School of the Dead

by Avi

  Dad said to me, “What do you think it is?”

  “Don’t know,” I lied.

  Dad, who never quite believed me when I claimed sickness, said, “Have any tests today?”

  “Come on, Dad, I feel lousy.”

  My parents exchanged looks.

  “I can’t take time off today,” said Mom.

  “Neither can I,” said Dad.

  I felt like saying, Nothing new there. I didn’t.

  To me, Mom said, “You’ll be alone.”

  “I’m used to it,” I said.

  Mom and Dad eyed each other. When Dad shrugged, Mom made the decision. “Okay, stay home. We don’t want you getting worse.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered, and went back to bed. Once there, I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the world.

  Mom came to my room to say good-bye. “I called the school to tell them you weren’t feeling well. That nice Mrs. Z said she hoped you’d get better so you won’t miss the party tomorrow. I told her I was sure you’d be there. Call me if things get worse,” she added, kissing my forehead.

  Dad looked in. “Get well. You don’t want to miss your Halloween party.”

  The front door shut. I heard the locks click.

  I thought about Austin. Had he known as much as I did when he quit? Had he told his parents? Didn’t matter. He got out. Once more, I considered doing the same. The Penda Boy had said Austin lacked courage. I thought he was smart. Yes, I wanted to save myself, but I felt I had to make sure Lilly was not hurt. Besides, I kept telling myself, I wanted to get rid of Mrs. Penda.

  If I told my parents, they would think I was insane.

  If I told Lilly, she would think so too.

  I remembered that old question, “What’s the deal with Uncle Charlie?” The answer: he was trying to kill me. It made me shudder. I was glad I hadn’t seen him for a while. Perhaps he had done his job—getting me to the school—and I’d never see him again. Good.

  Somehow, I managed to sleep for a couple of hours.

  It was near eleven when I woke. I was glad to be home, but I wished there were people in school I could talk to. I thought of Riley Fadden, the Student Council president. “Problems with the school,” he had said, “come to me.”

  Not a chance.

  I thought of Ms. Foxton. She had said, “If you can think of any way I can be helpful, my door is always open.”

  But . . . whose side was she on? The steps to Jessica’s room were in her office. How could she not know?

  I thought . . .

  The first time we met, she’d looked at me with fear in her eyes, as if she was frightened of me. She’d even made a point of telling me not to believe stories about ghosts in the towers. Warned me about Jessica. Made a big thing about finding me in the hall with her. Told Mom I should not hang around Jessica.

  I tried to look at things differently: If Ms. Foxton had known what was going on when she first saw me, maybe she’d been fearful for me. She’d said Jessica didn’t tell the truth. Made problems. She’d quoted someone who’d said, “A friend is one soul in two bodies.” She had even added, “When choosing a friend, you might ask yourself: Do you wish to share souls with that person?” It was as if she did know about Mrs. Penda and what she did. That all along, she’d been trying to protect me from Jessica.

  Then why hadn’t she just told me?

  Because—I answered myself—I saw her only in school. Because she could have no idea who might hear her tell me what was happening. Mrs. Z was sitting right outside her office, and both the Penda Boy and Jessica had told me she was a watchdog.

  That brought on a new idea: maybe it was Ms. Foxton who’d found the dropped flashlight.

  I figured out how it could have happened: That afternoon, she came back from her meeting and saw a backpack in the office. She asked Mrs. Z who it belonged to. Mrs. Z told her I’d been there.

  No big deal.

  But then Ms. Foxton goes into her own office and notices that the flashlight is gone. Thinks: someone has been in her office. Connects that with knowing I was in the front office. Wonders if I came into her office.

  Discovers the letter opener on the floor by the chest. If she knows about Jessica, she knows about the chest.

  She asks herself if I opened the chest. If I went below. She opens the lid. Easier to do from the top. She goes down the steps. Along the hallway. When she finds the flashlight at the bottom of the spiral steps, she knows what I have discovered—some of it anyway. That would explain why she called Mom, wanting to know if I got home. She was worried that I had been trapped down there. By telling Mom about my backpack, she knows I will go into the office and see the flashlight. In other words, the flashlight was a message. The message is: I know what is going on.

  Then I remembered that time she had called Mom. When she did, she gave Mom her private number and told Mom that I should call her if I had things to talk about. Maybe that was another message missed.

  I went over things repeatedly. It fit. At least I hoped so. But the only way I could be sure was by talking to her.

  But if she was on my side, she couldn’t talk to me at school. Mrs. Z would hear. I had to find another way.

  Mom had written that phone number on a yellow sticky note and given it to me. I rummaged around my messy desk but couldn’t find it. I was sure I hadn’t tossed it out, and my parents never touched my desk. I searched. It was nowhere.

  I jumped on my slackline, walked back and forth, concentrating on what I was doing, not on the note. I got off and remembered. I had put the note in a book. The Old Man and the Sea.

  I found the book. Found the private cell number. Should I call or not? I told myself I had to take the chance. I went into the living room, sat on the couch, and, using my cell phone, tapped out the number. It rang four times.

  “This is Gloria.”

  “Is this . . . Ms. Foxton?”

  “This is she.” Her voice shifted. It became lower, stronger, professional. “Who is calling, please?”

  “Tony Gilbert.”

  “Ah.”

  “I need to speak to you.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Home sick. But not really.”

  “Ah,” she said again.

  “I’m alone.”

  There was some silence. Then she said, “What did you wish to talk to me about?”

  “Your message.” When she said nothing, I said, “The flashlight.”

  She stayed silent. I waited, my heart thumping. Then she said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  The phone went dead.

  Did that mean she was coming or not? All I could do was wait. Wait to see if she would come. Wait to see if she was on my side.

  An hour later, I heard a small tap on the front door. I jumped up and pulled it open. Ms. Foxton was standing there. She looked her usual self, a trim lady in a suit, her brown hair tied off at the back of her neck. Her face, however, had not even the hint of a smile.

  The first thing she said was, “Where are your parents?”

  “Working.”

  “Do they know you called me?”

  “No.”

  “How much have you told them?”

  “Nothing.”

  She remained unmoving, not crossing the threshold, as if trying to decide what to do.

  I said, “You know about Mrs. Penda, don’t you?”

  Her eyes swept over our apartment like she wanted to make sure no one else was there. She must have satisfied herself, because she gave a tiny nod—making a decision—and came forward.

  “We can talk here,” I said, gesturing toward our new couch. She sat down on the edge, feet together, hands clasped, eyes fixed on me. I sat across the way in an easy chair, not feeling easy.

  Finally, she said, “Please tell me what you know.”

  I told her everything I had discovered about Jessica, the Penda Boy, the school, Bokor, Batalie, Mrs. Z, and what was going to happen during the Halloween party: that they were trying to get me to
lead them to the Penda Boy because I was the only one who could see him. As soon as I got to him, they’d kill him—or whatever they do with someone half dead like him. Then they would take my soul. “It’s what you said to me: ‘A friend is one soul in two bodies.’ That’s what they want to do.”

  She grimaced.

  I went on, telling her how if they couldn’t get me, I was sure they would use someone. I didn’t mention Lilly. I told her that they had to act by tomorrow night, their seven-year limit, their holy eve, Halloween, or they would be done.

  As I talked, Ms. Foxton’s eyes never left me. Now and again, she nodded as if to acknowledge what I said. A few times, such as when I told her about going into the tower and meeting with the Penda Boy, and how down by the bay I’d watched Jessica’s face change, her eyes became wider. Mostly she listened.

  When I was done she said, “I could cancel the party. Lock the school.”

  “The second they learn, they’d go after someone. Hate to tell you, but Jessica once told me, ‘Someday I’m going to have to kill that woman.’ She meant you.”

  The color faded from Ms. Foxton’s face.

  I said, “Did you know everything I told you?”

  She nodded.

  “For a long time?”

  “I came to the Penda School two years ago.”

  “When did you find out?”

  “Quite quickly. An unexpected meeting—as you might guess—with Mrs. Penda. I was told all I needed to know. Indeed, she insists I go to what she calls her board meetings. A normal school, except I learned that Mrs. Penda takes a student’s soul every seven years. I suppose I didn’t quite believe it until she went after Austin—I assume you know what happened to him.”

  I nodded.

  “That’s when I truly grasped it all. When I confronted Mrs. Penda—Jessica—she said that if I left the school, she would make sure I never worked again. She would have her board of trustees accuse me publicly of many things. When an adult works with young people, Tony, reputation is everything.”

  I thought of that long list of school heads. Now I knew why there were so many.

  “Before I could decide what to do, you showed up at school to start classes. Until that morning, I hadn’t even known you would be enrolled.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Mrs. Penda. She told me you were about to become a student—replacing Austin. It was obvious to me that you had been picked as the next victim.”

  “But . . . who picked me?”

  “Mrs. Penda said you’d been recommended by one of our former students—your great-uncle Charlie.”

  When I couldn’t speak, she said, “I tried to warn you.”

  Recovering, I said, “You found the flashlight I dropped, right?”

  “When I was at Mrs. Penda’s meeting.”

  “You put it where I would see it so I would understand you knew.”

  “I hoped so. When I found it, I thought they might have already taken you.”

  “That’s why you called my mother.”

  She nodded and then said, “Tell me what Mrs. Penda has planned.”

  “Tomorrow, at seven, I’m to go through the old door in the back of Mr. Batalie’s room and lead her to the Penda Boy. She wants to destroy him.”

  “How will the boy protect you?”

  “He wants me to go along with Jessica. When I go through the door, he’ll hide me till midnight. If Jessica doesn’t get what she wants, she’ll go away, and so will the school.”

  “‘Go away’?” Ms. Foxton asked faintly. “What does that mean?”

  I shrugged. “Not sure.”

  “Can you trust him?”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “What do you wish me to do?”

  All I could come up with was, “I guess . . . let me do what the Penda Boy wants.”

  “Aren’t you frightened?”

  I nodded.

  “Are you going to tell your parents?”

  “They won’t believe me,” I said. “If they did, they’d pull me out of school. Like Austin. If I go, the Weird History Club people will go after someone else. But it’s me they want.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s something already dead in me.”

  Ms. Foxton was quiet for a while, and then she said, “You’re very brave. Thank you.”

  We sat there, not speaking. Then she got up and went to the door. “If you can think of anything for me to do, please let me know.” She left.

  I walked the slackline for a long time. By the time I was done, I realized I had to see the Penda Boy before the party to tell him which door I was going through. And the time. I also wanted reassurance that he would be there.

  The school librarian had told me she kept the library open for an hour after the end of classes. I’d go there and find the Penda Boy, somehow. If anyone asked what I was doing, I’d say I felt better and needed to work on Bokor’s term paper. It was due tomorrow.

  I was about to leave when my phone rang.

  “Lilly?”

  “You okay?”

  “Not feeling great.”

  “Not going to miss the Halloween party, are you?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Pick your costume yet?”

  “Still thinking. You?”

  She laughed. “As I told you, it’s a secret.”

  I had left the apartment and was on the street going toward school when my phone rang again.

  “Hello.”

  “What’s happening?” It was Jessica, her voice tight.

  “Nothing, really. Stomachache. I’m good.”

  “Great. So you’ll be at school tomorrow, right? For the party?” I could hear her relief.

  “Sure.”

  “Figure out your costume?”

  “Still thinking.”

  “Tony, you have to let us know in the morning.”

  “I will.”

  I was almost at school when the phone rang a third time.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi. It’s Mom. How are you feeling?”

  “Lot better.”

  “Oh good. Wouldn’t want you to miss your big Halloween party.”

  “Nope.”

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Taking it slow.”

  “Great. See you soon. Love you.”

  “Love you.”

  I suspect her reaction would have been different if I had told her I was going to meet a ghost.

  Once I got to the school, I stopped and studied the building. It was so strange: old, oddly shaped, with turrets, towers, and multiple roofs. It made me think how when you look at a building—any building—you never know what’s going on inside. The outside of a building is a mask. A Halloween mask.

  I looked up toward the window in the tall tower. Within seconds, the Penda Boy was there. We stared at each other. Then he vanished. I hoped he sensed my need to speak to him.

  I had thought the school would be deserted. Nothing like. There were many people—parents for the most part, moms, with a few kids—busily putting up Halloween decorations for the big party. Strangest was the reception hall, where they were laying out a fake cemetery, complete with gravestones for every teacher. I saw Ms. Foxton’s name, Batalie’s, others. There was even one with the name Mrs. Penda on it.

  They had no idea the school was already a cemetery. Just no one was underground.

  Unlike the rest of school, the library was deserted. Not even the librarian was there. No decorations either. Just afternoon sunlight piercing the old chapel windows, causing dust motes to swirl gently in bars of rainbow air. On the tables, abandoned books. Nothing is quieter, or has more secrets, I thought, than a book that’s closed.

  Deciding I had to make a show of working—in case someone came in—I sat at a table, grabbed a book, and opened it. Not that I read anything. I was waiting for the Penda Boy.

  As I sat there, the room shook. A book popped out of one of the cases and landed on the floor wi
th a thump. Another earthquake. They were getting stronger. I struggled to read the book in my hands. After a few pages, I looked up. Sitting at the other side of the table was the Penda Boy.

  He said, “You wanted to see me.”

  “Tomorrow, at seven o’clock, Jessica wants me to go through the door at the back of Mr. Batalie’s room.”

  “Do it. When you come through, I’ll be on the other side so I can hide you. Of course, they’ll try to find you. I’ll keep them looking for you until midnight. Once we get past that, they can no longer exist.”

  “And . . . you’ll really be there?” I asked.

  Instead of answering, he vanished.

  He must have heard Mrs. DuBois, the librarian, because she walked in. “Why, hello, Tony,” she said. “I didn’t expect anyone this afternoon. Such excitement. Did you find what you needed?”

  “Yes, thank you.” I stood up.

  “This will be your first Penda Halloween. What are you going to be?”

  “Not certain,” I said, and meant it.

  Leaving school, I made my way through the reception-hall cemetery and then headed downhill. In a big Walgreens on Union Street, I went to the Halloween section. Tons of people were there, adults and kids. There was the usual display of masks: Frankenstein, witches, monsters, and bizarre animals. It took some searching before I found a mask I liked, one with no facial features. Even the eyeholes were white gauze. A blank mask. It cost the twenty bucks Dad had given me.

  A mirror allowed me to look at myself. I was a ghost. Was that what I’d look like after tomorrow?

  The next day, Friday, Halloween, was supposed to be a regular school day. It was not. Kids were very excited. They loved the reception-floor cemetery. There seemed to be a tradition of putting flowers on your favorite teacher’s grave. Guess which one had the most flowers? Mrs. Penda’s.

  During classes, nobody paid attention. Even the teachers were keyed up. In history, Bokor collected the papers that were due in a box that was passed around. I put in nothing. I figured either he or I would not be around to deal with it.

  As we left class, he cried, “Halloween, my friends. Keep hold of your souls.”

  People laughed.

  I didn’t.

  During recess, I felt I had to sit with the Weird History Club: Jessica, Mac, and Barney. I hoped I’d show nothing of what I felt or knew.