Nightmare Academy

by Frank Peretti

  Elisha hesitated. “Uh, excuse me?”

  His eyes narrowed. He repeated slowly, “Stand and recite.”

  She laughed nervously. “Sir, with all due respect, I just got here. This is my very first day.”

  His eyes could melt an iceberg. “Sally, I'm hearing an excuse. You know my policy regarding excuses!”

  “No sir, I'm sorry. I don't know any of your policies because I've never been here before.”

  He crossed his arms. “And how would I know that?”

  She could come up with only one answer. “Have you ever seen me before?”

  He nodded confidently. “Every day.”

  I'm in fantasyland again, she thought, then said, “That's im­possible.”

  Elisha could sense the silent gasp from the rest of the class.

  Booker approached her desk, his eyes threatening. He took back the KM dollar. “You have contradicted me. You do realize that?”

  His eyes could melt an iceberg.

  She didn't want a debate. She was just trying to find some sense in all this. “Mr. Booker, it would be contradictory for me to say that I've always been here when I've been somewhere else.”

  “And now you're telling me what to think!”

  “I'm just telling you the truth.”

  “Your idea of truth, you mean! But you forget, child, that I might see things another way.” His hand went to his desk. His fingers curled around a yardstick. “I might prefer to believe that you have always been here, that you knew good and well what the assignment was, and that you are trying to challenge my authority!” He brought the yardstick around. “You will stand and you will recite.” He raised the yardstick, ready to bring it down on her shoulders. “You will stand, or—”

  Elijah jumped to his feet so fast his desk dumped over with a horrible clatter. “I'LL RECITE!”

  Heads spun around. Eyes—wide, intense eyes—locked on him. Over on the right side of the class, a girl broke into tears.

  Time froze. Still holding the yardstick, Booker stood motionless like a still photograph from a scary movie and glared at Elijah. He shot a corrective look and a pointing finger at the girl who was whimpering, and she immediately stifled herself. Finally, he turned and walked down the aisle, his heels loudly marking each step on the hard maple floor. “I did not call on you.”

  Elijah could look past Booker and see the frightened face of his sister. Nothing would turn him back. “I'll recite, anything you want if I know it, and if I don't know it, you can go ahead and hit me.”

  Booker raised an eyebrow, impressed. He stole a glance at Elisha. “You have quite the power to charm, young lady.” Then he looked at Elijah and cradled the yardstick in both hands, clearly relishing the thought. “Very well. Recite. But I warn you: Try your very best to please me.”

  Elijah didn't think he'd be able to look Booker in the eye, but there was something about the words he began to recite that gave him the nerve. “Exodus, chapter twenty: You shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in the heavens above, or in the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth. You shall not—"'

  “The audacity!” Booker growled and raised the yardstick—

  A loud scraping of a desk across the floor! Elisha was on her feet, calling out, “You shall not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain! Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy!'”

  Now, in front and behind Booker, they spoke in chorus: “'Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be prolonged. You shall not steal. You shall not murder. You shall not commit adultery—"'

  “RUBBISH!” Booker roared, looking from one to the other.

  There was silence.

  “Do you want us to keep going?” Elijah asked.

  “NO!” Booker studied both of them, looking back and forth, and finally, he lowered the yardstick to his side, tapping it absentmindedly on the floor as he returned to the front of the room. “That will be quite enough. Please be seated, and I commend you for a remarkable demonstration.”

  “The audacity!” Booker growled

  and raised the yardstick—

  “Thank you—”

  “Of rubbish. Pure rubbish.” Booker tossed the yardstick on his desk and addressed the class. “Did you notice? Once again, we find ourselves having to confront the same old idea, that somehow, as if from the heavens above, there is Truth, there is Right, there is Wrong.” He looked angrily at Elijah and Elisha. “Once again, we have to endure someone putting forth definitive statements of truth!”

  “As you have just done, sir,” Elijah replied, righting his desk.

  He simply laughed that aside. “Oh, yes. You're one of those 'either/or' thinkers, aren't you? Either my truth or yours. Well, I say your Truth is rubbish!” He spread his arms toward the class. “I'm even willing to put it to the group! We are a group, are we not, with the power to agree on what is true? Let me ask you, group: Would any disagree with me?”

  No one disagreed. Hardly anyone even looked his direction.

  He laughed, basking in victory. “Rubbish!”

  The class took turns reading aloud from Hemingway for the rest of the hour. Some read well, were commended, and given KM dollars; some could hardly read at all, were humiliated, and had their dollars taken away. Booker certainly made no friends, but like it or not, it was his hour, his class, his kingdom. He ran things the way he pleased, and though he invited questions—once—no one dared ask any.

  When class was finally dismissed and the students were a safe distance away, there were plenty of questions. “Who does he think he is?” “That guy's a psycho!” “I thought classes here were optional! What's this mandatory stuff?” “Man, this place is no fun. It's just like school again!”

  Elisha's nerves were frazzled. “Do you think he really would have hit me?”

  “He wouldn't have had the chance,” Elijah told her.

  Elisha just sighed, calming herself. “Well, better day tomorrow.”

  Warren, a quiet but strong young man with reddish hair and freckles, approached Elisha and Elijah on the sidewalk. “I just want to tell you, you've got nerve, man. I couldn't have faced down Booker like that.”

  Ramon agreed. “You're one bad dude, Jerry—but I wouldn't let him hit me. I'd cut him up first.”

  Marcy was crying a little, and touched her forehead to Elisha's shoulder. “I felt so awful for you.”

  Booker certainly made no friends,

  but like it or not it was his hour,

  his class, his kingdom.

  Elisha held Marcy close to comfort her. “It's all right. We just need to learn the ropes, that's all. Tomorrow will go more smoothly.”

  “What was that?” asked Ramon. “The Ten Commandments?”

  “How come you both know the same thing?” asked Warren.

  Elijah shrugged. “Doesn't everybody?”

  “I've seen the movie,” Warren offered.

  “Hey,” said Ramon, “there goes Booker now.”

  They all followed his gaze. Mr. Booker, with several teachers and staff, was walking toward the big iron gate that separated the campus from the mansion up in the trees. When he and the others reached the gate, Booker entered a code in the lock and the big gate swung open automatically. As soon as they had all passed through, it swung shut again, and the final, metallic clank could be heard clear across the field.

  “Just like prison bars,” said Elisha.

  “I wouldn't mind a closer look at that place,” said Elijah.

  “Don't even think about it,” said Warren. “Somebody already tried sneaking in there and we haven't seen him since.”

  Elijah and Elisha each made a point to look normal.

  “You mean, one of the guests? One of the kids, like us?”

  Elisha asked.

  “Yeah. He was . . .” He fumbled a bit as if he didn't want to go into it. “Well, just stay away from there and don't worry about it.”

  �
�But what do they do in there?” Elijah asked.

  “It's academy headquarters. Offices and stuff. I think Mr.

  Bingham lives up there, and maybe Booker and Mrs. Wendell, the librarian. It's private, that's all. Come on. Let's grab something to eat and then rock out.”

  The Rec Center was a huge pavilion wholly devoted to games, amusement, distraction, and sensory overload, and the doors opened at six o'clock every morning. The video arcade rivaled anything the kids might find in the big city, with row upon row of roaring, thumping, off-road-racing, downhill-skiing, snowboarding, bad-guy-shooting, alien-blasting, fighter-jet-flying, body-bashing machines, flashing, beeping, blurping, exploding, a hot-buttered carnival of glittering lights in the semidarkness, a riotous rumble accented with the loud clack of pool balls striking each other and the bock, bock bobock of air hockey. Above all this was the pounding, bass-driven throb of rock music from the house sound system—and just below it, the roar of the youthful crowd, all yell-talking to each other in bellows, hollers, and shrieks. Everything that met the eye was overstated, from the comic art and blaring movie posters on the walls to the green, purple, red, and blue neon logos, to the bigger-than-life pictures of television, movie, and rock stars in the halls and restrooms. And all the bodies were in constant motion, silhouettes against the lights, rushing, ambling, bumping, drifting from game to game, machine to machine, group to group, like bees between blossoms.

  The kids were in their own clothes now, the clothes they'd brought on their backs, although there were plenty of KnightMoore tee shirts, jogging shorts, sweat pants, and other cool sports clothing walking around, available at the Campus Exchange for the right amount of KMs. Now, with different wardrobe choices, the kids could talk with their clothes: Don't mess with me. Don't notice me. I don't care. I'm not different. I'm really different. I'm tough. I'm cool. I don't need anybody. I'm available. I'm fat but don't know it. Hey, I don't worry.

  Elijah and Elisha decided to split up and mingle, carrying on semi-shouted conversations with anyone who was talkative.

  Elijah became the fourth player in a pool game, and managed to jaw with his opponents while they waited for their turn.

  “The mansion? That's where all the bigwigs live,” a lanky pool shark named Andy told him, chalking his cue. “We got some kids saying weird stuff about it, but ehhh, you don't have to believe everything you hear.”

  “I heard somebody tried to sneak in there and he never came back,” Elijah prompted.

  “Yeah, I've heard that.”

  “No, you didn't,” said Roberto, watching his shot drop into the corner pocket. “It's just a bunch of talk.”

  “A bunch of talk that he didn't hear?” Elijah asked.

  “That's right.”

  “Yeah, he's right, I didn't hear it,” said Andy.

  Marcy introduced Elisha to some of her friends near the vending machines. Britney and Madonna had heard about Elisha's first day in Booker's class, which immediately gave them a common bond.

  “You ask me, that mansion's haunted,” said Madonna, leaning on the pop machine as she checked out the boys in the room. “I mean, like, Booker lives up there, so I mean, come on!”

  “I wouldn't go up there,” said Britney. “One night we heard somebody screaming—I'm not joking! You don't know what Booker and Bingham and all those people might be doing up there.”

  “Did one kid really go up there?” Elisha asked.

  “Yeah, first night we were all here. It was some kind of dare, I think.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He tried to climb over the wall and he fell inside, and then he screamed, and . . .” She shrugged. “And now he's gone, that's all I know.”

  “Madonna?”

  She just flipped her hair out of her eyes and took a sip from her pop can. “I don't know.”

  “What don't you know?”

  She gave Elisha a puzzled look. “What on earth you're talking about.”

  “And now he's gone, . . .”

  “The kid who went over the wall.”

  She scowled and shook her head. “Nobody went over the wall.”

  Elisha looked at Britney but Britney had already caught a glance from Madonna. “Well, it isn't true anymore,” Britney added quickly. “I mean, it happened, but now it didn't. Hey! The Booger game's open!”

  “Wanna play?” Madonna asked.

  “Sure,” said Elisha. “What's the object?”

  “What's the object!” Madonna and Britney thought that was funny.

  “He got in trouble,” said Eric, a wiry little guy who could talk while shooting alien spacecraft out of the sky. He'd been at this one game for over an hour nonstop. “Got in a fight, so Booker and Stern took him up to the mansion, and I guess he got sent home 'cause we never saw him again. Of course, you gotta remember, that's just my truth. That's the way I saw it.”

  “You saw all this?” Elijah asked, watching spacecraft disintegrate into flaming pixels.

  “Just in my own mind. It's not true for everybody. But it's a great story.”

  “Did you know this guy?”

  “Can't say I know anything. Don't know his name, don't know if he even existed—but if he did, I think he was a friend of Alex.”

  Elisha was just starting to win at the Booger game when someone nudged up close behind her and asked, “How's it going?”

  It was Alex. Marcy Britney, and Madonna turned all giggles.

  “All right, I guess,” Elisha answered, tapping away at the control buttons, all the more motivated to concentrate on the game.

  “Don't worry about what happened today, you know, with Booker,” he said. “We're gonna even things up, just you watch.”

  Elisha, investigating, asked, “And just what did you have in mind?”

  “Don't trouble yourself about it. I got other plans for you.” He put his big hands on her shoulders and whispered something in her ear.

  The Booger game began to flash. In only seconds, Elisha lost all her Kleenex points and the game ended in a giant, green explosion.

  “Awwww . . . ,” came a chorus behind her.

  7

  DORM RAJDS

  ELISHA COULD STILL HEAR the dull roar of the games and the heavy thumping of the music from her dorm room. It was after eleven at night. A few of the girls had returned to their rooms, giggling, gossiping, some tired and snippy, but most of the noise was still coming from the Rec Center. Marcy had not returned, and one look at Marcy's totally devastated half of the room told Elisha not to expect her anytime soon. Whoever Marcy was pretending to be, she was definitely not pretending to be anyone organized or disciplined, and one look at the hallway outside said the same thing about the rest of the girls in this building.

  It had Elisha worried, not about the messiness, but what it meant and what it could lead to. If trash and clothing scattered about the rooms and hallways and graffiti on the walls didn't matter, what else wouldn't matter? Mrs. Meeks, the dorm supervisor, didn't seem very concerned. She hardly ever came out of her office to check on things.

  Elisha reached under her bed and took her radio from its hiding place in the bedspring. Sitting on the bed with her back against the wall, she held the tiny microphone near the corner of her mouth and began transmitting. “Mom and Dad. In case you're within range of this radio . . .” Just talking to Mom and Dad brought a wave of deep longing. “Hi. I miss you.” She had to pause a moment and draw some deep breaths. Her voice was still choked when she continued. “Elijah and I are okay We're trying to find a telephone or any other way to contact you. We've found the Knight-Moore Academy and from what we've seen, there's no doubt that Alvin Rogers was here.” She looked out the window and could see a few dim lights coming from the mansion. “And I think we've found part of the answer to what happened to him.”

  While Elisha was in her room filing a report, Elijah was taking advantage of the darkness, scouting the big stone wall that enclosed the mansion. He'd already circled the campus looking for a ro
ad and found nothing, so the only way in and out of this place had to be through that big iron gate and by way of the mansion. He thought he'd heard some vehicles coming and going up there. A mansion that size had to have a road leading to it, and that road had to go somewhere.

  Elisha reached under her bed

  and took her radio from its

  hiding place in the bedspring.

  He continued along the wall until he came to the right lower corner. From there, the wall continued up the hill, shrouded by thick forest and darkness. He found an opening in the underbrush and pushed his way in. The brush was low and thin and moved aside easily, but the footing was a little tricky. He climbed, step by step, tree by tree.

  When he had gained some elevation above the campus, he halted in a small gap in the brush and listened. Tonight's evening of “rocking out” was winding down. The music had stopped. Lights around the campus were blinking out. He was now closer than he'd ever been to the mansion and could see the big, lighted windows through the tangled tree limbs. He shook off a chill. Maybe it was the darkness, or the rumors he'd heard, but that place gave him the creeps.

  Then he heard a strange sound below, a yelling, banging commotion.

  “Don't these people ever sleep?” he muttered to himself.

  Elisha heard the noise, too, only much closer. She jumped out of bed and went to the window. It was too dark to see much, although she could see two or three bodies running around out there in white KM tee shirts. She heard a long, loud squeal and footsteps coming down the hall. It sounded like Marcy.

  She heard a long, loud sgueal

  and footsteps coming down the hall.