The silence was deafening. Hazel clutched her pencil, her knuckles whitening, her blue-green eyes staring at the blackboard up ahead. Mrs. Dumort crouched at the front of the classroom, her piercing gaze scraping through the crowd of stupefied students. The skin on her face was stretched tight, violently pulled back by a tight brown bun, and her coal black eyes seemed to grip the soul of anyone who dared to look into them too deeply. Hazel ventured a quick look to the corner, where her best friend, Miles, sat, tears silently streaming down his face.
“Who’s next?” Mrs. Dumort snarled. Her voice was like a hundred shards of glass, fingernails down a chalkboard, tires screeching across rugged pavement. The class sat still. No one uttered a word. “Very well,” Mrs. Dumort growled. “Very well, then... we shall continue.” She rapped a heavy wooden stick against the blackboard. “World War II... when Germany—“ The loudspeaker crackled loudly. Mrs. Dumort, her face reddening, appeared to be holding back a scream. “Hello?” she asked, her rough voice grating.
“This is the principal. I need to see Miles Capstone, immediately,” the voice on the loudspeaker firmly stated. Startled, Miles looked up, red and puffy-eyed.
“He will be down in a moment,” Mrs. Dumort responded.
The loudspeaker crackled once again, signaling the end of the message. When Hazel looked up, she was startled to see a big, bright smile stretched across her teacher’s face.
“Miles, my dear boy. It’s your time.” Something about the phrase sent chills down Hazel’s back, but Miles only wore an expression of relief and pleasant surprise.
“Really? Me?” He was usually the chameleon, the shy wallflower, blending into the background. But this time, it seemed, would be different.
“Yes, my love. Go down. Now. Immediately,” Mrs. Dumort ordered, a hint of the old impatience creeping back into her voice. Anxiously, Miles shuffled out the door.
Mrs. Dumort resumed her teaching, but this time, something had changed. A content smile plastered across her face, she began to hum a cheerful tune. It seemed almost as if she knew something was about to happen—something dreadful.
Hazel was troubled. A black shape flickered across the window. For a second, it seemed as if it was arranged in the vague shape of two large blinking eyes. No, it couldn’t be. Hazel’s heart stuttered. Something was wrong. Hazel looked closer her unusually cheerful teacher. Mrs. Dumort’s eyes glittered like ice. They were coal black—almost inhumanly black. Through a crack in the window, a cold wind swept inside the room, lifting the hairs on the back of Hazel’s neck. Something was definitely amiss. She had to find Miles.
Slowly, stealthily, Hazel slid out of her back-row seat and crept down the row of desks. Meeting the gazes of her classmates, she pleaded for silence. They obliged, and within a few seconds, she was out the door. Hazel sprinted, aiming for the heavy wooden door etched with the words, “Mr. Joseph Ludendorff, Principal.” The door opened with a protesting creak. It was a Monday, normally the busiest day at Jefferson Middle School, yet oddly enough, no one was at the front desk. Suddenly, Hazel heard low voices, arising from Mr. Ludendorff’s office on the left. She crept forward, peeking in the tiny crack in the door.
Miles sat in a hard, wooden chair across from Principal Ludendorff, whose hands were folded thoughtfully on the mahogany desk before him.
“... and I am sorry for the pain she has caused you,” the principal was saying. He paused for a moment, leaning back in his swivel chair. “You know, it has been two weeks since the Bellamortes arrived and things have been quite... tense around here.”
“Bellamortes?” Hazel heard Miles ask, his voice slightly wavering.
“Yes. As you know, Mrs. Dumort is only one of the many that our government is planning on employing here at Jefferson.”
Hazel was bewildered. Bellamortes? Government? What was going on? It was as if Miles could read Hazel’s mind.
“What do you mean?” he inquired. “What are the Bellamortes? And why is the government, of all things, involved in this?”
Mr. Ludendorff, sighed, seemingly exhausted. Wrinkles lined his face and sprinkles of white peppered his silver-gray hair. “What isn’t the government involved in these days? But anyways, the Bellamortes are the main employees of an ancient government organization—the Child Advancement Research Society. Its mission is to advance the learning abilities of children, hence the name.”
Miles seemed even more befuddled. “Okay, but what does this have to do with me?” he asked.
For a brief moment, Mr. Ludendorff’s eyes seemed to glitter black, in the same bone-chilling way as Mrs. Dumort’s had. Every muscle in Hazel’s body tensed. “Look outside,” Mr. Ludendorff commanded, sliding aside in his swivel chair to reveal the large window pane behind him. “What do you see?”
Miles peered out the window, eyebrows raised. For a moment, he saw nothing notable save for a few tardy students, hurrying in from the parking lot. Then, something black flitted across the window. It stopped for a moment to materialize into a cloud-shaped pack of dust, peering into Mr. Ludendorff’s office. This time, its large, blinking features were clear. It was a face—a face with two large, shiny eyes devoid of a mouth or nose that is. Calmly, almost innocently, it blinked at Miles as if in greeting and disappeared.
“What is that?!” Miles gasped.
Mr. Ludendorff chuckled. “Those are just little amobies. They are little messengers for our society, almost like drones, but composed of dust and pollutants.”
Miles was alarmed. “But...but what is it doing here?”
Mr. Ludendorff smiled, his eyes darkening. “Ah, that is the real question isn’t it? Many years ago, our wonderful society—“
“Wait, you’re part of this crazy society?” Miles interrupted.
The principal’s eyes flashed. “The society is anything but crazy, Miles, but yes, I am a member. Now what was I saying?” The principal stroked one long finger against his chin. “Ah, yes. Our society realized it needed some candidates that would test out its formulas to enhance brain growth and strengthen the minds of children. They offered compensation for any who would volunteer, but children who disappeared into the research laboratories never came back. Now, we no longer have volunteers, so presently, unfortunately, we must find our testers ourselves. And you, my lucky duckling, have been chosen as one of the candidates. Today, Bellamortes like Mrs. Dumort and the amobies will be arriving to transport you to our special lab location.”
Hazel gasped. Mr. Ludendorff and Miles turned around, quick as lighting.
“Hazel!” both exclaimed, one with surprise, one with malice. Mr. Ludendorff’s features seemed to darken.
“What are you doing here?” he growled.
“I’m... um... handing something in to the office?” Hazel answered, nervously.
Mr. Ludendorff saw straight through the lie. “Come here,” he ordered. “Sit down.” The principal pointed to another wooden chair adjacent to Miles’.
Miles looked at Hazel, offering a small smile for support.
“Stop!” Mr. Ludendorff boomed, all traces of kindness melting off his face. “Miss Hazel, since you enjoy your friend’s company so much, I believe it would be quite fitting for you to join him on our brief little trip.” Mr. Ludendorff smiled, his pointy white teeth gleaming. He looked down at his watch. “Well, we mustn’t let a new arrival thwart our plans. If you don’t mind, it is time to go. Tardiness never proves to be beneficial.”
Miles and Hazel stared at each other, their thoughts aligned. With hearts of steel, the two best friends faced the principal. “We’re not going,” they stubbornly proclaimed.
Mr. Ludendorff looked up, startled for a moment. Then, his face broke into a smile. “Don’t be silly, of course you are... now where did my briefcase go?”
The two friends repeated their words once again, stronger this time.
The principal fixed them with an icy glare. “You are going, willingly or not. Any resistance and you will be met with... force.” He smiled once again, darkly.
Hazel glared. “There is no way—“
Mr. Ludendorff silenced the friends with an enraged cry. In one swift motion, he grabbed a thick rope from his desk drawer, and tied them together, binding their wrists.
Suddenly, the office door opened with a boom. Hazel and Miles looked up expectantly, light growing in their eyes. Their hopes were confirmed when police men stormed inside, followed by the secretary Mrs. Harpey. Hands loosely tied together and trailing rope, she wore an expression of downright rage.
“You... you! How dare you tie me up? And with such amateur knots? I’m sure anyone—“Abruptly, the secretary caught sight of the kids. Her eyes widened at the shocking sight. “Kids? Really, Joseph? You were planning on kidnapping children?” Mrs. Harpey shrieked, wild-eyed, and shook her head, rushing next to Hazel and Miles.
Next to her, the police men moved hastily, handcuffing the swearing principal and removing him from furious friends. After a minute’s worth of deep breaths combined with aggravated yelling at the principal, Miles and Hazel walked down to the nurse’s office, escorted by a concerned Mrs. Harpey.
The two children silently sat in the nurse’s plush cushion chairs, shaking their heads with disbelief, still stunned by the frightening encounter with the principal.
Suddenly, they caught sight of the television perched atop the nurse’s desk, broadcasting the latest news. “... And with more startling news,” the reporter was saying. “Earlier today, Mr. Joseph Ludendorff, principal of Jefferson Middle School in Boristown, New Jersey was arrested for the attempted kidnapping of two students, whose names cannot be disclosed at this time. The school’s secretary, Mrs. Karen Harpey, has been deemed a hero for dialing 911 and saving the vulnerable children after being ambushed by the principal herself. More details on this story to come...”
Miles and Hazel looked at each other, sharing a smile. No words were needed to communicate what each thought: safe and together forever.