The Distraught Act

A Story by Systems

Short Story. The theater club teacher has a dominating reputation. Clark sees the school and the theater club teacher for what they really are but is that enough to save him from the crossfire.

My freshman year in high school I decided to join the theater club to perhaps entertain my acting side. The theater club normally performs a school play during school pride week. Last year I watched an amazing performance about a Bank robbery in which the bank robber had a change of heart but was killed in a twist of an ending. That play was a major reason for me joining the theater club.

For this year’s performance, the theater club decided to put on a play about a haunted bar where ghosts visit regularly but only the bartender can see them. I play that bar tender, who happens to be the main character. Words could not describe how happy I felt when I was chosen but I still feel that normal nervousness.

As the club was preparing the props for the play, John, a fellow club member, and I were sent to negotiate for some paint from the crafts club. John has been part of the club for a year longer. He is a bit taller than me with dark hair and a stereotypical jock like body, but loves theater. I would have thought him to be a basketball player instead, but people are as random a roulette game. For the most part, John keeps things friendly but in a “don’t piss me” off type of way.

Knocking on the door, John looks like he is getting ready for an interview. He steadies himself. The door opens to five other students painting what appears to be a gray blob. John sums up my thoughts. “What is that?”

One club member walking towards us says, “It’s a sea lion. The craft club is making an arctic display for school pride week.” I can’t help but question this abomination. “This looks more like a sea cow, barely a toss away from a gray blob.” The club president looks at me with a look of disgust on his face before turning towards it again. “This one had just eaten a penguin.”, he stated matter-of-factly.

He looks back at us with a glare. “What do you theater people want?” John taking the lead, “We would like some paint, specifically brown.” This is a cruel irony. First we make fun of their creation and now we ask for something. Hopefully John can talk it out of them. John makes his pleading effort. “We only need a bucket if you could spare it.” The club members grouped around the president as if performing a sacred ritual. The club president, seeming to draw power from the ritual spouts out, “You think you will get a single drop of paint after insulting us?”

John puts on an apologetic face. “Look, we are sorry. We didn’t mean to insult that lovely sea lion. So please forgive us and lend us the paint.” John gestured to me to bow down with him. I will comply only because it is for the sake of my club. Otherwise, I would never do it.

The club president points at us and snapped off. “No, our club paid for this paint and we can use it any way we want.”

Looking over at John, I could see a scheming face. Picking up his head with a smirk on his face, John says, “I wonder what the school would think when it learns that the craft club has been squandering money for personal things.” The president looks at John. “Squandering? We have done no such thing.”

John walks up to the president while the members step away. He pulls out some pictures and shows them to the president. Stepping back with a panicked look on his face, the club president says, “Fine, whatever. Take the paint can, but that theater teacher will get what’s coming to her.”

John walks over and grabs the paint can. “Thanks for your generous donation.” The rest of the club gives us a stare of ill intent as we leave.

I wonder what was on those photos that could actually scare someone. John looks back at me. “What are you holding up for, teach wanted us to do this fast.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m coming.”

I thought I should probably ask while we’re away from everyone.

“Hey john.”

He turns towards me, “What sup?”

“I was wondering what was on those photos?” We passed some of the other clubs in the hallway.

“Oh, the pictures? Do you not know how powerful our theater teacher is?” A few other students look over at us.

How powerful our teacher is? What the hell is he talking about? Our teacher uses photos of whatever to blackmail? “I haven’t heard anything about our teacher since I got here.”

John stops walking and leans toward my ear. “I’ll tell you when we get to the changing room.”

John sets the paint in the storage room with the other club members setting up the props. He walks by me and says in a theatrical deep voice, “Come enter the dark world of theater.”

I wonder what he means by that? Time to find out I guess.

John starts putting on his white suit for the role of a ghost he’s playing and says, “Alright. Its time you learn our teacher’s devious nature.” He walks over to the door and locks it. Putting on a serious face with eyebrows up, “Our teacher is hated by everyone in the school. She somehow gets pictures and gossip about everyone. She uses it for whatever she wants like helping out her club.” John sat there with his face unwound and continued to put the costume on.

“That’s it?”

John turns back at me, “That’s basically what she does. I don’t know the finer details though.”

John walks over to the door, unlocks it, and says, “Anyway, Mr. Slowpoke, meet me on the stage.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

The teacher sounds somewhat dangerous. I’ll have to be careful.

This bartender costume is pretty spiffy. It has that classy black vest with the buttoned white shirt underneath. Time to go to the stage.

I feel a hand grab my shoulder and see a blade appear in front of my throat. I stopped walking and heard a purposely-raspy sounding voice, “Don’t turn around or struggle.” I don’t think anyone would in this position. The blade looks like a cleaving one. I politely and nervously ask, “What do you want?”

“Would you scream for me?”

What the hell, I will not scream for anyone and stated, “I don’t want to.” I feel his hand move off my shoulder. “Do it or else I’ll kill you.”

“I told you I won’t scream. If you want someone to scream, go to the girls dressing room.”

A small pause goes by with neither of us saying anything or moving. The attacker puts something pointy in my back, “I suppose you’re right. You’re off the hook. Make sure you watch your back better.” He chuckled and slowly pulls away the blade, “Do not turn around or I’ll throw it at you”

I hear John yell, “Where the hell you at Clark, the teacher’s waiting on you.”

He didn’t say I couldn’t go forward. I jolted toward the stage, but as soon as I hit the corner I turned to look behind me. No one was there. I question myself, maybe I’m becoming delusional?

The teacher had us set up into our spots while we waited for the girls to come out. I couldn’t help but think what if that guy may do something and it was not a delusion. The teacher yelled for the slower girls. Soon the girls tapped the floor with their approach. One girl was missing from the group, Sandra. The teacher asked where she is. Before the girls could answer, a loud ear-wrenching scream came from the girls changing room.

Everyone ran offstage into the room. After investigation, our teacher came back to tell she is canceling the practice, Sandra has been murdered. Getting on my knees, I clench my ears. He was serious. What the f**k is going on? I thought it was all a joke. What do I do? Should I tell the teacher? Get a hold of yourself Clark, I thought. If you do that, they might think you had something to do with it. I did though. John walked over to me during my internal struggle and asked, “You okay man? Let’s get out of here.”

I feel myself shaking and my voice unsteady. John looks toward me, “You going to be alright?” I answer him back in a shaky voice, “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

School ended up being cancelled for another two days putting us down even more since we’re missing an actor. During lunch, John and I checked out the investigations team by sitting at the back of the theater. John asked, “I wonder what we’re going to do about the character?” I looked back at him, “Maybe someone will have to pull double parts.” “The biggest question on mind is who did this?” I have no doubt it was an attack from another club or someone who hates the theater teacher. This school is full of crazy. John gets up, “I’m going to take a leak, be right back.”

John left the room and the investigative team went inside the girl’s changing room leaving me all alone. A cleaver blade appears in front of me like before. Hearing a familiar raspy voice, “Ah good its you again. I have a favor to ask.” He pauses while placing his hand on my shoulder and moving closer to my ear, “The next club practice, could you take the teacher to the basement? I don’t care how you do it but if you don’t, your heads next on the chopping block.” Seeing the blade move I hear, “Don’t turn around or else. Also your friend should find a little gift from me to your club.”

My thoughts began racing, is John in trouble? I need to get to the bathroom now. As soon as I get up, I felt someone grab my shoulders. Jumping from being freighted out of my mind. John gives me a weird look, “What was that about?’ I see the time on the clock above us, “We better get back its time to go.” John pulls on my shoulder, “Wait man, check this recorder out.” He turns it on and a loud screeching noise plays. That’s Sandra’s voice from that day. Before either of us says anything, an investigator and the club teacher walk over, “where did you get that?” John looks over to them, “I found this in the boys bathroom.” The investigator reaches for the recorder, “We’re taking this as evidence. Now please leave.” As John and I walk out, I heard the investigator ask our teacher for our names. I hope they don’t mistake us for the killer.

The next club meeting, we worked outside on the props while the investigation was still going on. The teacher gave an inspirational speech, that we should do our best in our upcoming performance in memory of our fallen comrade. Yeah, like that’s going to help, I thought. Everyone is scared as hell. If she has that much power though, it is not like we could say no anyway.

I was studying my lines on the bench at the front of the school when I heard the teacher calling my name, “Clark? Clark? Could you please help me bring up a table from the basement?” Uh, how did this turn of events happen? I was trying so hard to not go to the basement with her. Maybe someone else can help, “Why don’t you ask the others?” She put a hand on her hip, “Everyone else is busy.” Its like the aging process, there is no way to avoid it. I cannot stop this unavoidable collision course.

While walking to the basement, my teacher talked about how the principal had told her where to get a hefty table, “He said it was laying in the basement unused. This is perfect for our bar counter.” This is also perfect for a murder to take place ran through my mind. What am I saying, I have to stop this some how. Not even realizing it, we had arrived at the basement door.

She opens the door and with her hand gestures me to go in first. It was dark, so dark that I could not see the details of my hands in front of me. Our footsteps down the stairs made a loud tapping noise, barely masking the beating drum in my chest.

She says, “The table is supposed to be in the back.” Reaching the ground floor, I could see a wall to my left and piles of boxes to my right. I saw my teacher’s finger pointing straight ahead, “There it is.”

I walk close to the wall on my left while my teacher followed behind. I kept my eyes fixed on the table, not looking around. We both heard patter of footsteps, but I can see a person with a mask and cleaver running towards my teacher. The club teacher turns around, and in a split second, she dropped her upper body forward to miss his swing and thrusted him back into the wall. The impact of the wall jarred the cleaver away from his hands onto the floor. I could only stand there and watch feeling paralyzed. My teacher pushed him to the side and grabbed the cleaver. Forcing him to stay on the ground with her left hand, she started slicing into his head. His body stopped moving and she sat back balancing on her hands.

My teacher got up and turned toward me, “Do you know who tried to kill me?" I could not move let alone talk. She started walking toward me cleaver in hand, “You didn’t happen to plan for this?” My muscles were still frozen. I asked myself over and over, why can’t I move or do anything? She is getting suspicious and all I need to do is say something. Her face started to look cynical and twisted as she stated, “You did plan it. The school helped plan it. They want me gone. They’re all angry they have been caught doing things they shouldn’t. Who is the real villain here?” She stopped about an arms length away and stared into my petrified eyes. She swings her blade while saying, “All those who oppose will be dealt with.”

Fetching the newspaper at the local gas station, John noticed the main article on the front page. The headline read “Teacher walks in on murder, defends herself from attacker”