School of the Dead (21 page)

“Hello, Tony,” he said in that croaky voice I knew so well. “I'm
so
glad I can talk to you again. I must apologize. I didn't want to
tell
you what to do. Not a good thing to do with kids your age. Just wanted to keep you moving forward.”

It was his seeming so regular, so normal, that shocked me. I had to tell myself that he was dead, a ghost, and was trying to become alive by taking my soul.

Unable to say anything, I simply stared at him.

He made a casual gesture. “This is my friend Mrs. Penda. A long time ago, she and I went to school together. I want you to know it was I who suggested to Mrs. Penda that you become a student here. I told Mrs. Penda you would be perfect. And I was right. Oh, Tony, I just wanted to come back to life and have more fun. We did have fun, didn't we?

“Do you remember,” he went on, “my words just before I
died? What Albert Einstein said? ‘The distinction between past, present, and future is only an illusion.' So here we are. You might say Mrs. Penda is past. I'm the present. And you're the future. I do hope you're feeling pleased.”

What I felt was an overwhelming feeling of betrayal and rage.

While he spoke, Mrs. Penda looked on, her face severe, lips clenched tightly, cheekbones hollow, black hair piled atop her head, the air reeking of her sweet, musty perfume. Only when Uncle Charlie stopped speaking did she cover her face with both hands. They were an old woman's hands, thin-fingered, wrinkled, with swollen knuckles and cracked, yellowing nails.

But when she took her hands away, those wrinkles began to melt, the knuckles to smooth, the fingers became youthful. She became the young Jessica again, the pretty Jessica. She loosened her hair and let it fall about her face, pushed a strand behind her ear, while offering up one of her most dazzling smiles. She was evil one moment, my best friend the next. It was all so impossible.

“Now, Tony,” she said, “aren't you glad your uncle Charlie brought you here? Did we amaze you?”

When I still didn't answer—I couldn't—she said, “I guess I did surprise you. I hate to tell you, your ghost costume is
so fake. And I know how much you hate fake. I thought you would have understood by now: ghosts are real. And we're going to give you the opportunity to be a real one.”

By her side stood Mac, costumed as a troll, and Barney, in a stupid goblin outfit, holding some kind of knurly club. Looming behind was Bokor. The blue and yellow on his face had fused, giving him a dark green hue, as if he were rotting. Perhaps he was.

Batalie was there too, costumed like some idiot pirate. Mrs. Z stood by his side, small in her trim black suit, her face childishly painted with cat whiskers. A revolting couple.

“Did . . . did my parents know what you were doing?” I managed to say to Uncle Charlie.

“Of course not!” he cried, his eyes positively merry. “We never did bother about them, did we? You and me, Tony, we're the real family, remember?”

I said, “You lied to me.”

“Now, Tony,” he said, “I asked you if it wouldn't be great if we went to the other side, together. And you said, ‘Sure.' So I arranged it. Don't you think that's great? While I'm not fond of Ms. Foxton, I was in the room when she quoted that Greek philosopher, Aristotle, to you. I
loved
what she said: ‘A friend is one soul in two bodies.' That's exactly the way you and I were, Tony. Right from the moment I moved in with
you and your parents, I wanted us to be together,
forever
. You and me, one soul, two bodies. Well, eight bodies, actually. Doesn't that make you happy?”

“What happened to Lilly?” I asked. “And Ms. Foxton?”

Mrs. Penda said, “Ms. Foxton has been fired.”

“Did you kill her?”

“Schools are complicated,” said Bokor. “They require an enormous amount of cooperation. If the head of school doesn't work well with the teaching staff—doesn't have their full trust—you might say the school dies. We need the school to continue.”

Then Mrs. Z said, “And Tony, we know Ms. Foxton went to your home. Visiting students without parents being present is completely against school regulations. My goodness. It's against state law.”

“Are you the law?” I said.

“This is my school!” Jessica cried. “It's for me. Without me it's nothing. It would vanish.”

“What about Lilly?”

Jessica laughed. “Your friend is not very smart. She wanted to know who I was. I showed her. She's safe as long as you cooperate. She's our backup.”

From where I was standing, against the wall, I was able to dart a look into the hallway behind the door, which was open
a few inches. I was desperately hoping the Penda Boy would be there. He was not.

“Now then,” Jessica went on, “first things first: You must lead us to the Penda Boy. He has this nasty trick of allowing only one person to see him. We have to deal with him first. He interferes far too much. Then we'll take your soul and share it among ourselves, your uncle Charlie included. Which is only fair, don't you think?

“When we're done, you and your uncle Charlie will be one of us, students at Penda for as long as you like. We'll have so much fun being in first grade again. And we'll have honored the past and protected the future.”

She distracted me with one of her splendid smiles, so that before I realized what she was doing, she took a quick step forward and snatched up the knife from the chair. “Ready? Now go through the door and find that stupid boy.”

I stood there.

Uncle Charlie took a step toward me, his hand extended. “Come on, Tony, you and I were always a team. This is your reward.”

I stole another look into the hallway. That time, at the far end, I caught sight of the Penda Boy. Moreover, I knew I was the only one who could see him.

“Good boy,” said Uncle Charlie, taking another step toward me.

That was when I bolted through the doorway.

Once on the far side, I reached back and slammed the door shut. Fumbling, I hooked the latch—knowing it wouldn't hold them longer than a moment—then ran down the hallway toward the Penda Boy. The only light came from his glow. It wasn't much, but it allowed me to go toward him.

“This way!” he cried, and turned and raced around the bend. He made no sound, though my running made an awful clatter.

From behind I heard a crash, and I assumed the door I'd come through had given way. “They're through the door!” I shouted.

The Penda Boy didn't pause, but kept on until we came into a small, dim room. Empty and dilapidated, it had three doors. He went to one, pulled it open, called, “Hurry,” and went through. Yanking the door shut behind me, I tried to stay close. I took two steps, tripped, and went sprawling.

“Get up! Get up!” the boy screamed.

Although my knees stung and my left ankle hurt, I forced myself up. Limping, I ran after him. From behind I heard doors slam and the sound of feet running in many directions.

We reached some steps. The Penda Boy clambered up. I followed as best I could until we came to a landing with two doors. He chose one and went through. I stayed with him.

A little way on, I stopped. My ankle was hurting. I was out of breath. Footfalls sounded above and below. I had the sense that we were being surrounded. “Where are we?” I called.

“We mustn't stay here!” he cried, and hurried on. I forced myself up and struggled to keep him in view. When he reached a hole in the floor, he appeared to jump into it, and disappeared. I drew up to the same place and peered down, relieved to see him scurrying down a steep staircase.

I hooked my legs over, grabbed what I thought was a railing, and started after. It was so dark I had to feel my way. He was waiting at the last step—not that I knew where that was. Nor did he say anything, though his glow pulsed rapidly, as if agitated.

“I have to rest,” I said, sitting on the last step. My breath was coming in gasps, my chest hurt, and my ankle was full of shooting pains.

“You can't stop until we're a little farther,” he said. When he darted away, I limped after him.

He came to a flight of steps going up. Instead of using them—as I expected—he went behind the steps, into a triangular
alcove backed by a small wall. Squeezing his child's fingers around that wall's edge, he pried the wall open. Behind was a tiny space, no more than four feet deep and wide, with a steeply slanted ceiling.

“They don't know about this,” he whispered. “We can hide here and wait. I've done it before.”

Pressing my back, he urged me into the space. When I entered the space, he followed, pulling the wall piece closed after us. I managed to sit, but only by pulling up my knees and leaning my head forward, a painfully cramped position. He sat beside me. As he did, his light faded until the alcove became as dark as night.

After a while I said, “Do you know what's happened?”

“No.”

“They've done something to Ms. Foxton. I don't know what. And . . . and that old man you saw, he's my uncle Charlie. He was the one who arranged for me to come to the school. He . . . wants my soul too.” Only then did the full dreadfulness of it grip me. Tears slid down my face. I tried to stop them, but they kept coming. I had to gulp for air.

All the Penda Boy said was, “If we can stay free till midnight, they'll all disappear.”

“They have Lilly.”

“Lilly?”

“I told you. She's a friend. A girl in my class. If they can't take me, they'll use her.”

“That makes things harder for them, and us.” He was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Where is she?”

“No idea.” When we continued to sit there, I said, “What are we going to do?”

As if trying to decide, he remained quiet. After a while he said, “We need to free her. If they use her—and they could—we'll never be rid of them. It's you we want them searching for. We still have time.”

I asked, “Do you have any idea where they would put her?” It was easier to think of protecting her than myself.

He said, “There are too many rooms.”

“In the tall tower?” I pressed, that being one of the few places I knew.

“If you go there and they come after you, you'll be trapped.”

“What about their meeting room?” I offered. “Near Jessica's room?”

He seemed to consider that for a moment. “It's worth a try,” he said. “But we need to take our time.”

“Why?”

“We should wait until it's closer to midnight.”

“But that's five hours, and Lilly is—”

“Shh.”

I heard running footsteps. Neither of us spoke. I held my breath. They passed by.

He whispered, “Best not to speak anymore.”

I reached for my phone, only to realize I'd left it in Batalie's room.

The Penda Boy was silent.

I don't know how long we stayed there. All the while, the Penda Boy remained motionless and quiet. I fidgeted. When I did, he'd hiss, “Don't.”

Now and again, as from a great distance—above, below—I heard knocking, banging, footfalls. Sometimes the space we were in shook. My thoughts wandered. At some point I said, “May I ask something?”

“If you must.”

“Why did Mrs. Penda make this school?”

“Growing older, she became appalled by the prospect of death. Trying to find ways of becoming young again, she met Bokor, who taught her how to stay young. It's as I told you. They steal the soul of a young person and she becomes six again. Never graduates, but starts school anew. Then, when she becomes twelve—seventh grade—she must take another soul.

“If you are to stay young forever, what better place to hide
than in a school? If you are going to steal a young person's soul, what better place to find one than in a school?”

“And you were the—”

“Shh,” he said. More footsteps came and went. “No more talk,” he insisted. “Sleep to pass the time.”

“You won't leave me . . .”

“No.”

Thinking that if I slept the boy might abandon me, I remained unmoving in that tight, silent darkness. Full of worry, limbs numb from being so cramped, I struggled to stay awake. Even so, I slid into shallow sleep.

“Wake up.”

From the darkness of my sleep, I woke to the darkness of our hiding place.

“What is it?”

“We have to move.”

“Why?”

“It's getting close to midnight.”

“How do you know?”

“If I know anything, it's time. They are becoming desperate. If we are to save your friend . . .”

“Tell me what to do.”

He started to glow again, which allowed me to see him
again. “Just keep close to me.”

Moving cautiously, he pushed open the wall he had used to enclose us and crawled out. I came after. We stood up, my legs tingling from being so cramped. He moved his head this way and that, like a bird listening.

Quite suddenly, he began to scamper down a narrow hallway. Desperate not to lose sight of him, I kept up as best I could.

He went around one corner, and then another. It was like finding our way through a maze. I tried to be quiet, but, stiff from all my sitting, I lumbered.

He stopped and waited until I had caught up. “We need to go there,” he said, and pointed to a hole in the floor. It was a spiral stairway. For all I knew, it was the one I had climbed before. He started down. Gripping the rail to keep from falling, I followed.

I don't know how far we went. It seemed endless. When we finally reached the end, I had no sense of where we were. All I could see was another hallway.

“My ankle really hurts,” I whispered, sitting on the last step. I listened hard. Beyond my thudding heart, my gasping breath, I heard creaking and groaning, as if the walls about me were shifting, altering. In addition, though it came as if from a great distance, I was quite sure I heard my
name called. “Tony! Tony!”