by Andrew Karre
“What in the world!?” Jones asked, trying to help up the secretary so he could get into the outer office.
“BATS!!” screamed the secretary, refusing to get off the floor. Jones gave up and stepped over her to get out the door. Spangler was right behind him.
Jones looked around wildly. Isaiah, the student office aide, was still at the copy machine, calmly making copies. Jones couldn’t see anything wrong.
“Isaiah?” he asked.
Without looking up, Isaiah pointed to the window curtains.
Jones rushed over and shook the curtains. A bat burst out and flew across the room, disappearing behind a filing cabinet. The secretary screamed again.
“Please, stop that!” Jones barked. “It’s just a poor confused animal. Isaiah, call one of the custodians.”
“Can’t,” said Isaiah, rapidly pushing buttons on the copier. Beep beep beeeep.
“Oh really?” said Jones, getting steamed. “Just what—“
“They’re all in the basement.”
“So?”
“Dealing with the other bats.”
“Other bats?” Jones moved to the other side of the copier, thinking he’d misheard.
Isaiah shrugged. “That’s what I heard, anyway.” He finally looked up at Jones. “That’s where they came out.”
Jones stared at him for a moment. Then he dashed out of the office. In the hall, he nearly collided with a teacher and student.
“Sorry,” he said, trying to move around them.
“Mr. Jones!” the teacher grabbed his arm. “There are—”
“I know, I know,” he said, impatiently, trying to shake the guy off. “I’m on my way—”
“Is the nurse here today? Where’s the first-aid kit? Maybe we should call 911, they could be rabid—” the teacher babbled. Jones finally looked at him and the student next to him. Both had bloody gashes on their faces. Bites?
“You’d better stay here and deal with them,” said a voice in Jones’ ear. He spun around to see Spangler at his elbow. “I’ll go see what’s happening in the basement. I might be able to help with some little mysteries of the building.” Spangler strode off. “Don’t worry, Mr. Jones,” he said over his shoulder.
5
Principal Jones didn’t have long to wonder what Dr. Spangler was talking about. Screams and metallic pounding rang out from the nearby music wing. He dashed down the hallway and turned right, expecting to see dozens of screaming teenagers kicking their lockers. Instead the hallway was eerily empty.
The lockers were shaking. Students were kicking them—from inside. Every single locker seemed to have trapped its owner.
Jones ran to the first locker and screamed through the grate, “What’s your combination?”
The boy in the locker yelled, “Skull, dagger, unicorn, serpent, rhombus, rhombus, rhino.” Or so Jones thought. He couldn’t be certain, because the girl in the next locker desperately shouted “Crab, lion, scorpion, lion, ram, fish, bull!” Everybody was screaming his or her combination.
Jones clenched his teeth and tried the combination he thought he heard. He whispered under his breath, “Left twins, right ram, left lion, right fish, left scorpion, right ram, left all the way around and virgin. . .” He pulled up on the latch—and the whole lock came off in his hand. He stared at it for a moment before the whole locker slid down and disappeared into the floor. Jones stared down the hole in horror as it echoed with the scream of whoever had been in the locker.
Jones dropped the lock and staggered back from the opening in the bank of lockers. Had the wrong combination made it drop? Or the right one?
Principal Jones thought of himself as a man who didn’t shock easily. He’d come to St. Philomena after twenty years as an assistant principal at St. Perdita’s School for Wayward Boys in the next county. St. Philomena was supposed to be a piece of cake—no metal detectors, no bomb threats. Just an old Catholic high school in a sleepy little town.
“Piece of cake.” He’d said those very words to himself when he took the job, and he was whispering them to himself again as he stared at the hole where that locker should have been.
His shock fading, he noticed another person in the hallway with him. She had her ear pressed against the locker grate, straining to hear the person inside. She began to turn the knob.
Jones jumped across the hall, slapping her hand away before she could pull the latch. The girl—her face showing signs of claw marks—was clearly scared out of her wits.
At that moment, Spangler burst into the hallway. He was completely white as he stammered at Jones and the terrified freshman. “Whatever you do,” Spangler said, “don’t try to open one of those lockers.”
6
Pec, pec, delt, delt, bicep, bicep. Pec, pec, delt, delt, bicep, bicep. Dante’s solo weight session was over. And since his first period was TAing for Coach Mick, he was indulging in a long shower. Coach barely noticed if he showed up. Dante didn’t worry that anyone would notice him admiring his muscles because he hadn’t seen anyone else this morning.
The guys’ shower was one huge chamber. It was covered in tile, just like the rest of the basement, and its arched ceiling made for a deafening echo.
Glut, glut, quad, quad, calf, calf. Glut, glut, quad, quad, calf— CLICK. Though his eyes were closed, Dante sensed that the lights had gone out. Then his shower faded to a trickle and was gone.
“Aw, man. Whoever’s out there better cut that junk out.” Dante yelled.
As the echo faded, all he could hear in the locker room was the popping of soap bubbles in his unrinsed hair. No muffled laughter from any of the guys. No sound of high fives. He was certain that there was no one else in the locker room.
He worked his way along the shower wall until he found the entrance and the towel he’d left there. He got as much of the soap off as he could and opened his eyes. It made no difference at all. Not even the exit signs were on.
Dante wrapped the towel—which suddenly felt very small and thin—around his waist and began moving toward the lockers.
Finally he felt the first bumpy vents of a locker. Dante sighed in relief. He was getting really cold and couldn’t wait to put on some clothes. And some underwear. He didn’t like being naked and not knowing what else could be in the room with him.
Dante suddenly realized, though, that he didn’t know exactly which gym locker belonged to him. It was 208, kind of in the middle in of the room. He tried to feel the numbers on the little plate on the locker in front of him, but he wasn’t confident he could really tell what they were. Dante felt along the lockers until he thought he might have gone far enough. He began opening lockers and feeling inside to see if he could find his clothes. Some of the lockers did have things in them, but nothing that felt like his stuff.
While opening the tenth locker, Dante heard a faraway, drawn-out scream, a long whoosh, and a hollow bang. Then the same again. Again. Then silence. He heard his breath. He felt a rumbling under his feet. He held on tight to the locker door. The rumbling stopped.
Suddenly Dante couldn’t stand being alone there in the dark any longer. He put his hand in the locker in front of him. Slippery fabric, like a pair of shorts. He grabbed them. Whatever was on the hook under the shorts felt like a T-shirt, so he grabbed that too. He stuck one leg in the shorts and then the other, getting tangled up for a minute in his hurry. When he pulled them up they felt shorter and tighter than he expected, especially without boxers on.
What and whose are these? he wondered as he yanked the T-shirt on. It was tight too, and it didn’t come down very far. Dante heard a clang echo from the shower area and froze. When he didn’t hear anything more, he began feeling his way along the lockers toward the door to the hallway. He tried to be quiet, but mostly he just wanted to get out.
Dante felt his way around the corner and along the wall, where he fumbled for the door handle. He ripped it open and ran out into the hallway. Safe!
He blinked in the fluorescent light. It was quiet. He f
elt a bit silly. A draft of cold air from the locker room made him look down. He was wearing bright orange running shorts, two sizes too small, and a St. Philomena track T-shirt that barely came to the top of the shorts. (He noticed his muscles looked good in the tight shirt, though.)
Hearing steps down the hall, Dante looked up. He couldn’t see who it was, but it looked like it might be one of the guys on the team. Dante panicked—he didn’t want to explain how scared he’d been and how he ended up in these stupid clothes. It was probably just a circuit that overloaded or something.
He stepped back into the locker room, waiting for whoever it was to walk past. Meanwhile he tried the light switch. Nothing. He was listening hard for footsteps, so he jumped when the rumbling and cracking noises began again in the locker room, louder than before. A blast of cold air made all the hairs on his body stand up.
Dante threw open the door and ran back into the hallway. He looked for someone to tell, no matter how dumb he looked in these clothes. But the hallway was deserted.
He hesitated, looking around. Then he heard another yell directly overhead. He sprinted for the stairs.
7
At the tardy bell, the chemistry teacher stalked past Miranda. He locked the classroom door.
“I always lock the door after that bell,” he informed them. “Anyone who isn’t in his seat by the first bell will only receive half the points for any assignment turned in that day.” Miranda was sure he glared at her. “Anyone who comes after the tardy bell shouldn’t even bother coming. He won’t be able to get in. Anyone want to leave now? The door’s only locked from the outside.”
The class was silent as he stared at all of them.
“Fine. Let’s get started and see if you know anything useful.” He began writing on the board. Everyone picked up their pens.
A loud rattling of the door handle caused everyone to look over. Outside the room, somebody pounded on the door. The teacher just shook his head and kept writing. Miranda thought she could hear the person yelling, “It’s me, Jones! Open up!”
What did that mean? she wondered as she began copying formulas. The person kept pounding and rattling the door handle until the teacher walked over and clipped a wire to the handle on the inside. He flipped a switch on a box sitting on the counter next to the door.
“Aaaarghhhhhh!” everyone heard from outside the door. And then nothing.
“I hope all of you know enough to realize these metal door handles conduct electricity quite nicely. Does anyone know the maximum voltage and amperage the human body can sustain without permanent injury?”
The teacher (who still hadn’t introduced himself, Miranda realized) began explaining the lab for the day. “As was stated on your supply list, which you received in the mail two weeks ago, our first unit uses strontium. Due to cuts to my supply budget, you’ll need to bring many of your own chemicals. I trust you all remembered to bring your two ounces of strontium. Anyone who has forgotten it will, of course, fail this first unit.”
Everyone, including Miranda, began to dig around in their bags. Everyone except Vincent. He leaned over to Miranda, “We can share yours, right? My mom didn’t get me any yet.”
Miranda stopped feeling around in her bag and stared at him. “You don’t have any?”
“Shh, keep your voice down. I’ll probably have some tomorrow. We’ll just start with yours.”
“But—”
“Find a lab bench with your partner and begin with the instructions on the board,” the teacher said over the noise. Vincent got up and pulled out stools at the nearest lab bench. Miranda was still feeling around in her bag. She started pulling things out. She was sure she’d packed the little vial of strontium last night. The teacher was looking at her, so she grabbed her bag and hurried over to Vincent.
“Where is it?” he asked.
“I don’t—” Miranda piled her pencil case, notebooks, calculator, and binder on the table. “I was sure—” Then it hit her as she stared at the bottom of her bag. She’d put the strontium in her jacket pocket. She had meant to switch it to her bag during the car ride to school. But then her dad had been reciting all the locker combinations he had while at St. Philomena High and she’d forgotten.
“I don’t have it,” she whispered, not believing what she’d done. Of course, any other teacher would give you a pass to go get it, especially on the first day. She stared at Vincent, who looked as panicked as she felt. “I left it in my jacket. Omigod, I’m going to fail, I’m going to fail . . .” Miranda put her head in her hands. She’d never gotten a zero on an assignment before, let alone a whole unit. This was so unfair. Did this teacher want to ruin her chances at getting into a good college?
“You’re going to fail?” Vincent’s voice cracked. “I’m going to fail, too—I was counting on you to be prepared, like always. We can’t fail—we’ll both be grounded forever! Just ask him for a pass—say you have to go to the bathroom and then go to your locker instead. Tell him you’ve got your period or something.”
Miranda opened her mouth to protest when the room was silenced by a series of screams and loud bangs from the hallway. The students all looked at the teacher.
“Go on, go on, get going!” he snapped. “I don’t care what shenanigans are going on in the hallway. In this class we don’t waste time. Even if you think you see a nuclear bomb blow up outside the window, I’m not interested in questions about anything that doesn’t relate to this class,” he said, pounding the table. He turned to write on the board again.
Conversations started up again as students got out their notebooks and settled at their lab benches.
“Go ask,” Vincent hissed. The classroom phone rang shrilly over the noise. The teacher let it ring five times, then threw the chalk angrily at the board and stalked over to answer it.
“No!” said Miranda. “He’ll know I forgot it—he could ask to see my strontium before he gives me a pass. And I’m NOT telling him I’m menstruating. You can ask him for a pass yourself. You didn’t even bring your strontium to school. It would be fairer if you failed than if I did.”
The teacher slammed down the phone, muttering to himself. His eyes swept the students at the lab benches. Miranda and Vincent leaned together, trying to look busy.
“Well, let’s hear your great ideas,” Vincent whispered snarkily. The teacher stalked into the supply closet at the front of the room.
“I’ll just leave now. You’ll have to distract him and let me back in when I knock softly. Or maybe I can leave something in the door so it doesn’t close completely,” Miranda said desperately. She couldn’t think of anything else. She started shoving all her stuff back in her bag.
“No, I’m coming, too,” said Vincent. They could still hear the teacher moving stuff around in the closet. Vincent held up his hand as Miranda started to argue. “It’ll be more obvious if only one of us is missing. We can get back into this room from the physics classroom next door—remember? They connect through the supply closet. Besides, you can’t even get your locker open. C’mon, let’s GO.” He grabbed his bag, keeping his eye on the closet.
Miranda didn’t like it, but there wasn’t time to fight about it. She looked around. None of the students were paying attention to them. Trying to look like she was just going to sharpen a pencil, she hurried toward the door.
“Flip the switch!” Vincent said, still watching the closet. Miranda did and then touched the door handle quickly. No shock. She turned it quietly and slipped out. Vincent was right on her heels.
“We did it!” he crowed and leaned over to kiss her.
Miranda pulled away. She was still annoyed with him. Then a rumbling through the floor made her lose her balance. As she fell, she heard more screams down the hall and saw something fly past. Her head hit the floor, and everything went black.
8
In the library, Mrs. Konstantinos was completing her ritual for the first day of school. She had written the locker combinations on all the students’ schedules. All th
e schedules had been collected, except for those belonging to the few stragglers who were probably outside smoking. Mrs. Konstantinos didn’t even need to look at the names to know who those students were. Nothing escaped her.
She cracked each knuckle slowly. Rebecca, her first-hour student library aide, flinched. Mrs. Konstantinos wheezed her creaky-door laugh.
“Your mother never liked that either,” she remarked.
Rebecca wondered what the heck Mrs. Konstantinos was talking about. Could she even see Rebecca where she was shelving books on the other side of the bookcases?
Mrs. Konstantinos ran her hands lovingly over the cracked leather cover of the book. She took a key from around her neck and unlocked a small cabinet next to the desk. The book fit perfectly inside, and the door of the cabinet had a small hole to accommodate the chain. Mrs. Konstantinos wasn’t taking any chances.
“These books need mending,” she said to Rebecca, pointing to a stack of books on a cart. “And some are sadly defaced. See what you can do with them. I will be in the lavatory.”
She retired to her spacious private bathroom, just behind the circulation desk. She selected a pipe from the rack and filled it with tobacco, then sat down on the edge of an antique chair to light it. Then she leaned back and put her feet up on the edge of the sink. The best part of the day, she thought. Now was a time to think about that noise she’d heard earlier—
BOOM! A rumble shook the school. Mrs. Konstantinos sat up.
“Whaaat—?” More rumbles followed. Mrs. Konstantinos’s extra set of porcelain false teeth skittered off the sink and shattered on the floor.
“Ivor!” Mrs. Konstantinos turned even paler than she already was. She burst out of the bathroom, pipe still in hand. Bats were fluttering across the ceiling of the library.