Creepy Teacher: A Psychological Thriller

by Mackie Malone

  She saw no twisted body lying in the gravel.

  “Put the car in park, Bailey,” someone said.

  It was Brad Townsend, standing now beside her open driver’s window.

  Bailey put the car in park.

  Brad opened her door, and Tony Avery approached then, too, and together they guided Bailey out of the car.

  “Look at his head and neck,” someone said from behind.

  “My god!” another answered.

  As Bailey moved around to see behind the car, Kylie Westin swept her up in an embrace and said, “Bailey, don’t look at it.”

  Like everyone else, Bailey couldn’t help but look.

  Mr. Renly’s head was nearly severed off. Blood still flowed from his neck. His mouth was open. His eyeballs were bulged. His legs had twisted beneath him, lifting his pelvis up. Both of his arms were mangled. The shovel’s blade was jammed in his throat.

  “The shovel’s blade caught under his chin, I think,” Casey Crawford said.

  Bailey put her cheek against Kylie’s.

  Kylie squeezed her tightly.

  Bailey’s body quavered while she cried.

  Chapter 18

  Once the frantic, desperate feeling subsided, Bailey Howard’s mind began playing back the sequence of events in reverse order. She quickly skipped over the gruesome image of Mr. Renly’s gnarled body on the ground behind her car. That image was horrible pollution to keep in her mind. Kylie held her tightly, letting her cry, while Bailey recalled the nightmare back to the point of Eric Cady being smacked in the head and going down.

  Bailey separated herself from Kylie.

  “Everything’s alright, Bailey,” Kylie said. “It’s over.”

  “Eric is hurt,” Bailey told her. And when she glanced around, the other students were either staring at her or looking with disgusted faces at Mr. Renly’s body behind her car. “Eric Cady is hurt,” she repeated. “Somebody call 911.”

  “We did,” Casey Crawford informed her.

  Bailey skirted the front of her car, hurried toward the portable toilet, and approached a small group of students who were stooping over Eric Cady in the grass, having already found him. Nancy Spielman was one, the only female, and she was down on her hands and knees trying to revive him by patting his cheek.

  Bailey slipped into the mix, kneeled opposite Nancy, and put her palm on Eric’s chest. It was lifting and falling.

  “We found him like this,” Nancy said.

  “Mr. Renly hit him with the shovel,” Bailey told her.

  Bailey gently touched her fingers to the back of Eric’s head, not feeling an impact wound on the side nearest her.

  “Is it cut?” someone asked over Nancy’s shoulder.

  It was Brad Townsend, Bailey noticed glancing up. Then she reached across Eric’s face to gently feel the back of his head on the other side. The wound was there, a swollen spot just behind his right ear. She looked at her fingertips.

  “No blood,” she said, “but there’s a lump.”

  Nancy said to Brad Townsend, “Go shut that off,” meaning the movie playing in the barn. “We’re done with Freddy.”

  Brad hollered to Casey, who was already running toward the barn, “Shut it all down, Casey!” Then he said, “Casey called 911. Someone should be here soon. What happened, Bailey?”

  “She already told us,” someone answered. “Renly waylaid him with a shovel.”

  “I heard that, dumbass,” Brad said. “But what the hell was Renly doing here?”

  Bailey didn’t answer Brad.

  Nancy was gently patting Eric’s cheek again.

  “Stop,” Bailey told her.

  “I’m trying to revive him,” Nancy said.

  When Nancy began turning his chin from side to side, Bailey brushed her hand away, saying, “Stop touching his face. That won’t help. Get some water.”

  Nancy said, “Brad, get some water.”

  Brad told someone else. Bailey didn’t see whom.

  “Brad, we need something for his feet,” Bailey said, “to prop them up. And find a blanket if you can, please.”

  Brad said to the group, “Somebody find a blanket. Come on! Don’t just stand around!”

  The group dispersed to find a blanket.

  Bailey felt Eric’s forehead. It felt normal. She honestly had no idea what to do besides elevate his feet, keep him warm, and have water standing by in case he revived.

  Looking at his face, he appeared to be sleeping. Tears began welling again in her eyes. It might be a coma, she thought. Besides treating him for shock, what more can I do?

  She ran her fingers through his hair.

  While doing that, she heard the distant sound of sirens coming from the north. Freemont police, she knew. By the sound of it, two cars. That, or perhaps one car and an ambulance.

  Brad returned with a duffel, dropped to his knees, and worked the bag under Eric’s feet. Someone tossed a folded blanket at Nancy. She opened it, and spread it over Eric.

  Bailey continued to rake her fingers gently through Eric’s hair, thinking about what she would tell the police and the paramedics. It must be concise, she knew. He’d been hit with a shovel, she would say. Also, the body of Carla Cummings was in the shed, and Jackson Saxton’s was in the corn.

  But she didn’t want to say that now.

  Not to the others.

  Not before the police arrived.

  She feared the guys would go poking into the shed, and Carla Cummings didn’t need a group of students gawking at her dead body on the floor beside a tractor, Bailey decided.

  Leave the girl alone.

  No pictures.

  She had no idea where Jackson was in the corn.

  The siren sounds came closer, and now the flashing lights could be seen cutting reds and blues in the darkness on Hwy 8.

  Bailey saw Eric’s eyes flutter beneath his lids and lashes.

  His eyes were going to open, she realized.

  “He’s waking,” she said.

  “Eric,” Nancy said loudly, leaning in. “Eric, wake up.”

  Bailey levered Nancy away. “Don’t shout in his face, Nancy. Give him room to breathe.” To Eric, she said, “We’re here, Eric. You’re alright.”

  Eric opened his eyes, but barely.

  He closed them again.

  Nancy leaned in again and said, “Keep trying to open your eyes, Eric. It’s me, Nancy.”

  Bailey wished Nancy would go away.

  “The cops are here,” someone announced.

  The police rolled in, shutting down the sirens, and several students went to meet them in the gravel under the pole light.

  “The ambulance is here,” the same person added.

  Eric slowly opened his eyes again, shifted his arms under the blanket, and groaned. While his eyes focused, he brought his right hand out from under the blanket and touched the back of his head. But he was weak, Bailey saw, and his arm dropped to the grass beside his ear.

  “Eric, it’s Bailey,” she said. “You’re okay.”

  Nancy picked up Eric’s hand, cradling it in her own.

  Bailey took his hand from Nancy, brought it to the middle of his chest, and placed it there. She put her own hand on top.

  Eric looked at Bailey and said, “Are you okay, Bailey? Where is Renly?”

  “Yes, I’m okay,” Bailey told him. “Mr. Renly’s gone. You’re safe.”

  “Are you safe, Bailey?” Eric asked.

  He was dazed and confused, Bailey realized.

  “Yes, I’m safe,” she told him, offering him a reassuring smile.

  When he smiled back, Bailey lifted his hand and kissed it. He twisted his body toward her, touching his knuckles to her cheek. Then he drifted his fingers backward through her hair.

  Bailey closed her eyes.

  “Over here,” someone said, approaching.

  The bright circular beam of a flashlight jounced through the grass toward them. When the officer reached them, he stooped over and asked, “What hap
pened? Is he okay?”

  “He’s been hit with a shovel,” Bailey answered. “He needs help.”

  “I’m fine,” Eric murmured.

  “He just came to,” Nancy added.

  Without hesitation, Bailey told the officer, “A girl named Carla Cummings has been killed. She’s in that shed.” Bailey pointed. “A boy named Jackson Saxton is also dead. His body is in the corn. I don’t know where. Stuart Renly did it.”

  Nancy said, “Bailey, what are you talking about?”

  Several students leaned in closer to hear.

  The officer asked Bailey, “Have you been drinking?”

  Bailey shook her head. “No, sir. I haven’t.”

  Eric Cady squeezed Bailey’s hand.

  Bailey Howard squeezed his back.

  The End

  Thank you so much for reading!

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