Chapter Six ★ Research

｡☆✼★━ Daniel ━★✼☆｡

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“Mr. Shaw, don’t you dare leave.” Mrs. Lockhart’s voice growled. 

Most of the class had left the room. Many shot glaring daggers my way. I was too busy collecting my stuff and shoving it into my bookbag when a chill crawled up my back.

I looked to my left to and saw that Jacob had already left. He had fled the witch’s room.

Maybe I can ignore her. Like she read my mind she said, “You heard me you man. Front and center. Now.”

Her long manicured nails tapped the old wood desk. I clenched the handful of graded papers in my hand and shoved them into my twenty dollar green canvas bookbag. Thanks to Jacob for bringing it with him. I must have left it at his house the night before last.

Goose bumps rose on my arms as the air became a degree cooler. I hugged myself and shambled up to her large imposing oak desk. Books laid in neat piles along with papers organized in labeled bins.

Mrs. Lockhart sat behind the desk in an old wooden chair with wheels. The chair looked to be from the 1800s when they started to put wheels on them. It creaked under her extra weight as she shifted in her seat.

She waited with her hands clasped neatly upon the desk. Her bright red nails gleamed under the fluorescent lighting. Something about her was unnerving.

She cleared her throat, “Mr. Shaw, I would advise you to hurry if you do not want to be late to your next class.”

My pulse quickened. I stood before her desk, my palms became slick, and held my hands by my side. I didn’t want her to think I was hiding anything.

She unclasped her hands, grabbed a pile of papers and shuffled them. She said, “According to my records you have been tardy to my class at least six times, Mr. Shaw.”

Her piercing blue eyes that hid behind her local pharmacy horn rimmed glasses peered up at me. I shifted my feet and didn’t say a peep. With Mrs. Lockhart you do not speak until she directly asks you to say something. Not unless you wanted a month’s worth of detention.

I was already in a lot of trouble with my Dad. Getting detention would add fuel to the blazing fire between me and him. It might be the last straw that gets me sent off to military school.

Mrs. Lockhart continued, “Normally, on the third strick I would have given you detention.”

A wry smile grew upon her lips and she rested her chin on her hands propped up by her elbows. “But I like you, Mr. Shaw.” She fluttered her eyelashes. A flicker of purple replaced her blue for a split second.

If I wasn’t distracted enough by the eye color change then I could have sworn that I saw her fingers get longer. A whole lot of weird was settling into place.

The back of my mind screamed, ‘Run.’

But my feet refused to budge. They were firmly rooted to the ground while my palms continued to sweat and drip onto the floor. I kept my mouth shut and hoped that Mrs. Lockhart would get to the point.

She leaned back. The chair creaked an eerie groan. More chills ran up my spine. Mrs. Lockhart turned the chair around to face the whiteboard. Her red and white polka-dotted dress flowed over the armrests and the back of the wooden slats of the chair.

On the board were today’s lesson notes about the civil war. Major points had been written down for us to use for our own notes. The level of detail that she had about specific parts in our history was uncanny.

She waved her hand at the board. The red nails snared my attention. Her fingers were longer and the nails had grown into sharp talons. Perfect for ripping any prey to shreds. I swallowed hard.

She asked me, “Mr. Shaw, tell me… who were the other members of the midnight riders?”

A loud smacking sound emanated from the chair. Her face was hidden and so put me more on edge. Her hand flexed then curled into a fist as she awaited my answer.

“Wasn’t it just Paul Revere, Mrs. Lockhart?” My voice shook.

She never turned around. Instead she kept watch on the whiteboard as the gnawing sound continued too. It stopped for a moment when she replied, “No. If you paid attention in your history classes then you would know there were five members.”

“Um,” I licked my lips. “Mr. Holland only told us about Paul Revere.”

I watched the back of her head that sported short curly dirty blond hair. With a quick glance at the school clock I noticed not a single minute had passed. How could that be?

A sudden movement caught my eye. I looked back to see Mrs. Lockhart’s hand snatch a roach off the wall. Crunching and succinct pops hung in the air.

I didn’t know whether to be sick or worried. More crunching sounds carried ot my ears as she still faced away from me. Am I next?

‧͙⁺˚*·༓☾ – TO BE CONTINUED… –☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙