Bad poetry, the dread of her next class, and the saving smoke of a cigarette were the things on the mind of Molly Haywood as she stepped into the teacher's lounge of Woodman Highschool. Plathe, Bradley, and Ginsberg her students definitely were not. She did not think she could endure another hour of blurry-eyed and pimple-faced kids butchering her beloved art. Of the poems read by her sophomore class, most were strangled with Mickey Mouse rhyme or corrupted by sentimentality and cliches.
She let out a tired sigh as she shut the door. Her drab, loose fitting shawl sweater hung loosely on her slim shoulders having slipped halfway down her back, but she did not bother to adjust it. She pulled out one of her menthol-lites and raised the lighter in her shaking hands. She concentrated all of her will power to force her hand to keep steady as if she failed to do so would result in cosmic repercussions disallowing any nicotine fixes in the future.
Finally, she calmed enough to light the end of the cigarette, and she inhaled so long that nearly half of it was consumed in one drag. She let it out and realized she was not alone. Jamie Odell, the history and civics teacher, sat in her neat pleated skirt and matching suit coat drinking a Diet Coke. Jamie's blonde hair was pulled back in a bun, exposing her delicate neck, which was adorned with a thin gold necklace holding a small cross that hung over the collar of her blouse.
Jamie was the last person she wanted to run into right now. Not only was Jamie attractive, she was also way too religious for Molly. The two young women were hired at the same time the previous year after their successors retired. The school board must have had some sense of humor. They were opposites, the two of them. Jamie was neat and had a classical prettiness about her that was more than mere physical beauty. There was grace in her posture and movements and even her speech that was old fashion and rigid while charming. Molly, on the other hand, wore loose fitting second-hand-looking clothes (she actually bought them that way from the Tropics store at the Kentwood Mall). Her hair was equally loose, tangled and hanging upon her shoulders. The administrators made her remove her nose ring before she started teaching at the beginning of the school year the previous fall.
"Tough class Molly?" Jamie's eyes were on her, and her cigarette. She must have sensed some apprehension. "I won't tell you smoked in here, but uh..." and she pointed to the sprinkler system on the ceiling.
"Oh!" Molly frantically waved at the smoke drifting upward from her cigarette. Both women ran to the couch by the window, Jamie reaching it first and opened it wide to let in the breezy spring air. They fell into cushions with a relieved sigh. "Thanks," Molly told Jamie.
The sudden comfort of the foam and the effects of the nicotine made her feel like she was falling. She could have continued falling like that, but her mind blocked her from doing so. She only had a couple of minutes until her next class.
"So," Jamie said, ruining Molly's escape, "do you think you'll be back next year?"
"Not if I can help it. I should be teaching in a college, or at least a prep school. Not out here in this town."
A kind smile spread on Jamie's face. "Well, it's great having such a talented writer and poet here. I thought the little quirks to this place could give someone of your gifts a lot of inspiration."
Pride spiked in Molly's heart, and she smiled, even though it was the last thing she wanted Jamie to see. Sitting there with her cross and pretty eyes. Only in a hick school filled with dimwits and slack-jaws would a teacher still be allowed to wear a symbol of such foolery. And she had to give up her nose ring.
"Surely," Jamie continued, "there has to be some promising young minds in your class."
"Not in the last one."
"How about your juniors?"
"One or two. Sandra, Cassie..." A shiver ran through her spine and caused her whole body to hiccup a short convulsion of disgust before she said the last name, "Kyle Moony at one time."
Jamie remained silent.
"Can you believe what he did?" Molly continued. "I mean, he was a letterman and an honor student. To be caught doing what he did?"
"Molly, don't."
"Do you know what they call him now?"
"I've heard."
"God, I hope he stops coming to school. He creeps me out when he looks at me."
"Don't say that, Molly. He obviously has some issues that need to be dealt with."
Issues? Molly knew it was more than that. Kyle Moony had been watching her closely for the last week. Even when she gave the students an in-class writing assignment, he would not write, but just stare at her with that little grin on his face. He hardly looked away even when the others taunted him and Jimmy Feltwell flicked him behind the ears. Sure Kyle would flinch, and tears would well up in his eyes, but they never left Molly. She hated her sixth hour class and that boy's eyes.
"I guess I've just been a bit stressed lately.
Jamie smiled as the bell rang for the final class to begin. She stood up and put her empty can in the recycle bin. "Well, good luck Molly."
"Thanks. It should be a hoot."
Jamie held the door open for her and Molly walked hurriedly down the hall. Her heels hit the hard tile with loud pops that bounced off the lockers and walls creating a cacophony of dying echoes fed by the fresh pops of each new footfall.
Just one more class, she reassured herself as she stopped in front of class room 112. She took a deep breath. The sound of the usual teenage conversation quieted as she opened the door and entered the room with her chin held up and her back rigid. Taking her place at the front she took a quick role call, aware the whole time of Kyle's boorish eyes fixed on her from the back corner. He was paler than usual, if that was possible. Probably because the black jacket he wore created such a contrast with his pasty skin. He had light orange hair and the complexion to go with it. His eyes were sunken with dark rings around them and his ominous little grin only broke to answer 'present' when she got to his name on her list.
She put her attendance book down and sat on her stool off to one side of the white board. "Alright, we have ten readings to go through today. Before we begin, is there anyone who did not get their poem finished for today?"
No one raised their hands. "Good." She looked over the names on the board under the day's date. "Any volunteers to go first?"
No one raised their hand...except Kyle.
Molly looked around the room, hoping someone else would raise theirs. None did.
"Alright, Kyle, c'mon up and read your poem."
Some of the male students whispered 'sugah-butt' in a taunting tone as Kyle walked to the front of the class, his eyes never leaving Molly, who refused to look up from the floor. Jimmy Feltwell stuck out his foot, tripping Kyle as he passed, sending the lanky young man face-first to the floor right in Molly's line of vision. Gasps came from a couple of mouths.
"Jimmy, quit being so mean," Gina said from right next to him.
Kyle remained where he was for several seconds, staring up at Molly. Then for just a fraction of a second, something in his eyes changed. His face twisted. Something monstrous seemed to well up under his skin. It was just a ripple like a pebble hitting the water in a pond. She blinked and it was gone.
Kyle stood up, turning to Jimmy.
"Get up there and read your poem before you get hurt, freak," Jimmy commanded him. "What are you smiling at?"
"Nothing, James."
Molly did not say anything. What was it that she had seen? It must have been her imagination, yet its disturbing impression stayed with her. It was just an angry twitch, she told herself. Was it? It did not look like any natural facial expression she'd seen.
She shook it off. Was she nuts?
"Knock it off," she told them. "Sugah...uh, Kyle, read your poem."
New gasps and guffaws met her slip-up. "Shh. Be quiet," she told them.
Kyle walked to the podium on the side of the whiteboard opposite of Molly and turned to face the class. He took a crumpled piece of paper from his jacket, unfolding it and using the palm of his hand to flatten it.
"It's not very long. And it doesn't rhyme."
"I told you that a poem doesn't have to rhyme to be a poem." Molly's face was buried in her hands as she tried to rub the weariness from her eyes. "Just read it."
"I don't have a title yet. Maybe someone here can help with that."
He cleared his throat, sighed and began.
"It spawns in the heart like a germ
Needs no warmth or touch
It grows by our sin alone
Watered with hate and lust.
The souls of the giants are
The demons who wander..."
He continued, speaking monotone, hypnotic. Molly caught her self zoning out while listening to his self-despising verse. It actually was pretty good, but she just could not listen to him. She looked out the window, at the overcast sky and the small beads of water starting to collect on the window glass from the rain. The day, the atmosphere of that very moment, reminded her of a Saturday morning in her childhood when she ran downstairs to watch cartoons. No one else was up. She was all alone. It was raining then, too. There she sat in her pajamas, eating cheerios and sitting in front of the TV watching Bozo the Clown with the volume turned all the way down so she could listen to the sound of the rain hitting the windows while she watched kids pop balloons on chairs with their bottoms and race with tricycles.
Something was wrong. Kyle stopped reading.
"Are you finished yet, Sugah-butt?" Jimmy said.
Kyle's hand was in his jacket. Tears were in his eyes. "He grows in you, Jimmy, you can't flee."
Molly almost knew before he removed it what was going to happen, but she found it impossible to breath, much less scream for help.
He pointed the pistol at Jimmy, who was only six or seven feet from him and squeezed. A sharp pop exploded in the room, creating a wake of shocked silence. No one moved. All were frozen.
Jimmy's arms went limp and hung down to the floor as his body slumped in his chair. He glared stupidly, drool oozing from his mouth, at the crimson stain spreading on his chest.
One of the girls screamed, but still nobody moved. There was never such a moment of fearful silence that Molly had felt. Everyone's hearts seemed to stop at the same time and they all sat there like a herd of cattle too shocked to stampede.
Kyle turned to her, the smoking muzzle of the black pistol leveled right at her.
"You couldn't even listen." His face was wet with his tears. "Prophet warned us. We never listened."
"Kyle..."
Another flash and pop. The force of the bullet knocked the petite Molly off her stool and into the wall. The room spun in her eyes and she found herself staring up at the ceiling and clutching her belly. There was no moment of shock and numbness. The pain seared hotly in her abdomen. She gritted her teeth so hard her breath whistled through them while she wriggled under the excruciating pain of her torn innards. She tried to bring her legs closer to her body, but they would not respond. Tears rolled from her eyes, blurring her sight.
The students were screaming and the panicked rustling of their feet thudered as they finally ran.
Kyle screamed himself as he fired at his fleeing classmates. "You see him now? You see him!""
Then, there was silence in the room. The screams from the hall sounded distant.
Two sneakered feet appeared in front of her. Kyle knelt down beside her and sat, watching her for several moments as she continued to writhe in pain. She looked up at him. He still had that wicked little smile on his face despite his crying. He looked like a frog with that smile. Molly found herself laughing uncontrollably, and she did not know why. She was terrified, and the pain in her abdomen was terrible. She was dying.
The expression on Kyle's face never changed.
"You saw him in me didn't you? Just a couple of minutes ago. I know you did. I couldn't hide it all the time. I had to spare you. He wanted you, you know, just as he's been gathering many others. Much better this way."
He said no more. Kyle Moony stood up. One more shot and the heavy weight of his lifeless corpse fell over her. The last thing she heard before falling blackness took her were the sirens of approaching response vehicles and the screams of students running by.
She let out a tired sigh as she shut the door. Her drab, loose fitting shawl sweater hung loosely on her slim shoulders having slipped halfway down her back, but she did not bother to adjust it. She pulled out one of her menthol-lites and raised the lighter in her shaking hands. She concentrated all of her will power to force her hand to keep steady as if she failed to do so would result in cosmic repercussions disallowing any nicotine fixes in the future.
Finally, she calmed enough to light the end of the cigarette, and she inhaled so long that nearly half of it was consumed in one drag. She let it out and realized she was not alone. Jamie Odell, the history and civics teacher, sat in her neat pleated skirt and matching suit coat drinking a Diet Coke. Jamie's blonde hair was pulled back in a bun, exposing her delicate neck, which was adorned with a thin gold necklace holding a small cross that hung over the collar of her blouse.
Jamie was the last person she wanted to run into right now. Not only was Jamie attractive, she was also way too religious for Molly. The two young women were hired at the same time the previous year after their successors retired. The school board must have had some sense of humor. They were opposites, the two of them. Jamie was neat and had a classical prettiness about her that was more than mere physical beauty. There was grace in her posture and movements and even her speech that was old fashion and rigid while charming. Molly, on the other hand, wore loose fitting second-hand-looking clothes (she actually bought them that way from the Tropics store at the Kentwood Mall). Her hair was equally loose, tangled and hanging upon her shoulders. The administrators made her remove her nose ring before she started teaching at the beginning of the school year the previous fall.
"Tough class Molly?" Jamie's eyes were on her, and her cigarette. She must have sensed some apprehension. "I won't tell you smoked in here, but uh..." and she pointed to the sprinkler system on the ceiling.
"Oh!" Molly frantically waved at the smoke drifting upward from her cigarette. Both women ran to the couch by the window, Jamie reaching it first and opened it wide to let in the breezy spring air. They fell into cushions with a relieved sigh. "Thanks," Molly told Jamie.
The sudden comfort of the foam and the effects of the nicotine made her feel like she was falling. She could have continued falling like that, but her mind blocked her from doing so. She only had a couple of minutes until her next class.
"So," Jamie said, ruining Molly's escape, "do you think you'll be back next year?"
"Not if I can help it. I should be teaching in a college, or at least a prep school. Not out here in this town."
A kind smile spread on Jamie's face. "Well, it's great having such a talented writer and poet here. I thought the little quirks to this place could give someone of your gifts a lot of inspiration."
Pride spiked in Molly's heart, and she smiled, even though it was the last thing she wanted Jamie to see. Sitting there with her cross and pretty eyes. Only in a hick school filled with dimwits and slack-jaws would a teacher still be allowed to wear a symbol of such foolery. And she had to give up her nose ring.
"Surely," Jamie continued, "there has to be some promising young minds in your class."
"Not in the last one."
"How about your juniors?"
"One or two. Sandra, Cassie..." A shiver ran through her spine and caused her whole body to hiccup a short convulsion of disgust before she said the last name, "Kyle Moony at one time."
Jamie remained silent.
"Can you believe what he did?" Molly continued. "I mean, he was a letterman and an honor student. To be caught doing what he did?"
"Molly, don't."
"Do you know what they call him now?"
"I've heard."
"God, I hope he stops coming to school. He creeps me out when he looks at me."
"Don't say that, Molly. He obviously has some issues that need to be dealt with."
Issues? Molly knew it was more than that. Kyle Moony had been watching her closely for the last week. Even when she gave the students an in-class writing assignment, he would not write, but just stare at her with that little grin on his face. He hardly looked away even when the others taunted him and Jimmy Feltwell flicked him behind the ears. Sure Kyle would flinch, and tears would well up in his eyes, but they never left Molly. She hated her sixth hour class and that boy's eyes.
"I guess I've just been a bit stressed lately.
Jamie smiled as the bell rang for the final class to begin. She stood up and put her empty can in the recycle bin. "Well, good luck Molly."
"Thanks. It should be a hoot."
Jamie held the door open for her and Molly walked hurriedly down the hall. Her heels hit the hard tile with loud pops that bounced off the lockers and walls creating a cacophony of dying echoes fed by the fresh pops of each new footfall.
Just one more class, she reassured herself as she stopped in front of class room 112. She took a deep breath. The sound of the usual teenage conversation quieted as she opened the door and entered the room with her chin held up and her back rigid. Taking her place at the front she took a quick role call, aware the whole time of Kyle's boorish eyes fixed on her from the back corner. He was paler than usual, if that was possible. Probably because the black jacket he wore created such a contrast with his pasty skin. He had light orange hair and the complexion to go with it. His eyes were sunken with dark rings around them and his ominous little grin only broke to answer 'present' when she got to his name on her list.
She put her attendance book down and sat on her stool off to one side of the white board. "Alright, we have ten readings to go through today. Before we begin, is there anyone who did not get their poem finished for today?"
No one raised their hands. "Good." She looked over the names on the board under the day's date. "Any volunteers to go first?"
No one raised their hand...except Kyle.
Molly looked around the room, hoping someone else would raise theirs. None did.
"Alright, Kyle, c'mon up and read your poem."
Some of the male students whispered 'sugah-butt' in a taunting tone as Kyle walked to the front of the class, his eyes never leaving Molly, who refused to look up from the floor. Jimmy Feltwell stuck out his foot, tripping Kyle as he passed, sending the lanky young man face-first to the floor right in Molly's line of vision. Gasps came from a couple of mouths.
"Jimmy, quit being so mean," Gina said from right next to him.
Kyle remained where he was for several seconds, staring up at Molly. Then for just a fraction of a second, something in his eyes changed. His face twisted. Something monstrous seemed to well up under his skin. It was just a ripple like a pebble hitting the water in a pond. She blinked and it was gone.
Kyle stood up, turning to Jimmy.
"Get up there and read your poem before you get hurt, freak," Jimmy commanded him. "What are you smiling at?"
"Nothing, James."
Molly did not say anything. What was it that she had seen? It must have been her imagination, yet its disturbing impression stayed with her. It was just an angry twitch, she told herself. Was it? It did not look like any natural facial expression she'd seen.
She shook it off. Was she nuts?
"Knock it off," she told them. "Sugah...uh, Kyle, read your poem."
New gasps and guffaws met her slip-up. "Shh. Be quiet," she told them.
Kyle walked to the podium on the side of the whiteboard opposite of Molly and turned to face the class. He took a crumpled piece of paper from his jacket, unfolding it and using the palm of his hand to flatten it.
"It's not very long. And it doesn't rhyme."
"I told you that a poem doesn't have to rhyme to be a poem." Molly's face was buried in her hands as she tried to rub the weariness from her eyes. "Just read it."
"I don't have a title yet. Maybe someone here can help with that."
He cleared his throat, sighed and began.
"It spawns in the heart like a germ
Needs no warmth or touch
It grows by our sin alone
Watered with hate and lust.
The souls of the giants are
The demons who wander..."
He continued, speaking monotone, hypnotic. Molly caught her self zoning out while listening to his self-despising verse. It actually was pretty good, but she just could not listen to him. She looked out the window, at the overcast sky and the small beads of water starting to collect on the window glass from the rain. The day, the atmosphere of that very moment, reminded her of a Saturday morning in her childhood when she ran downstairs to watch cartoons. No one else was up. She was all alone. It was raining then, too. There she sat in her pajamas, eating cheerios and sitting in front of the TV watching Bozo the Clown with the volume turned all the way down so she could listen to the sound of the rain hitting the windows while she watched kids pop balloons on chairs with their bottoms and race with tricycles.
Something was wrong. Kyle stopped reading.
"Are you finished yet, Sugah-butt?" Jimmy said.
Kyle's hand was in his jacket. Tears were in his eyes. "He grows in you, Jimmy, you can't flee."
Molly almost knew before he removed it what was going to happen, but she found it impossible to breath, much less scream for help.
He pointed the pistol at Jimmy, who was only six or seven feet from him and squeezed. A sharp pop exploded in the room, creating a wake of shocked silence. No one moved. All were frozen.
Jimmy's arms went limp and hung down to the floor as his body slumped in his chair. He glared stupidly, drool oozing from his mouth, at the crimson stain spreading on his chest.
One of the girls screamed, but still nobody moved. There was never such a moment of fearful silence that Molly had felt. Everyone's hearts seemed to stop at the same time and they all sat there like a herd of cattle too shocked to stampede.
Kyle turned to her, the smoking muzzle of the black pistol leveled right at her.
"You couldn't even listen." His face was wet with his tears. "Prophet warned us. We never listened."
"Kyle..."
Another flash and pop. The force of the bullet knocked the petite Molly off her stool and into the wall. The room spun in her eyes and she found herself staring up at the ceiling and clutching her belly. There was no moment of shock and numbness. The pain seared hotly in her abdomen. She gritted her teeth so hard her breath whistled through them while she wriggled under the excruciating pain of her torn innards. She tried to bring her legs closer to her body, but they would not respond. Tears rolled from her eyes, blurring her sight.
The students were screaming and the panicked rustling of their feet thudered as they finally ran.
Kyle screamed himself as he fired at his fleeing classmates. "You see him now? You see him!""
Then, there was silence in the room. The screams from the hall sounded distant.
Two sneakered feet appeared in front of her. Kyle knelt down beside her and sat, watching her for several moments as she continued to writhe in pain. She looked up at him. He still had that wicked little smile on his face despite his crying. He looked like a frog with that smile. Molly found herself laughing uncontrollably, and she did not know why. She was terrified, and the pain in her abdomen was terrible. She was dying.
The expression on Kyle's face never changed.
"You saw him in me didn't you? Just a couple of minutes ago. I know you did. I couldn't hide it all the time. I had to spare you. He wanted you, you know, just as he's been gathering many others. Much better this way."
He said no more. Kyle Moony stood up. One more shot and the heavy weight of his lifeless corpse fell over her. The last thing she heard before falling blackness took her were the sirens of approaching response vehicles and the screams of students running by.
