie—that was a different story. She died of tuberculosis when their daughter was barely out of the cradle, and a part of Elijah died with her. He stopped working and refused to leave the house. Then one night he woke up and saw his wife’s spirit standing over their daughter, watching her sleep. She vanished the moment he stepped into the room. Elijah’s friends tried to convince him that his grief was making him imagine things, but he wouldn’t listen. He became obsessed with ghosts.”

  Cordelia leaned forward, eager to learn more, but Mr. Derleth stopped talking and stroked his beard.

  “I’m not sure if I should tell you this next part,” he said. “I don’t want to give you nightmares.”

  “Don’t worry. I don’t scare easily.”

  He searched her face for a moment.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t imagine you do.” Mr. Derleth looked like he was about to ask her something and then changed her mind. “Elijah Shadow became convinced that his wife was still out there, if he could only learn how to speak to her. At first, he tried all the traditional things—seances, spiritualists, Ouija boards—but he quickly determined that this was all nonsense and decided to conduct his own research. He sold his house and all his worldly possessions, and he and little Wilma toured the country, investigating hundreds of so-called haunted houses. Most times there was nothing to it. But on those rare occasions when Shadow found irrefutable evidence that a haunting was truly taking place, he ignored the ghost completely and studied the house.”