CHAPTER SIX - Protections
Suddenly we were no longer in our classroom at our desks. We were in a place so dark we could hardly see anything at all. The ground felt squishy beneath my feet, and the darkness around me seemed more than mere blackness—it felt almost alive, as if it were a living, breathing curtain that swirled around me, and threatened to take my breath away. The place stank of old socks and overflowed toilets mixed in with one of those horrible cheeses you sometimes get a whiff of at an open street market.
“Now do you believe me, little boy?” came Skinpeeler’s voice, piercing through the darkness like a rat through a junk yard. There was no answer. Although I knew Poindexter would normally rage uncontrollably at being called a ‘little boy,’ I knew also that he couldn’t talk now if he wanted to. None of us could. Even when I could force myself to open my mouth in spite of the stink, I couldn’t force any sound to come out. There was more than darkness and stink in this place. There was fear. It was so tangible and real I could reach out and touch it. And I could feel it reaching out, trying to touch me.
Suddenly the world turned upside down again. We were back in our classroom, with Skinpeeler up by the door. Each of us was gasping for breath, gratefully filling our lungs with school classroom air that had never before felt so fresh and clean—as indeed it was, compared with the air in the place we had just been.
“Now, do you understand that I mean business?” said Skinpeeler, with a snide curl of his upper lip. “Don’t play with me, children, or I’ll take you back to that place—and won’t bring you home again this time!”
We stared at him in horror. I knew I should jump up and run screaming from the room, but my legs just wouldn’t move. All I could do was stare helplessly, wondering what would come next.
“Now, which one of you will be first?” asked Skinpeeler, as if speaking to the air. He started to walk down my aisle, looking at each of us in turn. ‘Please, don’t let it be me!’ my mind cried. ‘Please! Please! Please!’
No such luck. He stopped at my desk, looking down at me. A cruel smile started to play across his lips.
A sudden strangled yell filled the room. Looking around, I was startled to see Poindexter, floating in mid-air, halfway between his desk and mine. He had apparently seen that Skinpeeler had chosen me, and made a wild jump to try to stop him. But Skinpeeler had swung his wand, and stopped him in mid-air, where he hung like a toy balloon, his eyes wild and angry.
A sudden gush of gratitude filled my heart for Poindexter. I would never look at him the same way again.
“Now, Mr. Drywater,” said Skinpeeler, turning back to me, his eyes starting to bore deeply into mine. “Let’s find out what your subconscious knows …”
I didn’t know what a subconscious is, or that I even had one. I tried to fight him, to close my eyes, to resist. But it was useless. He seemed to have a power that I couldn’t stop.
“What’s this?” said a sudden voice at the door to our room. And in that instant, Skinpeeler was gone as if he had never been there—and Poindexter came crashing down on the floor next to my desk.
Looking around, we saw Mr. Hornsby standing in the doorway, a dumfounded look on his face. “What on earth is going on here?” he demanded. “And who was that dark person that was standing next to you a minute ago, Mr. Drywater? And where did he go?”
Suddenly everyone was trying to talk at once. The mass confusion in the room was matched only by the relief flooding through my mind. I had almost been done for! Skinpeeler had been so close to prying open my mind that I felt like I still had a can opener stuck in the top of my head.
I looked down at Poindexter, who was rising up from the floor. “Thanks,” I whispered shyly.
“Sure,” he said brusquely. His face contorted into a frown, then a weak smile. He was obviously finding it hard to shed his bully image, and actually be friendly to someone wimpy like me.
“You mean,” said Mr. Hornsby at the front of the room, “this caped person claimed to be your substitute teacher?” His voice had a note of disbelief. “And he threatened you?”
A dozen voices answered him at once. Mr. Hornsby held up his hands for silence. “The principal needs to hear about this at once!” He turned toward the door.
Twenty-two screams stopped him in his tracks. “DON’T LEAVE US!” we all cried. “What if he comes back?” cried Wilmena Wall. “You can’t just leave us here!”
“I guess that’s true,” replied Mr. Hornsby, turning back into the room. He glanced up at the clock. “There’s only a few more minutes until the bell rings, anyway.” His brow furrowed. “I was going to substitute here again today, you know. But I got this urgent call from home about some accident. And when I got there, it was all a fake!”
Suddenly the last person any of us had expected to see appeared in the doorway. It was Mr. Marlin!
“Good evening,” he said to Mr. Hornsby, and to the rest of us, even though it wasn’t evening. “Nice to see you all on such a pleasant occasion.”
Pandemonium broke out in the room again as twenty-two voices tried to tell Mr. Marlin at once what had happened.
“Looks like it’s safe for me to go tell the principal now, so I’m going,” said Mr. Hornsby. He disappeared through the door.
Mr. Marlin raised his hands for silence, and reluctantly we all stopped our babbling. When it was quiet, Mr. Marlin strode into the room. He was still wearing the same lumpy old gray suit. It looked like he must have slept in it, and that he hadn’t changed it for days. There were baggy circles under his eyes, and although he was smiling, he looked very tired.
“There’s no need to explain anything,” said Mr. Marlin. “I am perfectly aware of what occurred here today.”
“But what about—“ Geake started to say.
“Please!” said Mr. Marlin, holding up his hands for silence again. “We don’t have much time, before school ends, but there is much to do. I suspect each of you may be slightly concerned that this Mr. Skinpeeler will track you down individually once you leave here, and carry out his threats. Am I right?” We all nodded our heads. I was far more than just ‘slightly’ concerned about it, and I knew the others were too.
Mr. Marlin pulled out his pencil. “Fortunately, there’s just enough time for me to draw a protection around each of you that should help …” His voice trailed off, and he began to make curious movements in the air with his pencil. And suddenly funny little things started appearing in the air around him, then went zooming over to us and disappeared again. Things like padlocks, jail bars, handcuffs, bug spray, saran wrap, and dozens of other oddities that were usually used to protect one thing or another.
With a flourish, Mr. Marlin finished just as the bell rang. “Now, do not be concerned any further. You are all protected, and no harm will come to you. Tomorrow we’ll talk more about it. For now, it’s enough for you to know that you’re safe. Mr. Skinpeeler cannot reach you. You simply have to trust me on that.”
We all looked at each other. Everything that had happened was so bizarre that we didn’t know what to think or say. I knew that the others were worried, just like I was. But I still felt greatly comforted by Mr. Marlin’s protection magic, if that’s what it was. Maybe what he had done touched my emotions somehow, calming the panic I would otherwise have felt. Somehow he had reduced my horror down to a mild case of worrying.
“Well, until tomorrow then,” said Mr. Marlin. “Have a boring evening—I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
Every one of us heartily agreed with him.
As we were filing out of the room, Geake stopped and asked, “What about you, Mr. Marlin? That Skinpeeler guy didn’t seem scared of you—he wanted to find you! Are you safe from him?”
“Absolutely!” replied Mr. Marlin with a confident smile. “Don’t worry about me.”
“But what did Skinpeeler mean, when he said that you’ve been hiding, and staying with one of us?” asked Geake. Every one of us stopped in his tracks, waiting breathlessly for the an
swer.
“No such questions until tomorrow,” said Mr. Marlin dismissively. “You'd probably find the answer too boring for your taste, anyway.” He went to the whiteboard and started to erase it again (even though there was nothing to erase), and we all knew that there was no sense in asking him anything further.
As I went through the door, Mr. Marlin looked up and our eyes met. A surprising look of compassion, and even of pain briefly flittered across his eyes. He understood. He knew what had almost happened. He knew that I was perhaps the one person in class who was the most vulnerable for some reason. And he and I both knew that his protective charms, whatever they were, had been intended mostly for me.
“Mr. Drywater,” he said softly, with a sad smile. “Come here a minute if you would.” Others in the class looked at me curiously, but said nothing and continued to file out the door.
When we were alone in the room, I stood expectantly in front of him. He smiled at me through grey teeth. Then unexpectedly, he pulled an object from his pocket and held it out to me. “I want you to have this,” he said simply.
It was a comb. Just a common hair comb, like my Mom used on me at home every morning before I left for school. She did it every day since she said my hair looked like an untamed weed patch.
The only thing unique about this comb was that it looked disgusting. There were flakes of dandruff clinging to it, and other grime that I couldn’t identify. I didn’t think I wanted to, either.
I stepped back a pace. “No thanks,” I said. “I’ve already got one.”
“But not one like this!” he said with a knowing smile. He was right there. Mom wouldn’t let such a disgusting thing in the house.
“This comb has a unique charm about it,” he said casually, as a dozen flakes of dandruff shook off the comb and floated toward the floor. “It’s not only good for straightening hair, but tends to give added protection to whoever carries it.”
He gave me a knowing look. “Added protection,” I said with renewed interest. I reached out and took the grimy thing. The instant I touched it, an electric shock ran through me from my head to my toes.
Mr. Marlin nodded slightly at me, a smile on his lips. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Drywater,” he said. Slowly I turned, still clutching the grimy comb, and went through the door.