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ood morning, class.”
“Good morning, Mr. Ramsey,” the tiny 2nd grade voices reached out in unison with a sing song fashion.
“Did you all have a good weekend?”
“Yes.” The tiny little bodies with tiny little attention spans were already fidgeting and drifting to thoughts of recess and cartoons.
Squatting on the desk, Mr. Ramsey’s computer’s monitor stared at him like an unwinking, dark green eye. To the left, an apple long past its prime sat in wrinkled silence.
“You know class,” Mr. Ramsey said, as he sat his satchel and coffee cup down. “I read something on the Internet that I thought was very interesting. Do you want to know what it was?”
The class gave a collective, unenthused “yes.”
“How many of you know what an eel is?”
A few of the children remained silent, while others shook their heads and giggled.
“An eel is a type, or an order, of fish. Now most eels prefer to live in shallow waters or to hide at the bottom of the ocean, but the really interesting thing is,” Mr. Ramsey said with a genuine interest as he sat on the edge of his desk, “the really interesting thing, is that eels in our own lakes and oceans are mysteriously disappearing and no one knows why. Not even scientists. Now, what’s happening to the eels is also happening to many other species of animals. And the animals that this is happening to are called: endangered species. Now what do you all think? Do you think it’s too late to save the eels?”
“Ooo-ooo, Mr. Ramsey!” one of those tiny little bodies was raising its chubby little fingers high into the air with animated excitement. “Mr. Ramsey!”
Mr. Ramsey smiled warmly. It was one of his favorite students, Mary-Beth Swanson. Today her hair was up in uneven pigtails and braided with pink ribbon. All the kids looked so cute, so carefree . . . so innocent.
Mr. Ramsey loved this job, truly loved it. The children had such wide-eyed innocence, such a hunger for knowledge, a thirst to know more about the world in which they lived. Mr. Ramsey believed he was truly a gifted man to be a part of that kind of world; to be able to share his knowledge and shape the future with these children, to truly make a difference in their lives.
And with a humored sigh and a large toothy grin, Mr. Ramsey was just as excited as his student raising her hand to learn more about the world in which he lived. “Yes, Mary-Beth?”
“Mr. Ramsey,” Mary-Beth said, wiping her nose with the back of her pink flower and ladybug print covered sleeve. “My Mommy and Daddy said that Tommy Clayson won’t be coming to class today because his Daddy was mermaided.”
So innocent.
Mr. Ramsey’s strong hands braced himself upon the desk. His shoulders hunched and his face tightened at the questions he knew would come. He just wasn’t prepared for this. Not this. He looked less like a teacher and more like a beast of burden carrying an unseen weight that not even the echoes and eons of space could fathom. He had prayed with everything he was and everything he could have ever been that he wouldn’t have had to say these next words aloud. Not to this class. Not to these kids.
“Yes, I’m afraid so, Mary-Beth.” But those prayers went unheard. Unanswered. And somewhere deep down he knew why, somewhere deep down he knew . . . he just wasn’t worth it. “Tommy Clayson’s Daddy was murdered last night.”
And ohhh it was sooo much fun! a disembodied voice said with a sickness unheard by the children.
Mr. Ramsey could have sworn it was words spoken from the drawn-back lips of a thing, more demon than man, but a man nonetheless.
He could have sworn . . . it was smiling at him.
“What does murdered mean?” Little David Emrick asked while two of his action figures from previous adventures of imagination and time lay unmoved upon his desk.
“I . . . Well, I—It’s . . .” Mr. Ramsey began a stammering explanation of apprehension and uncertainty as he met his students questioning eyes. “It’s when . . .”
They were all looking at him, looking to him to answer a question that they couldn’t even comprehend at their age. His students weren’t stupid, he would never talk down to them, treat them like children, but he was their teacher . . . and for the first time in his life, he wished he wasn’t.
“It’s when a grown-up hurts another grown-up and . . .” he searched for the words he wouldn’t even know how to say, much less how to convey them to children so pure and full of life. “It’s when a grown-up hurts another grown-up so badly that they go away for a very long time.”
It was little Abby who spoke up next. She looked sad, her little delicate hands folded within one another as if in some way comprehending the meaning of the word: murdered. “Why would someone want to hurt Tommy’s Daddy?”
Oh this should be good.
“I don’t know, honey.”
Liar.
“I just don’t know.”
You’re a dirty little liar, Mr. Ramsey. I’m starting to like you.
“Shut up!” he forced out the whispered words through gritted teeth. “God damn you! God damn you . . .”
God damns us both, Mr. Ramsey.
“Are you okay, Mr. Ramsey?” It was an angel who spoke his name, little Mary-Beth. She gazed up at him from under a set of long lashes, her voice a calm serenade as the rest of the class sat in silent shock.
“I’m sorry class, I . . . I don’t know why bad people do evil things.” Mr. Ramsey searched for the words, a way to explain truth without terrifying these small lives which he was responsible for. “People do bad things sometimes that hurt others. Sometimes those bad people are sick and need help, or sometimes they don’t understand what they’re doing . . . Sometimes these bad people start off good, noble, and true . . . but they grow up in bad situations and are raised to believe that hurting others is okay to do. And ah, sometimes . . . I ah . . . Sometimes . . .”
A single tear fell; a crystal orb which trailed and defined the contours of Mr. Ramsey’s face as he backed away from his class, pressing his back firmly against the blackboard as his eyes took in the shadow-cast darkness which stretched out from under his desk, which reached out to claim him.
“And sometimes,” he said, choking back an upheaval of his previous night’s meal. “Sometimes a good person uncovers a truth which is so scary, so . . . haunting that they would do anything to keep that . . . that evil, that darkness away from them. Sometimes that good person would do anything to live, even if it meant,” Mr. Ramsey fought back the bitter churning that wanted to rise, “even if it meant hurting another person.”
Oh stop it, I’m getting all misty. It’s like a God-damn telethon with you.
“Are the bad people going to get my Daddy too, Mr. Ramsey?”
He didn’t know which child said it, he was too lost in thought, in his own truths, his own terror. So lost he didn’t even hear one of the children start crying at the fear of what his imagination had conjured.
“You know what would help Tommy and his family?” Mr. Ramsey said, fighting through the realization of what he was doing to these poor children as he forced a large happy smile upon his pale face. “What would help them is, if tonight, before you go to bed, you say a prayer for them. You say a prayer or you can wish upon a star that they find love, happiness, and peace. That Tommy and his family can get through this sadness together, as a family.”
Ooohhh how touching.
“And you know what else? How about we pull out our arts and crafts supplies and make ‘Thinking of you’ cards, for Tommy and his Mommy. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Oh boy, oh boy, that sounds like a swell time! Can I use glitter, Mr. Ramsey?
And as Mr. Ramsey stood facing his class, his back still firmly pressed against the blackboard as they cut shapes into the rainbow colors of construction paper and laughed with joy, he could feel the rolling trails of sweat which stained the back of his dress shirt.
Oh please, oh please, can I use glitter! I promise I’ll be good!
“I said shut up!”
The children jumped in startled fright at their teacher’s outburst. Some whimpered, some cowered tight against their desks as they peered out over a sea of superhero t-shirts and pony shaped backpacks.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, class. Get back to work now.” Mr. Ramsey said happily. “You’re all doing such a great job.”
What you saw cannot be unseen. What you know cannot be unknown. And what you have uncovered, my dear Mr. Ramsey, can never be forgotten. We made a contract, you and I, and as long as you live up to that contract your soul is safe. But, if you deny us what you have promised, well then . . . your life is forfeited and I’m afraid you’d make us very, very, unhappy. And you don’t want us unhappy do you, Mr. Ramsey? Not us. Certainly not me.
Mr. Ramsey fought back the tears which welled and lingered on the edge of eyelids. “What do you want from me?”
What you promised us.
“I can’t do it . . . I can’t do it again . . . I can’t . . . I just can’t.”
You gave us two lives already, Mr. Ramsey. Two lives out of thirteen. You have eleven more lives to give, that was the deal. Their lives for yours. Honor the contract or we come for you. Honor the contract or end up like the eels. Humanity can become just as endangered, Mr. Ramsey. And certainly not the only mystery as to why.
“Why are you doing this to me? Why? Why?”
You know why! You uncovered our truth, Mr. Ramsey, the truth of the Grimwalkers, just as your wife had uncovered it that night. She was a tasty treat that’s for sure. We enjoyed her immensely. Yummy-yummy.
Mr. Ramsey turned his back to his class; he buried his head into the blackboard, his hands so tight his fingernails punctured flesh, staining his palms with crimson life. “You son of a bitch!” his voice reached out with whispered intensity. “You son of a bitch, I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you all!”
You gave us your pretty little wife. You gave us poor little Tommy Clayson’s Daddy. And you will give us more because you desire to live, Mr. Ramsey. Because you desire . . . life.
“What have I done? Oh God, what have I done. . . .”
It’s quite simple, all you must do is reveal us to another. All you must do is uncover the truth of the Grimwalkers so that we may make ourselves known. All you must do Mr. Ramsey, is share our story . . . And if, by chance, you don’t honor the contract to give us eleven more souls before midnight’s moon two nights from now . . . you will know what hell truly is while I peel the flesh from your bones. That I promise you.
He could feel the blood seep from the torn out flesh of his palms, flesh which stuck tight beneath his fingernails as drops of blood formed on his knuckles before plummeting to the carpet below. “Please God . . . Please God help me.”
Tick-tock, Mr. Ramsey. Tick-tock.
“Please, please just leave me alone . . . Just leave me alone.” The words were Mr. Ramsey’s own, but spoken as if a plea to some unseen phantom beneath his desk. As if begging . . . for life. “We didn’t mean to see you. We didn’t mean to see you.”
No one ever does, Mr. Ramsey. It is just the way of things.
Mr. Ramsey wiped his eyes; his heart was racing, body trembling at the madness which lurked within his mind. He turned to face his class, those gifted, innocent children, ignoring the Grimwalker lurking, hiding within the shadow cast out from under his desk. Its grin large and torn out from the flesh of its face as he slowly walked around to the front of his desk.
“What am I going to do?” Mr. Ramsey’s legs gave out from under him as he braced himself against his desk. “Oh please God, what am I going to do?”
The sun was climbing higher in a brilliant splash of color and warmth as Mr. Ramsey looked at his students with longing; he looked at a group of children similar to the ones that he and his wife wished they could have had at least two of. If only things had turned out differently, he thought to himself. If only.
“Mary-Beth, would you do me a favor, honey, and go work in the library until the bell rings.”
“Okay, Mr. Ramsey.”
Little Mary-Beth scooped up her arts and craft supplies in her arms, glitter spilling all about the floor as she made her way out of the classroom and down the stretched-out hall of lockers and tile.
Mary-Beth Swanson was one of his favorite students, and now . . . only eleven remained.
“Class . . . I’d like to tell you all a story. A story called . . .” and as Mr. Ramsey cleared his throat, he forced another large happy smile upon his face . . . and closed his eyes tightly. “It’s called, ‘The Grimwalkers.’”
The class was silent, still as a voice not belonging to Mr. Ramsey, laughed . . . and this time, this time everyone heard it. |
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