School of Fear

by Gitty Daneshvari

  It had a copper knob so imposing it would take three strapping men just to open it. While the students stared at the giant doorknob, Mrs. Wellington stopped in front of a chalkboard door complete with erasers and a chalk tray. While eight feet high, the chalkboard door was only two feet wide. The special, grilled cheese sandwiches, was written vertically in bright pink chalk. Mrs. Wellington opened the door and slid through sideways into the formal dining room.

  “Please suck in your bellies; hefty contestants have been known to get stuck,” Mrs. Wellington advised while looking directly at Theo.

  Lulu pushed past the others and followed the old dame into the room. Garrison immediately trailed Lulu, and Theo graciously allowed Madeleine to go ahead of him. While Madeleine thought Theo a well-mannered boy, the truth was far more self-serving; he didn’t want anyone to see him suck in his belly.

  The décor of the dining room was best described as that of a grandmother’s house. It was formal, dated, and extremely worn down by the passage of time. Three paintings of English bulldogs decorated the mint green walls. Oversized golden candelabras, covered in wax and dust, stood at the heads of the formally set table just below a crooked chandelier. Pink and white rose-patterned china sat atop the lace tablecloth.

  “This is the dining hall. I’m sure it’s much nicer a room than you are used to eating in, but don’t fret, I’ve Scotchgarded the walls in case of any food fights. Not that I am encouraging that, because I certainly am not. Or if I am encouraging it, I am also denying that I am doing so.”

  Lulu ignored Mrs. Wellington’s remark on slinging food and focused on the obvious. “The table is only set for seven. What about the other students?” she asked loudly.

  “The cats eat outside due to the strange aroma of their cuisine. I describe it as liver and barbecue sauce with a splash of garlic. I find it terribly unappetizing, but you are more than welcome to sample it yourselves.”

  “Not the cats, the other human students,” Lulu said while watching Mrs. Wellington closely. “Please tell me there are other people here… .”

  “Ms… .”

  “Punchalower.”

  “Of course, Lulu. I am happy to inform you that there are no other contestants. This summer it will be very, very cozy — just the four of you,” Mrs. Wellington said with a wink at Lulu.

  “What? But the brochure had all those kids running around,” Garrison said with shock. “I was counting on others!”

  “That is what you’d call false advertising. Perhaps when the summer is finished you’ll write a letter to the board of camps to complain. And please do not let the board’s hypothetical status deter you,” Mrs. Wellington said.

  Theo was dismayed that not only had Mrs. Wellington winked at Lulu, but her lips didn’t shift in color at all when speaking to Garrison. Maybe she only disliked him.

  “Now then, back to the dining hall. Meals are served at eight AM, twelve PM, and six PM. The crows caw eight times at eight AM, twelve times at twelve PM, and six times at six PM. They are a bell tower of sorts. As long as you know how to count, there shouldn’t be much confusion,” Mrs. Wellington said with an eye on Garrison.

  “What? I know how to count,” he mumbled defensively.

  “Good, perhaps you can do that for the talent section of the pageant,” Mrs. Wellington said to Garrison before turning to the others. “We take after-dinner tea and dessert in the drawing room, but all other food must be consumed in here. As you see, the walls are decorated with Mac’s predecessors, Milk, Cookies, and most recently Cheese. Poor little Cheese,” Mrs. Wellington blustered while looking at the chocolate brown bulldog stoically posed in the portrait. “Very sad, very sad indeed. Let’s all bow our heads in mourning for a moment, and then you may take your seats.”

  After a few seconds, Mrs. Wellington lifted her head and dabbed her red eyes with a delicate lace handkerchief.

  “I’ll check on Schmidty and Mac in the kitchen.”

  Mrs. Wellington passed through an oval archway with a beaded curtain that led to the kitchen. The children eyed the table, noticing a sterling silver bowl with the name “Macaroni” on it. Before they could exchange any sort of meaningful glances, Mrs. Wellington stormed back into the room, assuming her seat at the head of the table.

  “The food shall be arriving momentarily. Please place your napkins on your laps and all elbows off the table,” Mrs. Wellington instructed, sitting abnormally straight in her chair. “Beauty queens never slouch,” she continued with a glance at Lulu. Madeleine waited for the old woman to look her way, but she didn’t. Adding insult to injury, Lulu didn’t even appreciate the compliment, mouthing “whatever” in response.

  Schmidty carried six plates of grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches to the table with the aptitude of an experienced waiter. Shortly after placing the plates in front of Mrs. Wellington and the children, he pulled out Macaroni’s chair. The dog leaped with astounding agility, especially considering his tremendous girth. Once seated atop the chair, Macaroni devoured his kibble, spraying droplets of drool over a three-foot radius.

  “Not to be impolite, Mrs. Wellington, but does Macaroni always dine at the table?” Madeleine asked meekly.

  “Yes, of course. Why ever would you ask such a thing?” Mrs. Wellington screeched, clearly conveying her deep offense.

  “I think she meant that dogs usually eat on the floor, since they’re dogs,” Theo blurted out.

  “And?” Mrs. Wellington asked incredulously.

  “Dogs are dumb. They don’t mind eating off the floor,” Garrison explained.

  “Garrison, you yourself seem a bit, how should I say, slow. Perhaps you would like to take your food on the floor,” Mrs. Wellington said with bloodred lips.

  “Look, lady, just ’cause I’m big and good at sports doesn’t mean I’m dumb. I’m at least as smart as these wimps,” Garrison responded boorishly.

  “Did you just call your classmates wimps, Garrison?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t mean it. It just slipped out… .”

  “Young man, I know quite a few wimps, as you put it, who know how to swim. If you continue with such language, I will get you a waterbed. Or perhaps just drop your bed in water with you strapped to it,” Mrs. Wellington said with dark cherry-colored lips.

  Theo ignored Mrs. Wellington’s threat as he thrust the sandwich into his mouth. The young boy’s eyes immediately crossed with repulsion. It was hands down the most putrid-tasting grilled cheese sandwich in the world.

  “Theo, is there a problem?” Mrs. Wellington asked while staring at the boy’s contorted face.

  “My tongue,” Theo gasped. “The taste buds are rotting.”

  Lulu rolled her eyes at Theo, then took a bite of her sandwich. Garrison and Madeleine followed suit before Lulu was able to gag in horror.

  “What is that, old man?” Lulu howled at Schmidty.

  “Lulu, he can’t hear. He’s deaf and fat. However, the fatness is not the reason for the deafness; I asked the doctor to make sure. You see, for a while it seemed as if there was nowhere left for the fat to go except his ear canals. He had literally filled up every extra inch with chunk. So naturally, I assumed the fat had clogged his ears.”

  “Madame, your knowledge of the human body is truly astounding,” Schmidty added with a huff.

  “My tongue. I’m not sure it will ever be the same,” Theo moaned. “Without food, I’ve got nothing. I’ve already been separated from my family and now … food.”

  “Mr. Theo, I presume you don’t care for the Casu Frazigu?” Schmidty said.

  “I must need an earbud because I thought I heard you say Casu Frazigu,” Madeleine said to Schmidty.

  “An earbud,” Lulu mocked Madeleine.

  “Excuse me, Lulu, but I speak the Queen’s English.”

  “So what? I speak the President’s English.”

  “Yes, and I have a feeling I know exactly which president,” Madeleine responded.

  “Um, um,” Schmidty cleared his throat, “y
ou do not need an earbud or Q-tip. I did indeed say Casu Frazigu. It’s Madame’s favorite taste, but after the Italian Government made it illegal, I spent years perfecting the flavor through spices and roots and a few secret substances.”

  “For clarification’s sake, there is no actual Casu Frazigu in this sandwich?” Madeleine said while turning green with nausea. Depending on his answer, the table could easily be covered in vomit in seconds.

  “No,” Schmidty responded.

  “What on Earth is this ca-si dra-g-oo?” Theo blubbered with his tongue still hanging out of his mouth.

  “Maggot cheese,” Madeleine blurted out.

  “Maggot cheese!” Lulu screamed.

  “I don’t understand what that even means,” Garrison said honestly. “Cheese comes from cows.”

  “Yes, Garrison, but when the cheese maker ages it, he allows flies to lay eggs in the cheese. Then maggots,” Madeleine said before pausing out of grossness, “are born and swim through the cheese, releasing enzymes which make it taste like …”

  “Like the most heavenly thing on earth. That’s why I have chosen to have all the meals flavored to taste like Casu Frazigu,” Mrs. Wellington said happily.

  “This could ruin food forever,” Theo said dramatically as he placed a piece of gum in his mouth. “I should have gone to fat camp. At least the little food they give you there is good.”

  “Before anyone continues eating, we must say grace,” Mrs. Wellington said while straightening her wig.

  “Mrs. Wellington, I should tell you I have an uncertain relationship with God right now,” Theo rambled. “It’s part of my whole fear-of-death thing. What’s going to happen to me? Where will I go? Will I go anywhere? Is it like when I’m asleep? Is it possible that I am already dead and this is all happening in my mind?”

  “That’s quite enough. Grace has nothing to do with religion in this house. Schmidty, will you please begin before Theo gets another word in?”

  Schmidty patted his long gray comb-over before lifting his left hand toward the table display of flowers and greenery. He knocked three times, resulting in a hollow echo, before spouting a quick, “Thank you, Grace.”

  Mrs. Wellington turned to Garrison, impressing her desire for him to follow Schmidty’s lead. He wiped a blond lock off his forehead, then tapped the display three times and casually uttered, “Gracias, Grace.”

  “I’m afraid Grace doesn’t speak Spanish, Garrison,” Mrs. Wellington said with a straight face.

  “Thank you, Grace,” he relented.

  Madeleine, Lulu, and Mrs. Wellington followed, leaving just Theo.

  “Are you ready? Or are you still in the midst of an existential crisis, Theo?” Mrs. Wellington asked with her lips’ color flickering rapidly, unsure what mood to embrace.

  Theo stretched his plump white arm toward the display and knocked three times before saying, “Thank you, Grace.”

  “Was that witchcraft or something? Because I don’t want to be involved in that, Mrs. Wellington,” Lulu announced.

  “Witchcraft?” Mrs. Wellington laughed uproariously. “You have quite the imagination, my pious one. Schmidty prepares all our meals, so it’s only appropriate we thank Grace for saving his life and allowing him to continue to cook.”

  “If I may inquire, who was Grace? And what does she have to do with the table display?” Madeleine asked between sips of orange juice. None of the children touched the sandwiches again.

  “Schmidty used to be a risk taker, and I’m not just talking about his hair. I am referring to something much more treacherous …” Mrs. Wellington said with a pause worthy of a horror story, “… the Lost Forest.”

  Lulu rolled her eyes and sighed. Theo on the other hand was rapt, utterly seduced by the word “treacherous.” Any kind of danger made Theo’s ears perk up. He insisted on being aware of the risks around him, in order to take the necessary precautions.

  “As I’m sure you’ve heard, the forest is legendary for its abilities to confound and confuse even the strongest of men, who become so turned around they never manage to escape. Or perhaps they get stuck in sticky vines with no viable means of extrication. Regardless, many a man, woman, and pet have disappeared in there, but not our Schmidty. He would traipse through the forest to fish the banks of the Moon River, totally oblivious of any danger from the forest to the violent currents.”

  Garrison’s face contorted with fear at the mere mention of the river.

  “How did Schmidty get down to the forest?” Madeleine asked.

  “I attached the crane to the back of his overalls. But then they ripped, and he plummeted the last twenty feet, breaking both arms. It was such a tragedy; those overalls were quite complimentary on his body, and trust me, that is no simple feat.”

  “What does any of this have to do with saying Grace?” Garrison asked with agitation, unable to shake the image of a gushing river.

  “Patience, my sweaty boy,” Mrs. Wellington said with a glance at Garrison’s perspiration-covered face. “One day while fishing, the old man fell in. It was simply ghastly, his whole comb-over washed before his eyes. I wish you could ask him about it; he’d do a much better job, but that’s the tragedy of the deaf.”

  “Madame, I am more than capable of telling the story.”

  “Oh, very well,” Mrs. Wellington responded, as if suddenly aware of his hearing capabilities.

  “Madame often forgets that I am visually impaired, but my hearing is just fine. As for the story, Madame was quite a fan of the trout, so I often fished on the edge of Moon River.”

  “Schmidty, I certainly hope you aren’t implying it was my fault?”

  “Of course not, Madame. I am merely insinuating it was your fault. I think that’s the least I could do after your comb-over comment.”

  “Very well then, please continue.”

  “As I was saying, I was fishing at the edge of the river, standing on what appeared to be a large rock, but of course, my vision does not lend itself to details. Every few minutes the rock moved under the pressure of the currents, but I paid it no mind. The slight pull on my fishing line absorbed my attention, as the rock continued to move from the left to the right. I readjusted my feet while remaining focused on the fishing line. Then the rock moved out from beneath me, tossing me headfirst into the river. My body was pulled underwater and the currents wouldn’t let me surface. I was dying.”

  “This is a horrible story,” Theo fussed, dabbing moisture from his eyes, “even worse than that sandwich.”

  “Clearly he didn’t die. A little emotional control would do you good,” Mrs. Wellington said firmly.

  “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Theo. It’s not often that people show such emotion toward me,” Schmidty said while staring at Mrs. Wellington. “Now then. Where was I?”

  “You were drowning,” Madeleine offered helpfully before noticing the veritable river gushing from Garrison’s forehead. She considered telling the old man to quit the drowning story, but she thought it impolite. Instead, she stared longingly at Garrison to convey her heartfelt sympathy.

  “Buried beneath the water, I spotted a large green rock swimming toward me. It swam around me until I grabbed on. Then it pulled me ashore. I was unbelievably grateful, although I wondered if I was hallucinating, especially since the green rock was following me home. Once Madame saw the rock I learned it was actually a turtle —”

  Mrs. Wellington interrupted Schmidty excitedly, “I named her Grace, and once I showed her to the large tub, well, she never left. I didn’t mind; she did save Schmidty after all. If he had died who would have cooked my food to taste of Casu Frazigu or laundered my clothes?”

  “Thank you, Madame. Your concern is overwhelming.”

  Mrs. Wellington glanced at Schmidty before reaching toward the centerpiece. “We’ve kept her shell as a nice reminder of the turtle who used to live in the downstairs bathroom.”

  “That’s a dead turtle shell we knocked on?” Lulu questioned Mrs. Wellington.

&n
bsp; “Yes, dear, it is.”

  “Some turtles have salmonella. Do you realize what that can do to us? I think I feel a fever coming on,” Theo said while touching his forehead.

  “Grace didn’t have salmonella,” Mrs. Wellington said calmly. “I had Schmidty lick her shell to confirm it.”

  “It’s true, Mr. Theo. Nary a chill, fever, or nausea.”

  “It was a very productive activity, as we learned saliva is a good stand-in for furniture polish,” Mrs. Wellington said with a straight face.

  Garrison, desperate to erase thoughts of rivers and saliva from his mind, focused on the dense garden outside. His eyes were lingering between an elm and maple tree, when he saw something move. Perhaps it was the gardener. He narrowed his eyes to decipher the figure before asking, “Is there anyone else up here?”

  “We are all alone up here. Aren’t we, Schmidty?” Mrs. Wellington responded with a wry smile.

  CHAPTER 11

  EVERYONE’S AFRAID OF SOMETHING:

  Peladophobia is the fear of bald people.

  The children followed Mrs. Wellington and Schmidty into the kitchen, where they placed their plates on the neon pink counter. In a rather unconventional move, Mrs. Wellington had the kitchen done entirely in pink. In addition to the walls, floor, and ceiling, every appliance, plate, utensil, bowl, glass, and tea towel were a shade of pink. The color scheme reminded Garrison of Pepto-Bismol. Theo didn’t mind the color so much as the idea of Schmidty in it.

  “Isn’t it dangerous for a blind man to cook?” Theo asked logically.

  “Safety is relative. If he can operate the crane, I’m sure he can boil water. He hasn’t hurt anyone yet. Well, actually, that’s not true. I should say, he hasn’t killed anyone,” Mrs. Wellington said as her lips dipped a shade darker before returning to normal. “Now then, it’s time for your first class. Follow me.”

  Mrs. Wellington pushed open the ten-foot-by-ten-foot pink Formica accordion door, which led into the Great Hall. The foursome followed Mrs. Wellington, once again awestruck by their surroundings. There were literally more doors than they could count, each more unique than the last. A glass door with a bronze plaque informing residents to use the stairs in case of a fire caught the foursome’s attention. A tangled web of staircases crisscrossed the room both vertically and horizontally, creating an indecipherable mess.