Chapter 1: Crackpot Jack

Strangers (working title)

 

M. H. Bones

 

 

Chapter 1: Crackpot Jack

 

The first sound I heard that morning was not the usual incessant ringing of my father’s old alarm clock. It was a strange screeching sound that jarred me from my slumber around 3am. It seemed to come from the hills behind our house. Our little home in Montana was a bit off the beaten path. It took a good 15-minute drive to get into town. We had a few neighbors that lived about an earshot away, but, for the most part, solitude engulfed us. Ah yes! The sound. That piercing and peculiar screeching. The thing that started my trip down the rabbit hole.  About four times I heard it if I recall correctly. Each the same volume and pitch as the previous. It sounded inhuman, otherworldly, yet, animalistic and primal. They occurred in, perhaps, ten second intervals. I curled my covers up to my face like a child who’s seen a monster in his closet. It was as if regressed back to my innocence in the presence of this bizarre screeching. The noises also woke my beautiful wife Mary.

         “Jack!”, she exclaimed. “What on earth was that?” I told her it was probably nothing, as not to worry her. My mind was already racing to paint some disturbing lovecraftian creature behind our abode. The furthest conclusion she would jump to would be burglars, or some strange animal that had wondered into our woods. “Can you go check outside and see what it is?”, she asked worriedly. I admit I was a bit afraid to journey outside, but my curiosity always did get the better of me. I also really had no choice in the matter, as my Mary was worried. Navigating the darkness, I exited our bedroom, walked through the long hallway past our newly tiled kitchen, and out the screened in front door. I took in a long breath of crisp night air before descending down the little staircase leading from our patio to the grassy driveway. I walked behind the house to look out at the hills.  After those four screeches, I didn’t hear the sound again. Only the chirps of crickets, buzzing of gnats, and stillness of the night were there to greet me. I stayed outside for a good twenty minutes gripped by a grim sense of terror and confusion. What could it have been? I traversed the darkness once again and stumbled my way back to our bed. “What was it dear? Did you see anything?”

“I didn’t. It must have just been the wind or some strange animal in the woods. I bet it’s nothing. We should just go back to sleep”

“Ok…I hope nobody is out in the hills. The door is locked right?” I assured her it was and that she shouldn’t worry. I didn’t want her losing sleep. Mary seemed satisfied with my analysis of the situation. After tossing and turning for a bit, she drifted back to slumber.  I, however, didn’t sleep at all that night. I could not have imagined the screeches because they also woke Mary. Something was out there. In the coming weeks, I would begin to craft a narrative in my head to explain the phenomena. One so terrifying and unusual that would soon become all too real for me.  

         Crackpot Jack, or Jack the Crackpot. That was the name that unfortunately stuck with me after a series of unfortunate events in my middle school years. I attended a Modoc Middle School in the little town of Adin, California where I lived with my parents growing up. In 7^th grade we had this English teacher, Mrs. Gretchen. Ghastly looking woman if I’ve ever seen one. She had to have been pushing her sixties. She was about 5’9” with short curly gray hair. She had a bit of a hunchback, probably from years of poor posture, and the most peculiar looking face. Her eyes were beady, and almost regressed into her skull. Her chin was just centimeters from her mouth like her face had been cranked down with a vice grip. She talked with this raspy voice too, even though she supposedly never smoked a day in her life. The woman was old, sure, but it appeared as if she was rotting away. Like she was a deteriorating costume being worn by some malevolent host. Everyone thought she was a bit odd, but I began to catch on to one of her peculiar habits.

Everyday at lunch, instead of eating with the other teachers in the cafeteria, she would go to the teacher’s lounge. The whole school would eat lunch at the same time since there were only about 100 kids. The teachers had their own table in the back of the cafeteria where they watched over us like hawks, and probably laughed and poked fun at the less intelligent minds that populated our ranks. I didn’t think Mrs. Gretchen would be one to socialize, so retreating to the sanctity of the teacher’s lounge seemed normal at first. One day, to my dismay, I had forgotten the lunchbox my mom had packed for me in my backpack. I sacrificed my seat to return to class to retrieve it, and had to pass by the teacher’s lounge. The lounge was located at the end of the hall, so I had to pass by before taking a right to the 7^th grade wing. I heard these strange moans and groans as I passed by. There was no window on the doorframe to peak into, so the only sense I could tune in was my hearing. I remember wondering what she could have possibly been doing.

Over the next couple weeks, I would occasionally leave my lunchbox in our class to have an excuse to spy on Mrs. Gretchen’s eerie teacher’s lounge rituals. With only my ears to aid me, I came to the preposterous conclusion that she must be some otherworldly being or creature. She looked so odd, and would always act as if she was trying to blend in. She also took every opportunity she could to be alone or away from people at school. After cooking up my crackpot theory, I decided to try and convince my classmates that Mrs. Gretchen was some sort of alien. The moans and groans just sounded so strange! It was like she was making contact with her mother ship or stretching herself out of her fake human skin. I had no idea how to make them believe me, and decided that just trying to talk to them would be a fool’s errand. Many times I tried to forget my theory, but Mrs. Gretchen would always give me this piercing glare after class, like she knew that I was watching her and knew her secret.

The feeling kept bugging me, like an itch I couldn’t scratch. Something was not right with that strange old woman. Acting on my paranoia, I concocted a grand scheme that I thought would expose her. Everyday in the morning our principal, Mr. Boggs, would talk over the intercom to all the classes to give the daily announcements. He would drone on about the weather, the lunch choices, or pretty much anything he felt like. The man was a bit of a narcissist. I swear he just liked to hear himself talk. The morning announcements were our only outlet of news at school. I thought that maybe, just maybe, if I could make an announcement that Mrs. Gretchen was an alien that some people might believe me. It was probably the worst idea I could have possibly imagined.

I went to Mr. Boggs’ office one day after school, and pitched the idea of students reading the morning announcements some days. I buttered him up first, stating that I enjoyed the announcements and how important they are to the school. I don’t recall my exact wording, but it went something along the lines of, “I just couldn’t imagine mornings without our morning news!”.  Once he looked pleased enough with himself, I explained how my class was interested in reading the announcements some mornings. As expected, he was a bit uneasy about sharing his mic time, but I got him to cave with my silver tongue. My mom always told me I had a way of persuading people. After intense negotiation, we came to the agreement that a student volunteer could read the announcements every Friday. If multiple students wanted to participate, the announcements could be split up or a lottery system could be implemented.

Now I had my chance. This was how I could finally expose Mrs. Gretchen. I’m not exactly sure what I was expecting. Did I think she would jump out of her old lady skin, get beamed up by her spaceship, and fly away back to her distant galaxy? Defeated by Jack, the hero of Modoc Middle School. I think it was more my own paranoia and fear that drove me to such ridiculous lengths to try and convince the school that our English teacher was a creature from outer space. I’ve always had a bit of an issue overthinking things and coming to hasty conclusions.

Friday finally reared its head after what felt like an eternity. I believe I talked to Mr. Boggs that Tuesday, so I had to wait a bit to get my chance at the mic. Naturally I was first in line for the announcements since it was my idea. I was extremely nervous when the time came to read, but I had strong resolve. I knew I had to do this to validate my theory. I honestly still can’t believe I did it. How it sounded like a good idea in my head I will never know. I vividly remember my exact wording. I stuttered through the lunch choices, the weather, and finally exclaimed, “now everyone…I have a special announcement to make. After weeks of research and observation, I have concluded that Mrs. Gretchen is hiding something. She goes to the teacher’s lounge everyday at lunch, and I’ve heard strange noises coming from the door. I believe…Mrs. Gretchen is not of this world!”

There was a brief pause, then laughter erupted from every hall of Modoc Middle School. Turned out that Mrs. Gretchen was doing aerobics and exercise to help her hunchback. The awkward moans and groans were just the old bag trying to touch her toes or something. I still thought it was a bit peculiar that she would hide in the teachers lounge to exercise when nobody was around. Although, with the sounds she was making, I’m sure she was embarrassed. After a long scolding from both Mr. Boggs and Mrs. Gretchen and a trip to detention for a week, I earned the nickname “Crackpot Jack”. It followed me through high school, and I was relieved to leave it behind after graduation. Now that I am 32, I’ve lost the will to hold any animosity towards the peers of my youth. I can hardly blame them. What I did was memorable and honestly quite hysterical.