[Janitors 01] Janitors

by Tyler Whitesides

Spencer backed away slowly, unsure if he should feel better because he wasn’t hallucinating or worse because there really were demon creatures roaming the halls of Welcher Elementary School.

  One thing was sure: No one could see them but him and the janitor. And Spencer had a feeling that he wasn’t supposed to be on that list.

  Chapter 6

  “You believe me?”

  The morning was crisp and cool when Spencer coasted into the parking lot of Welcher Elementary School. He’d found a bicycle in Aunt Avril’s garage. The tires were low, but he’d found a pump, too. It was still very early—school wouldn’t start for another twenty minutes. But Spencer needed that time to investigate.

  At home, in his tidy bedroom, Spencer had replayed the previous day over and over again, sorting out all the information and trying to determine what made him different . . . or special . . . or psycho.

  It wasn’t hard to figure out, just hard to accept. Everything had been normal until he had washed his face. Right after he’d dried his eyes, with his face still tingling unnaturally, he’d seen movement in the bathroom stall. Then he saw the bat thing during reading, then more little monsters after school.

  The janitor guy saw them too, which made perfect sense because the janitors were in charge of all cleaning supplies in the school. They must have accidentally left that burn-your-face-off soap in the bathroom.

  Spencer chained his bike to the empty rack. He needed to tell someone what he’d seen. His mother was too busy to help. On Monday, Spencer had told her that he’d been abducted by aliens on the playground and she had said, “That sounds neat, Spence.” No, he needed to tell someone who would take time to listen. Spencer hoped it would be Miss Sharmelle.

  Spencer wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. The morning was cool, but it had been a long ride from his house to the school. He tugged on the door.

  Locked.

  “They’ll open it in five minutes,” said a voice from behind a tree. Daisy Gates appeared, book in hand. “I always like to be the first one in the school, so I get here early and read until they open the doors. I don’t live far away. Just like three blocks.”

  “Yeah,” Spencer said. “I wanted to get here early too.” He studied Daisy. Her long, thick hair was in its usual braid down her back. She was taller than some of the boys, and when she smiled big, her mouth was full of teeth. Despite her extra height, she still seemed small. She looked truly impressionable, which made sense since Spencer knew that she believed anything anyone said.

  Gullible Gates. Suddenly, Spencer realized that she was exactly who he needed.

  “Hey,” he said, walking over to the grass. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

  “About Dez?” she said, tucking a bookmark into her novel. She looked down and began backing away. “I know. People tell me all the time that I shouldn’t believe him. But sometimes he says some really interesting things.”

  “Actually,” Spencer said, “it’s about yesterday. Remember when I said I saw something during the read-aloud?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I’m sure I saw something.”

  “The little bat?”

  “It was more than a bat. It was . . .” Spencer took a deep breath, putting all of his hope in Daisy’s gullibility, “a little flying monster.”

  All right. Now that he’d said it aloud, it sounded absolutely stupid. Daisy stared at him for a long time. Her eyes got wide.

  “What did it do?” she asked intently.

  “You believe me?” Spencer cried in disbelief.

  “Wait a minute, are you tricking me?”

  “No! No. I’m serious.”

  “How come no one else saw it?”

  “The janitor did. He tried to vacuum one up after school, but it got away.”

  “Marv,” she said.

  “What?”

  “The janitor. Was it the big guy with a shaggy black beard and a bald spot on his head?” Spencer nodded. “His name is Marv Bills,” she said. “He’s really nice. Marv does most of the work, but John Campbell is really the head janitor.”

  “You’re friends with the janitors?”

  “No,” Daisy said. “I just study the yearbook and memorize people’s names.”

  Spencer wanted to tell her that was kind of weird. But then, he’d just told her that he saw flying monsters, so he had no room to talk.

  “Yeah.” Daisy nodded. “The yearbook’s great. You probably don’t have one yet ’cause you’re new around here. Anyway, did you have monsters at your old school?”

  Spencer couldn’t believe that she was taking him seriously. But that was Daisy’s greatest weakness. “It all started when I found some magic soap . . .”

  That was it. Spencer had pushed it too far. He saw Daisy’s eyebrows furrow in skepticism. If he’d only said “special soap” or “unusual soap”—but no. He’d said the “m” word.

  “You’re tricking me.”

  “I swear I’m not,” Spencer pleaded. Daisy turned and put her book into her backpack. “Come on,” he begged, “I’m not like Dez. I don’t stick M&Ms up my nose.”

  “Why don’t you prove it? I’d love to see little critters crawling on the walls.”

  “It’s not really fun, Daisy. It’s actually kind of freaky.”

  “How do you expect me to believe you if I can’t see them?” she asked.

  “Well, I don’t know,” said Spencer. “You seem to believe Dez just fine.”

  Daisy stalked away, pushing open the now unlocked door to the school.

  Great! Spencer thought. Even Gullible Gates doesn’t buy my story. But what if he could show her? He could show Miss Sharmelle, too. And the principal. They could call an exterminator!

  Spencer caught up to Daisy halfway down the hall. Other kids were entering and Daisy had failed at her daily goal to be the first one inside.

  “I’ve decided to show you, Daisy.”

  She raised her eyebrows as they walked side by side. Spencer could tell she was having some kind of internal battle: the Daisy who got tricked a lot versus the Daisy who wanted to learn something important. Silently, Spencer rooted for the latter.

  “Come with me,” he said. “Let me get the soap out of the garbage and you can try it for yourself.”

  They walked in silence. When they reached the bathroom, Spencer pushed open the door and ran inside with the urgency of someone who’d been “holding it” for hours. He reached the garbage can . . . and his hopes shattered.

  A fresh sack lined the can. All of yesterday’s garbage was gone—disposed of by the janitors. Spencer’s plan was falling apart.

  “It’s not there,” Spencer said, emerging slowly from the bathroom.

  “That’s okay,” Daisy said. “I’m sure the janitors have more.”

  Spencer paused thoughtfully for a moment. “That’s a good idea, Daisy,” he said. “Come on. We’ve still got ten minutes.”

  In a moment, the two kids stood at the top of a few stairs. The short flight descended into the janitorial area. It was a large space for storing extra garbage cans, trash bags, chemical cleaners, wax for the tile floors, and, Spencer hoped, magic soap.

  “Wait!” Spencer caught Daisy’s arm at the top of the stairs. “Why do we need the soap?”

  Daisy looked at him as though he were an idiot. “So I can see the little critters and you can prove that you’re not lying to me.”

  “Well, yes,” Spencer said, rolling his eyes. “But we’re not going to tell the janitors that.”

  “What’re we going to tell them, then?”

  “Well, I needed it because I had marker on my face. The soap took it off, no problem.” Spencer quickly unzipped his backpack and pulled out a ballpoint pen.

  “What are you doin
g?” Daisy yelped as he reached for her face.

  “I’m giving us a reason to ask for soap.”

  Daisy whimpered at first, but gradually became more cooperative. It was over in a flash. Daisy had blue ink flames leaping up her cheek.

  “I’ll do the talking,” Spencer said. “Come on.”

  The two kids quietly descended the stairs until they stood at the doorway to the large storage closet. From this angle, Spencer could see a small desk with a computer nestled among the janitorial boxes, bottles, and canisters. It seemed that the closet doubled for an office.

  “Hello?” Spencer called into the dimly lit room.

  Almost immediately, a head of shaggy black hair popped over a stack of boxes. Marv Bills stepped out, studying the two kids skeptically. He dusted off his hands, clapping them together like two thick slabs of meat.

  Marv wore the same dirty white shirt as the day before. If anything, his faded jeans were sagging further down his behind. He looked a few years older than thirty, but it was hard to tell with his bushy beard. Really the only difference between Marv and a grizzly bear was that Marv could speak.

  The burly janitor took a few steps forward, the massive ring of keys at his side tinkling like the bells on Santa’s sleigh. Marv grunted when he saw Daisy’s face. “Tattoos? In elementary school?” He shook his head and muttered, “What’s this world coming to?”

  “It’s not a tattoo. We need soap,” Spencer blurted. Instantly, he wished he’d made some small talk or said something to make it sound less desperate. “Hi, how are you?” he tried again, but it was like telling the joke after the punch line.

  “Soap?” Marv asked. “There should be plenty in the girls’ bathroom. I filled the dispensers yesterday.”

  “But she’s got ink on her face,” Spencer said. “We need soap that’ll take it off fast. You know, the strong stuff.”

  Marv folded his arms. “You kids shouldn’t be down here.”

  “Sorry,” Daisy said. “We’ll go.”

  Spencer grabbed her arm. “Not till we get some soap.” Spencer stared at the janitor. With a swift motion, Marv reached over and grabbed something off a shelf.

  “Think fast,” he said, tossing a small rectangular box across the room. Daisy caught it, then fumbled, but caught it again before it hit the ground. Spencer reached for it anxiously, but she evaded his grasp and turned to read the label on the box.

  Irish Spring.

  “What?” Spencer muttered, finally pulling the box from Daisy’s hands. He tore open the little flaps on the end and dumped a green bar of soap into his left hand.

  “Not this.” Spencer shook his head at Marv. “I want the special stuff. The pink gel soap that takes off marker and makes your face tingle.”

  “Why don’t you just be glad for what you got and scram?” Marv flicked his wrist at them. “One kind of soap works just like another. There’s no special stuff down here.”

  With those words, Daisy suddenly went rigid. Warily, Spencer glanced over at her. The blue ink flames outlined on her cheek were turning red. She slowly twisted her glare to meet his eyes.

  “Bully,” she whispered. Her eyes looked like they might be sprouting tears sometime in the next ten seconds.

  “No, Daisy, I promise, I—”

  “Dez tells me that forests only grow on islands and tricks me into putting my thumbs up my nose. But you—you pretend to be my friend so you can draw doodles on my face and scare me into thinking that little monsters roam the school.” The first tear departed, running down her cheek and sizzling on the flames. “Gullible Gates! Yeah, right! I’m not believing anyone anymore.” Daisy turned and ran up the stairs, covering her graffitied cheek with one hand. Spencer started to follow, but a firm hand gripped his backpack.

  “What do you know about monsters?” Marv hissed in his ear.

  “Let me go!” Spencer slipped out of his arm straps and began a tug of war with his pack. Daisy had blown his secret!

  “Where’d you get this special soap?”

  “You know!” Spencer said. “You left it lying around!”

  Marv suddenly released his backpack and Spencer staggered sideways a few steps. “You’ve got yourself into real trouble, boy,” Marv whispered. “Stuff like that’s not meant for you.”

  The bell rang to announce the beginning of class. Spencer moved toward the stairs.

  “I haven’t seen the last of you,” Marv said. “But tomorrow, we’ve got an even bigger problem, so you’ll have to wait. What’s your name?”

  “I’m not telling!” Spencer raced up the stairs.

  “Then I’ll find out!”

  Chapter 7

  “Look out behind you!”

  When Spencer reached the classroom, the Bath and Body Works fragrance of Miss Leslie Sharmelle had been replaced by a slight odor of cabbage.

  Mrs. Natcher was back.

  “Good morning, class,” Mrs. Natcher said.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Natcher,” the class recited in unison.

  Along with smelling like a steamed veggie, Mrs. Natcher was very conservative and formal. In her late fifties, she didn’t bother to dye her graying hair or paint her nails. After Miss Sharmelle’s flash and flare, Mrs. Natcher seemed drab and boring.

  Daisy ignored Spencer all morning. The liquid soap in the girls’ bathroom had taken the blue flames off her face—mostly. Her cheek was scrubbed raw and her determination was clearly set. Even Dez knew something was wrong with Daisy when she refused to believe that his tennis shoes had once belonged to the president of the United States. Gullible Gates had finally decided that no one could be trusted.

  With the events in the storage closet as a prelude to his day, Spencer stayed far away from the janitor’s stairwell. Before lunch, he entered the boys’ bathroom to wash up, ducking past Marv in the hallway.

  In the bathroom, he encountered a third type of creature. This one was slimy, pale yellow, and looked like a salamander. It was perched on the rim of the sink, its long black tongue working at some grimy film that had built up next to the tap. Spencer froze to watch, but the creature quickly sensed him and slid into the bowl of the sink. Its body flattened as though bones were optional and quickly slithered down the drain.

  A few minutes later, Spencer was looking at a tray of mediocre cafeteria food, trying not to think that gross little creatures might live in the kitchen.

  “’Sup, Batman?” Dez turned away from his food, shouting at Spencer over his shoulder. Dez was surrounded by his usual knucklehead buddies. “See any bats with beaks today?”

  Spencer froze, his lunch tray gripped firmly. Don’t even look over there, he told himself. Just keep walking. But it was a good thing he looked, because there was a bat monster perched right on Dez’s milk carton. Its bald head bobbed as it wedged a sharp beak into the carton for a slurp of milk.

  “Look out behind you!” Spencer shouted at Dez, winning the attention of everyone in the cafeteria. Whether it was the sincerity in Spencer’s voice or the suddenness with which he shouted, Dez whirled around in genuine surprise. His clumsy turn tipped the milk carton, sending the invisible creature into the air and cold milk into Dez’s crotch.

  The noisy room erupted with laughter at Dez’s blunder. Across the cafeteria, Spencer glimpsed Daisy looking up from her sack lunch. Spencer watched the creature’s jagged flight pattern until it ducked out the doorway. When he looked back down, Dez was coming right for him.

  Sudden loss of appetite, coupled with the urge to run, made Spencer dump his lunch directly into the nearest garbage and head for the door. Bursting outside, he raced across the playground, not daring to check over his shoulder until he reached the far side of the soccer field. There was no sign of pursuit, so he slumped against the goalpost.

  Tears were trying to surface. Spencer shut his eyes. Hi
s sixth-grade year was turning out to be worse than he could have imagined and he wanted to shut it out, to pretend he was at his old school. But shutting his eyes wasn’t such a bright idea, since he was surrounded when he opened them.

  Spencer scrambled to his feet, ringed in by Dez’s friends. The bully stood right before him, an embarrassing wet mark down the front of his shorts. In his hand was a new milk carton that he tossed from left to right like a hot potato.

  “So,” Dez said. “You tried to get me with the oldest, stupidest trick in the book?” He held up his hands in mock fear. “‘Oh! Look out behind you!’” he shouted in a high-pitched voice. “That’s what you’d better be doing, Doofus. Because I’m going to be right behind you from now on.”

  “But it wasn’t a trick,” Spencer said. “I really did see something on your lunch tray. It flew off when you turned around.”

  “Whatever,” Dez said. “You made me look bad in the lunchroom and you’re going to pay for that.” Dez took a step forward. “Do you know what this is?” He held the carton close to Spencer’s face.

  “Milk?” Spencer hoped.

  “Yeah, it’s milk. But take a look at the inspiration date.”

  “Very inspiring,” Spencer said. “But it’s actually the expiration date.”

  “Whatever,” Dez said. “The point is—it’s old. Steve’s been keeping this in his desk since the first day of school. Should be nice and rotten by now. We’ve been saving it for a special occasion. This might be special enough. Unless . . .”

  “Unless what?” Spencer asked. He stared at the deadly milk carton. Swimming inside were countless bacteria and germs galore. “What do you want from me?”

  “Just a simple apology,” Dez answered. “And explain to my homies that you lied about the invisible bats.”

  “But I didn’t lie . . .”

  “Hold him, guys.”

  The nearest bullies grabbed Spencer’s arms. He tried to jerk free, but their grip was tight. Dez peeled back the cardboard flaps on the milk carton and gagged at the rotted smell. Then he slowly tipped the carton forward.