Professor Gargoyle (3 page)

“Professor Goyle, is this going to be on the test?”

“I don’t understand the question.” He went right on labeling the head of the rodent: the incisors and the mandible and the maxilla.

“I mean, should we be taking notes or something?”

Again, the chalk snapped in Goyle’s fingers; the broken pieces clattered to the floor.

He turned around to face the class, looking weary from all the frenzied scribbling.

“I understand,” he said, “that many of you were disturbed by this morning’s incident. This is completely understandable. Humankind has long associated rats with disease and filth. In fourteenth-century Europe, rats carried the dreaded black death, a plague that killed some one hundred million people.” Professor Goyle laughed. “Can you imagine that, children? A hundred million humans? Wiped off the earth by a bunch of tiny rodents? They’re truly deadly creatures! Much more dangerous than they appear!”

The class stared back at him. If he was trying to put them at ease, he wasn’t doing a very good job.

Goyle walked over to the window and glanced outside. “You need to remember that, six months ago, all of this property was farmland. Trees. Streams. Hundreds of natural ecosystems invisible to the naked eye. The rats were probably quite happy living here. They had food, water, shelter, everything they needed.” His expression darkened. “Until man came along and bulldozed all their underground burrows. Destroying their homes in the blink of an eye. Now what would you have these creatures do? They needed a new place to hide, and the result was this morning’s unfortunate surprise.”

The other students were nodding as if this made perfect sense, but Robert wasn’t satisfied at all. It didn’t explain how a rat ended up
inside
his locker. But Robert was too shy to ask another question, so he didn’t raise his hand. He figured it was no big deal. If everyone else in class accepted Goyle’s explanation, then it was probably—

“Uh, Professor Goyle?” Glenn asked. His voice was full of uncertainty; Robert couldn’t remember the last
time he’d heard Glenn ask a question in class. “I hear what you’re saying, but I found one of those rats
inside
my locker. It was there, like,
before
I opened it.”

Professor Goyle nodded. “An adult rat can gnaw through bone, brick, concrete, even lead piping. Your school lockers are made from sixteen-gauge sheet metal, a much thinner material. No match for the teeth of a rodent.”

“Yeah, but I checked my locker,” Glenn continued. “There weren’t any holes in it.”

Now Goyle seemed irritated.

“What’s your name, young man?”

“Uh, Glenn?”

“Glenn what? Do you have a family name?”

“Glenn Torkells.”

“Mr. Torkells, are you sure there were no holes in your locker? You’re absolutely sure?”

“Yeah, I checked all over. No holes. Just the air vents in the door.”

“Just the air vents in the door!” Goyle exclaimed. “Now we’re getting somewhere! Tell me, Mr. Torkells,
how would you describe the width of those vents? Did you happen to notice?”

“Maybe half an inch?”

“Maybe half an inch,” Goyle said, smiling now. “And did you know, Mr. Torkells, that the rat is the only known mammal that can literally collapse its own skeleton at will, allowing it to squeeze through spaces as narrow as half an inch?”

“I did not know that,” Glenn mumbled, and the whole classroom laughed.

“Of course you didn’t! Because you’re too busy wasting my time with stupid questions!”

Robert gasped. It was the first time he’d ever heard a teacher describe any question as “stupid.”

“May I suggest,” Goyle continued, “that you listen obediently to my lecture, like the rest of your peers? Then maybe you’ll learn something. Do you think you can manage that?”

Glenn nodded, face flushed, and slouched down sheepishly into his chair. Professor Goyle returned to the chalkboard and continued labeling the rat.

Robert couldn’t believe it. For just one moment—for the tiniest split second
—he actually felt sorry for Glenn Torkells
.

It was by far the strangest thing that happened to Robert all day.

When Robert came home from school, his mother wanted to hear all about his first day at Lovecraft Middle School. Mrs. Arthur felt terrible about missing the ribbon-cutting ceremony, and she asked Robert to describe all the details. He told her about the mayor and the governor and the marching band. He didn’t mention Glenn or the gummy worms.

“Oh, it sounds wonderful!” Mrs. Arthur exclaimed. “Absolutely wonderful!” She sat across from Robert at the kitchen table and placed a bowl of carrot sticks between them. “We deserve this, Robert. Do you know what I mean?”

“Sure,” he said.

“I know these last few years have been tough for you. I’m out the door at six thirty every morning. I can’t make you a hot breakfast. I can’t go on school trips. It’s been hard.” She reached across the table and held his hand. “But this is a real turning point. You’re a smart kid in a great school. If you study and work hard, everything’s going to turn out fine.”

Robert couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his mother so happy. He decided not to mention the rats, at least not right now. There was no point in spoiling the moment.

For the next few days, everything at Lovecraft was perfectly normal. There were no more rodents in the lockers and Robert’s class schedule kept him away from Glenn for most of the day. At lunchtime, he ate by himself, but that was okay; he always brought a book to read so it would appear as if he’d purposefully chosen to sit alone.

Robert loved all kinds of books, especially horror, science fiction, and fantasy. His favorite stories were
about kids with strange and magical powers—kids who were wizards or werewolves or cyborgs. Robert often daydreamed that he would one day discover his own supernatural powers and then he wouldn’t be quite so normal. In the meantime, he went to the public library every week and came home with stacks of books.

He’d heard that Lovecraft had an enormous library, but he didn’t see it firsthand until the second week of school. His English teacher, Mr. Loomis, told the students to grab their backpacks. “You’re in for a real treat today,” he promised them. “We’re going to see one of the finest school libraries in the entire state.”

“Finally,” Robert mumbled to himself.

Mr. Loomis must have overheard him, because he winked. “I’m excited, too,” he said. “Wait until you see this place.”

The Lovecraft Middle School library was nearly as big as the gymnasium. A steel-and-glass ceiling arched grandly overhead, filling the room with a warm natural light. Huge bookshelves twisted along the perimeter like the walls of a labyrinth; it would be easy to get
lost in them for hours at a time, Robert thought. Standing among the books were life-size statues of famous authors: Mark Twain, Edgar Allan Poe, Mary Shelley, Louisa May Alcott …

“Over here, Robert!” Mr. Loomis called. “Stay with the class, all right?”

The other students had already settled in the media center. It was a room within a room, set apart by giant Plexiglass walls that looked out over the rest of the library. Inside were computers, listening stations, and a rack full of handheld e-readers.

An elderly woman with cat-eye glasses was demonstrating for the students how to use the e-readers. “These can be filled with downloaded books and checked out from the library—as long as you’re very careful with them, of course. Personally, I’m a little old-fashioned. I still prefer the feel of a real book with real pages. The best feeling in the world, if you ask me. But we have to embrace the future, don’t we, children?”

Mr. Loomis cleared his throat. “Class, allow me to introduce Ms. Lavinia. She’s the head librarian.”

Ms. Lavinia put down the e-reader and walked around the media center, handing each student a full-color map on glossy paper, with all the different sections of the library labeled: biography, history, science fiction, mystery, and so on. “We’ll spend today learning how to find library books and borrow them. You’ll see I’ve written the name of a different book on every map. To complete the assignment, you need to find your book and borrow it from the library. You’re allowed to help your classmates, so let’s work together, all right?”

Robert looked at the top of his map. His title was:

Robert raised his hand. “Could I get a different book?”

“I’m sorry,” Ms. Lavinia said, “there’s only one per student.”

Robert couldn’t believe his rotten luck. He liked books about kids with supernatural powers, but this was ridiculous.
The Adventures of Fangs Dungaree
sounded like the dumbest book in the world.

“If you don’t like your selection,” Ms. Lavinia continued, “you’re welcome to choose more than one title. Students may borrow up to five books at any time.”

The other students seemed happy with their assignments and everyone quickly spread out across the library. Robert decided he would find
Fangs Dungaree
first and then use the rest of his time to find books that he would actually enjoy.

Using the map as a guide, Robert plunged into a maze of shelves labeled G
ENERAL
F
ICTION
, and the chatter of his classmates faded behind him. After three left turns and two right turns he arrived in G
ENERAL
F
ICTION –
M
YSTERY
and a few steps later found himself in G
ENERAL
F
ICTION –
M
YSTERY –
P
ARANORMAL
.

When he finally looked up again, the shelves
seemed to have grown taller. It must have been a trick of the light—the tops of the shelves appeared to be leaning over him ever so slightly, like trees blocking out the sun.

Tracing the spines of the books with his finger, he followed the alphabet along its erratic path, from
A
to
B
to
C
to
D
. The route was slow going and full of unexpected twists and turns; the library had many more books than he’d realized.

By the time Robert arrived in the
H
section, he felt like he had walked the length of a football field. He found all seventeen
Fangs Dungaree
mysteries by M. J. Hetter, grabbed
The Case of the Flaming Horseshoe
, and stuffed it in his backpack. Then he turned to leave but realized he couldn’t remember which direction he’d come from.

It was weird. He’d meant to follow the alphabet backward—
H
to
G
to
F
to
E
, until he was back where he started—but somehow he’d taken a wrong turn. The surrounding books were wholly unfamiliar. Robert turned left and right and left again. Books
blurred past him; all the corridors looked the same. He consulted the map but couldn’t orient himself; somehow, he’d managed to get completely lost.

When Robert looked up again, he saw a flash of movement—a girl in a white T-shirt, darting around a corner.

“Hello?” Robert called.

She didn’t stop or turn around. Robert followed her. “Excuse me? Hello?”

The girl moved faster, slipping around another corner, just out of sight. Robert began to run, heading deeper and deeper into the seemingly endless corridors.

From out of nowhere, he sensed a pungent odor of moldy mothballs. The smell seemed out of character for Lovecraft Middle School, where everything was sparkling and polished and brand-new.

“Wait up!” Robert called.

He followed the girl around a corner and found himself facing a dead end.

The girl was gone.

“Hello?”

No answer. No footsteps. Nothing but silence.

Robert walked all the way to the very end of the corridor. In the shadows between two of the bookshelves was a tall, narrow doorway—so narrow he would have to turn sideways to squeeze through. It was bordered with dark brown wood and etched with all kinds of mysterious symbols, like the random characters that would pop up on his computer screen whenever it decided to crash.