Chapter 13 Part I

A teacher inspires his students ‘ imaginations when reading horror stories, but is the scare they’ve shared down to vivid creativity or something more sinister?

My classroom is on the side of the building where the sun shines in through the windows. So, I like to get in early, close all the blinds and turn on the air conditioners. I always feel there’s nothing worse than teaching in a hot room.

 

I like to prepare the board after this; with the word of the day and any charts or graphic organisers I’ll use in the morning. To be honest, I have a strong aversion for colleagues who arrive late and aren’t prepared. It just gives such a poor impression to the students.

 

The students arrive very early in our school. It’s unusual to have such an early start, as 7:45. But I like early starts. I’ve always been an early riser. I get five o’clock shadow at about two pm, although I think that’s a sign of aging as much as anything. My students are always bustling outside the classroom to get in, which you’ve got to take as a positive sign, right?

 

The classroom across the corridor has had a replacement teacher recently, as the other teacher was stressed out and had a breakdown. It’s happened more and more in the post-virus working landscape. I haven’t got to know the new teacher much yet. But he’s noticeably older than our other colleagues. I’m shading 40 and he looks probably fifteen years older than me. He’s also incredibly well dressed for a primary school teacher, incongruously so. He wears reading glasses, though it’s strange as he often seems to forget them and yet can seem to read from the board or with the kids just fine. Especially considering he keeps the classroom very dark. Even the brightness on the screen at the front of the classroom is turned right down. I suppose every teacher has their own idiosyncrasies. And from what I’ve observed, Claud Priam certainly qualifies.

 

We started the day with English. The students love it and so do I. Honestly some other subjects I have to teach are little more than an inconvenience. I’m never happier than when discussing or reading aloud with my class. We’ve been reading Room 13 by Robert Swindells as an example of horror, and you could honestly hear a pin drop when we are getting to the end of chapters with the slow reveals.

 

“Mr. Knight, why has the writer left chapter 13 blank?” Yasmin, a highly inquisitive girl, asked when we reached that point in the narrative.

 

“That’s an interesting question, let’s put it on the board and discuss,” I said, never wanting to let an opportunity for a good debate go by. I always feel a great teacher dangles a carrot in front of the donkey that is their students, but never quite lets it bite. Maybe that metaphor is too clumsy, but you get what I’m hinting at. If you give them the answer, they just become passive.

 

“He wants to hook the reader.” Chris, a well-read student who often answered confidently, said first.

 

“That’s interesting,” I encouraged, avoiding agreement that closes discussion, “can anyone build on that?” I wrote down this additional comment on the board as I attempted to prompt more responses.

 

“I think he wants us to imagine what happens for ourselves,” Zeb, a highly confident but reluctant reader, offered helpfully. I always found his comments very incisive, even if he had to be coaxed with great subtlety into actually reading anything.

 

“Ah, I can see where you’re coming from, Zeb. Anybody have any thoughts to add to this? Or any other opinions?”

 

“Anything you can imagine is going to be worse than what he can write,” Raquel, a girl who can become overly excited but has a great vocabulary and ideas, added to the discussion.

 

“Great, anyone else?”

 

“Mr. Knight, maybe he’s just lazy!” Marc, a rotund boy who’d rather be considered funny than daft, blurted out. There were a few stifled giggles, but most ignored him.

 

“Perhaps, I guess we’ll never know. Okay, here’s our task today. We are going to write the missing chapter 13. Before we do that, let’s list all the things we need to include! Make a list with a partner in the back of your notebooks.”

 

They began eagerly talking with each other and listing out some of the things to include, which was nice to see, as we’d spent a while learning horror. I glanced across at the classroom across the corridor. He still had all the lights off. He was standing at the front of the room, seemingly still explaining what he wanted the students to do. Despite it being the middle of the lesson. Pontificating, I’d heard one colleague call it. Some of the younger teachers had taken to calling him a coffin dodger, which I thought was too much. I didn’t bother correcting them. Teachers who spend all day criticising children don’t take criticism well themselves. It was oddly dark in there though.

 

Lunchtime at last, I play some music in my room—I’m having a bit of a Bruce Springsteen moment—and mark their chapters. The work is astonishingly good. The usual mistakes with past tense and spellings, but such a great grasp of atmosphere. Priam is still there with the lights off and standing up at his desk. It’s pretty odd how he never sits down. Anyway, I get back to my marking as I want it ready for them to do corrections tomorrow.

 

It was morning again and my class were pushing to get in. I stepped out to tell Marc to stop shouting and elbowing, which is a daily ritual. I often joke if I had a pound for every time I tell him to be quiet, then I could retire twenty years early. The other classroom’s door was ajar. There was an overpowering smell of perfume, which doesn’t seem to fit. My nose also caught a hint of what it thinks is the smell of rubbish, but it could be the drains. This building is old.

 

The students chattered as usual, some doing spelling corrections and others reading their own copies of Room 13 as they couldn’t wait for our lesson. There were fragments of conversation here and there.

 

“Nah, he’s rubbish. We shouldn’t sign him.”

 

“Maths gives too much homework. I was up until ten doing it.”

 

“My brother thinks he’s a vampire. He’s old and hates the light.”

 

“What’s for lunch today? Is it pizza?”

 

Finally having enough of the geese-like noise, I clapped my hands for order, gave them two minutes to drink water and go to the bathroom, before we began our lessons for the day.

 

I realised we didn’t have the books for the lesson, so I asked for a volunteer to collect them from the classroom across the hall. Unusually for this class, no one offered to help.

 

“Zeb, would you mind?” I asked, as Zeb was always willing to help out.

 

“No, I… don’t feel well.”

 

“Anyone?” I tried to make eye contact with Raquel, but she stared down at the floor. Letting out a resigned sigh and rolling my eyes, I decided to collect the books myself.

 

I walked across the corridor, gave a light knock, and entered class 4F’s classroom. The first thing that hit me was that weird smell of perfume, which threatened to overwhelm the nose like a badly mixed cocktail of flavours. For a moment, I did feel a little bit nauseated. There was also the faint odour of something fetid, almost like rotting eggs. Or the dirt in a graveyard. Mr. Priam gave me a look from behind glasses on the end of his nose like a cat lapping at soured milk.

 

“Hi, do you have the Room 13 books I asked for?”

 

“No books here, Mr. Knight,” he said, staring straight at me. I read his look as contemptuous. I noted the students in that classroom were strangely silent for the time of day. They were also all looking down at the floor. The room was arranged in slightly old-fashioned rows of two desks together, rather than the sort of horseshoe shapes I favoured. Seeing no sense in hanging around to have my nose overloaded with eau de toilette, I nodded and thanked Priam, before turning to leave. As I did so, I touched the door frame. There was a subtle but clear hint of mould close to the door lock. It was jet black in colour, which I remember thinking was very strange.

 

Eventually locating the books from the neighbouring 4G, I returned to my classroom and clapped my hands to get their attention, before announcing, “Right, today we’ll perfect our Chapter 13s and see who can be the scariest!” This announcement was met with a more muted reception than I’d anticipated. I also noticed I was sweating. Strange. The classroom was cool as usual.

 

There was a knock on the classroom door, then it opened slowly.

 

It was Chris and Raquel. I thought this strange. It was odd as they’d never usually knock.

 

I looked up from marking the students’ finalised (excellent) Chapter 13s for a moment. “Hi guys, you okay? It’s playtime.” Actually I wanted a break, but I try never to turn my students away.

 

“Mr. Knight, we wanted to tell you something,” Raquel, the more confident of the two, began.

 

“Sure,” I replied, mostly looking down at the beginning of Zeb’s story.

 

“It’s about Rhianna in 4F,” Chris added.

 

“Right,” I read a nice bit of third person narrative, but was annoyed he had still missed some capital letters.

 

“She’s Roy from our class’s twin sister,” Raquel said.

 

“Yeah, that’s true,” I added.

 

“She’s been getting ill the past few weeks, Mr. Knight,” Chris informed.

 

“Right, and?”

 

“It’s just, when Rhianna went to see the school nurse about it…”

 

“Yes?”

 

“The nurse said…”

 

“What?”

 

“That Rhianna has lost some blood.”

 

“I see. That’s awful. Has she been cut badly recently or something?” I had finally put the work down to listen, detecting they were actually a little distressed.

 

“No, sir, they don’t know what happened,” Chris said.

 

“But David in 4F, he said…” David was renowned as one of the brightest boys in the whole year, but also a bit of a know-it-all.

 

“What did David say?”

 

“He said…” Raquel continued.

 

“What?”

 

“That Mr. Priam…”

 

“Take your time.”

 

“Is a…”

 

“Is a what…?” I didn’t want to leave this hanging for long. This class were nice, but I’d had classes over the years that would fill that gap with an unflattering word.

 

“He’s a vampire,” Raquel finally coughed up.

 

I laughed. I’m not sure why. But the students clearly thought I either didn’t believe them or was laughing at them.

 

“It’s true!” Chris added.

 

“Now, Chris,” I began, “you really are a great reader and have one of the best imaginations in our whole class. But you’ve been reading Dracula since I recommended it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So don’t you think this might just be your imagination running away with you?” I felt a sense of guilt. At the time I assumed this was because us reading so much horror had upset and unsettled them.

 

“It’s true! Old Priam is a vampire!”

 

“Now Raquel, that’s enough. You can’t go around saying things like this about a teacher. I wouldn’t like it if Mr. Priam’s class were saying it about me.”

 

“But Mr. Knight…”

 

“Mr. Knight, nothing. That’s enough, guys. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll find time to talk to Rhianna. And Mr. Priam.”

 

Chris, looking defeated, said, “Okay, Mr. Knight. Please do.”

 

Raquel shook her head. For the first time ever, I saw anger in her eyes and she stormed out of the classroom.

 

When the students had left, I stood still just for a moment and touched my forehead. It was soaking wet.