Good Luck. You’ll Need It

On this particular day screaming could be heard behind the locked bathroom door followed by “I don’t wanna go, you can’t make me go.” “None of us want to go but we have to. It’s the first day of the new school year. New teachers, new expectations, a fresh start. Now come on Mum, pull yourself together and open the door. I have to get ready too.” The troll reluctantly opened the door. She looked like she had been sucking lemons. Birda slipped past her, without touching anything apart from the floor and started to ready herself.

The long faced troll slouched out into the kitchen. She then threw the type of tantrum a three year old would be proud of. “But today and tomorrow are supposed to be my days off but I have to go and ‘catch up’ and ‘tidy the class room’. I hate tidying and I have to be nice to people I don’t really like”

“Won’t Mrs Webb be there?” asked Sniffy, Trolls hobbit like, elf son.

The troll smiled, “yes, but…”

“Then there will be at least one person you like and I suspect there will be more, now get dressed.” As the troll did as she was told, she had to wonder to herself just who was the grown up in this house? Today at least, it was the kids!

Birda joined the troll on the edge of the bed. “At least you get paid to go to school; I’m supposed to go because ‘I want an education’. I do want to be educated but why can’t I stay at home and get one, why do I have to mix with others to get it?” At last, normality restored. The troll is the grown up again.

“Because, Dear Heart, you are cleverer than I am. There is nothing I can teach you apart from moths and science that you don’t already know. Not only is it easier to get lots of qualifications in one hit now but you should get better grades and more of them than if you do them when your older.” It was a much practiced speech and exactly what Birda was expecting.

“What I meant, mother, is that you can claim the extra hours, ok you won’t get them until the end of October but that’s when half term is.” Birda was right of course, and she could wear her jeans instead of proper work cloths. Mmmmm still.

The troll had taken the decision to stay at pixie school for the time being as Birda has OCD and as a result frets over things others just wouldn’t. Doing anything out of the ordinary, not routine, unexpected, normally sets her off. The end of the school year is a real hoot, as that’s when they do ‘fun’ stuff. Mostly stuff she doesn’t find fun at all. But. Saying that. Her year team are wonderful. Listen to her, have little boxes she can hide in, some have computers so she can work alone, and once she is calm and happy she takes herself back to class.

It was going to be an important year for Birda and it could go one way or the other. She’ll either sail through and surprise everyone or crash and burn. In a grown up moment she had already decided enough was enough and had taken steps to get her broken mind mended. Not completely though. Her OCD is what made her the A* student she was, she knew it was just the way she was made but the time had come to be in control of it at key times rather than let it rule the rest of her life.

Her family and friends understood this completely and would be there for her no matter what, but in the back ground. Always in the background was Pam B Tyler, ready to take her hopes and dreams and stash them in a dark place in his mind.

Birda and Sniffy left before the troll and waiting across the road was Pam, just staring into space. “Don’t look at him Birda; mum said if you look him in the eyes, that’s it!” He stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth, crossed his eyes and pulled his right index finger across his neck.

“Not quite” giggled Birda as they walked together.

Pam B Tyler was different things to different people. To troll, Birda and Sniffy he looked and acted like a dirty old man, but he had lured some of Birdas’ year group by looking like the coolest poop star (that’s not a spelling error) or for one girl, like her Dad!

Anyhow, the kids parted and went their separate ways. Birda met up with her friends and went off to her favourite lesson, English. She took her books out, one at a time. Placed her planner in the top right hand corner of her work space. Put her drink on top then piled the books she would need for the lesson in front of her. Biggest at the bottom, smallest on the top and waited patiently for the teacher.

“Hello” a young, smartly dressed man entered the classroom “your usual teacher can’t be with you today, so I will take your lesson. My name is Mr Smiler”

“I know who you really are” muttered Birda, “and don’t think you have got the better of me.” Most of her class mates’ just saw a supply teacher, he could have been anyone. Fresh meat to exploit and manipulate to avoid working. Mr Smiler realised this but they weren’t the reason he was there.

He knew Birda wanted to be an author; she was already a talented writer who had won many accolades and was constantly writing. He had the perfect place in the back of his mind for her hopes and dreams, they would soon be his. He just needed her to look straight into his. What, what was happening? She sat directly in front of him, bolt upright, arms folded, didn’t blink.

Before he realised what was happening, he was in a dark, damp smelling room. As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light he saw he was in, what looked like a reasonably sized basement, lit only by a row of small windows just shy of the ceiling. In the centre of the ceiling, a giant shower head dripped. This would explain the inch of standing water he found himself in. Under the shower head, a simple wooden chair with leather straps at the wrist, ankle, head and waist faced him. On the wall, to the right, a huge lever currently in the up position. He felt a dark presence behind and to the left of him but when he turned, nothing. He returned to look at the chair and noticed Birda with her hand on the lever, still staring at him. Not blinking

“What the hell happened to you to create such a dark place?” he began.

“Shut up! No one asked you to speak.” She blinked. He found himself strapped in the chair, Birdas’ hand still on the lever.

“You can’t electrocute me. Your standing in the water, you’ll fry with me. You will be mine.”

As calm as any psychopath could be Birda retorted. “You won’t be fortunate enough to be electrocuted. For all the damage you’ve done to the minds of others you don’t deserve such a quick end. Too quick. You need to suffer for your crimes. For you a thousand small cuts to begin.” As she spoke she pulled the lever allowing a cage to slowly descend from above the shower. It completely encased the wooden chair with Pam in it. Birda then twisted the end of the lever and, as promised, a thousand tiny blades sprung into life, digging into Pam. Not enough to kill him, just enough to cause the desired amount of pain.

“Is that it?” he yelped defiantly.

“You foolishly thought you could add my hopes and dreams to your collection. Well, welcome to my world Mr Tyler. This deep dark hell is home to me and your more than welcome to stay.” As she spoke a fine, white sand like substance fell from the ceiling, landing in each and every wound Birda had inflicted on Pam.

His screams broke the spell and he woke in front of the English class. All of whom just stared at their, now loud and interesting, supply teacher who had spent most of the lesson asleep.

He dismissed them and as they passed him handed in their work. Birdas’ sheet said “I’m in YOUR head now. Every time you think of taking someone’s hopes and dreams you will taste salt and remember your own scars and fears. Good luck, you’ll need it.”

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