School of Fear

by Gitty Daneshvari

  “Welly! What were you going to guess? Please tell me. I need to know. Do you want me to guess what you were going to guess?”

  “Madame, please stop! All this storming around can’t be good for your knees or my arthritis!”

  However, Mrs. Wellington paid them no mind and continued storming hysterically through the house.

  Trailing vigilantly behind Schmidty and Munchauser were Madeleine, Theo, Garrison, Lulu, and Macaroni. It was an odd sort of parade.

  “What is going on?” Garrison screamed at no one in particular.

  “Personally, I’m relieved. I prefer her lawyer to an earthquake, even with all the bets,” Theo said in an oddly calm voice.

  “Hello? Schmidty? We’re talking to you!” Lulu hollered.

  “This is absolute mayhem! Bedlam! Pandemonium!” Madeleine said to Theo. “What is happening here? I never thought it possible, but this school has actually become crazier than before!”

  “Did you see his fingernails?” Theo responded, totally ignoring Madeleine’s comments. “A year’s worth of bacteria under there. There is no way I’m shaking his hand or touching anything he touches. That kind of dirt, well, it can put you in the hospital for weeks. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if there were rare viruses under there. On second thought, an earthquake would have been safer.”

  “Theo, did you even hear a word I said?” Madeleine retorted.

  “Madeleine, we are in the presence of a Center for Disease Control offender, someone who balks at basic hygiene. I don’t have time to keep track of every little thing you say!”

  And with that the frenzied parade meandered through the house, the participants muttering to themselves.

  One by one, people peeled off. First was Lulu, who decided she would rather do just about anything other than follow a bunch of lunatics around the manse, especially since everyone was ignoring her questions. The next defector was Theo, who took Macaroni with him, as the dog had begun panting rather loudly. In truth, Theo had been winded as well; neither dog nor boy was prepared for such a workout. Theo and Macaroni ducked into the kitchen, where they scoured cupboards and drawers for the best of the Casu Frazigu–free food. Theo also took it upon himself to close the Dire Disaster Door, after worrying that one of his classmates or even Macaroni might fall in.

  Madeleine departed the tour when it ventured outdoors. She had no intention of entering the spider and bug kingdom. Moreover, this reminded her that Munchauser had climbed through a dark cavern, where heaven knows what may have attached to the putrid man. Sickened by the thought, she knew it was time to wash her hair with the hard stuff: boric acid shampoo.

  Garrison stayed the longest, mostly out of curiosity. He simply had no idea what was happening or how it would turn out.

  “Welly, you were just joking when you said you’d cut me out of the will, right?”

  “I’m not ready for Abernathy!” Mrs. Wellington cried.

  “Would you stop about the will!” Schmidty roared at Munchauser.

  “Bet you a hundred dollars I’m getting more than you, fat fool.”

  “You don’t even have one dollar, let alone one hundred, you ugly beast!”

  “Take that back or I’ll sue you for slander!”

  “Abernathy!” Mrs. Wellington continued.

  “Please, Madame, please, calm down.”

  By this point Garrison had completely stopped asking who Abernathy was, because, quite frankly, he realized no one had any intention of telling him. So instead of questioning, he simply listened and lent a hand to Schmidty when the old man began hobbling. This was more exercise than Schmidty had done in twenty years, as evidenced by his messy façade. Schmidty’s slacks had fallen below his massive gut; his white dress shirt was partially unbuttoned and covered in perspiration circles; but worst of all, his hair had fallen. The elaborate comb-over turban was in the process of unfolding, and it wasn’t pretty.

  By the tenth lap around the classroom, Schmidty heeded Garrison’s advice and agreed to sit down.

  “Madame needs me… .”

  “Schmidty, you can barely walk, and your hair, well, it’s not good. You need to rest.”

  “Well, maybe for a minute. Madame can handle Munchauser alone for a bit, I suppose.”

  “Schmidty, I’ve just spent the last few hours chasing you around the house. You need to tell me who this Abernathy guy is.”

  “Dear Mr. Garrison, it’s a rather depressing story. I’m not sure I’ll be able to tell it without a few tears.”

  “Okay,” Garrison said uncomfortably, confused why a grown man needed to cry while telling a story. On second thought, Garrison wasn’t sure he could handle seeing Schmidty cry, especially with his hair in such ruins. The man looked downright wretched, and he hadn’t even started crying yet. “Maybe you should try and keep it together, you know, in case Mrs. Wellington needs something.”

  “You are quite right, Mr. Garrison.”

  “Okay, now out with it. Who is Abernathy?”

  “I have long tried to get Madame to accept the Abernathy situation, but she wouldn’t have any of it. If I’m being brutally honest, Madame isn’t terribly good at admitting her shortcomings. She prefers to feign ignorance of any inadequacies. Why, she often pretended she had forgotten who the boy was, which I clearly knew to be false. Occasionally she would even mumble his name in her sleep, sometimes apologizing, other times angry —”

  “Please, Schmidty, I’m really trying to be patient, but who is Abernathy?” Garrison interrupted with mounting frustration at Schmidty’s verbose tale.

  “He is her greatest weakness, and as any good fortune cookie can tell you, we are only as strong as our weakest part.”

  “Please Schmidty, for the last time, who is he?”

  “Her one failure …”

  “What does that mean? Tell me who he is in plain thirteen-year-old English.”

  “Abernathy is the one student she couldn’t help throughout the years. So many have come and gone, I’ve lost track. All have gone on to lovely lives, except for Abernathy. She never could help him, and oddly the more she tried, the worse he became.”

  “Schmidty, are you really telling me that Mrs. Wellington, the crazy lady in the wig who has been teaching me how to wave with Vaseline all over my mouth, has actually helped people with their fears?” Garrison said with profound shock.

  “Oh, yes. Madame is a brilliant teacher.”

  “And when you say ‘students’ you mean actual human beings, not the cats?”

  “Oh, no. I am referring to children, human children. Madame has treated so many; you should see the load of holiday cards she receives every year.”

  “I don’t even know what to say.”

  “The failure of Abernathy has tortured her, almost destroyed her many times. And when I say failure I mean catastrophic, dismal, utterly horrendous, tortuous failure.”

  Garrison sat shell-shocked, unsure what to think of the information he had just been given. Something wasn’t right. Maybe Schmidty was older and a bit more senile than he seemed. Garrison stared as the old man attempted to reposition his comb-over without the aid of a comb. It was no simple task, as the man usually spent twenty minutes with a vat of hairspray to get it in place. Just as Garrison was preparing to bring Madeleine down to redo Schmidty’s hair, a roar cut through the house. This wasn’t a roar like that of a lion; it was a great deal closer to that of a diesel engine, only categorically human.

  The disturbing roar roused the curiosity of all who heard it. Madeleine, dressed in her pink dressing gown with a built-in veil, immediately ran downstairs, worried that Munchauser and Schmidty had finally come to blows. In defense of Schmidty, Madeleine was prepared to unleash a hailstorm of repellent. In the kitchen, Theo and Macaroni both froze mid-chew. Normally, Theo would have bolted immediately, but he simply didn’t think he could handle any more drama, so he continued eating, albeit with an ear out for other suspicious sounds. While Theo wasn’t absolutely certain, he thought Macar
oni was chewing lighter in an effort to help them monitor what was happening in the house. Just as Theo shoved an exceptionally large piece of bread into his mouth, he heard Schmidty’s sweet voice crack in agony. Macaroni took off first, with Theo fast behind him.

  Theo’s mouth became dry with fear as he followed Macaroni toward the polo field. The bread in his mouth was dense and now seemingly impossible to swallow. Without doubling back to the kitchen for a glass of milk, Theo had no other choice but to spit the large and half-chewed wad of bread on the floor before entering the field.

  Madeleine, Munchauser, and Schmidty were standing in a line, staring ominously at the floor while Lulu and Garrison stood off in a corner whispering.

  “What’s all the ruckus?” Theo said as he pushed his face between Schmidty and Munchauser to see what was happening. It was a sight Theo would always remember. More disconcerting than anything he had ever experienced before, even his grandmother’s passing. There in front of him was Mrs. Wellington’s ashen face and pale blue lips. Her eyes were closed and her wig was crooked, partially exposing her scaly bald head.

  “Welly’s dead,” Munchauser announced coldly.

  CHAPTER 21

  EVERYONE’S AFRAID OF SOMETHING:

  Mnemophobia is the fear of memories.

  Theo couldn’t speak. No words could express the finality he was battling. It was all-encompassing and brain jumbling. His teacher — whom he had never really liked in the first place — was dead. And she would never again be alive. Mrs. Wellington would never know who the next president would be, what movies would capture the country’s heart, or what advancements would be made in the science of hair rejuvenation. When these events happened, Theo would remember that Mrs. Wellington, odd as she had been, was not around to share in the experience. Then a visual of her lifeless corpse would flash through his brain.

  Theo didn’t remember how he got from the polo field to his bed, but he did. All he knew was that when he woke up, both Macaroni and Madeleine were lying sullen-faced next to him. Lulu was curled up in a tight ball on the floor of the boys’ room with one hand over her left eye. Theo wasn’t sure where Garrison was, and he was far too stunned to use his vocal cords yet.

  As Theo ran through yet more changes the world would encounter without Mrs. Wellington, he began to think of all he had lost. Theo would never know her favorite book, her best friend, or the name of Mrs. Wellington’s mother. Did she have any children? Grandchildren? Great-grandchildren? Great-great-grandchildren? How had she come to run, albeit ineptly, this school on the hill? Sure, he could ask Schmidty, but it wouldn’t be the same. He wouldn’t hear it from Mrs. Wellington. Sad and stunned into silence, Theo felt ill at ease over everything except his desire to go home.

  Garrison chose to stay with Schmidty as he lovingly painted Mrs. Wellington’s fingernails, applied makeup, and brushed her wig. He just didn’t feel right leaving the old man alone with Munchauser. Mrs. Wellington’s dead body didn’t freak Garrison out as much as the strange smirk on Munchauser’s face did.

  “I bet you ten bucks she prefers red for her funeral,” Munchauser said as Schmidty applied a thick layer of pink lipstick.

  “I hardly think this is the time for bets,” Schmidty seethed, “not to mention, how would we settle a bet about what she prefers when she’s dead … ,” he choked out.

  “I didn’t think about that,” Munchauser said while pacing in front of the dead body. “Of course, we will be able to settle another bet.”

  “Don’t you even care that Madame is dead? She’s gone! Left us forever!”

  “Of course I care, old man. But I’m a businessman, and as such I must put my feelings on the back burner until everything is settled, which includes the reading of the will and our friendly wager about who she leaves more to.”

  “I never took that bet, you creep.”

  “Well, you didn’t specifically not take it, so it counts in my book. Now Welly left her last will and testament in the safe, so let’s wrap this up and get down to business.”

  “When you say this do you mean Madame? Do you expect me to wrap her in newspaper and toss her out with the old flowers?” Schmidty roared.

  “No, of course not. We’ll leave her on the field until you can dig a grave. And don’t worry, I’ll turn up the AC.”

  Garrison watched the two men, both buzzing with emotions, and wondered where this situation left him and the others.

  “Here’s a blanket,” Munchauser said as he grabbed a pink cashmere throw from a bin on the side of the field. “Cover her up, and let’s get down to it.”

  “Your compassion is overwhelming,” Schmidty fumed as he covered up his Madame.

  Schmidty then laid his head across Mrs. Wellington’s chest and closed his eyes. His left hand fumbled until it found one of Mrs. Wellington’s hands and squeezed it tightly. Even with his eyes closed the emotion was so unbearably raw that Garrison looked away.

  “I shall be with you again soon, Madame,” Schmidty said in a soft, almost childlike voice.

  The sentiment of Schmidty’s goodbye irritated Munchauser, as if it was interrupting his plans.

  “Will you save it for the funeral? I’ve got a lot to do around here. You have no idea the kinds of plans I have for this place,” Munchauser said, almost salivating at the notion of taking over the estate.

  “You are as dense as you are deranged. Madame may have left you some cash to see a dermatologist and a laser hair removal specialist, but trust me, Summerstone and all that’s in it will be left to me. She knew that I would protect her legacy.”

  Schmidty turned away from Munchauser, clearly tired of arguing.

  “Mr. Garrison, are the others all right?” Schmidty asked Garrison.

  “They’re okay. Not Theo, but I don’t think any of us expected him to take this well.”

  “Is he crying?”

  “No, he’s still silent. To be honest it’s a little creepy, like he’s in a coma with his eyes open or something.”

  “Mr. Theo always was such a sensitive soul, he just needs time to mourn — we all do… .”

  “Hey, kid?” Munchauser called out to Garrison.

  “Well, not all of us, just those of us with feelings,” Schmidty corrected.

  “I said ‘hey kid,’ why didn’t you answer? You think you’re too good to answer me?” Munchauser asked Garrison angrily.

  “Sorry,” Garrison mumbled.

  “You better be, because I don’t know if you heard but I’m in charge now.”

  “Stop that,” Schmidty interrupted.

  Completely ignoring Schmidty, Munchauser continued speaking to Garrison: “Assemble your comrades in the drawing room in five minutes. As your new headmaster, I want you all there for the reading of the will, the passing of the torch,” Munchauser said with his version of a grin, which clearly displayed his pronounced gums. If Munchauser did inherit the school, Garrison definitely hoped he would use some of the money to sort out his teeth.

  “I suppose the sooner we get this over with, the sooner you’ll leave,” Schmidty hissed to Munchauser.

  “Or the sooner you’ll leave. I will take such pleasure in throwing you and that fat dog off the mountain. The realization of a lifelong dream.”

  A bit later, Garrison guided Madeleine, Theo, Macaroni, and Lulu down the Great Hall and into the classroom. Schmidty had lit several candles and arranged numerous vases of pink roses throughout the room. On the coffee table, surrounded by tea candles, were a couple of small black-and-white photos of Mrs. Wellington as a child. Schmidty and Munchauser were standing directly in front of the coffee table, each with a hand on a large and exquisitely wrapped pink envelope.

  “I’ll read it,” Munchauser said.

  “I don’t trust you,” Schmidty said spitefully.

  “Well I don’t like y —”

  “Give it to me,” Garrison interrupted, desperate to get the reading of the will over with as soon as possible.

  “Fine,” Munchauser acquies
ced after Schmidty nodded in agreement.

  “However, before you read the will, I would like to make a small speech. I think it’s going to be hard to talk over your sobbing later,” Munchauser said pointedly to Schmidty.

  Lulu and Madeleine bookended Theo and Macaroni on one couch while Schmidty and Garrison sat on the other. Munchauser, seemingly energized by Mrs. Wellington’s death, paced in front of the somber group as he prepared to speak.

  “As some of you may know, I am Welly’s lifelong attorney, the most trusted member of her inner circle, a true friend,” Munchauser said while poorly pretending to be overcome by emotion. He went for his handkerchief in his breast pocket but instead pulled out a betting form, then another and another. Soon the floor was littered in forms, and Munchauser decided it easier to simply skip the theatrics.

  “As it takes a while to liquidate assets, not to mention that I have no interest in refunding any of your parents’ money, I will be finishing the summer as your headmaster. And please feel free to call me master, for short,” Munchauser said with another one of his attempts at a smile. “I will teach you the fine art of life at the track, including debt collection and placing bets. The house takes all winnings, and you’re responsible for your losses.”

  “Excuse me, sir, my name is Madeleine Masterson, and I would like to make another suggestion. Perhaps we could simply be lowered off the mountain and returned to our families.”

  “Yeah, we don’t want a refund,” Lulu added. “We’ll even pay you more to let us go —”