“Those aren’t half bad thoughts, Booster,” Professor Coffin said. “You should clean them up a bit and write them down in the next world. Although to be frank, I have been coaching you a bit. You’re cribbing from me right now. I permit it though because my artistic sprawl is so vast. I have plenty of leftover material to share wantonly.”
“Stop reading my thoughts,” I said. “You might learn something.”
Professor Coffin let out a hearty roar reminiscent of Flash. Even that cantankerous beast was some part of him? I shuddered.
“You write that down,” Professor Coffin suggested. “It’s not half bad.”
“We’re going to write in the next world?” Madison asked. “You’re not just saying that?”
“Are you pulling a prank on us again?” I asked.
“I can’t do all the writing,” Professor Coffin said. “The world is a greedy beast. And you’re going to be my successors, pupils. I don’t want to die forgotten. I’ve worked too hard. Your writing will keep me living when I’m washed up in retirement. We’ll connect back through all those dead hands.”
“What if we can’t do it?” I asked. “Or rather refuse to do it.”
“You’ll bleed out your eyeballs,” Professor Coffin said.
Professor Coffin lowered his spectacles.
Madison and I cringed.
Chapter
Professor Coffin had no eyeballs. Or rather he had what appeared to be two black onyxes in his eye sockets where his eyeballs had formerly been. Some jeweler should nail in some pupils. Drive the diamonds right into his skull. You don’t want to lose those peepers now do we? They’re too precious. Those dark jewels. Why don’t we tack them down so a jewel thief doesn’t pluck them right out. I dream of pawning Professor Coffin’s eyes.
What are the origins of these jeweled eyeballs? I just plucked them out of my former writing instructor’s head. What did he do? He did the usual. He failed to teach me. He failed to encourage me. He also had the audacity to hurt my feelings too. So I plucked his eyes out.
You see this shop, son? I’ve got James Joyce dentures. I don’t need anymore writer parts.
“I’ve been considering that,” Professor Coffin said. “A bit flashy though. The old diamond eyeballs. A competitor of mine is rocking Rolex teeth. A bit too much for my blood though. Watch teeth, please. Watch out on the page. That’s where I do my thing. He’s actually beneath me but he still irritates me. It’s his attitude of superiority that infuriates me. Nobody does superiority better than him. Not even me. He can’t write as well as me though. That’s the only cold comfort that I have. I should have a superior attitude. It’s just not right.”
“Is he reading your thoughts too?” Madison asked.
“I think he’s driving them too,” I said.
“He’s telling me something about a writer being a vehicle,” Madison groaned. “He’s saying something about a bus.”
“He’s doing it to me too,” I groaned.
“You get on the bus, pupils,” Professor Coffin said.
“Before the wheels blow off,” Madison shouted.
“A chip shop in the next world,” Professor Coffin said calmly because he had silenced us. “You can swap out body parts. Add in different writers that you think you might like. I’ve added them all in several times over. All the majors and a quite a few minors, they’re useful too. The old book and a cover, it’s surprising where you find inspiration. Even while peering into the gutter, I’m a crime writer out of Minnesota. It’s kind of cute but the real play is that we’re all out of Minnesota. You can learn something from that hick because it’s you.”
I was shaking like a wet dog. Madison was vibrating. Professor Coffin was striking fear into us without even speaking now. We were both shaking from a cold front that didn’t even exist. He’d actually turned up the temperature as a counterpoint. How do you like your brain boiled? What the fresh hell, make it hard boiled. You like crime novels? I do too. I think it’s some of the best writing out there. Say what?
“I’ll take that as a firm yes that you both want to go to The Coffin Island School for Witches,” Professor Coffin said. “Your suppositions on the theater of the absurd are a bit crude but correct nonetheless. Shall we go?”
Madison and I gripped our seats in total terror as Professor Coffin put the glass Cadillac into gear. He then released us from fear. It felt wonderful. It was like we were floating in space. We were just sitting in our tin can while the world floated below us out the window of the spaceship. The blue planet was drifting below us.
One moment we were struck with total terror in our hearts and now we were free? It gave the mind pause to shift gears so suddenly. So this is what it feels like to be completely out-of-control yet in control at the same time? I like it. Bring it on, Professor Coffin.
“This is my favorite part of the test,” Professor Coffin said. “Some pupils die from fear right here at this very spot. It’s a tough break to crumble at the finish line but that’s how it goes for some runners. They have total meltdowns from which there is no recovery. What are you going to do though? It’s less competition for me. Although let’s be frank, here, because these could be the last words that you ever hear from Professor Coffin because of cardiac arrest brought on by fear. There is no competition out there for me. That’s why I make the big bucks. I’m Professor Coffin.”
The glass Cadillac went screaming down into the abyss. It hit the black hole somewhere at the bottom of the Tower of Babel. The trunk popped open. The Coffin Island library exploded out of it. All those books were just a warp drive? How could words propel you with such force? It somehow made cruel and terrible sense. Knowledge was hells bells. You hear that ring? I do too. Let’s pull that rope and let that bell take us up with it. I want to hear that bell crack. I want to be attached to it too. I don’t care if I’m clinging to a rope. What you call hell. I call hope.
This entire retched journey was just a vehicle of learning. It was warped as hell but it could travel brutally fast, hell yes. Put the pedal to the metal Professor Coffin. I want to roar like Flash out the tailpipe, horror show. Stop messing up in here.
“You need to think like that,” Professor Coffin shouted. “I like it a lot.”
We dumped the junk and made the jump for outer space. Professor Coffin slowly turned his face towards us. The horrific warp made it almost impossible for him to do it. The glass Cadillac seemed to be reaching terminal speed. Break up was inevitable. It was roaring fire out the window. At what point does magical glass incinerate?
Madison and I had our brains pinned back. Our brains were slumping low. They were hanging real low. Those bad boys were belted against the bottoms of our skulls.
Then old Flash tapped on the glass. How you doing in there he seemed to be saying. He was gesturing with his fiery knuckles. Flash seemed to be saying that he was the creature at the end of the dock. Yeah, man, I’m tending the lamp. I’m a flaming ape, you know? I’m the light at the end of the tunnel, bro. He was sitting on the rearview mirror, horror show. Why not take the ride you ornery beast at the end of that fabled dock? Let out that hearty roar for the all the world. They deserve it. Blast them with brimstone, bro. Flash them off. I’m on that same short list with the rest of the world. What the hells bells just incinerate us all. We deserve it.
“How do you like the ride so far,” Professor Coffin asked while his jowls jiggled in warp drive.
“Need to get that chin done, bro,” I stuttered.
“It’s on the bucket list,” Professor Coffin shuddered. “We all do India.”
He was fiddling with the radio. He settled on some long forgotten song.
“Turn up that heavy metal,” I shouted.
“You want to go faster?” Professor Coffin roared.
He turned around to pass us cigarettes. Why not smoke up in here while we’re at it? Fire it up.
“Pin it,” Madison shouted.
“My other car is a Ferrari,” Professor Coffin roared. “
I should have brought that.”
The planets and stars were flying past us like so much dust. It was like the dust was being blown off a novel with a single puff. One of those eager puffs of a real reader. A breath of fresh air that is scarcer than a raven with spectacles.
That book has been sitting on that shelf for far too long. Why not pick it up? Let’s puff off the dust, shall we? I think that there is something in here that speaks to me. It’s a ludicrous hope. I know. But maybe once a generation some holy fool pulls it off. Why not give him his shot? Who says we’re the last of the Mohicans?
That tribe was about to expand a few clicks. I was hell bent on that. And that Ferrari sounded downright delicious. I was looking forward to tanking up that vehicle with the high test. We’re going to need the smoker’s package on that. You don’t flash around town in a Ferrari without a cloud of smoke chasing after it.
The grasshopper must run errands for the Grand Master such as gassing up his Ferrari. Why not see what kind of quarter mile that hideous vehicle has in it. I must have it. That hideous vehicle is mine.
“It will never happen,” Professor Coffin roared. “That car won’t even let me drive it. That’s why it’s a magical Ferrari, Booster. You can’t get in it. No doors. You skid hop off the bumper on a skateboard.”
“I’ll get in it,” I shouted. “Don’t worry about it. What’s the color?”
“Black,” Professor Coffin roared. “What are you stupid?”
Chapter
“Me Chinese Flannery O’Connor,” the hideous ghost said.
The ghost looked like it had been constructed out of spare ghosts. Ghosts that had been shipped off to China to be stripped like so much copper wire. Telephone lines, wires of communication that had been removed from their rubber casings by smelting. Why not tear down all the lines of communication in war torn Africa? What do those brutal revolutionaries have to say to each other? Nothing good I would presume. So this is what remains in the toxic pits deep in the heart of darkest China. Brutal remembrances of Gothic writers past, left over vibrations? What fresh horror do we have here? Do you hear me now? I should just cut off my ears.
Chinese Flannery O’Connor, I thought, that sounds about right for my first instructor at The Coffin Island School for Witches, the real deal. Professor Coffin, he was getting old hat. I was starting to even bust his chops in the backseat of the glass Cadillac. What sort of person yells for more heavy metal when flying through a hallucination at warp speed? Someone incarcerate me pronto.
Chinese Flannery O’Connor, there’s a writing instructor to give you pause. Let’s silence that Booster. Put his overworked mind to good use. And she’s a ghost? Get out of here. The horror, the horror, I gasped, the hors d'oeuvre. Pass that fresh horror on over. Why not? I can gnaw on Faulkner’s toenails at this point. Chilling, that’s how I would describe how I like it. Let’s do that disparity between the characters delusions and that hideous fate awaiting them. However I knew what was coming so I wanted to hurry it up a bit. Why prolong getting yourself killed?
“Is this a lesson on sardonic fate,” I asked.
I raised my hand just to be obnoxious. I spoke out of turn too. It was time to takeover this classroom because I’d just appeared in it. That was how I was going to roll at The Coffin Island School for Witchcraft. Go big and get sent home. What the hell does detention look like? I aimed to find out.
“You shut up,” Chinese Flannery O’Connor said. “Or I shut you up.”
Chinese Flannery O’Connor looked like something that should be haunting the hills of darkest China. She was an outback apparition from the sticks that delighted in scaring the daylights out of nonconformist hill people. She didn’t scare me though. Although I was pretty sure that she could kill me. I was actually quite convinced. You got to put that hand right on the flame to feel the heat. It was hot. Chinese Flannery O’Connor ran real hot. She was like a monk on fire. She smelled like gasoline too. It made sense though. She’d been burned down to this.
Chinese Flannery O’Connor was trying to terrify us. Well, I thought, this lesson is not going to go the way that she planned. Madison was getting contrary too. She was sitting there next to me like an ornery donkey. Madison was smirking right at that ghost. She was making silent gestures with her fingers. Bring it ghost, was what Madison was saying with her fingers. She was signing and signifying at that ghost. She was being incredibly surly without even speaking. Let’s see what you got, Madison was saying. It was hilarious.
This was my first class at The Coffin Island School for Witches? It made perfect sense that this ghost was going to try teach me. I was willing to take instruction from this ghost sort of. Madison was kind of interested too. We just weren’t going to do it on the ghost’s terms. She was a ghost after all. You can’t start taking instructions from ghosts. It doesn’t matter how powerful they are or even if they are right. You’ve got to fight back when a ghost darkens your door.
But she had caught my attention. Indeed. She had a showstopper of a name. Chinese Flannery O’Connor, who thinks of this kind of smash up? You know what. I’ll pay attention to a mind like that. I don’t even care it’s disturbed. Delusion sits just fine with me as long as it hits on all the right pedals. You’ve got to be deluded to be really successful in this world. How else can you dream of taking over the entire world when you have absolutely nothing? Delusion is the first step towards total domination. And that old ghost had a kindly face. I like a nice face. Who doesn’t? There was just the problem with it not being there. How exactly do you make eye contact with a faceless educator? Demonstrate your willingness to learn. Why not be hostile instead? I can do the alienating affront that all really great artists do such as Professor Coffin. I can do the hick out of the sticks with the frightening ambition of wanting to make the whole world shudder. That’s no problem. Chinese Flannery O’Connor hasn’t capitalized the whole market.
“You shut up, ghost,” I said.
“We shut you up,” Madison snorted.
The ghost didn’t like that. She dropped the temperature down a few bars as a response. It was suddenly brutally cold. We were suddenly sitting in the Artic. That’s okay though. Madison and I are polar bears. We don’t care. But it was hard to not see the symbolism. It was right there. That symbol system was boldly of our faces.
We were seeing our own breath exit us. We were blowing smoke rings for all purposes. Those might be your last breaths that brutal coldness seemed to suggest. That air exiting your lungs is probably your last breath. Let’s just visualize the end for you? It’s you or the wallpaper. And frankly the wallpaper is sticking around because it’s got glue. You are a different story, pal. You don’t stick.
That’s what Chinese Flannery O’Connor seemed to suggest. We were exhaling our own smoke for all purposes. We can run on fumes for a bit, I thought. What’s to stop us from clunking in to the next gas station? There is just that ghost that’s going to shut out our lights. I just knew it. She was coming down on us like death. There was no avoiding it. Come hither, darkness, I thought, I have something for you too. It’s not nice either. Just like you. You see there is a dark symmetry to this. You try to kill me. I try to kill you. That’s how the big boys roll up in here. Why should I be passive? You’re trying to kill me. You’ve intimated as much.
Let’s play for keeps, shall we? Why bother with the Russian roulette otherwise. That pipe is loaded. That’s how I like my handgun. A full clip and one in the pipe with the hammer pulled back. Why pack heat otherwise?
This is just a pipe. Or perhaps the pipe is a handgun after all. I wish that I could shoot this ghost haunting my hills but the bullet would just ricochet. It looks like I’ll have to take this class after all. So what if it’s terminal? I’ll just humor this broad until she kills me. What choice do I have?
Madison and I had appeared in our hard back chairs in this classroom. We were hurtling through some hallucination at warp speed with Professor Coffin one second. The next second we were dumped here
. Then we started shooting our mouths off. We were scared but we were going to be obnoxious about it. Don’t let your hangman have the satisfaction. Go ahead with your gallows pole. We don’t care. You’ll pay handsomely to get us off your gallows not the other way around.
We were in the front row of a hideously vast teaching theater. It looked like the kind of place were primitive autopsies were conducted. It was like a coliseum. It was the sort of den that you fed humans to lions.
It was a hideously vast hall where a grave robber would conduct his business. Why not sell tickets? The show is going to be grim. People will pay handsomely to get in. That’s how really great art works too, I thought. You’ve got to make everybody comfortable. Then you make them uncomfortable. You show them the butchery. However you have to throw the dead bodies behind glass. You constantly play between the two. Are you comfortable looking at dead bodies behind glass. The glass is what separates it from a car crash. We look at that too. Shudder.
We were not only in the front row of this car crash. We were the front row of the car crash. Madison and I were the victims. We were sitting in the place of honor. We were like two bodies that were chalked off post homicide. Only we were still alive. It was the anticipation that was making it art for us.
We were sitting on the slab where you put the corpses that you’ve robbed from the grave. You’ve worked hard for those bodies. Why not show off a bit? Those two corpses belong to me. I dug them up and now I’m going to do something truly hideous to them. Watch this.
There were no other students for Chinese Flannery O’Connor. Was it the sheer intimidation? Or was it what she was teaching that was so unpopular? I tended to think that it was both. Chinese Flannery O’Connor was a terminal course in literature. There was no chance of passing.
“I have a question,” I said.
“You too stupid to speak,” Chinese Flannery O’Connor said.
Coffin Island Page 24