Teacher's Pet

by Richie T Cusick

  “Tawney?”

  As Kate stepped forward, she suddenly realized that the puddle around the cat wasn’t a shadow at all, but something thick and wet that gleamed dully in the half light. As her gaze moved up the side of the trash receptacle, she could see a long, dark stream of liquid that spilled from the pile of garbage inside….

  From one large, oblong trash bag.

  “Ooh.” Tawney made a face and reached for the bag. “Someone must’ve thrown out some spoiled meat or something—only I don’t smell anything spoiled, do you? And this bag’s pretty big for—”

  “Don’t touch it,” Kate said sharply, and Tawney looked at her in surprise, her hand stopping inches from the bag.

  “But, Kate, the blood’s leaking, and I have to—”

  “Don’t.” Kate’s voice was hoarse, and a strange, violent chill went through her. “Don’t touch it.”

  She stared at the cat, and Pet looked up at them… her eyes widening… her whiskers glistening and wet.

  Chapter 2

  “YEAH? SO WHAT DID it do?” Denzil tried to keep a straight face as Tawney’s eyes grew wider.

  “Well, it didn’t do anything,” Tawney replied seriously. “It just laid there and looked like garbage and kind of dripped.”

  “Ohhhh…” Denzil gave an exaggerated shudder. “Sounds pretty dangerous to me. Good thing you guys got outta there fast.”

  “It’s not funny,” Kate said. She was surprised at the sternness of her voice, and she dropped her eyes as Denzil and Tawney stared at her. “I mean… it didn’t seem funny at the time. It was…” She shook her head, unable to put her eerie feeling into words. “The cat,” she finished lamely. “She just sat there, eating it—”

  “Cats are disgusting,” Denzil agreed. “At least, Pet is. She’ll eat anything. She has no pride at all.”

  Kate, staring hard into the flames, scarcely heard him. The three of them were pressed together in the flickering darkness, part of the human chain that encircled the raging bonfire. Around them people laughed and shoved good-naturedly, roasted marsh-mallows and shared new friendships, while Kate huddled there, feeling like an alien. That scene back at the dumpster had upset her; she didn’t understand her foreboding, and now she felt silly. Beside her, Denzil skewered a fat marshmallow onto the end of her stick and gave her a wink.

  “Congratulations, you’ve probably stumbled onto something really important. The Garbage That Ate the Writers’ Conference.”

  In spite of her mood, Kate laughed. “Why do I get the feeling you’re impossible?”

  “Has my reputation preceded me?” Denzil feigned surprise. “Has Tawney been telling you how notorious I am?”

  On his other side Tawney turned her attention back to them. “I never said you were glorious. Who’s ever heard of that, anyway, a person being glorious—”

  “Forget it,” Denzil chuckled, exchanging amused looks with Kate. “I think they’re telling ghost stories—let’s listen.”

  Around the fire, the chatter began to die down as someone launched into a tale about a haunted house. Kate pulled her knees up to her chest, trying to concentrate. Against a backdrop of night-black, tongues of scarlet and orange licked hungrily at the shadows, distorting the faces around her, macabre demons with twisted grins and maniacal eyes. Kate shut her own eyes and listened as the ghost story ended and another began. This one was about doomed campers and a psychopathic murderer with a twelve-inch knife. From the shifting shadows, voices whispered and gasped, bodies moved closer together in fear and anticipation. I love to be scared, Kate reminded herself. What’s the matter with me? I’m supposed to be having fun….

  “I know one,” Denzil spoke up so suddenly that she jumped. She opened her eyes in time to see him push the brim of his hat back from his forehead and scan the crowd to make sure he had everyone’s undivided attention. “There were these kids out parking,” he began, and everyone groaned. “No, wait, this is really good!” The mumbling sounds subsided, and he started again. “And they heard on the car radio that this crazy guy had escaped from a mental institution—”

  “I’ve heard this one,” Tawney hissed.

  “Anyway, they heard something scratching at the car door…” He paused dramatically. “And then … the guy stepped on the gas… and then—”

  “You’re telling it wrong,” Tawney hissed again.

  “And then,” Denzil said firmly, ignoring the snickers from the crowd, “when they got home and opened the door, this bloody hand was hanging from the door—”

  “That’s old!” someone laughed, while others joined in.

  “Not that old.” Denzil grinned.

  “Old.” Kate nodded. “And anyway—”

  “It wasn’t a hand,” someone else called out. “It was a hook!”

  “Hey!” Denzil shouted back, his grin widening. “It was a hand! A severed hand!”

  “It was a hook, Denzil.” Kate cracked up at his innocent expression.

  “I told you you were doing it wrong,” Tawney said. “Did you make that up?”

  Denzil stared at her, shaking his head. “Is a brick thick?”

  “A brick?” Tawney’s look turned thoughtful. “What does that have to do with a severed hand?”

  “A hook,” Denzil corrected. “You’re telling it wrong.”

  “I am?”

  “You are impossible.” Kate jabbed Denzil in the ribs.

  “Thanks.”

  “But if you don’t mind, I’d really like to turn in. I’m so tired.”

  “I reckon you can be excused, little lady.” Denzil gave a slow drawl and helped her up. “Need a hand findin’ your bunk? I just happen to have your key right handy—grabbed it on the way over.”

  Kate looked surprised. “You did?”

  “Sure. They were handing them out in the lodge. Yours was the only one left.”

  “Oh… then do you mind?”

  “My pleasure, ma’am. Tawney, I’ll be back—gonna take Kate to her cabin.”

  “’Night.” Tawney waved. “See you at breakfast.”

  Denzil draped one arm across Kate’s shoulder, steering her away from the bonfire and onto a path that wound back through the woods. The cold silence was almost a shock as they went deeper into the night. Overhead, a biting wind swept black clouds across the moon, and Denzil switched on his flashlight. Kate shivered as he played the light over her face.

  “I know. Kinda creepy out here.”

  “I like to be scared. Anyway, I’m just cold,” Kate said quickly. “And I just remembered I don’t have my suitcase.”

  “It should already be in your cabin. Pearce is in charge of all that.” He held back a low branch for her to duck under, and the beam of light arced out before them. “Here we are. I’ll just make sure everything works before I leave.”

  As Denzil fumbled the key into the lock, Kate glanced uneasily behind her. Leaves rattled softly across the path, and from some hidden corner of the woods a tree branch groaned.

  “Well, the lights work. So far, so good.” Denzil held the door and motioned with his free hand. “Small and cozy. Just think of it as your friendly, back-to-nature kind of place.”

  “It’s nice.” Kate nodded. “I like it.”

  “Great. We aim to please. I’ll just start this heater for you, and now,” Denzil paused in the doorway. “I’ll be moseyin’ along. Sleep tight, don’t let the fleas bite, or whatever the hell these little critters are out here.”

  “Thanks.” Kate smiled.

  “Sure thing. Lock up behind me, and enjoy the conference.”

  “I’m sure I will. Good night.”

  She stood on the porch and watched until the beam of his flashlight had been swallowed by the darkness. It was quiet… as if she were totally cut off from the rest of the world. Cut off… like that hand on the car door….

  “Hook,” she whispered to herself. “A hook… not a severed hand.”

  Something stirred the leaves at the side of the path.

&n
bsp; Uneasily she opened the door and started back in….

  And heard a soft whisper behind her.

  “Kate…”

  Spinning around, Kate’s eyes searched the shadows, her hands clenched at her throat.

  Nothing moved. Everything, deadly still.

  “Hello?” Kate called. “Is someone there?”

  A faint breeze fanned the forest, tendrils of fog swirling at her feet.

  Trembling, Kate slammed the door and locked it.

  For a moment… just a moment… she thought she’d heard that whisper again….

  “Kate… Kate.…”

  Chapter 3

  “WHY, I WAS ABSOLUTELY starved! Must be this fresh woodland air.” Miss Bunceton dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and heaved herself up from the table. “What about you, Kate? All geared for a creative day?”

  Kate nodded, stifling a yawn. “Bring on the muses. I’m ready.”

  “Well, you don’t look ready. Gracious, I hope my snoring didn’t keep you awake last night.”

  Kate hid a smile and watched her teacher leave the noisy dining hall. She hadn’t slept well, but it hadn’t been Miss Bunceton’s fault; her dreams had been full of whisperings and images of dripping blood. She pushed her uneaten food away and jumped as a hand came out of nowhere and slapped her wrist.

  “Shame.” Denzil stood over her in his grease-stained apron, trying his best to look stern while Tawney waved from behind his back. “Think of those poor starving children.”

  “Oh”—Tawney’s eyes looked worried—“do you know some?”

  Denzil shot her a patronizing look. “It’s just an expression, Tawney. Something your mom would say.”

  “Oh.” Tawney nodded, her permed hair bouncing eagerly around her face. “My mom never said that. I thought you really knew some starving children and—”

  “Are you going to William Drewe’s lecture this morning?” Denzil cut in, pulling up an empty chair beside Kate.

  “Oh, you mean he came after all?”

  “No, but someone’s substituting for him, I just heard.”

  “Who?”

  “Got me. But I can think of a million people I’d rather listen to than him.”

  “You really don’t like him, do you?”

  “I told you, he’s a jerk. Anyway, Tawney and I don’t have to clean up this morning, so I’ll join you, if that’s okay. She has some poetry reading to go to.”

  “I’d love it. I’m feeling like a real outsider.”

  Denzil nodded, taking in the room and its occupants. “It’s always like this at first. Once you get into the lectures, people’ll be easier to talk to. But why worry? You have me.”

  Kate smiled. “That was certainly worth coming for.”

  “You bet. See you in a few minutes.”

  “Denzil—”

  “What?”

  “Did you come back to my cabin last night?”

  He looked blank, shaking his head. “No. Why?”

  “Oh, nothing.” Kate shrugged uneasily. “I thought I heard something, but I must have imagined it.”

  Denzil gave a wise nod. “Inspiration calling. Did you answer?”

  “No, I ran inside and locked the door.”

  “Too bad. Guess you’ll have writer’s block all day.”

  Kate felt a little better as she made her way to her first lecture. She found an empty chair, smiling back as several people looked up from their notebooks to say good morning. All around her she could hear speculations as to who William Drewe’s replacement would be.

  People were still chatting among themselves when the young man walked into the cabin. Alone in her corner, Kate noticed him at once as he pulled the door shut behind him and paused for a moment to check the time on his pocket watch. He wore jeans and a bulky knit sweater the exact color of his violet eyes, and light brown hair fell stubbornly over his forehead even as he gave it an absent-minded swipe with one hand. As Kate tried to study him without being obvious, he began making his way slowly through the room. She glanced at the empty chair beside her, then up again as he passed it by and went to the podium in front. Placing some papers on the table, he calmly surveyed the room, not appearing to notice when the door opened and closed again and a breathless Denzil slid into the seat beside Kate.

  “Good morning,” the young man said quietly. His soft features and long-fringed lashes gave him a look of shyness, yet his voice sounded poised and self-assured. He stood relaxed, hands in pockets, and after a moment’s hesitation, spoke again. “My name is Gideon Drewe. I know that all of you were expecting William to lecture here this morning, but due to unforeseen circumstances, I’m afraid I’ll have to do.”

  There were shuffles and shifting. Kate saw looks of open curiosity around the room.

  “William is my brother,” Gideon said. A general murmur of surprise rose around him, but he seemed quite unperturbed. “For all you skeptics, let me reassure you that I am, indeed, a writer, though not as well known to you as William is. We’ve consulted together on his work, and I’m very familiar with his teaching methods. I hope you won’t be disappointed.” A faint smile flickered over his face, and once more he looked slowly over the room. “Since you’re all here because you enjoy being frightened, let me just say this. Fear is a personal perception. And we can control our fears to some extent by writing about them.”

  “He doesn’t seem upset,” Kate mumbled. “Do you think William’s okay?”

  “Who cares?” Denzil whispered back.

  “How old do you think he is? This guy, I mean. Does he look old enough to be teaching this class?”

  “Old enough? Do you teach better if you’re old?” Denzil leaned over, still trying to keep his voice down. “Early twenties, I think. He writes short stories. Thrillers. He’s been published in lots of magazines.”

  Kate looked at him in surprise. “How do you know that?”

  “I know lots of stuff.” Denzil grinned. “He lives upstate somewhere. Why are you so interested, anyway?”

  Kate held her finger to her lips as Gideon’s eyes began another sweep of the room. This time as they passed over her, they flicked back, settling softly on her face, staying there so long that she began to blush. They moved away.

  “Fear,” Gideon was saying, his voice soothing, confident. “What frightens one person may be totally unthreatening and unimportant to someone else. Fear is in the mind of the beholder.”

  “What kind of accent does he have?” Kate whispered. “Is it British? It sounds kind of British—“

  “It’s culture,” Denzil responded dryly. “It’s the accent guys use when they think they’re great literary geniuses—”

  “Ssh!” Kate scribbled Gideon’s words into her notebook. The room was silent, except for pens on paper, and the smooth spell of Gideon’s voice.

  “Fear can distort our impressions,” Gideon said. He crossed slowly to the window and stood with his back to them, gazing out at the rainbow of fall colors and the patches of crystal-clear sky. “I love autumn. I love children and animals. And kindnesses make me cry.”

  As every eye settled on him in unspoken empathy, he suddenly turned around, his startling eyes full on Kate.

  “Perhaps William is dead,” he said softly. “Perhaps… I killed him.”

  For a moment there was shocked silence. A gasp of surprise. And then… wary looks and an undercurrent of mutterings.

  “So you see,” Gideon went on, moving back to the podium, “now your whole perception of me has changed. You’re wondering what really happened to William and if I really did have something to do with it. You’re wondering if I’m a murderer. You’re wondering if I’m a compulsive liar. You’re wondering,” and his eyes slid over Kate, “if I’m going to kill you, too.” His gaze lingered on her again, and then a slow, faint smile spread over his face. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is manipulation. As a writer, you can manipulate your reader with fear, just as I’ve manipulated you this morning.”

  There
was a relieved burst of laughter; several people clapped. Tension gave way to warm camaraderie as people looked from one to the other, sharing the joke. Kate glanced at Denzil, who was shaking his head suspiciously.

  “He’s wonderful,” Kate whispered.

  “He’s nuts.”

  “And so,” Gideon continued, “in this class, hopefully, we’ll learn to use fear to our advantage. If you have any questions, please ask. And for those of you who sent manuscripts ahead to be critiqued, I have them here, and I’ll be glad to set up a meeting with you. Let’s see… Rick Dennison… Mary Jackson… Lise Scheering… Kate Rawlins—”

  “Me?” Without thinking, Kate’s head came up from her notebook, her voice rising in disbelief. “Excuse me, there must be some mistake—”

  Gideon looked from Kate to a bunch of papers in his hand, his expression equally puzzled. “Kate Rawlins? A short story, let’s see… ‘Dark Surprises’?”

  Kate felt her cheeks burning as people began to turn and stare. “Yes, that’s mine, but I didn’t send it—”

  “No, actually it was submitted by a Naomi Bunceton—”

  “Oh, no, my teacher!” As laughter burst around her, Kate saw Gideon’s amused smile, and she sank back, wanting to disappear. Even Denzil seemed to be enjoying the joke.

  “All right then, just stay a few minutes after, if you can, and we’ll talk. And don’t look so worried, Miss Rawlins, your story was excellent,” Gideon said. And then to the class, “Before we go any further, let’s consider for a moment where a writer gets ideas, shall we? By the end of this conference, hopefully we’ll have explored lots of methods to generate fear.”

  The hour passed before she even realized it, and it was with reluctance that Kate finally closed her notebook and gathered her things. Denzil was reviewing the notes he’d taken and didn’t notice that Kate was ready to leave until she tapped him on the arm for a second time.

  “You can’t say he’s not wonderful,” Kate teased him. “You’re as fascinated as I am.”