Mr. Poole Dons the Hood: A Shady Hollow Short Story

E

  DONS the HOOD

  CHAUNCEY ROGERS

  People seldom realize when they begin to stray from the path of what is considered normal behavior. Usually, their wanderings are inspired by good intentions—they want to fix some problem which normal behavior has not been able to thus far resolve. Likely, they are simply trying to think outside of the box. They may have a mind to experiment—to try different hypothetical solutions to the problem, observe the outcomes, and then move to the next plausible solution. The real problem arises when everyone is of the same experimental mindset, for without any external forces to curb the divergent trend of the group’s experimentations, they will wander further and further from what is normal, and closer and closer to the precipitous boundary of sheer insanity. So it is that well-intentioned experimentation becomes the stepping stones towards the previously unthinkable.

  Such a creative and experimental approach to problem-solving within education had become something of a chronic condition among the staff at Shady Junior High School.

  But Tobias Poole didn’t know about any of that. All he had been told was that his parking place was under the large oak tree that sent its sprawling arms over one-third of the parking lot, and that the staff and faculty’s back-to-school meeting was on Wednesday at 10:00. As he pulled into his parking space that morning, he thought for a moment that he had found a weather phenomenon: a patch of snow surviving through the early August heat. Then some of the snow splattered across his windshield, and he knew the truth.

  He stepped from his car quickly, but not without some degree of care as well. The ground was slick with stacked and dried pigeon dung, and already another winged bomber had delivered a second payload on the roof of his Oldsmobile. His first-day-on-the-job smile had already turned to a frown.

  Beneath the oak tree, indeed.

  Mr. Poole stomped towards the schools double front doors, pausing briefly to scrape his loafers over a patch of yellowed grass before going inside.

  The common room and cafeteria waited on the other side of the doors, along with a woman with bobbed brown hair and a facemask—the kind he had seen in documentaries about Hong Kong and pollution. She did a little curtsy once he’d noticed her.

  “Mr. Poole, right?”

  He hesitated, thrown off by the cute curtsy. “Right. Yes.”

  “Pleased to meet you. I’m Lindy. I work the front desk.”

  “And you. Do I need to get a, uh….” He pointed to his mouth and nose, then to her mask.

  He couldn’t see her lips, but could tell by her eyes that she smiled dismissively at the question. “Just follow me, please. The rest of the faculty have already gathered.”

  Mr. Poole, suddenly worried, raised his watch—he was ten minutes early. “Wow. You’re a punctual group then, huh?”

  “Oh, hardly,” she said. “Why, Ms. Derkins was nearly an hour late this morning.”

  “But the meeting starts at ten, right?”

  “Of course,” she said as she turned down a hall.

  Their footsteps echoed back at them as they walked along, side by side. Mr. Poole’s head swiveled back and forth, looking at the decorations and flyers still clinging to the walls from the previous schoolyear—or perhaps from a summer school program. Each of them were done up in green and orange, and each bore the stamp of a tree frog’s silhouette across it, with the words APPROVED in bold beneath it.

  “People pretty big on school spirit here?”

  “Oh yes,” Lindy said. “Our leader demands that students and faculty be devoted to the school.”

  Mr. Poole chuckled and offered a half-heartedly raised fist. “Go Tree Frogs!” His sarcasm met an unnerving silence, and he began to consider that Lindy may have been serious. The staccato echoes of their footsteps clapped into the awkward silence, accentuating it. After a dozen seconds, Mr. Poole tried conversation once more.

  “So…Lindy. Have you been here in Shady a long while?”

  “Yes, I’m a native, actually.”

  “Really? Never left then?”

  “Few do. This way, please.”

  She turned to the right and started down another corridor. The walls were dark, and the lights overhead either did not work or simply had not been turned on. As Lindy strode forward, Mr. Poole found himself falling behind.

  “Big school. Ever get lost?”

  “No,” she said. “Though, it does happen to some.”

  “Shady isn’t that big, is it? The town, I mean.”

  “It’s not. The population’s only about ten thousand.”

  “So, then why’s the school so big?”

  “Oh, that’s because it wasn’t originally built to be a junior high school.”

  “No?”

  “No. You’re walking through the repurposed remnants of the old state penitentiary.”

  Mr. Poole laughed through his nose, looking at the dark walls with new eyes. “Well, isn’t that something. An old prison.”

  “Sadly, it never actually was a prison. Construction was riddled with issues, the project kept on downsizing, and eventually the portion that is now the school is all that was finished. But an independent evaluation deemed it unsuitable, and rather than try and get it up to their standards, the place was just abandoned. That’s how the town got it.” She stopped in front of a steel door and slipped a key into its lock. “Watch your step, please. There’s a leak in here, and the stairs can be rather slippery.”

  She pulled the door back. A rather steep set of narrow stairs led down into another ill-lit section of the school. Lindy watched Mr. Poole’s face as he stared down the flight of stairs.

  “The meeting’s down there?”

  “That’s right. Our leader wanted the faculty to use the safe room whenever possible, in case.”

  Mr. Poole cocked his head, lips forming a question. “In case?”

  “That’s what I said.” She nodded to the stairs. “I believe they’re waiting for us.”

  “In case what?” he said, not moving.

  “Life is full of dangers, Mr. Poole—many more than we can enumerate standing here. Our leader cares for our safety.”

  “So he has you go down a slick staircase for a faculty meeting?”

  Lindy’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. Poole, if you would rather not join us, then—”

  “No no no,” Mr. Poole said. “It’s fine. I just…well….” He narrowed his eyes back at her as he looked into her face. “It doesn’t seem…odd?”

  “I don’t see why it should,” Lindy said.

  “Right, okay.” Mr. Poole said. “Just…never mind. Forget I said anything.”

  He reached into his pocket, fumbling for his phone. Once he’d fished it out, he turned on the screen and started his flashlight app. The light stabbed into the darkness, but not as cuttingly as Mr. Poole would have liked.

  Sure enough, the stairs were wet. A few spider webs clung to the ceiling as well—some of them occupied. But at least now he could see how far down the stairs went, and the sight of old, mildew-stricken carpet at the bottom was strangely reassuring to him. The whole thing was positively bizarre, but he knew that if there was carpet, then it would still be civilized.

  He turned to Lindy’s masked face, a brave smile masquerading on his own. The flashlight beam showed Lindy giving him an expressionless stare, patiently waiting for him to step onto the flight of stairs. Mr. Poole turned back to the stairway, then paused. He flashed the light along the walls of the corridor, doing a doubletake.

  Painted along the dark walls were the words ‘I MUST OBEY,’ revealed now under the flashlight’s beam. Mr. Poole’s mouth dropped slightly, and he shined th
e flashlight further down the walls.

  I MUST OBEY. I MUST OBEY. I MUST OBEY. I MUST OBEY. I MUST OBEY.

  The mantra repeated again and again in black paint down the walls, stretched in their repetition from floor to ceiling as far as his flashlight beam would reach.

  He turned to Lindy.

  “Okay, stop it.”

  She looked taken aback. “Mr. Poole, I—”

  “Don’t even,” he threatened. “This is hazing, and the joke’s over. If you stop now, I might be able to take it all in good humor.”

  “Hazing?” Lindy said, appearing genuinely confused. “Mr. Poole, some things we do here at Shady Junior High School may be unorthodox, but I assure you that they have a positive influence on the school, and improve everyone’s experience here.”

  “What is that, then?” he said, aiming the beam back to the mantra-covered wall. “I think that goes beyond unorthodox.”

  She didn’t move her head as she replied. “Mr. Poole, this hallway is seldom used and even less frequently lit. These messages on the wall simply help improve the vibes of the school. Disciplinary issues plummeted here once the message had become a part of the school itself.”

  Mr. Poole shook his head slowly, then faster. “No, I’m sorry, but this is—”

  “I don’t see what the problem is,” Lindy cut in. “Is it that the wall has been painted with a harmless message, or that we are having our staff meeting in the downstairs section of the school?”

  Mr. Poole suppressed a shudder as he looked at the scrawled words.

  “I do apologize for the spider webs and the leak, but our custodial staff has been enjoying their summer