School of Fear (11 page)

“What does any of this have to do with saying Grace?” Garrison asked with agitation, unable to shake the image of a gushing
river.

“Patience, my sweaty boy,” Mrs. Wellington said with a glance at Garrison’s perspiration-covered face. “One day while fishing,
the old man fell in. It was simply ghastly, his whole comb-over washed before his eyes. I wish you could ask him about it;
he’d do a much better job, but that’s the tragedy of the deaf.”

“Madame, I am more than capable of telling the story.”

“Oh, very well,” Mrs. Wellington responded, as if suddenly aware of his hearing capabilities.

“Madame often forgets that I am visually impaired, but my hearing is just fine. As for the story, Madame was quite a fan of
the trout, so I often fished on the edge of Moon River.”

“Schmidty, I certainly hope you aren’t implying it was my fault?”

“Of course not, Madame. I am merely insinuating it was your fault. I think that’s the least I could do after your comb-over
comment.”

“Very well then, please continue.”

“As I was saying, I was fishing at the edge of the river, standing on what appeared to be a large rock, but of course, my
vision does not lend itself to details. Every few minutes the rock moved under the pressure of the currents, but I paid it
no mind. The slight pull on my fishing line absorbed my attention, as the rock continued to move from the left to the right.
I readjusted my feet while remaining focused on the fishing line. Then the rock moved out from beneath me, tossing me headfirst
into the river. My body was pulled underwater and the currents wouldn’t let me surface. I was dying.”

“This is a horrible story,” Theo fussed, dabbing moisture from his eyes, “even worse than that sandwich.”

“Clearly he didn’t die. A little emotional control would do you good,” Mrs. Wellington said firmly.

“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Theo. It’s not often that people show such emotion toward me,” Schmidty said while staring
at Mrs. Wellington. “Now then. Where was I?”

“You were drowning,” Madeleine offered helpfully before noticing the veritable river gushing from Garrison’s forehead. She
considered telling the old man to quit the drowning story, but she thought it impolite. Instead, she stared longingly at Garrison
to convey her heartfelt sympathy.

“Buried beneath the water, I spotted a large green rock swimming toward me. It swam around me until I grabbed on. Then it
pulled me ashore. I was unbelievably grateful, although I wondered if I was hallucinating, especially since the green rock
was following me home. Once Madame saw the rock I learned it was actually a turtle —”

Mrs. Wellington interrupted Schmidty excitedly, “I named her Grace, and once I showed her to the large tub, well, she never
left. I didn’t mind; she did save Schmidty after all. If he had died who would have cooked my food to taste of Casu Frazigu
or laundered my clothes?”

“Thank you, Madame. Your concern is overwhelming.”

Mrs. Wellington glanced at Schmidty before reaching toward the centerpiece. “We’ve kept her shell as a nice reminder of the
turtle who used to live in the downstairs bathroom.”

“That’s a dead turtle shell we knocked on?” Lulu questioned Mrs. Wellington.

“Yes, dear, it is.”

“Some turtles have salmonella. Do you realize what that can do to us? I think I feel a fever coming on,” Theo said while touching
his forehead.

“Grace didn’t have salmonella,” Mrs. Wellington said calmly. “I had Schmidty lick her shell to confirm it.”

“It’s true, Mr. Theo. Nary a chill, fever, or nausea.”

“It was a very productive activity, as we learned saliva is a good stand-in for furniture polish,” Mrs. Wellington said with
a straight face.

Garrison, desperate to erase thoughts of rivers and saliva from his mind, focused on the dense garden outside. His eyes were
lingering between an elm and maple tree, when he saw something move. Perhaps it was the gardener. He narrowed his eyes to
decipher the figure before asking, “Is there anyone else up here?”

“We are all alone up here. Aren’t we, Schmidty?” Mrs. Wellington responded with a wry smile.

T
he children followed Mrs. Wellington and Schmidty into the kitchen, where they placed their plates on the neon pink counter.
In a rather unconventional move, Mrs. Wellington had the kitchen done entirely in pink. In addition to the walls, floor, and
ceiling, every appliance, plate, utensil, bowl, glass, and tea towel were a shade of pink. The color scheme reminded Garrison
of Pepto-Bismol. Theo didn’t mind the color so much as the idea of Schmidty in it.

“Isn’t it
dangerous
for a blind man to cook?” Theo asked logically.

“Safety is relative. If he can operate the crane, I’m sure he can boil water. He hasn’t hurt anyone yet. Well, actually, that’s
not true. I should say, he hasn’t killed anyone,” Mrs. Wellington said as her lips dipped a shade darker before returning
to normal. “Now then, it’s time for your first class. Follow me.”

Mrs. Wellington pushed open the ten-foot-by-ten-foot pink Formica accordion door, which led into the Great Hall. The foursome
followed Mrs. Wellington, once again awestruck by their surroundings. There were literally more doors than they could count,
each more unique than the last. A glass door with a bronze plaque informing residents to use the stairs in case of a fire
caught the foursome’s attention. A tangled web of staircases crisscrossed the room both vertically and horizontally, creating
an indecipherable mess.

Mrs. Wellington, oblivious to the children’s interest, continued marching down the hall. “Stop dawdling,” Mrs. Wellington
announced firmly.

Madeleine, still planted in front of the glass door, sensed something familiar in the midst of the great mess. Her stomach
churned loudly as the reality dawned on her. The tightly packed center with long tendrils resembled a gargantuan spider. Madeleine
imagined the hairy, multi-legged creature approaching, fangs dripping with poison. Out of habit, she grabbed her repellents
and sprayed the glass door.

“What are you doing?” Garrison whispered harshly from a few feet away.

The sound of his voice snapped Madeleine back to reality.

“Sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” Madeleine replied with embarrassment.

Mrs. Wellington abruptly stopped in front of a traditional red door with a white porch and a wooden rocking chair. It was
the sort of quaint setting that inspired people to move to the country.

“I suppose since we’re here, I’ll show you the B&B. Outside of the library, the Fearnasium, and the classroom, you are not
to open any other doors, ever, under any circumstance, real or imagined.”

“I love B&Bs,” Madeleine chirped.

“You would,” Lulu snorted.

“Oh Lulu, you are a funny one,” Mrs. Wellington said with a smile. “And as such, you can enter the B&B first.”

“Great,” Lulu offered with her trademark eye roll.

Madeleine steamed a little over Mrs. Wellington’s oblivion to Lulu’s utter lack of gratitude and manners. The old woman almost
seemed to like her more because of it.

Garrison, completely bored by the prospect of seeing the B&B, focused on the bulletin board next to the red door. Amid the
clutter of old flyers, everything from guitar lessons to the town fair, he spotted a missing-child poster. It was old and
frayed, but the photograph of the child was still clear. Just as Garrison prepared to ask the old woman what happened to the
boy, she looked over at him purposefully and spoke.

“I tend to keep the B&B rather dim, so it may take your eyes a second to adjust.”

“Oh dear, spiders love darkness,” Madeleine mumbled while covering herself in repellent.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Wellington. By any chance, is the Bed & Breakfast open for brunch?” Theo asked.

Ignoring Theo, Mrs. Wellington ushered the children, led by Lulu, into the B&B.

“And now for the B&Bs,” Mrs. Wellington said while opening a closet.

The onslaught was fast, furious, and unbelievably loud. All they saw were swathes of black, and all they heard was the flapping
of wings. Before the foursome could focus their eyes on the black masses storming around their heads, Mrs. Wellington lifted
the top of a massive urn, releasing a strong and focused stream of bees. The buzzing was thunderous, even as the flapping
sounds continued.

“Bats and bees,” Mrs. Wellington said jubilantly as the foursome cowered in a huddle.

“Bats!” Lulu screamed in shock before throwing open the front door.

“I’ve been stung,” Theo yelled while following Lulu.

Madeleine was last out after Garrison, leaving Mrs. Wellington alone with the B&Bs.

“They’re all over me!” Madeleine hollered while spraying furiously.

Garrison, sensing the girl’s hysteria, grabbed her arms and shook her for a second.

“There is nothing on you,” he said calmly while using his right hand to flick one lone bee from her shoulder.

“Were those African killer bees?” Theo said with tears in his eyes.

“Oh Heavens no, Theo,” Mrs. Wellington said while exiting the B&B, her entire wig engulfed in bees.

“Lady, your whole head is covered in bees,” Lulu said while staring at the old woman.

A small black face popped over Mrs. Wellington’s shoulder and flapped its wings.

“There’s also one ugly bat on your back,” Garrison said while stepping away.

“Oh, that’s Harriet. She is such a naughty little thing. She is always trying to escape, just loves the light.” Mrs. Wellington
grabbed Harriet and tossed her back into the B&B.

“Why do you have bats and bees?” Theo mumbled.

“Oh, it’s not always bees and bats. Sometimes it’s birds and barracudas, black widows and blue crabs, or black-footed ferrets
and boa constrictors. It simply depends on which doors or containers you open. But not to worry — the B&B is theoretically
sealed.”

“Did you say
theoretically
sealed? And black widows? I don’t feel so well,” Madeleine moaned.

“A theoretic seal is virtually airtight, absolutely nothing to fear,” Mrs. Wellington said confidently. “Now then, on to the
classroom.”

“But your head,” Madeleine said while spraying madly, “it’s still completely covered in bees.”

“It’s the shampoo I use, lavender honey,” Mrs. Wellington said as she removed her bee-covered wig and tossed it inside the
B&B.

The foursome gasped as they stared at her old and wrinkled bald head.

Mrs. Wellington pulled another bob wig from her jacket and placed it on her head.

“Not to worry, contestants, a beauty queen is always prepared.”

At this point, the foursome wondered if
they
were prepared for what they would encounter at the strange school.

O
nce back in the Great Hall, the students passed farm gates, portions of an airplane, and much more before arriving at massive
double white doors with ostentatious gold leafed detail. The ballroom was vast, grand, and altogether spectacular. The children
squinted as they took in the two parts of the sun-filled room. To the right was the drawing room, a neatly arranged sitting
area with four charcoal gray armchairs and two matching sofas, and to the left was the classroom.

Traditionally, children’s classrooms contain wooden chairs, dull brown desks, and maybe a poster or two, but not at School
of Fear. Mrs. Wellington instead filled the classroom with twenty silver-leafed student desks and matching chairs. Ten rows,
consisting of two desks each, descended in size. The last row featured regular child-size desks and chairs, with the row in
front slightly smaller and so on. By the first row, the desks were so small that only squirrels could sit at them comfortably.
Theo eyed the desks with his customary suspicion.

“Is there lead in this paint? Metallic paints can be extremely high in lead, which is very dangerous to kids.”