STOVE
UNSAFE SPACES #31: Seven-year-old Jacob was a cruel little bully so it was only a surprise to his adoring parents when the rest of the class stoved his head in.
Ms Williams had only stepped out of the classroom for a few minutes following another frustrating interruption by the hapless substitute Mr Jennings looking after Class 9B. He’d popped his head around the door again to request further, much needed, support. Over the last week it had become a bit embarrassing as she barely got through two lessons a day without him appearing. It was bad enough to consider raising it to the head. Not that he’d do anything about it. It was Mr Jenning’s fifth day, and the poor guy was so inept and so completely out of his depth it wasn’t even funny. On day one she’d bitched to Mrs Taylor in the breakroom but now if anyone asked, she’d let loose with a verbal evisceration of the man. There’s learning on the job and then there’s whatever this was. It had surprised her when he’d volunteered for playground duty and spent every breaktime in the rain sometimes even joining in with the children’s games. In her heart she knew she was a good person and would always go out of her way to help a friend or colleague in need of assistance, but this had just about tested her to breaking point. At what point did the learning of her own students suffer if she always had to leave the classroom?
‘What’s up?’ she’d asked with a fresh hint of annoyance to her tone.
‘Oh, so sorry to disturb you again Ms Williams. It’s just that I can’t get the projector to turn on. Can you give me a hand?’
So, she’d gone. God help her.
Jacob’s eyes lit up when he saw that idiot substitute pop his head round the door again. Why do all substitute teachers look the same? No matter what class or school he went to they looked like tall spectacle wearing nerds. He watched his teacher leave then his fingers found the edge of his desk and lifted it up just enough to subtly slip his hand in. He had great muscle memory whenever it came to doing something he shouldn’t like flicking a light switch on in the pitch black when he was creeping out of bed. Right now, it was plucking the metal compass out of his pencil case inside his desk without alerting anyone. He glanced around and was annoyed to see several of his classmates staring back at him. They were all watching him like a hawk.
Jacob had only been in this school for six weeks but was already renowned. Mum and Dad had sat him down before he came here and apologised for how bad the last school had been. How this one would be different. How he wouldn’t be threatened here. They were all idiots. They blamed the last school and the other children. Jacob had felt threatened they’d argued – that’s why he’d done what he did. It was only Paul who’d heard Jacob call him a girly boy before he’d found himself tumbling down the stairs. Nearly the perfect crime if that stupid bearded loser Mr Jones hadn’t caught him shouting “Strike!” and laughing at the crumpled body at the foot of the staircase. Score? Two broken arms broken, four shattered teeth, one dislocated shoulder. “Boys just being Boys.” Mum and Dad called it.
Of course, those whispers about being expelled had followed him here.
Most of the class were still watching him, so it was time to put on a show. He dug his finger into a wet nostril and scraped free a particularly juicy clot of snot and looked around for the best place to put it. While blobbing it under the desk was a classic, what felt more appealing today was Katy’s hair. She was talking to Gemma and one of the only ones not staring at him. The screams to stop started as soon as his arm began extending in her direction and, as she spun around, his finger smushed the thick bogey onto her cheek.
‘Urgh!’ she cried, and Jacob started laughing. Everyone else was now on their feet or turned in his direction. Just how he liked it. His fingers found the compass and he gently clasped his fist around it and pulled it free.
‘Leave her alone Jacob.’ Charlie warned, making him laugh again. He knew none of them would do anything. Just like at the last school. He’d got away with everything.
The only thing he’d really learned from the last place was to make sure anything bad he did was done when a teacher wasn’t there.
He glanced back to the classroom windows to check the corridor. Ms Williams wasn’t there. She wasn’t coming back soon.
Jacob grinned. Time for some fun.
‘Barbara!’ Her husband, Simon, called from the kitchen. ‘Where is the pink Himalayan salt?’
She sighed and closed her copy of the Guardian and folded it in half. ‘It’s at the back of the spice cupboard. Next to the saffron?’
The sound of rummaging and tinkling glass rang out. She held her breath awaiting the inevitable crashing sound when the clumsy fool knocked half the shelf onto the floor. For once, no such sound arrived so she went back to reading the paper.
‘Sale on at John Lewis.’ She called out after turning the page.
‘Lovely,’ Simon answered as he appeared back into the living room, carrying his breakfast of poached eggs on sourdough. ‘We can go on Saturday.’
‘I’ve been meaning to go into town anyway. Jacob has worn through the knee of his other pair of school trousers. Honestly, I don’t know how he does it. Anyway, we can all go together.’
Simon nodded and began shovelling food into his mouth.
‘Slow down,’ she told him.
‘What? I’m hungry!’
‘Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, but this is exactly where our son gets it from.’
‘Gets what from?!’
‘You know. His eager streak.’
Simon snorted indignantly. ‘You can’t possibly think him being expelled was anything to do with me? It’s my fault he pushed that kid down the stairs?’
‘Simon!’ she snapped, her composure cracking. ‘He did not push that boy down the stairs. He was just in a hurry to get to his next class. Honestly, I can’t believe you’re taking the side of that rotten teacher!’
Her husband stayed quiet and went back to eating.
She thought better of saying anything more. They would just end up arguing again like they had last time. Why ruin a perfectly lovely morning. Besides the next-door neighbours might hear.
She went back to her paper and read a few lines.
No. She couldn’t let that sit. Not again.
‘I’m sorry but no-‘ she began. She clocked her husband roll his eyes before putting down his knife and fork and looking at her. ‘And don’t do that at me. You know as well as I do that it was an accident, and our son Jacob had nothing to do with it.’
Simon held her gaze for a moment. She could see the calculations working behind his eyes. After a few seconds he simply said, ‘Yes. It was an accident.’
It wasn’t quite as convincing as she had hoped for, but it would have to do. ‘Thank you. Now about Saturday-‘
Her voice cut off as the loud chirrup ring of the telephone cut her off. Simon set his plate down next to him on the sofa – something she detested – and leant over to pick the landline phone up off the coffee table.
‘Hello?’ he answered. She saw his forehead ripple as they replied. He looked over to her. ‘It’s the school.’
A silence bloomed between them.
Barbara suddenly felt the weight of her folded newspaper in her lap, cold and heavy like a verdict.
The commotion coming from next door made Ms Williams prick up her ears. She’d only left them for ten minutes and already they were misbehaving. If it was that Jacob kid again, she’d be taking him to the headmaster for the last time.
‘Sorry, Mr Jennings. I need to check on my class.’
He gave her a strange sort of grin.
What an odd man, she thought, turning away.
She noticed the smell first as she stepped through the classroom door. Acrid, metallic, wrong. Something deep in her brain shrank away from it.
Before she could process what she was seeing, Tommy came bounding up to her. The red smeared across his cheek made her inhale sharply. Over his shoulder, she glimpsed the crumpled body at the back of the room.
She tried to push past, but the children swarmed around her legs.
‘We did it!’ Tommy cried. His light-up Sketchers flashed with every bounce, splattered with stringy pink goo. Nuggets of grey matter clung to the cuffs of his Gap jeans. Megan’s freckles were doubled with fresh red speckles. Charlie’s white socks were soaked through, squelching.
Ms Williams wasn’t screaming yet.
The horror hadn’t arrived properly. It still had the texture of a dream. The children’s faces were beaming, as if they’d just completed a group project. Like they were waiting for gold stars.
Did I do good, Ms Williams?
Her mouth opened, but no sound came. She swallowed, took a shaky step back toward the door just as Mr Jennings arrived.
‘Excuse me, Ms Williams,’ he said, brushing past her as if she were invisible.
She didn’t - couldn’t - respond.
Tommy followed him eagerly. ‘We did it, Mr Jennings!’
‘Very good, Tommy,’ said the substitute, kneeling beside the broken boy on the floor. ‘Very good indeed.’
Jacob’s limbs twitched. One eye remained open, blinking in spasms like a failing lightbulb.
Mr Jennings leaned close. ‘Didn’t I tell you not to mess with me, Jacob?’
That’s when Ms Williams began to scream.
Jacob was dying.
He could feel air blowing around inside his skull from where it was exposed to the elements. Blood gurgled from somewhere he could no longer feel. One second, he was smearing snot on Katy’s face, and the next they were on him. Kicking, stamping, shrieking. He thought he’d heard Gary bring a chair down on his back. That would explain why he couldn’t move his arms or legs.
Through the blur of his agony, he saw her, Ms Williams, coming in.
He still had a chance. She was a goody-goody. She’d help him. She always said things had to be fair.
But then the other teacher pushed past.
He knelt beside Jacob’s twitching body and started saying strange things, muttering like a man in a trance.
Jacob couldn’t make sense of it. Words floated in and out.
Until one finally landed.
‘My name’s not Jennings. It’s Jones, you piece of shit.’
Jacob’s remaining eye widened, just slightly.
Mr Jones. From his old school.
The one who saw him. The substitute teacher that the school hadn’t believed.
He remembered now. That voice, snapping his name in the corridor. The way Mr Jones had looked at him after the fall, not shocked but furious.
The one who told him: “That boy could’ve died.”
How had he not recognised him?
Just because he’d grown a beard?
His eye twitched once more. Then stilled.
Through the narrowing tunnel of his vision, Jacob watched his classmates quietly begin to tidy the room. Chairs scraped gently across the blood-slick floor. Pencils were gathered. A ruler was pulled from beneath his twitching leg. Megan picked up a fallen display board and began propping it back onto the wall, humming softly.
Ms Williams was screaming now. Loud, ragged sobs tearing through her throat.
And above it all, Mr Jones stood in the centre of the room, grinning.
Photo by Cash Macanaya on Unsplash