The Last Time I Saw Miss Palmer

I kept shifting in my seat, praying Miss Palmer wouldn't recognize me, since I was late for the fifth time this week. I kept looking down at the desk, hoping we wouldn’t make eye contact. The bell rang as I jumped out of my seat, pulled my hood over my head, and tried to disappear among my classmates. But it was too late. My name echoed through the classroom.

“Marcus, may I have a word with you?”  

 Step by step, I moved closer to her desk, lowering my head as I tugged at my sleeve. Her stare made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. She sat at the edge of the desk, crisscrossing her legs. Her eyebrows drew together, and she spoke.

“Is everything okay with you, Marcus? I’ve noticed you’ve been showing up late to class. Is everything okay with you at home?”

 I fiddled with my sweater, shook my head, and kept my head lowered.

“Yes, Miss Palmer, everything is fine at home.”

 She tilted her head, held my gaze, and replied.

“Marcus, you've barely looked up since you walked over here."

 I glanced at the clock, unable to stand still as tightness gripped my neck. Miss Palmer leaned closer, but the words caught in my throat.

“You can trust me, Marcus; you don’t have to keep any secrets from me.”  

 I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to hold back my tears. I wanted to tell her everything, but my mother’s screams echoed in my head. Tell anyone, and I will kill you. The thought alone made me nauseated.

“It's nothing, Miss Palmer. Everything’s fine. Can I leave now? I’m going to miss the school bus.”  

She pursed her lips and held her gaze, hoping he would open up to her. But she knew it wasn’t going to happen today as she replied.

“Yeah, absolutely. I’ll see you tomorrow, and I’ll try not to be late again.”

I closed my eyes and nodded. As I turned the doorknob, she called out my name.

“Oh, Marcus, remember that your book report is due Friday. If you turn it in late, you’ll automatically fail.”

My eyebrows lifted as I leaned against the doorknob and bit my lower lip. I paused, searching for the right words. When I found them, I said

“I wish that were my biggest problem, Miss Palmer.”

 Her eyes widened, and she froze, speechless. Marcus quietly said his goodbyes.

“Enjoy your evening, Miss Palmer.”

“Yes, you too, Marcus,” she replied. She watched him board the bus, his words still echoing in her mind. Acting on impulse, she grabbed her car keys and headed to the parking lot. She turned the ignition, shifted into reverse, and followed the school bus.

She didn’t want Marcus to recognize her, so she followed the school bus at a distance, keeping two cars between them. From behind, she caught a glimpse of the top of his hood as he sat in the back. When she reached Marcus's house, she watched from a distance, waiting patiently for him to go inside. Then she pulled up and switched off her headlights so she wouldn’t be spotted.

Several shingles hung crookedly from the roof, their edges curling upward. Paint had been scraped from the door. She shut the car door and crept toward the house, tiptoeing to the back window and holding her breath with every step. She peered inside at thousands of children bouncing from foot to foot, their giggles spilling through the house. Her eyes narrowed at him as he lay on the couch, his gaze fixed on the empty hardwood floor.

She pulled out her iPhone and looked up the address, murmuring “Group home” as she read. She drew her head back, mumbling to herself.

“Marcus lives in a foster home.” She peered through the window again, watching as an older woman led Marcus into the kitchen. She bolted across the side of the house to the kitchen window for a better view, arriving in time to see them head down to the basement; her gaze went flat as she took deep breaths to calm herself, thinking of the worst.

She had to get inside without being caught. She nodded slowly, then headed for the front door.

Knock. Knock. Knock. She shifted from foot to foot, arms crossed. A blond boy answered the door, and she introduced herself.

“Hi there. My name is Miss Palmer, and I’m Marcus’s teacher. I need to speak with him about something important. Could you let him know I'm here?”

The little boy stood in the doorway, staring at her in silence, creeping her out. She then waved her hand in front of him to get his attention. The little boy replied softly.

“He's busy right now.”

She pursed her lips, sighed heavily, and asked him casually.

“Do you know when he'll be free? I can wait in the meantime.”

The little boy kept his eyes fixed on hers. The silence lingered until he slowly stepped aside, wordlessly inviting her in. She went inside while he continued playing with the other kids. With no adults around to supervise them, this was her chance to try to save Marcus.

 “Krreeeak…” Her eyes widened as the door’s hinges groaned open, and she hoped nobody would hear. She tiptoed down the stairs, each step groaning under her feet.

“Crack. Creak. Crack.”Closing her eyes, she tightened her fingers around the railing as she reached the bottom of the steps; she saw Marcus sitting there, moaning and whimpering. She bolted to him. 

“Marcus, is everything alright? Are you hurt?” she said, caressing his hair and wiping the tears from his face. She caught a glimpse of an axe hanging beside the hammer. She quickly grabbed it. 

“I’m going to get us out of here,” she said, grabbing onto his wrist to pull him off the chair, but he kept resisting. She looked back at him as he gazed into her eyes.

“No, we can’t leave. We must stay,” he said. She grew still as she observed him for a moment. She asked.

“Why do we have to stay here, Marcus?”

He started to cry, ashamed of what he had done, hyperventilating as he tried to reply. He sniffed hard, cleared the lump from his throat, and said,

“I’m… sorry.” A knife appeared in his grip. He lunged forward, and she cried out as the blade sank into her leg. She stared back at him: an older woman who had stepped out of the shadows. She began clapping.

“Well done, my precious little boy,” she said warmly. She then looked down at Miss Palmer and let out a sudden, brittle laugh.

“Ha ha ha! You don’t know how to mind your own business, do you?” 

She looked up at the two of them, clinging to her leg as she shook her head and whimpered. 

“Why are you doing this? “

The older woman reached down for her axe, fingertips brushing the razor-sharp edge before curling around the handle. She stared at Marcus, flaring nostrils, then turned back.  

“Well, you see, I’m trying a little experiment. You see, I’ve always been fascinated by the human anatomy.”  

Her eyes fixed on her sharp edges, hypnotized by her reflection as she looked back at Miss Palmer and asked.

“Are you intrigued by human anatomy, Miss Palmer?” 

She raised her voice to answer.

“No, I’m an English teacher. I don’t give two shits about human anatomy.”

She smiled back as she put the axe down on the table.

“I see. Well, anyway, I became so fascinated by it that I started creeping out a lot of people—my friends, teachers, even my parents. It got to the point where I began dissecting anything I could: squirrels, fish, cats, dogs. I just wanted to know how they died.”  

 She then had a flat look as her eyes narrowed at Miss Palmer blood.

“Each time I saw the blood, it felt like having an orgasm. It was like this raw, thrilling energy that came through me. To be in control of someone's will to live or die excited me.”

Miss Palmer's lips trembled. She cleared her throat and tried to reply, shaking her head as she murmured. 

“You’re a psychopath.” She continued, her voice clear this time.

“A psychopath who takes in foster kids. So, do you kill children too?”

“No, don’t you see? There’s a decoy for the public eye. Think about how she can be a psychopath if she fosters children.”  

She sat down with impeccable posture and smirked. 

“It’s like the boy who cried wolf, except I'm the wolf.”  

She got up from the chair and spoke.

“I want you to take a look at this.” 

She walked over to the steel door in the basement and opened it slowly. Miss Palmer sat there, paralyzed; she couldn’t believe what she saw: it was hundreds to thousands of actual human bodies chopped up into pieces. Human heads, hearts, organs, livers. It looked like a butcher's freezer for only humans. A faint blush coloured her cheeks as her eyes lingered on Miss Palmer, who pointed at one of the victims.

“This one right here, I burned to death; I wanted to see if the smell of burning flesh would arouse me, the way I open people. I wanted to test my limits. So, each of these victims I’ve killed differently.”

 She pressed herself against the door and smiled faintly, her eyes shining with quiet satisfaction as she wandered through her creation. Marcus sat in the corner of the room, his head down and eyes shut. She noticed Miss Palmer was staring at him.

“If you think he’s going to get help, you're mistaken. He knows I’m the only one who puts food in his belly, clothes on his back, and a roof over his head.”

The boy kept crying, looking back at her for mercy.

“Please don’t do this to Miss Palmer. Please, just let her go. I promise you she won’t tell anyone about this,” he whimpered.

Her eyes widened, her nostrils flared, and her chin rose.

“Listen, if you say one more word, you'll be joining her too.”

Her shoulders slumped as she looked down at Miss Palmer, grinning and speaking sarcastically.

“I’m definitely going to kill you. I just haven’t figured out how yet. For now, I’ll lock you up down here and make you think about what you’ve done.”  

 Miss Palmer’s body trembles as she cries, buries her head, and screams for mercy.

“Please don’t do this! I’m begging you. I promise I won't tell a living soul. Please, just let me go.”

Marcus trailed behind as they climbed the stairs. At the top, she turned and glanced down into the basement. “Have a good night, Miss Palmer,” she said. The door creaked shut, and the light narrowed to a thin sliver before disappearing completely. Darkness rushed in, filling every corner of the basement. Those were the last few words you heard before the door shut.  

“Help! Someone, please help me!”