absolutely without result.
‘So much for that. After about half an hour Sampson looked in again: said he had felt very unwell, and told us we might go. He came rather gingerly to his desk, and gave just one look at the uppermost paper: and I suppose he thought he must have been dreaming: anyhow, he asked no questions.
‘That day was a half-holiday, and next day Sampson was in school again, much as usual. That night the third and last incident in my story happened.
‘We - McLeod and I - slept in a dormitory at right angles to the main building. Sampson slept in the main building on the first floor. There was a very bright full moon. At an hour which I can’t tell exactly, but sometime between one and two, I was woken up by somebody shaking me. It was McLeod, and a nice state of mind he seemed to be in. ‘Come,’ he said, - ‘come there’s a burglar getting in through Sampson’s window.’ As soon as I could speak, I said, ‘Well, why not call out and wake everybody up? ‘No, no,’ he
said, ‘I’m not sure who it is: don’t make a row: come and look.’ Naturally I came and looked, and naturally there was no one there. I was cross enough, and should have called McLeod plenty of names: only - I couldn’t tell why - it seemed to me that there was something wrong - something that made me very glad I wasn’t alone to face it. We were still at the window looking out, and as soon as I could, I asked him what he had heard or seen. ‘I didn’t hear anything at all,’ he said, ‘but about five minutes before I woke you, I
found myself looking out of this window here, and there was a man sitting or kneeling on Sampson’s window-sill, and looking in, and I thought he was beckoning.’ ‘What sort of man?’ McLeod wriggled. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘but I can tell you one thing - he was beastly thin: and he looked as if he was wet all over: and,’ he said, looking round and whispering as if he hardly liked to hear himself, ‘I’m not at all sure that he was alive.’
‘We went on talking in whispers some time longer, and eventually crept back to bed. No one else in the room woke or stirred the whole time. I believe we did sleep a bit afterwards, but we were very cheap next day.
‘And next day Mr Sampson was gone: not to be found: and I believe no trace of him has ever come to light since. In thinking it over, one of the oddest things about it all has seemed to me to be the fact that neither McLeod nor I ever mentioned what we had seen to any third person whatever. Of course no questions were asked on the subject, and if they had been, I am inclined to believe that we could not have made any answer: we seemed unable to speak about it.
‘That is my story,’ said the narrator. ‘The only approach to a ghost story connected with a school that I know, but still, I think, an approach to such a thing.’
The sequel to this may perhaps be reckoned highly conventional; but a sequel there is, and so it must be produced. There had been more than one listener to the story, and, in the latter part of that same year, or of the next, one such listener was staying at a country house in Ireland.
One evening his host was turning over a drawer full of odds and ends in the smoking-room. Suddenly he put his hand upon a little box. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘you know about old things; tell me what that is.’ My friend opened the little box, and found in it a thin gold chain with an object attached to it. He glanced at the object and then took off his spectacles to examine it more narrowly. ‘What’s the history of this?’ he asked. ‘Odd enough,’ was the answer. ‘You know the yew thicket in the shrubbery: well, a year or two back we were cleaning out the old well that used to be in the clearing here, and what do you suppose we found?’
‘Is it possible that you found a body?’ said the visitor, with an odd feeling of nervousness.
‘We did that: but what’s more, in every sense of the word, we found two.’
‘Good Heavens! Two? Was there anything to show how they got there? Was this thing found with them?’
‘It was. Amongst the rags of the clothes that were on one of the bodies. A bad business, whatever the story of it may have been. One body had the arms tight round the other. They must have been there thirty years or more - long enough before we came to this place. You may judge we filled the well up fast enough. Do you make anything of what’s cut on that gold coin you have there?’
‘I think I can,’ said my friend, holding it to the light (but he read it without much difficulty); ‘it seems to be GWS, 24 July, 1865.’
Cygnus Loop by Michael L Thal
The morning rain pounded the small school along Riverside Drive. Children and teachers ran frantically from parked cars. Horns blasted, and headlights winked through waves of water.
Allison Peters hated arriving late. But she had just moved from her old bachelor pad in anticipation of her boyfriend’s arrival. This new place was a short commute.
Allison waited by the door of her third
grade classroom with her hand over her heart, blonde hair plastered against her face, makeup running down her cheeks. A puddle of water formed around her feet as her students saluted the flag under the leadership of Vice Principal, Brett Castille. Physically, she was attracted to Brett. If only he wasn’t so obnoxious, like the way he looked her over like a barfly would a potential night’s catch.
When the students pulled out their chairs, she whispered in his ear over the scraping noises. ‘Mind if I change?’
‘No problem. Just make it fast.’ As she walked passed the principal’s office, she got nailed. ‘Miss Peters, I want to speak to you now. In my office.’
She walked slowly by the secretary’s desk, forced a smile at the elderly woman, and entered Dr Judd’s office. The door’s tight spring closed it firmly behind her. Thud!
Nanette Judd was an older woman, thin like a scarecrow with brittle gray hair and skin as transparent as wax paper. Her desk was huge, and empty except for a crystal paperweight and a picture of a super nova. Allison smiled in sweet recognition when she saw the photo. She relaxed somewhat and sat in a leather-padded chair across from her boss. The desk seemed to dwarf the frail woman, but her demeanor was anything but feeble. Her blue eyes reached inside Miss Peter’s brown ones like a telepath reading her victim’s mind.
‘Allison, you were late today. Didn’t I tell you not to move out of town?’
‘Yes, Yal... ah, Dr Judd.’
Dr Judd looked at her crossly and said, ‘So why did you?’
‘I want to make a nice home for Cami when he arrives. ‘
‘I’m looking forward to his arrival too. We could use his help around here. But you’re both better off living in Sherman Oaks. We’re a community, you know.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘You better not be late again. Not unless you’d rather go home and turn over your cubicle to someone else.’ She surveyed the woman from head to toe.
Dr Judd pointed a bony finger at her and continued, ‘There is a waiting list you know.’
‘Yes.’
With a crooked smile, Dr Judd pushed back her long gray hair and said, ‘Now go ahead and freshen up. We wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty face.’
‘No, we wouldn’t.’
As Allison pulled open the door, Dr Judd said, ‘I’ll be taking over your class at 1:00. Make sure Castille is there.’
The first smile of the day erupted on the blonde’s face. ‘Yes ma’am!’
When she got back to class, her students were answering math problems. Mr Castille was working with a few slower children in a small group reviewing their multiplication tables.
She whispered, ‘Can we talk?’
‘During recess.’
She looked at the clock, and nodded.
An hour later an aide took over her third grade class to escort children to the restroom. Allison walked down the steps and around the bend to the VP office.
It was a small room that used to be a storage closet. Brett was squeezed behind an old brown desk sitting in a chair that creaked with every move.
‘She’s such a bitch,’ Allison screeched.
‘Quiet
! Or we’ll both be out on the street. And in this rain, it’s not such a good idea.’
‘She said I had no business moving into my new apartment. Said I was better off living in Sherman Oaks. She even docked me twelve minutes sick leave for being late.’
‘Typical.’ Brett leaned back in his seat and stroked his goatee. ‘I’ll see what I can do. But don’t expect much. She’s within her rights to dock you. As to the housing comment, it’s your word against hers. She’ll deny it in a committee review.’
Allison blew out some air, like a weight lifter trying to heft more pounds than she could press. She stomped to the door, and asked, ‘Could we do lunch?’
‘Sure.’
This wasn’t the first complaint against Dr Judd since he started this job over a year ago. There was a laundry list of problems. A few teachers didn’t like it when Judd took over their classes. She was rude. She was autocratic, and she seemed to think the school was her private property.
Fifth grade teacher, Sue Kaplan complained about the principal the day he started working at Riverside Drive Elementary School. They were standing at the back of the Fire Department assembly when Ms Kaplan said, ‘Dr Judd took over my class today. I hate when she does that.’
‘Most people would be delighted to have time to plan lessons, relax, or make needed phone calls. What’s the problem?’
‘At first I thought it great. But when I returned to class there were thirty-two frightened ten-year-olds.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Travis, Shelly, Jason, and the entire Pain in the Ass line-up. You know, all my PIA’s. They were just sitting at their seats with glassy eyes. It was actually a pleasure to see this. But my GATE kids were crying hysterically. My brightest students were mush. Jan, my spelling whiz kid was standing over my desk puking her guts out. And the rest were wandering around the room aimlessly.
‘At the end of the day I confronted her.’
‘What did you say?’ Brett asked.
‘I thought I’d start with the positive. So I asked, ‘How did you get my lows to be so quiet?’ You know what she said?’
Bret’s eyebrows rose and his brow creased.
‘She told them a spooky story.’
Brett snickered. ‘What did the kids say?’
‘First, I took the class outside for a break. When they were settled down and ready to talk, no one volunteered information.’
‘Did you talk to any of the kids privately?’
‘Sure. I asked Jan how she was feeling. And she told me she was fine. She gave me one of those kid looks that says ‘Why are you even asking?’ I don’t think she remembered anything that happened.’
A few months later Sue Kaplan got the transfer she’d been waiting for.
Brett didn’t like working for Judd, either. But the superintendent promised him a principalship at Hearst if he made it through two years. Everyone knew that his position at Riverside was a steppingstone for administrative advancement. And Hearst School was the best in the district. Its parents were highly educated, wealthy, and the kids were motivated to learn, a big contrast to his school. Riverside was in the south end of town where the average family income was less than $30,000 per year. Its families had many socio-economic hardships.
Brett had a memory like the hard drive of a computer, at least for most things. He
recalled seeing Dr Judd for the first time when he was eleven. It was the fall of 1976.
That year was America’s bicentennial celebration. Brett had recently returned from a trip to New York City with his parents. He talked about his adventures as he and best friend, Vic, walked home from school.
‘How was New York?’ Vic asked.
Brett said, ‘Fourth of July fireworks lit up the sky. They set them off near the Statue of Liberty. It was amazing. And the parade of tall ships down the Hudson River was so cool.’
‘What did you do?’ Brett asked.
‘Nothing except spy on that witch at the edge of town.’
‘You still doing that?’
‘Nothing better to do. And now she’s up to something really weird.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You’ll have to see it for yourself.’
It was a warm Friday afternoon in late September. First thing after school they went to Vic’s house, picked up two pairs of binoculars, and headed down Riverside Drive.
At the edge of town was an acre of land overrun by weeds, tall grass, and a few trees. The boys crawled through the high grass, commando style, until they reached the safety of an old apple tree a hundred yards from the front porch. They climbed the tree until they found comfortable perches to view their subject.
Nanette Judd was sitting on an old green plastic chair with a piece of lumber on her lap. On the wood were snails. Her back was to the door. Judd placed the snails behind a black line on the board. About a foot away was a red line. The snails pushed themselves to get to the finish line. Brett was surprised that snails could move that fast. He made a mental note to try this when he got home. After a few tense minutes the snail on the outside of the board was victorious. Judd picked the snail up and kissed it. Her face was expressionless. This was routine.
‘Ugh!’
‘Shh!’ Vic whispered.
The middle-aged recluse took the loser, threw it on the floor, and squashed it with her left foot. She picked a new snail from the box near her right foot and placed it on the board. The new race between the previous winner and the fresh snail commenced.
Then Brett saw an orange light flicker in the hallway, like a blinking light for a hard of hearing person when the phone rang. But the phone didn’t ring. There were only sounds from rustling trees in the warm autumn wind.
Though Judd was fixated on the race, she sensed something. With a blank face, like a zombie, Judd picked herself up. Blue lines circled the pale white skin around her eyes.
Judd was gone for only a minute. When she returned outdoors there was a new awareness to her face, an eagerness as if she’d discovered something unique. Judd walked past the snail racetrack, looked over the yard, gazed up at the cloudless sky, and opened her arms wide and took in a deep breath of air.
When she lowered her gaze, her eyes met his, like two blue lasers piercing his mind. It was also the last thing Brett recalled. Everything went blank. First he was affected, then Vic.
Over the years, Brett had nightmares about that blackout. It was like being in a fog, so thick he dreaded taking even a short step for fear of falling off a cliff.
He shook his head trying to shake off the bad dream. That was twenty-seven years ago. What amazed him, even as an eleven year old, was that this seemingly uneducated hermit had a Ph.D. in education. A week after spying on her in the apple tree, she replaced Mr Ghazarian as principal, and Mr G was boosted up to an assistant superintendent. He also recalled that his friendship with Vic soured. He shrugged his shoulders. Maybe Vic didn’t like the snail game.
Brett was curious about Allison’s complaint. There were a few other teachers at the school who whined about Judd, but their complaints were similar to Sue Kaplan’s. Allison was different. She didn’t mind.
He decided that he’d talk to Allison about this during lunch.
Dr Judd was sitting at a table across the room with a small group of teachers, teachers that actually liked her. Go figure.
Allison was sitting alone when Brett tossed his lunch sack on the table across from her. She didn’t say hello. She made an observation staring in Judd’s direction.
‘Look at that stringy hair. I suggested Tony’s Salon in Studio City. Tony can make anyone’s hair look good. But she won’t listen. And those clothes, she dresses like an old lady.’
‘She is an old lady. She was fifty when she started here. She must be seventy-seven.’
‘She could at least put on some makeup and wear some decent shoes. Those black clogs are so tacky.’
Brett took a deep breath noting Allison’s voluptuous figure and full lips. In the
past she had refused his offers of a dinner date. Her excuse, ‘My boyfriend Cami will be here soon.’
Whoever this Cami person was, he sure envied him. But he had other things to discuss. ‘Allison, has Judd ever taken over your class?’
‘Sure, plenty of times.’
‘Doesn’t that bother you?’
‘Why should it? I get time off to freshen up, grade papers, and plan lessons. I think Judd’s great about that.’ She smiled with a slight hint of a question on her brow.
‘When’s she planning to visit your room again?’
‘It’s routine. Today’s Wednesday, she’ll be there at 1:00.’
All Destiny MoON Fiction: A Mix of Old & New Short Stories Page 17