A Pair of Deadly Socks

Okay, I was used to occasional bizarre experiences, but this was more than I could handle. This was a 24/7 hallucination. For the rest of the year, all of Yancy Academy seemed to be playing a prank on me. They acted as if Mrs. Kerr—a perky blond woman whom I have never before seen in my life until she got on the bus from the Met to Yancy—had been our pre-algebra teacher since Christmas.

Occasionally, I would bring up Mrs. Dodds, to see if someone would mess up, but they would just stare at me as if I was insane.

I almost believed that Mrs. Dodds never existed.

Almost.

Grover couldn't fool me, though. Every time I would mention Mrs. Dodds around him, he would freeze up, avoid eye contact, hesitate for about three seconds, and then claim she didn't exist.

There was something going on. Something had happened at the museum. I didn't think about Mrs. Dodds often, but sometimes I would have nightmares about her talons and leathery wings and would wake up in cold sweat.

The freak weather continued, and that didn't help my mood one bit. One night, a thunderstorm blew open the windows of my dorm. Less than a week later, the biggest tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from Yancy Academy. A current event we studied in social studies was the strange number of planes that had gone down in the Atlantic Ocean.

I started feeling annoyed and cranky most of the time, my grades slipped from Ds to Fs, and I got into more fights with Nick and his buddies. I was sent out into the hallway almost every single class.

So finally, when out English teacher, Mr. Nicoll, asked me for the trillionth time why I was too lazy to study for the spelling tests, and I'm sorry but I don't study, I snapped and called him an old sot. I wasn't sure what it meant, but it sounded like a good insult.

The following week, the Headmaster sent my mom a letter the following week: I would not be invited back to Yancy the next year.

Fine! Just fine! I've been kicked out of plenty schools!

I was homesick.

I wanted to be with my mom in our apartment, even if I had to put with my obnoxious and smelly stepfather and his idiotic poker parties.

As exam week got closer, the only test I actually studied for was Latin. I hadn't forgotten what Mr. Brunner said about this being a life-and-death situation for me. Call me crazy, but I started to believe him for some reason.

The evening before the final exams, I got so aggravated that I chucked my Cambridge Guide to Greek Mythology across my dorm room. The words were swimming of the pages, doing 360s and 180s as if they riding skateboards. Was I going to remember the difference between Charon and Chiron, or Polydictes and Polydeuces, and conjugating those Latin verbs? No way! Forget it!

I paced back and forth around the room, feeling like ants were crawling inside my shirt.

After a few moments, I picked up my mythology book and walked out of my dorm. I have never in my life asked a teacher for guidance before. Maybe if I asked Mr. Brunner, he could give me some helpful pointers. And, at the very least, I could apologize in advance for the big, fat F I was going to score on his test. I didn't want him to think I left Yancy thinking I hadn't tried.

I opened the door of my dorm and walked down the stairs to the faculty offices. Most of them were dark, the door closed, and empty, no sign of live, but Mr. Brunner's had on a light and the door was slightly open. When I was about to open touch the door handle when I heard a voice, a familiar voice: "—worried about Pelagia, sir."

I'm not an eavesdropper, just to clear things up, but honestly, how can you not listen when someone is talking about you to an adult? And a teacher, too. So it's really not my fault that I pressed my ear gently on the door, so I wouldn't open it.

"—be alone this summer, sir," Grover was saying. "And a Kindly One in the school! Now that we know, and they know too—"

"Matters would only be made worse by rushing her," Mr. Brunner interrupted. "She has to mature more."

"But she might not have time! The Summer Solstice is the deadline!"

"We have to fix that problem without her, Grover. Let her enjoy her ignorance while she still can."

"Sir, she saw her. She knows she saw her!"

"The Mist over the students and staff will cover that. It's her imagination," Mr. Brunner insisted.

"But, sir…I…I can't fail again," Grover's voice was choked with emotion. "I just can't, sir."

"You haven't failed," Mr. Brunner replied gently, "I should've seen her for what she was. Now let's just worry about keeping Pelagia alive until next fall."

My Cambridge Guide to Greek Mythology text book slipped out from my hand and landed on the ground with a thud. Inside the office, Mr. Brunner went dead silent.

I could make out a shadow across the lit up office door; something much bigger than my wheelchair teacher, holding something that looked, but absolutely couldn't be, like an archer's bow.

My heart beating thunderously loud, I picked up my book. I then opened the nearest office door, and slipped inside, putting my back against the door.

After a few seconds, I heard a clop-clop-clop, like the sound of muffle wood blocks, and a large, dark shape paused in front of the glass door. After a few moments, it moved on.

I let out a small sigh and sweat trickled down my neck. That was close.

Somewhere in the hallway Mr. Brunner spoke, "Nothing. My nerves haven't been right since the Winter Solstice."

"Mine either," Grover agreed. "But I could've sworn that something made a noise."

"Go back to your dorm, Grover," Mr. Brunner replied. "You have a long day of exams in front of you."

Grover groaned, "Don't remind me."

The lights in Mr. Brunner's room turned off; leaving the room I was in completely dark. I waited, and waited, and waited. After what seemed like forever, I finally slipped back out the door and made my way, quickly and quietly, up to my dorm.

There was Grover, lounging on his bed like he had been studying his Latin exam notes all night. As if!

"Hey," he said groggily, "You getting ready for the test?"

I didn't answer.

"You look awful," he continued. "You alright?"

"Just…tired," I finally said, turning so he couldn't read my expression. I did not understand a lot of what had happened downstairs, but one thing was certain: Grover and Mr. Brunner were talking about me behind my back, and they thought I was in extreme danger. Oh joy.

The next afternoon, as I was leaving the torturous three-hour Latin exam, my eyes swimming through the Greek and Roman names I had spelled incorrectly, Mr. Brunner called me back inside. Did he hear about me eavesdropping on him and Grover last night?

"Pelagia," he said. "Don't be melancholy about leaving Yancy. It's…it's for the best." Even though he was speaking kindly, I was still embarrassed. The other kids who had finished the exams could probably hear. Nick Bobofit was also snickering and sneering at me with his friends.

"Okay, sir," I mumbled in reply.

"I mean…" Mr. Brunner wheeled his chair back and forth as if he had no idea what to say. "I mean it was only a matter of time, this isn't the right place for you."

My eyes stung; here was my favorite teacher, in front of the whole class, telling me that I was destined to be kicked out from the start. After he told me he believed in me.

"Right," I mumbled, looking to the ground.

"No, no," Mr. Brunner said. "Oh, confound it all! What I'm trying to say is that you're not normal, Pelagia. That's nothing to be—"

"Thanks," I blurted out. "Thanks for reminding me, really."

"Pelagia—"

I was already gone.

One the last day of term, I shoved all my clothes into my suitcase. There were girls and guys all around, talking about what they were doing for vacation. They were juvenile delinquents like me, but they were rich juvenile delinquents. Their daddies were doctors, or ambassadors, or singers. Their moms were lawyers, or actresses, or models. I was a nobody, from a family of nobodies. They asked me what I was doing and I told them I was going back to the city. The things I didn't tell them was I would have to get a summer job and spend my free time worrying where I would go to school in the fall.

"Great," one of the girls replied halfheartedly.

And they went back to their conversation, like I had never existed.

The only person I actually dreaded saying goodbye to was Grover, but, as it turned out, I didn't have to. He bought a ticket to Manhattan on the same Greyhound as me.

During the whole bus ride, Grover was glancing at everything. The aisle where passengers walked to get off and on the bus, they windows, and even the seat in front of us and back of us. It had occurred to me that he was acting nervous and jumpy since leaving Yancy Academy, but I assumed it was because of being teased and ridiculed. Here, though, there was no one to mock him on the bus.

I'm sorry, but I couldn't stand it any longer.

"Looking for Kindly Ones?" I asked.

Grover jumped up in alarm, "Wha—what do you mean? I don't know what you mean?"

"Okay, so I might, or might not, have heard you talking to Mr. Brunner the night before the Latin exam," I replied.

His right eye twitched, "How much did you here?"

"Oh…you know…not much…So, anyway, what's the Summer Solstice deadline?"

"Look, Pelagia…I was…er…just worried for you…" he replied. "I mean hallucinating about demon math teachers…and….er…stuff…that's not good."

"Grover, no offense, but you're a horrible liar," I interrupted.

While Grover's ears turned red, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. It looked like some business card or whatnot, "Just take this, alright? In case you need me."

I stared at the card; it was in script, which was killer on my dyslexic eyes, but after awhile, I finally made out something like:

Grover Underwood

Keeper

Half-Blood Hill

Long Island, New York

(800) 009-0009

"What the heck is—" I started but Grover cut me off.

"Don't say it out loud!" he yelped. "That's my…uh…summer address. Yeah, my summer home."

Grover had a summer home? I had never thought that Grover might be as rich as the other kids at Yancy.

"Okay," I replied glumly. "Like if I want to come visit your house."

Grover nodded, "Or…or if you need me."

"Why would I need you?" I blurted out. Whoa, that sounded at lot meaner then intended.

Grover blushed right down to his Adam's apple.

"Sorry," I said guiltily. "That came out wrong, it's—"

"No, it's alright," Grover replied. "The truth is, Pelagia, I sort of have to protect you."

I stared at him. All year long, I had gotten into fights protecting him from bullies. Lately, I had lost sleep worrying what would happen to him without me. Now here he was acting like he had defended me. Was that even what he meant? Or was it something else?

"What exactly are you protecting me from?" I voiced, anticipating the answer.

I saw Grover gulp, he probably would try to steer the conversation away from this subject. Fortunately for Grover, and unfortunately for me, there was a huge grinding noise under our feet. Black smoke poured out from the dashboard and the whole bus filled with the stench of rotten eggs. The driver cursed loudly and steered the Greyhound toward the curb.

The driver went into the engine compartment. After a few moments he came out and spoke, "Everyone off the bus, we are having some difficulties."

Grover and I walked off the bus with the rest of passengers, some grumbling about stupid transportation vehicles.

We were on a stretch of country road, no type of place you would pay a lot of attention to. That is, unless your bus broke down there. There was nothing on our side of the road, but on the other side there was this old fruit stand. The food there looked delicious; blood red cherries and apples, walnuts, apricots, peaches, plums, jugs of cider in a bucket of ice. Although the food looked delicious, there were no customers, just three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs knitting socks.

Those socks were huge, the biggest pair of socks I've ever seen! And I'm not talking about a size 15 for some NBA player or whatever, I'm talking about socks the size of sweaters! They were clearly socks, though. The lady on the rights knitted on sock, while the lady on the left knitted another. The lady in the middle held a massive basket filled with electric-blue yarn.

No offense to these women, but they all looked ancient; pale wrinkled faces like fruit leather, silver hair tied back in bandannas, and bony arms sticking out of bleach cotton dress. The weirdest thing? They seemed to be staring right at me.

I looked to Grover and saw he wasn't looking alright, the color had drained from his face and his nose kept twitching.

"Pelagia, tell me they're not looking at you. Please tell me they're not looking at you," he begged.

"I know. Weird, right?" I replied, looking at the panicking boy in front of me. "You think those socks would fit me?"

"Not funny, Pelagia. Not funny at all."

The lady in the middle then took out a pair of scissor, which were huge, too, like shears for hedges. They were gold and silver.

Grover gasped, "We're getting on the bus."

"What no. Are you insane? It's a million degrees in there."

He pried open the doors, "Come on." He climbed the steps at disappeared inside the bus.

I wasn't going in just yet, though. I stayed back to watch the lady cut the string. And I know it sounds crazy, but I swear I could hear the snip from across the four lanes of busy traffic. Her two friends then balled up their electric-blue socks, leaving me baffled as to who they could be for—Sasquatch or Godzilla.

At the rear of the bus, the driver pulled out a large piece of black smoking metal from the engine compartment. The engine roared to life.

The passenger cheered.

The driver slapped his hat on the bus, "That's right! Everybody back on the bus!"

I climbed aboard and sat next to Grover. After a few minutes, we were back on the highway. I started feeling weird, though. As if I had suddenly got the flu. Grover certainly didn't look much better; he was shivering, teeth chattering, and twiddling his thumbs.

"Grover?"

"Yeah?"

"What aren't you telling me?"

He wiped the sweat on his forehead off with his sleeve, "Pelagia, what did you see back at that fruit stand?"

"You mean the old ladies? What is it about them?" Realization then hit me. "Are they like Mrs. Dodds?"

His expression was hard to read. You don't think that they're worse than Mrs. Dodds?

"Just tell me what you saw?" he asked suddenly.

"The two ladies on the end were knitting. Then, the middle lady took out of her scissors and cut the yarn," I replied.

Grover closed his eyes and made a gesture with three fingers as if he was crossing himself, but it wasn't. I know it wasn't. It was something, something older. "You saw her snip the cord?"

"Yeah."

"This is not happening," Grover had long stopped twiddling his thumbs and began chewing at it. "This is some bad dream, this isn't happening. This can't be like the last time; I don't want it to be like the last time."

"What do you mean? Last time?"

"Always 6th Grade! Why can they never get passed 6th Grade?"

"Grover?" The kid was starting to scare me. "What are you talking about?"

"Please, can I walk you home from the bus stop, Pelagia? Promise me?"

That's an unusual request, but I replied, "Okay."

"Is this like superstition?" I asked.

I didn't get an answer.

"Grover…that snipping of the yarn, does it mean…does it mean someone is going to die?"

Grover looked at me somberly, as if he was already debating on which flowers I would like best on my coffin.

Sorry about the lack of updating, I was busy this week. The chapters will be up more quickly, I hope.