Mary's First Day of Kindergarten

Her knee banged against the corner of the stone pedestal as she did so, and she fell backwards, arms flailing, making her look like a bird attempting unsuccessfully to take flight. She fell hard on her pelvis, grinding her teeth together, her purse bouncing out of her grip like an animal come to life, and her car keys slid out of it and down the opening in the floor before she could reach for them. For a moment, everything was a black dizzy haze, and as it cleared, Mary could feel a headache throbbing underneath her temples.

“Oh no,” she moaned and could feel tears welling in her eyes. As if her day couldn’t any worse, this absolutely took the cake. On hands and knees, she crawled to the opening in the floor and looked down, seeing if she could spot the metal reflection of her keys. She couldn’t see them; they must have fallen down the flight of stairs.

Mary took a moment to get ahold of herself, to fight back the panic and frustration that threatened to break her ability to think clearly. All she had to do was go down the stairs, retrieve her keys, get out of there, and never go back. She wouldn’t think twice about it. She wouldn’t even talk to Mr. Waite on the phone; she’d make Mark do it. All she had to do was go down the stairs; that’s all. Her argument sounded fair enough in her head but actually getting her legs to work was more difficult than just giving them a reason to.

She took a deep breath and forced her foot down the opening to the first stair. Her feet felt leaden, heavy and slow as she descended down the stairs, one by one. Grit shifted underneath her shoes, puffing up smoky clouds of dust with every step. Her teeth were clenched, her muscles as well, every part of her body wanting to keep as quiet as possible.

She held onto the lip of the opening as she began to go down, afraid to let go, in case she needed to pull herself up for a quick escape. She strained her neck to see further down the stairwell. She heaved a sigh of relief; her keys were only a few steps down, twinkling in the orange light of a candle mounted to the wall. It would only take a moment to grab her keys and get out of there.

The trapdoor slammed shut, smashing her fingers with a sharp burst of pain.

Any sense of balance was lost, and Mary went tumbling down the stairs. The stairwell swirled around her, stone stairs driving into her back and limbs, twisting her and flipping her, then smacking hard against her ribs, her breath blowing out of her in a painful gasp. She saw the floor rushing up to meet her in a wall of gray rock, and then only black.

***

“Why don’t you want to be our teacher, Mrs. Domica?” the child with black eyes asked, tapping Mary on the head with one pale finger as she regained consciousness, surfacing from wherever she had gone when she blacked out. She recognized the child; he was one of her students. His name was Michael. She tried to answer but found she couldn’t; it took another second to realize she was gagged.

“Because she doesn’t know how important her job is, not yet,” said Mr. Waite, standing behind the boy. Behind Waite, the rest of the school’s ghostly, black-eyed students waited, flashing hungry looks that made Mary tremble in her seat. She realized that she was strapped to the chair when she tried to move.

“There must be some way to convince her to stay, don’t you think children?” Mr. Waite said and grinned like a crocodile, his lips spreading to flash a pearly set of chompers. He chuckled to himself and tapped a finger against his chin as if deep in thought.

“If she doesn’t... we’ll... we’ll... EAT her!” Michael cried. His response spurred the other children to cry out as well. Their black eyes shone in the candlelight, the eyes of wild animals.

“EAT her! EAT her! EAT her!” they chanted in unison. Beads of sweat began to glisten on Mary’s forehead, and she struggled in her seat. Her muscles ached against the restraining straps, but she couldn’t get them loose. This can’t be happening, she thought to herself, this can’t be happening! She shook her head, her own eyes growing wide in desperation. Tears spilled out before she could stop them and trailed down the side of her face.

“Shhh, shhh, children,” Mr. Waite insisted, placing a finger over his lips. Like the obedient creatures they were, the children quieted. Someone in the back, one of the older students, continued to whisper the chant (“eat her, eat her!”) but then went silent as well.

“Mrs. Domica, as you can see... we really want you to stay. We’d do just about anything. Sure, we take a little getting used to, but it will be worth it, trust me. I promise if you stay, we won’t eat you,” Mr. Waite paused to straighten his glasses. The children waited for him to continue, and Mary noticed one of the younger ones lick her lips.

“However, if you do decide to leave, or if you ever tell anyone about us... well, things might become very unpleasant for you very quickly. Understand? So you’ll stay with us, won’t you?” Mr. Waite said, walking over to Mary as he talked. He began to brush her hair with his hand and wiped away her tears with his thumb.

Looking through blurry wet eyes, Mary nodded. This seemed like a nightmare, a horrible nightmare that would never end. But she’d do anything, anything, to be able to leave. Even if it meant working at Joyhouse Saints Elementary against her will. Even if it meant having to teach those... those... things. She wasn’t sure she could think of them as children again. Maybe, it would be better if she didn’t.

“Good, good, Mrs. Domica. I suppose you can go then,” Mr. Waite said and gave her a sympathetic smile. He took her right hand in his own and squeezed it. Mary, surprising herself, tried to smile back, but the gag made it difficult. Mr. Waite pulled it off for her.

“But let this be a lesson to you,” he said and grabbed her hand tight, pulling out her index finger, making Mary gasp in pain.

Michael promptly bit off her finger. Blood squirted down the sides of his mouth, and for the first time, Mary saw just how sharp the child’s teeth really were. Serrated, they cut through her flesh and bone like paste. He chewed, his mouth smacking up and down. He smiled at her, black eyes shining like oil, his lips smeared with gore, a bloody mockery of a child who’s gotten into his mother’s lipstick.

Mary screamed. It ripped out of her like a seperate entity, uncontrollable and wild; she felt it swelling up in her chest, bursting through her throat and out of her mouth, drowning the children’s laughter and giggles of glee in an ocean of horror.

Mr. Waite smiled and waited for her to faint. Another convert, he thought. He’d have these kids educated and ready for the real world in no time. Oh, how their parents would reward him. He could barely wait to bask in the glow of his success.

Until then, he’d just take it day by day, and he had a feeling it was going to be a long year.