Chapter 2

Three Old Ladies Knit the Socks of Death

I was used to the occasional weird experience, but usually they were over quickly. This twenty-four/seven hallucination was more than I could handle. For the rest of the school year, the entire campus seemed to be playing some kind of trick on me. The students acted as if they were completely and totally convinced that Mrs. Kerr—a perky blonde woman I'd never seen in my life until she got on our bus at the end of the field trip—had been our pre-algebra teacher since Christmas.

Every so often I would spring a Mrs. Dodds reference on somebody, just to see if I could trip them up, but they would stare at me like I was psycho.

It got so I almost believed in them—Mrs. Dodds had never existed.

Almost.

But Gretel couldn't fool me. When I mentioned the name Mrs. Dodds to her, she would hesitate, then claim she didn't exist. But I knew she was lying.

Something was going on. Something had happened at the museum.

I didn't have much time to think about it during the days, but at night, visions of Mrs. Dodds with talons and leathery wings would wake me up in a cold sweat.

The freak weather continued, which didn't help my mood. One night, a thunderstorm blew out the windows in my dorm room. A few days later, the biggest tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from Yancy Academy. One of the current events we studied in social studies class was the unusual number of small planes that had gone down in sudden squalls in the Atlantic that year.

I started feeling cranky and irritable most of the time. My grades slipped from Ds to Fs. I got into more fights with Nancy Bobofit and her friends. I was sent out into the hallway in almost every class.

Finally, when our English teacher, Mr. Nicole, asked me for the millionth time why I was too lazy to study for spelling tests, I snapped. I called him an old sot. I wasn't even sure what that meant, but it sounded good.

The headmaster sent my mom a letter the following week, making it official: I would not be invited back next year to Yancy Academy.

Fine, I told myself. Just fine.

I was homesick.

I wanted to be with my mom in our little apartment on the Upper East Side, even if I had to go to public school and put up with my obnoxious stepfather and his stupid poker parties.

And yet...there were things I'd miss at Yancy. The view of the woods out my dorm window, the Hudson River in the distance, the smell of pine trees. I'd miss Gretel, who'd been a good friend, even if she was a little strange. I wondered how she'd survive next year without me.

I'd miss Latin class, too—Mr. Brunner's crazy tournament days and his faith that I could do well.

As exam week got closer, Latin was the only test I studied for. I hadn't forgotten what Mr. Brunner had told me about this subject being life-or-death for me. I wasn't sure why, but I'd started to believe him.

The evening before my final, I got so frustrated I threw the Cambridge Guide to Greek Mythology across my dorm room. Words had started swimming off the page, circling me head, the letters doing one-eighties as if they were riding skateboards. There was no way I was going to remember the difference between Chiron and Charon, or Polydectes and Polydeuces. And conjuring those Latin verbs? Forget it.

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

I remembered Mr. Brunner's serious expression, his thousand-year-old eyes. I will accept only the best from you, Perci Jackson.

I took a deep breath. I picked up the mythology book.

I'd never asked a teacher for help before. Maybe if I talked to Mr. Brunner, he could give me some pointers. At least I could apologize for the big fat F I was about to score on his exam. I didn't want to leave Yancy Academy with him thinking I hadn't tried.

I walked downstairs to the faculty offices. Most of them were dark and empty, but Mr. Brunner's door was ajar, light from his window stretched across the hallway floor.

I was three steps from the door handle when I heard voices inside the office. Mr. Brunner asked a question. A voice that was definitely Gretel's said, "...worried about Perci, sir."

I froze.

I'm not usually an eavesdropper, but I dare you to try not listening if you hear your best friend talking about you to an adult.

I inched closer.

"...alone this summer," Gretel was saying. "I mean, a Kindly One in the school! Now that we know for sure, and they know too—"

"We would only make matters worse by rushing her," Mr. Brunner said. "We need the girl to mature more."

"But she may not have time. The summer solstice deadline—"

"Will have to be resolved without her, Gretel. Let her enjoy her ignorance while she still can."

"Sir, she saw her…"

"Her imagination," Mr. Brunner insisted. "The Mist over the students and staff will be enough to convince her of that.

"Sir, I...I can't fail my duties again." Gretel's voice was choked with emotion. "You know what that would mean."

"You haven't failed, Gretel," Mr. Brunner said kindly. "I should have seen her for what she was. Now let's just worry about keeping Perci alive until next fall—"

The mythology book dropped out of my hand and hit the floor with a thud.

Mr. Brunner went silent.

My heart hammering, I picked up the book and backed down the hall.

A shadow slid across the lighted glass of Brunner's office door, the shadow of something much taller than my wheelchair-bound teacher, holding something that looked suspiciously like an archer's bow.

I opened the nearest door and slipped inside.

A few seconds later I heard a slow clop-clop-clop, like muffled wood blocks, than a sound like an animal snuffling right outside my door. A large, dark shape paused in front of the glass, then moved on.

I covered my mouth to prevent my breathe from being heard more clearly.

Somewhere in the hallway, Mr. Brunner spoke, "Nothing," he murmured. "My nerves haven't been right since the winter solstice."

"Mine neither," Gretel said. "But I could've sworn…"

"Go back to the dorm," Mr. Brunner told her. "You've got a long day of exams tomorrow."

"Don't remind me."

The lights went out in Mr. Brunner's office.

I waited in the dark for what seemed like forever.

Finally, I slipped out into the hallway and made my way back up to the dorm.

Gretel was laying on her bed, studying her Latin exam notes like she'd been there all night.

"Hey," she said. Her cheeks had green stains like she was crying just recently. "You going to be ready for the test?"

I didn't answer.

"You look awful," she frowned. "Is everything okay?"

"Just...tired."

I turned so she couldn't read my expression, and started getting ready for bed.

I didn't understand what I'd heard downstairs. I wanted to believe I'd imagined the whole thing.

But one thing was clear: Gretel and Mr. Brunner were talking about me behind my back. They thought I was in some kind of danger.

The next afternoon, as I was leaving the three-hour Latin exam, my eyes swimming with all the Greek and Roman names I'd misspelled, Mr. Brunner called me back inside.

For a moment, I was worried he'd found out about my eavesdropping the night before, but that didn't seem to be the problem.

"Perci," he said. "Don't be discouraged about leaving Yancy. It's...it's for the best."

His tone was kind, but the words still embarrassed me. Even thought he was speaking quietly, the other kids finishing the test could hear. Nancy Bobofit smirked at me and made sarcastic little kissing motions with her lips.

I mumbled, "Okay, sir."

"I mean…" Mr. Brunner wheeled his chair back and forth, like he wasn't sure what to say. "This isn't the right place for you. It was only a matter of time."

My eyes stung.

Here was my favorite teacher, in front of the class, telling me I couldn't handle it. After saying he believed in me all year, now he was telling me I was destined to get kicked out.

"Right," I said, trembling.

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

"Thanks," I blurted. "Thanks a lot, sir, for reminding me."

"Perci—"

But I was already gone.

On the last day of the term, I shoved my clothes into my suitcase.

The other girls were joking around, talking about their vacation plans. One of them was going on a hiking trip to Switzerland. Another was crushing the Caribbean for a month. They were juvenile delinquents, like me, but they were rich juvenile delinquents. Their daddies were exclusives, or ambassadors, or celebrities. I was a nobody, from a family of nobodies.

They asked me what I'd be doing in the summer and I told them I was going back to the city.

What I didn't tell them was that I'd have to get a summer job walking dogs or selling magazines subscriptions, and spend my free time worrying about where I'd go to school in the fall.

"Oh," one of the girls said. "That's cool."

They went back to their conversation as if I'd never existed.

The only person I dreaded to say goodbye to was Gretel, but as it turned out, I didn't have to. She'd booked a ticket to Manhattan on the same Greyhound as I had, so there we were, together again, heading into the city.

During the whole bus ride, Gretel kept glancing nervously down the aisle, watching the other passengers. It occurred to me that she'd always acted nervous and fidgety when we left Yancy, as if she expected something bad to happen. Before, I'd always assumed she was worried about getting teased. But there was nobody to tease her on the Greyhound.

Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore.

I said, "Looking for Kindly Ones?"

Gretel nearly jumped out of her seat. "Wha—what do you mean?"

I confessed about eavesdropping on her and Mr. Brunner the night before the exam.

Gretel's eye twitched. "How much did you hear?"

"Oh...not much. What's the summer solstice deadline?"

She winced. "Look, Perci...I was just worried for you, see? I mean, hallucinating about demon math teachers…"

"Gretel…"

"And I was telling Mr. Brunner that maybe you were overstressed or something, because there was no such person as Mrs. Dodds, and…"

"Gretel, you're a really, really bad liar."

Her ears turned brown.

From her jeans pocket, she fished out a grubby business card. "Just take this, okay? In case you need me this summer."

The card was in fancy script, which was murder on my dyslexic eyes, but I finally made out something like:

Gretel Underwood
Keeper
Half-Blood Hill
Long Island, New York
(800) 009-0009

"What's Half—"

"Don't say it out loud!" She yelped. "That's my, um...summer address."

My heart sank. Gretel has a summer home. I'd never considered that her family might be as rich as the others at Yancy.

"Okay," I said glumly. "So, like if I want to come visit your mansion."

She nodded. "Or...or if you need me."

"Why would I need you?"

It came out harsher than I meant it to.

Gretel blushed right down to her tan skin. "Look, Perci, the truth is, I—I kind of have to protect you."

I stared at her.

All year long, I'd gotten in fights, keeping bullies away from her. I'd lost sleep worrying that she'd get beaten up next year without me. And here she was acting like she was the one who defended me.

"Gretel," I said. "What exactly are you protecting me from?"

There was a huge grinding noise under our feet. Black smoke poured from the dashboard and the whole bus filled with a smell like rotten eggs. The driver cursed and limped the Greyhound over to the side of the highway.

After a few minutes clanking around the engine compartment, the driver announced that we'd all have to get off. Gretel and I filed outside with everybody else.

We were on a stretch of country road—no place you'd notice if you didn't break down there. On our side of the highway was nothing but maple trees and litter from passing cars. On the other side, across four lines of asphalt shimmering with afternoon heat, was an old-fashioned fruit stand.

The stuff on the sale looked really good: heaping boxes of blood-red cherries and apples, walnuts and apricots, jugs of cider in a claw-foot tub of ice. There was no customers, just three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree, knitting the biggest pair of socks I'd ever seen.

I mean these socks were the size of sweaters, but they were clearly socks. The lady on the right knitted one of them. The lady on the left knitted the other. The lady in the middle held an enormous basket of electric-blue yarn.

All three women looked ancient, with pale faces wrinkled like fruit leather, silver hair tied back in white bandanas, bony arms sticking out of bleached cotton dresses.

The weirdest thing was, they seemed to be looking right at me.

I looked over at Gretel to say something about this and saw that the blood had drained from her face. Her nose was twitching.

"Gretel?" I said. "You okay?"

"Tell me they're not looking at you. They are, aren't they?"

"Yeah. Weird, huh? You think those socks would fit me?"

"Not funny, Perci. Not funny at all."

The old lady in the middle took out a huge pair of scissors-gold and silver, long-bladed, like shears. I heard Gretel catch her breath.

"We're getting on the bus," she told me. "Come on."

"What?" I said. "It's a thousand degrees in there."

"Come on!" She pried open the door and climbed inside, but I stayed back.

Across the road, the old ladies were will watching me. The middle one cut the yarn, and I swear I could heat that snip across four lanes of traffic. Her two friends balled up the electric-blue socks, leaving me wondering who they could possibly be for—Sasquatch or Godzilla.

At the rear of the bus, the driver wretched a big chunk of smoking metal out of the engine compartment. The bus shuddered, and the engine roared back to life.

The passengers cheered.

"Darn right!" Yelled the driver. He slapped the bus with his hat. "Everybody back on board!"

Once we got going, I started feeling feverish, as if I just caught the flu.

Gretel didn't look much better. She was shivering and her teeth were chattering.

"Gretel?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you not telling me?"

She dabbed her forehead with her shirt sleeve. "Perci, what did you see back at the fruit stand?"

"You mean the old ladies? What is it about them? They're not like...Mrs. Dodds, are they?"

Her expression was hard to read, but I got the feeling that the fruit-stand ladies were something much, much worse than Mrs. Dodds. She said, "Just tell me what you saw."

"The middle one took out a pair of scissors, and she cut the yarn."

She closed her eyes and made a gesture with her fingers that might've been crossing herself, but it wasn't. It was something else, something almost—older.

She said, "You saw her snip the cord."

"Yeah. So?" But even as I said it, I knew it was a big deal.

"This is not happening," Gretel mumbled. She started chewing at her thumb. "I don't want this to be like last time."

"What last time?"

"Always the sixth grade. They never get past sixth."

"Gretel," I said, because she was really starting to scare me. "What are you talking about?"

"Let me walk you home from the bus station. Promise me."

This seemed like a strange request to me, but I promised she could.

"Is this like a superstition or something?" I asked.

No answer.

"Gretel—that snipping of the yarn. Does that mean somebody is going to die?"

She looked at me mournfully, like she was already picking the kind of flowers I'd like best on my coffin.