Teacher's Pest

by Charles Gilman

  “Calm down,” Ms. Lavinia said.

  “You made me do this!” he shouted. “You promised they would be OK!”

  “They will be OK,” she insisted. “I’ll find a way to unlock this door, but it’s not going to happen immediately.” At night, Ms. Lavinia was a prisoner inside Tillinghast Mansion, and she waited on her brother like a servant. “I’m sure Crawford has a set of keys. I’ll spend all night looking for them.”

  “And what am I supposed to do? Just leave Pip and Squeak in the air duct?”

  “They’re rats. They can survive a night in an air duct. Some rats live their whole lives in air ducts. They’re tough animals.”

  “You don’t know them like I do,” Robert said.

  It was true that Pip and Squeak could be brave when they needed to be. Once, when a giant boa constrictor had sneaked through Robert’s bedroom window, they had rushed to his defense. But just because his pets were brave didn’t mean they weren’t scared. Pip and Squeak had fears just like everyone else—and now they were trapped behind the walls of Lovecraft Middle School.

  “We’ll take care of this tomorrow, I promise,” Ms. Lavinia said. “Now go home and try not to worry about it.”

  That was going to be impossible. Robert didn’t see how he would eat, sleep, or do anything until he had them back. He left the school in a daze. While crossing the street, he stepped in front of an on-coming pick-up truck. The driver swerved, missing him by inches, then blasted his horn.

  When Robert arrived at his house, his mother could tell he was upset. “Your hair looks like it’s growing back already,” she said, running her fingers through his buzz cut. “Were the other kids teasing you?”

  “No,” Robert said. In fact, he’d forgotten about the buzz cut altogether. Who could worry about hair at a time like this?

  “At work they’re calling it a head lice epidemic. They’re saying half the school is infected. Is that true?”

  “More than half,” Robert said. By the end of the day, he felt like most of his classmates had their heads shaved.

  “Maybe you should stay home tomorrow,” Mrs. Arthur said. “Maybe you should avoid the school until they get everything straightened out.”

  “No,” Robert insisted. “I need to go back.” As far as he was concerned, tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

  Dinner was quiet that evening. Robert didn’t feel like talking, so his mother didn’t ask lots of questions. Once again she filled a container with leftovers. “Since Glenn enjoyed my ravioli so much, why don’t you run this over to his house?”

  This time Robert didn’t hesitate. He was desperate to talk to Glenn, to tell him that Pip and Squeak were in trouble. If that news didn’t jolt his friend back to normal, nothing would.

  He walked the same route as the night before, but the trip seemed twice as long without his pets to keep him company. It also seemed twice as cold. Robert shoved his hands in his pockets, wishing he’d worn a heavier jacket. He stepped over a pothole full of water, knowing it would probably freeze before morning.

  When he arrived at Glenn’s house, he noticed a few things were different. For one thing, the old rowboat on the front lawn was gone. The cinder blocks were stacked in a neat pile at the end of the driveway. And the rest of the junk had been moved to the curb for trash pickup.

  The driveway was still empty, so Robert knew Mr. Torkells wasn’t around. He climbed the porch steps and rapped his knuckles on the screen door.

  There was no answer.

  “Glenn!” he called, knocking louder.

  Finally, the door was opened by a woman cradling a baby. “I thought I heard someone,” she said, smiling. “Lizzie and I were upstairs when you knocked.”

  The baby was wrapped in a pink blanket; she kicked her tiny legs and squealed. The woman rocked from side to side until the infant stopped crying. Then she patted her on the back and cooed into her ear.

  “Um, is Glenn home?” Robert asked.

  “You just missed him,” she said. “Are you Robert?”

  “Yeah.”

  The woman extended her free her hand. “I’m Beth. Glenn’s mom. He’s told me a lot about you.”

  Robert shook her hand. “You live here?”

  “I’ve been away for a while. Lizzie and I came home yesterday.”

  “Oh,” Robert said. He was too surprised to say anything else. He had never imagined that Glenn’s mother would be so … normal.

  She held open the door, inviting Robert inside. “Would you like to join us for dinner? Glenn and his dad went out to get a pizza.”

  “I already ate,” Robert said.

  “You could join us anyway,” she said. “I’ve got root beer. And I bet Glenn would be happy to see you.”

  Robert wasn’t so sure about that. He suddenly understood why Glenn was acting so strange, and the answer had nothing to do with the purple wasp or the welt on the back of his neck.

  “I should probably go,” he said.

  “I’ll tell Glenn you stopped by. Did you want to leave a message?”

  “Yeah,” Robert said. “Can you tell him—”

  But he couldn’t finish the rest of the sentence. What had happened to Pip and Squeak was so awful, he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

  “Tell him I’ll see him in school tomorrow.”

  TEN

  The next morning, Robert woke in darkness. A layer of frost coated his bedroom window, blocking out the sunlight. On the radio, the DJ announced that the temperature was a chilly twenty-nine degrees.

  Robert dressed and went downstairs. Mrs. Arthur left early for work every morning, so he was used to making his own breakfast. Out of habit, he grabbed three cereal bowls from the cabinet. He was usually joined at the kitchen table by Pip and Squeak, and his pets insisted on different cereals (Pip preferred regular Cheerios; Squeak liked the honey nut flavor). Upon realizing his mistake, Robert returned all three bowls to the cupboard. He was too nervous to eat breakfast anyway.

  He was putting on his coat when he discovered a note by his mother, tucked inside one of the pockets: “Remember, hair grows back! Cheer up and have a great day!” It was wrapped around a special treat: a Hershey’s chocolate bar with almonds. Robert nearly left the candy at home—he couldn’t imagine regaining his appetite anytime soon—but decided to leave it in his pocket, just in case.

  When he arrived at Lovecraft Middle School later that morning, all the insects were gone. No swarms were buzzing in the hallway, no beetles or crickets were marching across the floor. The strips of flypaper had been removed and discarded. If it weren’t for the heads of his classmates—by now, nearly everyone in school was sporting a buzz cut—Robert might have wondered if the past few days had just been a bizarre dream.

  He went straight to the library. Ms. Lavinia was standing on the circulation desk and removing the bug zapper from the ceiling. She saw him coming and frowned.

  “Did you get the key?” Robert asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “But you promised—”

  “I’m sorry, Robert. My brother has a set in his study, but he was up working all night. I’ll have to try again this evening.”

  Robert realized that meant waiting another twenty-four hours before taking action. A whole extra day of imagining the worst. He couldn’t stand it.

  “Never mind,” he said. “I’ll find the key myself.”

  Ms. Lavinia hurried down from her desk and followed Robert out of the library. The hallway was crowded with students opening their lockers and removing their coats. She looked like she wanted to yell, but the crowds forced her to speak in a whisper. “What are you planning?”

  “I’ll cross over,” Robert said. “I’ve done it before. I can do it again.”

  Most of the gates to Tillinghast Mansion were well hidden, but recently Robert had discovered one at the bottom of the school swimming pool. He knew that if he swam through it, he would emerge in a small pond located on the side of the house.

 
; “You’ll never make it to the study,” Ms. Lavinia said. “You’ll be lucky if you get through the front door.” Still whispering, she reminded Robert that the mansion was home to lots of demons and monsters, all of them desperate for a human “vessel” that would allow them to enter the school unnoticed.

  “I have to try,” Robert insisted. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing. Pip and Squeak need my help.”

  Ms. Lavinia seemed to understand there would be no talking him out of it. She took Robert by the elbow and led him in a different direction. “If you’re going to insist on crossing over, at least let me show you a shortcut.”

  Just then the eight-twenty bell rang, signaling the start of the school day, and students began filing into their homerooms. Ms. Lavinia led Robert to the backstage entrance of the school auditorium. The wings of the stage were a dark and shadowy space, cluttered with clarinets and cellos, tubas and timpani drums, along with dozens of music stands and folding chairs.

  Ms. Lavinia directed Robert’s attention to a navy blue drape at the rear of the stage. “You need to walk behind that curtain. When you reach the ladder, start climbing. Be as quiet as you can. Sound can travel through a gate, and if you’re too loud, my brother will hear you coming.”

  “How do I get the key?”

  “I wish I knew. I’ve heard him say the keys are in the lock, but I don’t know what that means.”

  “The keys are in the lock?” Robert asked. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “My brother doesn’t make a lot of sense. You’ll just have to search his entire study. Be careful.”

  As Robert ducked behind the curtain, his stomach did little flip-flops. This was his first time venturing into Tillinghast Mansion alone, and he wished that Glenn or Karina were going with him.

  Fortunately, the ladder was easy to find—it was a series of metal rungs mounted to the cinder-block wall. Robert planted his feet on the lowest one and climbed hand over hand. He was ten feet above the stage when he recognized the familiar swampy stench of the mansion; it was too dark to see the gate, but he could feel its energy, drawing him higher and making the climbing easier. He had nearly reached the top of the ladder when all of the rungs abruptly disappeared, and he realized he was standing on solid ground.

  And he was no longer alone.

  “What are you doing here?”

  ELEVEN

  “I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed.”

  The voice came from the other side of the curtain. It was dry and rasping—not just old but ancient. Robert’s hands began to tremble, as if his subconscious sensed a threat of grave and immediate danger.

  “Forgive me, Your Excellency. I’m sorry to barge in like this.” Robert recognized this second voice as Howard Mergler’s. “I have good news, and I wanted to share it right away.”

  Robert shifted the curtain a fraction of an inch, just enough to peer into the room. He saw an enormous study. The walls were lined with tall shelves of old, cloth-covered books. Howard sat in a guest chair, a clipboard of notes balanced on his lap. Robert couldn’t see the man sitting across from him, yet he knew at once that it must be Crawford Tillinghast.

  “First frost arrived this morning,” Howard continued, “but thanks to some smart planning, I managed to stay ahead of it. I’ve now corralled more than a hundred thousand insects.”

  “Where are you keeping them?”

  “In an underground burrow. Directly below the soccer field. With enough heat and food to ensure that reproduction continues throughout the winter. By springtime, the army will be ten times its current size!”

  If Tillinghast was pleased, he didn’t show it. “What if someone discovers them?”

  “Impossible, Your Excellency. The entrance is in the basement mechanical room. No teachers or students are allowed down there.”

  “Suppose someone trespasses.”

  “It’s very well concealed. Not even the janitors will discover it.”

  Robert’s stomach growled and he realized that skipping breakfast had been a terrible mistake. Now his appetite was catching up with him, and the timing couldn’t be worse. He clutched his hands over his belly, but it squealed again.

  “Did you hear that?” Tillinghast asked.

  “Hear what?”

  “That noise. Like the howl of a dog.”

  They both waited for the sound to be repeated, and Robert was relieved to find that his stomach had settled down.

  “Probably just my sister snooping about,” Tillinghast concluded. “All last night, I could hear her pacing outside my office. Back and forth, back and forth, waiting for me to leave. She’s up to something, I’m afraid.”

  “I’ll interrogate her at once,” Howard offered.

  “Another time. I want to see this burrow you’ve created.”

  Howard was surprised. “But is it safe to leave the study? If Your Excellency has concerns about a security breach …”

  “It will be fine for a few minutes. Ethugu will keep an eye on things.”

  Tillinghast rose from his chair and Robert ducked behind the curtain. The old man’s voice was awful enough; Robert was too afraid to actually look at him. His hands were still shaking beyond his control.

  He waited until Tillinghast and Howard had left the study, then lingered in his hiding place for another minute, listening for sounds or movement. There were none. He peered out from behind the curtain, scanning the study from one end to another.

  Ethugu will keep an eye on things.

  What was Ethugu? Where was Ethugu? Robert had no idea. He seemed to have the room entirely to himself. He imagined that someone (or, more likely, some thing) named Ethugu was standing guard just outside the door. He would have to be very quiet.

  But now what?

  The keys are in the lock. Robert stepped into the study, and the wooden floorboards creaked beneath his feet. Over the door was a wide tapestry portraying a group of men and women dressed in bright red tunics, like ancient Romans; they were holding hands in a circle, surrounding a ring of fire. As Robert studied the tapestry, he felt like he was being watched—but when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that he was still alone.

  He began pacing around the room, pulling on desk drawers and cabinet doors, but everything in the study was locked and none of the locks contained keys. In one corner stood a large wooden globe; Robert spun it with his fingers, checking for Africa or Australia or any of the places he was learning about in Social Studies. He realized that none of the continents on this globe looked even remotely familiar. It was a map of some other place, a world whose oceans were teeming with serpents and whales and leviathans.

  Robert knew he was running out of time. He turned to the bookshelves, as if one of the thousands of dusty hardcover volumes might contain the answer. Many of the books were so old that their titles were illegible, but they appeared to be arranged alphabetically by author. Jonathan Byrd. Alfred Cable. Eugene Carp.

  The keys are in the lock.

  Suddenly, Robert had an idea. He circled the perimeter of the study, following the author surnames, moving from C and D to K to L, from La and Le to Li and Lo.

  Until he found the lock.

  The Collected Works of John Locke.

  As soon as Robert lifted the volume from the shelf, he realized it was no ordinary book. Hundreds of keys spilled from it and clattered to the wooden floor.

  Robert ducked behind the desk. He was terrified that Ethugu, hearing the noise, would enter the study to investigate. As he huddled in wait, he realized the book was nothing more than a box; its pages had been hollowed out to form a sort of hiding place.

  Unfortunately, it contained more keys than Robert could fit in his pockets. He would have to search until he found the right one. All the keys were different shapes and sizes, but each one was labeled with a tiny inscription: “East Ext. Door” or “Rm. 223” or “Art Closet.” As Robert sifted through them, he again felt the sensation of being watched. It was stronger than ever, but the door
to the office remained closed.

  “Come on,” he whispered to himself, checking the labels as quickly as he could. “Where are you?”

  He was answered by a wet gurgling noise, the sound of water swirling down a clogged drain. Robert looked over his shoulder to see a pair of blinking blue eyes looking back at him.

  No, several pairs of eyes, dozens of them, all embedded in a blob of green ooze descending from the ceiling.

  Robert looked up and discovered that he had never been alone in the study. This thing, this eyeslime, this Ethugu—it had been clinging to the ceiling and watching him the entire time.

  The creature bulged toward him and Robert backed away, slipping on the keys and losing his balance. He fell to the floor, and Ethugu oozed down all around him, blinking furiously, surrounding him in a cocoon of glistening green mucus. Everywhere Robert looked, Ethugu looked back at him. Its eyes were furious, as though it was daring him to try to break free.

  Instead, Robert remained perfectly still, his arms at his sides. After a few moments, he noticed that the slime seemed to be getting darker, that everything was getting darker.

  But it was only a trick of his imagination. In truth, he had depleted all the oxygen in the cocoon. Robert was blacking out.

  TWELVE

  The next time Robert opened his eyes, Ethugu was gone. So was the study. He found himself sitting on a chair in a windowless room not much bigger than a closet.

  Sitting across from him was a giant insect, five feet tall, with the abdomen of a beetle and the head of a giant fly.

  Robert leapt up, teetered for a moment, and then fell back into his seat. His ankles were bound to the legs of his chair with several coils of rope.

  The shaggai waved its limbs, gesturing for Robert to remain still. Its mandibles clacked open and shut, producing a loud rat-tat-tat that sounded like an old-fashioned typewriter.