Jeff Szpirglas - Tales from the Fringes of Fear

Mr. Schmelp often made a clicking sound when he got angry or nervous. It sounded like he was somehow creating pressure using the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat, then pushing them close together until the two click-click-clicked away.

Today, Erin noted, Mr. Schmelp had been clicking incessantly.

Incessantly, she had learned (she sometimes read the dictionary for fun), meant doing something over and over again without stopping.

Schoolwork often bored Erin. If Mr. Schmelp instructed the class to do math exercises for a half hour, she would complete them in under ten. The same went for spelling, science and even social studies. That left plenty of time for her to sit and stare silently. Erin was an observer. She had noticed how many of the books in the classroom were about nature and animals (more than half), that Mr. Schmelp was missing a part of his ring finger and that he was pretty good at noticing when Erin had been observing things for too long.

Today Erin had been observing Mr. Schmelp incessantly.

Mr. Schmelp had been clicking his throat since 9:48 a.m. And he had paced around the room ten times. Erin had noted these behaviors in the past, but today there was something new to add to Schmelps repertoire of tics. He kept glancing out the window to the parking lot outside.

With her exercises finished, Erin observed Mr. Schmelp further. She concentrated on his furtive glances. This wasnt just some unconscious act, like the clicking. These were deliberate peeks at the outside world. Erin wondered what he was looking for. All she could see through the grimy windows were the parking lot, the narrow road leading to the school and the woods on the other side of the road.

When the final bell rang, her classmates practically jumped out of their desks. Erin saw Mr. Schmelp glance out the window again and then make his way back to his own desk.

Erin picked up her things and left the classroom. She took her time walking down the hallway. When most of the students had left the building and some semblance of quiet had fallen again, she turned and started walking back toward Mr. Schmelps classroom.

Most of the teachers were still in their classrooms, Erin observed, looking carefully into each one as she walked past the doorways. They were busy packing up, erasing blackboards or picking papers off the floor. All the doors were still open, except for Mr. Schmelps, which was shut.

Almost.

The door was still open a crack. Erin decided to steal a peek to observe Mr. Schmelps behavior.

He was sitting at his desk. He looked up now and again, mostly out the window, but he did not appear to notice Erin looking through the small opening.

Seeming satisfied that he was alone, Mr. Schmelp wrenched open the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a large canvas bag. Erin could see that the bag was zipped shut and fastened with a combination lock. Mr. Schmelp glanced out the window (again!), then undid the lock, unzipped the bag and inspected the contents within.

He placed the canvas bag on his lap and then took a pencil from his desk. Erin thought that was rather curious. She watched Mr. Schmelp lower the pencil toward the bag. She heard a metallic whirring sound. Very curious.

Something else caught Erins attention. Through the window she spotted two black sedans pulling into the school parking lot. They were very shiny, with barely a speck of dirt on them. She was so busy thinking about how tough it must be to keep black cars clean that she failed to notice the door was slowly creaking open.

Erin! Mr. Schmelp exclaimed.

Erin jumped. Im sorry, Mr. Schmelp. I came back to

What did you see? he hissed.

Instinctively Erin pointed at the black cars outside.

Mr. Schmelp turned and followed her gaze. When he saw the cars, he flinched.

Something heavy clattered onto the floor, startling Erin. She briefly saw a metal object lying on the floor. Mr. Schmelp quickly scooped it up. Erin couldnt see anything behind the bulk of the teachers desk, but she imagined that this object must have been in the canvas bag and was being shoved back inside. But why was Mr. Schmelp now on his hands and knees, staring at the floor with such a strange intensity?

Mr. Schmelp? Ercan I help you with anything?

Mr. Schmelp looked up at her. His face was panicky. Quick, close the door! he snapped.

Did you drop something? Erin asked, closing the door behind her and approaching the desk.

Mr. Schmelp didnt answer. He was too busy examining the floor.

Erin put down her backpack and tried to help, even though she had no idea what she was looking for. Whatever it was, Mr. Schmelp must have found it quickly. Erin saw a blur of motion, and then Mr. Schmelp was at the bag. He leaned over it, and she heard a click, as if something was being snapped shut, and then a zip.

Mr. Schmelp looked up, his brow coated with sweat. He looked exasperated and surprised to see Erin still standing there. He opened his mouth to speak, but the intercom buzzed.

What is it? he shouted at the little beige box.

A womans voice crackled over the intercom. There are somepeopleto see you, Mr. Schmelp.

The teacher turned toward the window. The black sedans were parked right in front of the main doors. Their tinted windows made it impossible to see who might be inside. Mr. Schmelp gulped, then turned back to the intercom. Ill b-be r-right there, he stuttered.

Stay here, Mr. Schmelp said to Erin. Ill be right back, and then we can talk. He quickly shuffled out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

With the coast clear, Erin took this opportunity to search Mr. Schmelps desk. She yanked the bottom drawer open.

She pushed aside the crumpled papers and removed the bag. Through the canvas she could feel a heavy, box-shaped object. She shook it and heard something rattle. Erin took hold of the combination lock and stared at the numbers on the dial. If only Mr. Schmelp hadnt locked it, she thought, tugging at the mechanism. Then she could discover what all the fuss was about before he came back and

Click.

In her hand, the lock had sprung open.

Mr. Schmelp had locked it but never spun the dial! Erin slowly unzipped the bag and reached inside.

Huh?

She was holding an electric pencil sharpener.

Erin turned the machine over in her hands, inspecting every side. But the sharpener yielded nothing of interest. The only notable feature was that the spinning blades and alcove for the shavings were hidden by dark-tinted plexiglass, like the windows of the sedans outside.

Also in the bag, Erin noted, were some books.

There were three in all, and they had been used thoroughlybroken spines, frayed pages, tattered corners. The covers were faded and torn, but Erin could still read the titles: Exploring Entomology, Lermers Guide to Costa Rican Wildlife, 2nd ed. and Endangered Fauna of Central America.

She thumbed through the book about endangered species. Many pages were dog-eared. Passages were underlined. Notes were scrawled along the nearby margins. They must be Mr. Schmelps observations and notes. But Erin did not have time to read through them right now. Her time would be better spent examining the sharpener.