The School of Revenge

by Michael Richan

  Boone spun the flashlight beam back to the man, who was now standing. He walked forward. “What are you doing to her?” he asked in a low, husky voice.

  “I’m going to slit her throat right here,” Boone said loudly, “and let her blood flow out on the ground.”

  “Don’t!” the man replied. “What do you want?”

  “I don’t want anything,” Boone replied, “but to kill her and make you watch.”

  The flashlight returned to the girl, and Aaron was horrified to see Boone press the blade of the knife into the child’s skin, drawing a line of red. He felt suddenly sick, the way he’d felt as he watched the exactations in the library. Worse, seeing Boone harm the child felt like a monstrous betrayal; he was just beginning to like and trust the man, but this seemed like some kind of duplicity on Boone’s part.

  When he returned his gaze to the man in the corner, there was no man. Instead, a large scorpion, almost eight feet in length, rattled toward them, its pinchers opening and closing and its tail rising behind it. He saw the multiple eyes on the creature’s head, all dark, all reflecting light from Boone’s flashlight.

  Aaron opened his mouth to scream, but instead he heard Boone saying, “Now!”

  Aaron raised the device and began to turn the handle. He knew it was spinning, but it seemed to take forever to produce light. He turned the handle faster, trying to get it up to speed as quickly as he could. In front of him, the scorpion approached, and he closed his eyes, afraid its pinchers were seconds away from snapping at his face.

  When he didn’t feel an attack, Aaron opened his eyes again; the scorpion was right in front of him, frozen — the lights of the spinning wheel reflected in its eyes.

  Aaron could feel his blood pounding in his ears, and his breath coming in short, quick gasps. He kept turning the wheel, aware that any mistake might release the creature from the mesmerization and allow it to reach forward with its giant arms. It was so close it wouldn’t take much effort for it to reach him.

  He turned his attention quickly to Boone; on the ground near Boone’s feet was a smaller scorpion, barely a foot in length. A white and grey pus was oozing from its crushed abdomen. Boone had killed it.

  The speed with which Boone moved behind the creature startled Aaron. His knife moved quickly, slashing at the tail. Aaron watched the scorpion shudder as Boone worked, apparently unable to tear away from the light display to defend itself.

  He’s cutting into it, Aaron thought. It’s gonna be pissed when the lights stop.

  Aaron saw Boone holding the giant amputated stinger. It looked like an oversized football with a giant curved tooth sticking out of it. One end was dripping liquid where he’d severed it. Boone walked around him.

  “Keep it spinning,” Boone said from behind, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Walk backward. I’m going to guide you to the door. Don’t stop spinning it until we’re out of the room.”

  Aaron allowed Boone to guide him backward while he kept his hand turning. After he’d taken a few steps, the scorpion suddenly lurched forward, following him but stopping a few feet away. It made him jump.

  Aaron felt his terror increasing as he took each step. He felt confused about the little girl and about the man. Had Boone just killed a child? He took another step, hoping they were near the door. Another step.

  His foot landed wrong. He felt his balance shift to counter it, and the device slipped from his hands. It fell to the floor, still spinning.

  The scorpion lurched forward again, stopping at the device. It slowly spun to a halt, the lights fading.

  Aaron felt a hand around his collar, and suddenly he was dragged backward. They were through the doorway just as the scorpion looked up from the dark device and lurched once again.

  The hand at his back dropped him unceremoniously and reached for the door, pushing it closed just as the scorpion reached it.

  Aaron looked up. Boone had the door handle in his left hand, and the amputated stinger in his right.

  “I’m sorry,” Aaron muttered. “I dropped it. I don’t know what happened.”

  “I know,” Boone replied, breathing heavily.

  “Should I go back in to get it?” Aaron asked.

  “Are you crazy? Neither of us are going back in there.”

  “I thought you said it would die after the stinger was cut off.”

  “It will, but that might take hours. The light wheel stays. I can always make another.”

  Aaron removed the flashlight from his pocket and walked to the window. The scorpion was at the glass within seconds, pressing its face against the pane, striking at it with its severed tail in a fruitless attempt to sting him, smearing yellow and green liquid over the surface.

  “It was a man,” Aaron said, turning to Boone. “You killed that girl.”

  “It wasn’t a man,” Boone said, “and she wasn’t a girl. Haven’t you figured this out yet? Come on.” He turned, walking back to the stairs.

  As they ascended, Aaron tried to think it through. Madame Pritchard and Herrod weren’t really people, either. They were a form of the Scolo. A giant venomous centipede was what they really were, just as scorpions were what this man and girl really were.

  “The girl was its child?” Aaron asked, walking behind Boone as they climbed. “You knew it would be pissed that you were harming her?”

  “Exactly,” Boone replied.

  “And you said the poison from the smaller scorpions isn’t potent enough to kill the Scolo.”

  “Right,” Boone replied. “It’ll take years until those kids are grown up, like the man.”

  “So we just stole the only adult stinger?” Aaron asked.

  “He’s got dozens more kids down in those cells,” Boone replied as they reached the surface. “He’ll have plenty of adults within a few years.” He held the stinger out for Aaron to see in the daylight. “I needed this one now, and the son of a bitch wouldn’t sell it to me. So we took it.”

  Boone looked at him.

  Aaron looked back. Is he a criminal? Aaron wondered. Does that even apply in these circumstances?

  Boone placed the stinger in the trunk and they got in the car. Aaron was silent for the beginning of the trip. It didn’t take long for Boone to pick up that something was wrong.

  “You’re pretty quiet,” Boone said. “Something bothering you?”

  “It was just so quick and brutal,” Aaron said. “What you did to that girl.”

  “Not a girl, remember?” Boone replied. “You’re going to have to get used to the idea that not everything is as it seems.”

  “She looked like a girl.”

  Boone sighed. “Insects and arachnids and all kinds of bugs use tricks. They color themselves to look poisonous when they’re really not; they build innocent looking traps for their prey to fall into. It’s all about deception. If you fall for the deception, you’ll become prey.”

  “So you knew that little girl wasn’t human?”

  “Of course,” Boone replied. “I’d been there before, remember? The guy showed me his whole layout.”

  “You could have warned me,” Aaron said.

  “Honestly, I thought you’d figured it out already,” Boone replied. He turned to look at him. “You still don’t have it all straight in your head, do you?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “The Scolo is a giant centipede that can appear in other forms, like humans. What were the names of it at the library?”

  “Herrod and Madame Pritchard.”

  “Right. And that scorpion back there was a guy named Adam Three. But was it a human?”

  “He looked human.”

  “Yeah, but was it human? Can a human turn into a scorpion like that?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Right. It can’t. It was a scorpion, bred and raised for a specific purpose by that guy in Bellingham. Who, I think, will be hunting my ass soon.”

  “So you’re saying if they’re not human, the rules don’t apply?”

  �
��Rules?” Boone asked.

  “You know, like murder.”

  “Oh. Well, yeah, I guess that’s true. They don’t really apply. You can’t have a murder without a body, and there’s no human corpse back there.”

  “But murder is taking a life,” Aaron said. “Any life.”

  “Like a spider?” Boone asked. “When’s the last time you squashed a spider in your house?”

  “Yesterday,” Aaron admitted.

  “OK, so don’t be so high and mighty. Yeah, the rules are different with these things. I get that it’s a little hard to understand. It confused me for a while, too, back when it happened to me. But here’s the thing you need to comprehend, kid. If your Madame Pritchard is really a Scolo, and that man back there was really a scorpion, do you think that’s it?”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah. Do you really think that’s where it stops? Just centipedes and scorpions?”

  Aaron stopped, trying to understand the meaning of Boone’s question. “You mean, there’s more?”

  Boone looked at him and smiled.

  “More people out there who aren’t what they appear to be?” Aaron asked.

  Boone nodded.

  “And they’re really something else? Like a centipede, or a scorpion?” Aaron continued.

  Boone turned to look at him. “Or?”

  “Or, maybe they’re some other kind of insect? A spider? A hornet?”

  “Now you’re finally beginning to get it,” Boone said, pressing down the accelerator.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Aaron awoke late Sunday morning feeling melancholy. Normally he’d spend Saturday night with Phillip, going to a movie or hanging out at either of their homes, playing games. Now it seemed they were completely cut off from each other. He assumed Phillip was spending his time at the library, doing whatever the School asked him to do, like a slave.

  Phillip spends his time now with the School, he thought, and I spend my time with Boone.

  He had to admit that spending time with Boone wasn’t at all bad; even though he’d learned some disturbing things, Boone was exciting, and the things they were doing were exhilarating. Boone drove a Porsche. He had an amazing home all to himself. As Aaron thought back on the adventure they’d had the day before, he realized it was something unique and special — something he suspected no one else in his class had ever imagined, let alone done. It had been frightening, but it had also been a blast, like living out a real-life video game. Thinking about how cool it had been to go with Boone and steal the stinger made him feel a little less melancholy.

  Boone felt that the time to strike might come at any moment; he suspected that the Scolo was about to molt, and he wanted Aaron’s help when the time came. When he and Boone parted ways the day before, they’d exchanged phone numbers, and Boone had warned him to be ready to act quickly.

  He checked his phone for messages from Boone; there were none.

  As he wandered around the kitchen looking for something to eat, he found a note from his mother on the table, saying she’d gone shopping. He pulled a box of cereal from a cabinet and poured a bowl.

  He’d rehearsed the speech he’d give to Phillip if he was ever allowed to divulge his activities with Boone; how Phillip didn’t realize what monsters he was dealing with, how he was wrong about them and naïve to believe what the School was telling him. Even as he crunched his cereal, he found himself trying to convince his friend in vain, repeating lines in his head.

  The knock at the door startled him. For a second he wondered if it might be Phillip. He got up from the table, carrying his cereal, and walked to the front door.

  He opened it. Standing on the front porch was Herrod.

  Aaron dropped the bowl. He felt the cold milk hit his bare feet and ankles as it splashed up from the floor. Immediately he knelt down to retrieve the bowl, and looked up at the visitor.

  “Aaron?” Herrod said. “Aaron Rodgers? Just like the quarterback?” A corner of Herrod’s mouth curled up into a smirk.

  “Not like him,” Aaron replied, gathering the bowl and spoon, repeating the correction he’d provided so many times in his life. “No D in my last name.”

  “I know,” Herrod said. “We’ve met before, remember?” Herrod stepped forward. “Maybe it’s best if we have this conversation inside.” Herrod walked through the threshold, stepping over the spilled milk. Once inside he shut the door behind him. “Now. I thought we could talk. Just you and me.”

  “About?” Aaron asked nervously, still backing up.

  “Well, agreements, for one,” Herrod said, walking toward him. “People make agreements all the time. Some people are good about keeping them, while others disappoint.”

  Aaron continued walking backward. He was crossing the threshold from the dining room into the kitchen.

  “Then there are the people who fail completely,” Herrod continued, still walking. “They fall short so utterly and absolutely one wonders if they had any intention of fulfilling their agreement in the first place.”

  Aaron felt the kitchen sink at his back, and he turned to place the cereal bowl into it. Herrod kept approaching until he was standing right next to him.

  “Are you a failure, Aaron?” Herrod said, moving his face closer to Aaron’s. “Are you a liar?”

  Aaron remained frozen at the sink, unsure how to respond or where to move. Herrod’s breath stank, and what he really wanted to do was push the man back, but his threatening tone made him think it would start violence. He was hoping to avoid violence.

  He’s not a man, Aaron thought. He’s the Scolo. This thing in front of me is really a giant mortipede.

  Changing his mind, he reached forward and pushed hard, sending Herrod back several feet. “Stay out of my face!” he said.

  Herrod seemed surprised at Aaron’s defense. “You know, when I spoke with your friend I hoped that it wasn’t true, that you really weren’t an apostate. I decided to come here myself, and see if what he was right: that you really are going back on your word, just days after having given it. I see your friend may have been right.”

  In addition to the adrenaline he felt pumping through his body, Aaron now felt anger and betrayal. Phillip talked to them about me? he thought.

  “We forced it out of him,” Herrod said. “We have ways, especially with Adherents.”

  “I’m not an Adherent anymore,” Aaron replied. “You can consider this my resignation.”

  “You can’t resign,” Herrod said.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” Aaron replied. “Your agreement is bullshit. It was based on all kinds of things you didn’t tell me, and that means it’s fraudulent. Like that creature you put into my arm. I didn’t agree to any of that!”

  Aaron watched as Herrod’s eyes went wide. He didn’t know I was aware of the creature, Aaron thought. Maybe he hasn’t realized yet that the head was removed.

  “Ah,” Herrod said, turning to walk around the table in the kitchen. “I see what’s happened. That explains a few things. Who helped you?”

  Aaron pressed his lips together. Herrod’s movement accelerated suddenly and he was at Aaron’s side within a split second, his hand wrapped around Aaron’s throat, constricting his windpipe.

  “Tell me!” Herrod said, closing his fingers.

  Aaron gasped for air and reached for Herrod with his hands, trying to grab at the man. Everything about Herrod seemed impenetrable; the muscles he felt under the man’s shirt were like stone. It reminded him of the armor he’d seen on the centipede’s segments.

  “I could crush you,” Herrod whispered, his foul breath adding to Aaron’s difficulty in breathing. “Tell me who helped you, and I’ll let you keep your throat.”

  “What is this?” came a woman’s voice from the other room. It was his mother, coming in through the front door. “What is this all over the floor? Aaron!”

  He could hear her marching through the living room, looking for him. The suffocating grip on his throat released, and Herrod step
ped back quickly, putting several feet between them.

  “Aaron, did you leave that mess…” his mother came into the kitchen doorway and stopped. She looked at both of them. Aaron saw her examining the situation, trying to figure things out.

  “What’s going on here?” she asked. “Why is there milk and cereal all over the floor?” She turned to Herrod, stepping into the room. “And who are you?”

  “I’m leaving,” Herrod said. “I was just here confronting your son about the money he stole from me. I’ll leave you to deal with it.”

  Herrod moved incredibly quickly, slipping around Aaron’s mother and through the doorway. Aaron heard the front door opening and closing.

  His mother placed a couple of bags on the kitchen table and looked at him. “Are you alright? What’s going on?”

  Aaron felt pain in his throat and raised his hands to feel his neck. “Nothing,” he said, knowing she wasn’t going to take that as an answer. “I’ll clean up the spill.” He grabbed a roll of paper towels from the counter and headed for the doorway, but his mother stopped him.

  “Just a minute,” she said, her hand on his chest. “Who was that?”

  “His name is Herrod,” Aaron replied, trying to move past her but still stopped by her hand.

  “And why was he here?” she asked. “In my kitchen? Did you steal money from him?”

  “No, he’s a liar,” Aaron replied, looking up at her. “I didn’t take anything from him.”

  “There are marks on your neck,” she replied. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No.”

  “I think I should call the police,” she said.

  “Please don’t,” Aaron replied, finding a way to move past his mother and walk to the front door, where he knelt and began to soak up the spilled milk and cereal.

  He could hear his mother walk up behind him, and he knew she wanted to ask more, but for some reason she stopped.

  He knew he couldn’t tell her the real reason without having her dig into details that would result in him talking about Boone.

  He also knew how his mother operated. She was picking up on his reticence. She would back off for an hour or so, then she’d wind up in his bedroom, pressing again for answers when both of them weren’t emotional about what had happened. She’d done it many times.