by David Lubar
She left the bathroom, and ran straight into her English teacher.
“Selena!” Mrs. Pelter said, her face contorting in horror. “What happened to your lips? You look awful.”
“Mimi made me do it!” Selena blurted out. Her fear of Mrs. Pelter’s disapproval destroyed her sense of honor. As she heard her own words, she flinched and bit her lip. The lipstick tasted oddly bitter.
“Did her friends help her? Were those other two girls involved?”
Selena knew there was still a chance to take back what she’d said. They didn’t make me do anything. I asked Mimi. It was my idea. No—she thought back. Mimi offered me the lipstick. I didn’t ask for it.
Mrs. Pelter seemed to take her silence as agreement. “I’ll certainly see that the principal has a talk with them,” she said. “We do not tolerate bullying in our school.”
She stormed off, leaving Selena with one last tiny chance to call after her and fix things.
Selena turned the other way and walked to her study hall. I should have said something. But Mimi, Amanda, and Katerina got in trouble all the time. One more mark against them wouldn’t make any real difference.
Mrs. Pelter might have reacted with revulsion, but the students in her study hall, and in her other classes, seemed fascinated by her new look. They stared at her and whispered to each other.
I’ve made an impression, Selena thought. She responded to their stares with an empty gaze that she hoped showed no emotion at all. She decided that she would practice it in the mirror when she got home.
On the way out of the building after her last class, Selena saw the thee girls leaving the principal’s office. Mimi stared at her with an icy coldness that sent a chill up Selena’s back and down her arms.
Selena tried to stare back. Maybe I’ll start my own group, she thought.
Mimi raised the first two fingers of each hand, forming a pair of vee shapes. So did Katerina and Amanda. Each girl interlaced her fingers. Still staring at Selena, they spoke one by one. Katerina, Amanda, and finally Mimi each chanted a line.
A false fourth betrays true sisters, three,
So three by four your punishment will be;
Twelve horrors to repay your treachery.
A hot wind blew through the hallway, flapping the edges of their black garments and swirling their hair. Selena turned and fled. Her face flushed with a mix of fear and guilt.
But when she got home and looked at her reflection in the small mirror in the hallway, her guilt melted and her fear gave way to excitement. She loved what she saw. I can do this, she thought. If she left for school a bit earlier than usual, she could put on makeup when she got there. And she could take it off when she got home. Maybe she could even change her clothes. Or wear black underneath a shirt or sweater she could remove after she left her house. She could make it work.
She went up to her room, where she had a bigger mirror, and gave herself a gloomy stare. It was hard not to smile. “I’ve finally found who I am,” she said. “I’m true to myself.”
She would draw others to her side. They’d follow her. Maybe, if they apologized, she’d even allow Mimi, Katerina, and Amanda into her group. But they’d have to beg for forgiveness first. Selena lost herself in fantasies until the sound of a car pulling into the driveway jolted her from her thoughts. She recognized the scraping noise her mother’s car made when it turned to the right.
She’s home.
Selena raced to the bathroom and grabbed nail polish remover and cotton balls from the drawer beneath the sink. She dabbed at her thumb and started to scrub, expecting to see a black smear on the cotton.
The remover failed to do anything.
Selena stared at her hand for a moment, then scrubbed another nail. No change.
She heard the front door open.
“I’m home,” her mother called.
I can hide my hands, but she’ll see my lips right away. Selena snatched a tissue from the box on the counter and wiped at her lips. The tissue came away clean.
“Where are you?” her mother called.
“In the bathroom.” Selena kicked the door closed. Her fingertips tingled. As Selena stared at her hands, tiny black cracks spread from the sides of her nails.
The cracks displayed a frightening symmetry. Three spread out on each side of each nail, equally long and equally spaced.
When the cracks started to move, Selena realized they were something else.
“Legs…,” she whispered. The tiny, jointed legs pushed down hard against her cuticles, raising the beetle-black insect bodies from her fingertips. Selena screamed as her nails tore themselves free from her hands and fell to the floor. They scurried off, disappearing beneath the baseboard.
Twelve horrors to repay your treachery.
The words exploded in her mind as she stared at her ten damaged fingers. Beneath the scream, she realized her lips tingled. Selena clapped a hand across her mouth, then jerked it away in reaction to the cold, slimy feel that met her palm.
The mirror verified her fears. Two black, bloated, glossy worms wriggled as they ripped free of her face.
The bathroom door opened. There was a gasp. Selena’s mother joined in with her own screams as she stared in horror at her daughter’s lipless face.
On the floor, the black worms wriggled beneath the cabinet. Across town, Mimi, Katerina, and Amanda, hearing the whisper of an echo of a scream drifting in the wind, allowed themselves a small, fleeting smile.
IN A CLASS BY HIMSELF
“Hello, Justin. I’m your teacher, Mrs. Cromwell. Come on in and take a seat.”
Justin stood in the doorway and looked around the classroom. This had to be the wrong place. He glanced down at the paper in his hand. Mrs. Cromwell. Room 204. He looked at the number painted on the open door. 204.
“You must be the new student. Don’t be shy,” Mrs. Cromwell said. She smiled. “Hurry up. Choose a seat. You’re just in time for math.”
Justin walked into the room and looked at the rows of empty desks. As he passed the first row, he thought about sitting all the way in the back. That would be too far away if he was the only kid in the class. He settled for the second row, two seats in from the left side, near a window.
“All right, class, let’s get to work,” Mrs. Cromwell said. She walked to the blackboard and wrote a problem. “Let’s see. Now, who would like to try this one?”
Justin looked to his left and his right. Beyond any doubt, he was alone with the teacher.
“Volunteers?” Mrs. Cromwell asked.
Justin sat there.
“If there aren’t any volunteers, I’ll have to pick someone.”
Justin raised his hand.
“How nice. Come on up, Justin.” Mrs. Cromwell held out the piece of chalk.
Justin went to the board and worked on the problem. It wasn’t hard, and he was good at math. As he took his seat, Mrs. Cromwell wrote a second problem on the board.
“Now, who would like to try this one?” she asked.
Justin didn’t raise his hand.
“Come, now. Don’t be shy. It’s not that hard.”
Justin kept his hand down.
“Well, let’s see. How about you, Justin? Come on up and give it a try.”
Justin went to the board and solved the problem. He solved seven more problems before math was done. Then he got to read aloud—a whole lot—during the reading period.
“How was school?” Justin’s mom asked when Justin got home.
“Different,” he said.
“That’s nice,” his mother said, smiling as if Justin had given her one of his typical answers, like fine or okay.
The next day, nothing had changed. Mrs. Cromwell was up front, acting as if this were a perfectly normal situation, and Justin was facing her, getting taught all by himself.
“How was school?” his mother asked when he got home.
“Aardvark,” Justin said, testing his suspicion.
“That’s nice,” his mom said.
“Your birthday is coming up next week. I can make cupcakes. How many do you need?”
“Two,” Justin said, figuring his teacher wouldn’t want to be left out.
“Two?” his mom asked.
“I mean, two dozen,” Justin said. For some reason, he didn’t want to tell her he was the only student. He still hadn’t figured out what it meant, and he was pretty sure it didn’t mean anything his mom would want to know about.
“Anybody allergic to anything?” she asked.
“I don’t think so.”
On the way to school the next day, Justin came up with a theory. This was some kind of test. He wasn’t sure what they were trying to find out about him, but that was the only explanation he’d thought of that came anywhere near close to making sense.
So, since he had no idea what sort of reaction they expected from him, he was going to make sure not to react at all. He decided to act as if there were nothing unusual about the situation, no matter how long he had to keep going to this class. If Mrs. Cromwell could pretend everything was normal, so could he.
His resolve lasted nearly a month. Finally, after an entire week filled with group activities where he had to carry out all the parts—the play was especially difficult—Justin realized he couldn’t take any more.
I’m done, he told himself as he watched the clock tick toward the end of the day. I can’t take another week of this. I don’t care what they do to me.
He sat in his seat, took a deep breath, and got ready to tell his teacher all of this.
“I’m done! I can’t take another day of this!”
Justin’s jaw dropped open as he stared at his teacher and listened to her shouting.
“I don’t care what they do to me,” Mrs. Cromwell added as she stormed out of the room. “This is absurd.”
The bell rang. Justin went home.
“How was school?” his mom asked.
“Snarflegrub,” he said.
“That’s nice.”
He had a new teacher on Monday. Justin had no idea how long she’d last, but at least he finally knew who was being tested.
THE DUMPSTER DOLL
If I wasn’t such a good runner, I’d be dead already. The whole Delbarton family was after me, just because I laughed at their little sister and made her cry. Her dress really was ugly. Somebody had to tell her the truth. I was doing her a favor. What a stupid little crybaby.
All five of the brothers—including that enormous monster, Juvie—had tried to run me down. But I was ahead of them. It was looking good. I’d cut across the vacant lot by the old movie theater, hoping I could get out of sight. I’d just turned down Clancy Street when I twisted my ankle. I went down hard.
But the pain I felt was nothing compared to what the Delbartons would do to me. I pushed myself back to my feet.
Man. Bad move. Real pain shot through my ankle. I could hear Juvie and the others less than half a block away. They’d be rounding the corner in a second. I needed to hide.
Where?
There!
A Dumpster. The lid was open. I didn’t see a bunch of bags piled up in it. Perfect. I didn’t mind a little garbage. I hopped over to it, grabbed the edge, hoisted myself up, and tumbled inside.
The Dumpster didn’t smell like fresh garbage, but it sure didn’t smell like fresh air, either. Bad smells lingered from whatever was in there earlier.
Right now, it was empty except for a brown paper bag. The bag was standing up, but it fell when I thudded into the bottom of the Dumpster.
Something tumbled out.
A doll.
A dirty, broken doll. It was a little boy with black hair and brown eyes. One arm was missing. “You’re even uglier than the Delbarton girl’s dress,” I said.
The footsteps got closer.
I huddled in a corner, not that it would do any good if they spotted me.
The footsteps raced past. I took a deep breath. That was a mistake. I choked back a cough as the odors stabbed at my throat.
The footsteps came back.
Five Delbarton faces looked down at me. I got ready to take a pummeling. Instead of hitting me, they shut the lid.
It slammed down with a bang loud enough to make me jump. Then I heard another sound. A smaller clink. They’d flipped the latch—the one you slip a lock through. Even without a lock on it, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to lift the Dumpster’s lid. I knew they were pretty heavy.
They smacked the sides a couple times. I felt like I was inside a bass drum. At least I had the pleasure of hearing one of them shout in pain when he kicked the Dumpster.
Then I heard them walk off.
I pushed against the lid, but it didn’t move. I was trapped. I could feel myself starting to panic. Calm down, I told myself. I’d wait a couple minutes, until I was sure they were gone. Then I could bang on the side. Someone would hear it sooner or later. Or someone would lift the lid to dump garbage. Either way, I wouldn’t be stuck here forever.
“Might as well make myself comfortable,” I muttered. I scrunched against one corner, and stretched my legs out.
That’s when I felt the sharp sting in my calf.
“Ouch!” I shouted as I yanked my leg back, pulling my knee to my chest. I felt my calf. There was a rip in my pants. Beneath the rip, the skin was tender.
Must have caught it on something, I thought. There was probably a jagged spot in the metal on the bottom. I’d have to be more careful. It would be really easy for any cut I got in this bucket of germs to become infected.
“Ouch!”
I felt a stab in the other leg. No—not a stab. A bite. That’s what it felt like. My neighbor’s cat likes to bite. So I know what it feels like.
I pulled both legs in.
Something scraped along the bottom of the Dumpster. It sounded like someone was slowly dragging a small bowling ball across a sidewalk. But it wasn’t steady. There’d be a slow scrape; then it would stop. That would be followed by a small thunk, followed by more scraping.
I could only picture one thing that could make that series of sounds. As soon as I thought of it, I let out a scream, to drive the image away.
The doll.
I listened.
Thunk.
He stretched his one arm out ahead of himself and let it drop.
Scrape.
He pulled himself along the Dumpster, toward me.
“No!” I kicked out hard. My foot connected with something. I heard the doll smack into the far wall of the Dumpster. “I hope I shattered your stupid head!”
My pleasure died quickly as pain shot through my ankle. I’d kicked him with the wrong foot.
Thunk.
Scrape.
“Leave me alone!”
I listened, trying to tell exactly where he was. Even in the dead blackness inside the Dumpster, I could imagine what he looked like as he dragged himself along, his porcelain jaws wide open, eager to bring me more pain. This time, I was going to use my good foot.
Thunk.
Scrape.
I waited.
Thunk.
Scrape.
I kicked hard.
Again, he smacked against the other side.
It didn’t stop him.
I thrust my elbow into the wall behind me. It was hard, but it flexed a bit. That’s why the doll wasn’t getting smashed. The wall wasn’t rigid enough.
Next time, I’d raise my foot and smash my heel down on him. That would do it. I’d shatter his head.
I listened.
Nothing.
Then, faintly, I heard a different sound. Quiet. Slow.
Rolling? Was he rolling toward me, like a baby crossing a floor?
“Ow!”
I slapped at the outside of my leg as he bit me in the thigh.
My hand connected with something hard.
I screamed again as I felt a bite on my palm.
Panicked, I shot to my feet.
Or tried to.
My head slammed against the top of
the Dumpster.
I crumpled to the floor, dizzy. Flashes of light spun past my eyes in the darkness. I felt like I was going to throw up. Fear and nausea joined forces in my stomach and fought to turn me into a crying, shivering, puking mess.
Amidst the pain of my head and the screaming of my brain, I felt another bite on my leg. I was ready to give up and collapse to the floor.
But there was also another flash of light. I looked up. I saw a slight gap in the side of the Dumpster where the lid met the top of the compartment. I’d slammed the top so hard with my head, I must have popped the latch up.
I can get out.
I put my hand up, stood cautiously, and pushed.
The lid raised up. It was heavy, but I managed to push it all the way over. It banged down against the outside.
Light and fresh air invaded my dungeon.
Free.
I stood. The doll bit my ankle. I kicked back, knocking him away.
All I had to do was pull myself over the edge, and I could escape him.
No. Escape wasn’t good enough. I needed to destroy him first. I wanted to crush his head into a powder beneath my heel. Then I’d tear off his remaining arm, as well as his legs. Maybe I’d bring the pieces home and burn them in the backyard.
I turned to face him. “It’s over,” I said, looking down.
He looked up at me with painted eyes, a torn piece of my pants leg clamped in his mouth.
“Yeah, you heard me,” I said. “It’s over. I won.”
I held on to the side of the Dumpster and raised my good foot. “How do you like it now?” I said. Maybe I’d stomp him a bit at a time, so I could extend the pleasure.
Yeah. I’d stomp on one side first. Crush his cheek. Grind his ear beneath my foot. This was going to feel so good.
“He got out!”
I spun toward the shout. The new pain in my ankle brought me to my knees.
The Delbartons raced toward the Dumpster.
“No!” I screamed as they closed the lid again, bringing back the darkness.
I banged and yelled.
“Get a stick,” I heard Juvie say. “Put it through the latch.”
