Welcome to Winterclear

This school's disciplinary procedures are INSANE

This school's disciplinary procedures are INSANE.

After the face stabbing incident, I ended up in my office, seated in a chair, breathing into a paper bag. My secretary, Mrs. Theodora Fitzroy, stood behind me patting me on the shoulder and repeatedly saying, "There there."

She was a tiny old woman who looked like the librarian from every book in the history of literature.

"Mrs. Fitzroy," I gasped, still hyperventilating and on the verge of a complete mental crisis. "She stabbed that boy through the FACE!" I cried. "Why are there even spears in the classrooms?"

Truth be told, I probably completely botched my response to the alarming situation. The sweet young teacher who was smiling and waving at me seemed so utterly unaffected by the dead teenager bleeding at her feet, and the rest of the students in the room all looked chill and disinterested as well. Disinterested in the dead kid or me.

I was so taken aback by the whole thing, plus feeling like I was going to vomit, that I just stood there for a moment with my mouth agape, and then I... Well, I ran away. I darted about the corridors, my heels clicking on the tiles, until I found my way to my office. I threw up in my trash can and that's when Mrs. Fitzroy had followed me in and offered me the paper bag.

"There there," Mrs. Fitzroy said.

I leapt up and spun around, looking at her impatiently. Though, looking her full in her pleasant plump face framed by perfect ringlets of silver hair, I immediately slowed my roll. I had been taught to respect my elders, after all. Especially when they made it their business to help me do my job!

"Now, Mrs. Fitzroy," I said, voice trembling. "I'm going to need an explanation. A student was just murdered in the language arts department!" My head spun even as I said the crazy thing out loud. "What's more, the other students seemed as though the experience didn't stress them out at all! Now, call me crazy, but that makes it seem as though face spearings could be... A REGULAR OCCURRENCE AROUND HERE?!"

Poor Mrs. Fitzroy frowned and her eyes darted left to right as though looking for an escape. "Let me just try and locate Mr. Carlyle for you, ma'am," she said nervously.

"Please!" I said, a little too loud. Poor Mrs. Fitzroy startled and her spine straightened. "I need answers now, ma'am!" I demanded.

"Well, it certainly isn't a regular occurrence, Principal Breckenridge," she said. Hearing myself referred to that way instantly slowed my heart beat down. Yes, I know, I'm sort of a jerk for getting an ego boost while one of my pupils lay dead in a classroom. Sue me. Mrs. Fitzroy continued. "It's just sometimes a bad one gets in, and they have to be dealt with!"

"A BAD ONE!?" I exclaimed. Merciful heavens. In twenty years of teaching, I had certainly worked with every possible manner of troubled child, but I'd never labeled a single one as a "bad one," nor would it ever occur to me that the treatment plan should be a SPEAR TO THE FACE.

"Principal Breckenridge," Mrs. Fitzroy said, worrying her hands together neurotically. "I assure you, the situation has already been taken care of. The nice thing is that they disintegrate into dust pretty quickly, and then disappear altogether. There isn't even a mess to be cleaned up."

I stared at the woman, blood beginning to rush in my ears. For the longest time I couldn't even muster up anything to say. What she had just revealed completely failed to sink in and finally I said, "Mrs. Fitzroy, we absolutely must call the police. The proper authorities MUST be notified." I began to tremble violently thinking of the fallout from this incident on my very first day of school. And my terrible handling of the incident. After all, the adorable, beautiful, psychotic maniac who speared her student was still down there with a classroom full of students.

It would make national news. International probably. I'd be arrested. New laws would probably be enacted to prevent the hiring of unqualified principals.

But, Mrs. Fitzroy snapped me out of my glum imaginations with a titter. "Principal Breckenridge, Winterclear doesn't even have a police department." She patted me on the shoulder again and smiled. "There there, dear, it will all be just fine. Promise!"

Then, Mrs. Fitzroy leaned down a little bit, to put her face closer to mine. Her face contorted and stretched, turning green and scaled, with flaring nostrils, yellow cat like eyes, oozing some sort of slime, and with a forked tongue snaking in and out. "Time to get back to work," she growled in a deep guttural voice that can only be described as demonic.

I shoved back from her and the chair I was in plummeted backwards, sending me crashing to the floor. I clattered and scrambled, desperate to get away from her. But when I looked back at her, she was the same old pleasant Mrs. Fitzroy, smiling down at me patiently.

I managed to haul myself to my feet and then I ran from the office.

Back out in the corridors of the school once more, I must have looked a fright, disheveled and panicked. But, I ran into Assistant Principal Carlyle almost immediately and was washed with relief.

"Mr. Carlyle!" I called, running up to him.

"Hello there, Principal Breckenridge, how's the day going for you!" he asked cordially.

"Well, not great, not great at all, I'm afraid," I replied. Sweat beaded at my hairline and pooled on the back of my neck in my shirt collar. "There's been a murder in the language arts department!" I blurted.

Mr. Carlyle smirked. "Ah yes, I heard. That is typically where they get murdered. Dramatic lot, fairies. They like to appear in the language arts department, what with all the plays, and poetry," he rambled, gesturing as he spoke conversationally.

"FAIRIES?"

"Yes, bad ones," Mr. Carlyle explained, giving a nod and a regretful smile. "Well, actually, let's be honest. All fairies are bad. That myth that they're little, sweet, cute, sparkling critters is entirely made up." He rolled his eyes dramatically. "Probably by fairies! We tried to work with them for several millennia, but after a while, it just gets tiresome. So we simply spear them when one shows up. Keeps the day flowing smoothly."

I stood there staring at Mr. Carlyle. My eyes must've been about to pop out of my head. About a million questions stammered on my lips, but I couldn't formulate a single one. Then, I decided that I was looking at a crazy person. Or I was a crazy person. Either way, I thought that I needed to get out of there. Out of that school, out of that town.

Just go.

But Mr. Carlyle leaned closer just then, and he placed his nicely manicured hand on my forearm. But then, his nicely manicured fingers turned into talons with long black claws that sliced into my arm.

He smiled, menacingly this time. "It would serve you well to remember, Principal Breckenridge," he said, his shadowy eyes glaring into my very soul. "You wouldn't want to do anything foolish."

He leaned closer and his voice took on an eerie quality, like an ancient wind. I felt a droplet of blood begin to slip down my arm from where his claws were cutting into me.

"After all," he continued. "You signed a contract."