Nine for the Nightlight

By Beth Perry

"Messages in the Lunch Room" A cranky teacher gets a tough lesson from a bowl of soup.

"Mushed" : Jason is at the beck and call of his new and very lazy nanny. But Mrs. Cutshaw's hypocrisies concerning TV are about to give her a vivid wake-up call.

"Ashburger" : After Kyle clumsily drips some hamburger grease in Aunt Tanith’s cremation urn, something unearthly is summoned from the ashes.

"Missy Mage and the Mean Old Lady Down The Street": Jayona and Tyler have recently moved to town and just had the unpleasant experience of meeting the meanest woman in the neighborhood. When this cantankerous woman deliberately breaks Tyler’s toy robot, justice is served from an unexpected source.

"Cal and the Birthday Party" : Cal is a bully who takes delight in ruining the fun of everyone around him. After spoiling the birthday party of a one young girl he is surprised when she still gives him a parting gift. This gift is like nothing Cal has ever seen before..and one that will whisk him into a world where he is as small as his character.

"The Parrot": Jake Swafford has always resented nosy neighbor, Mrs. Harrison. But when Mrs. Harrison’s grandson brings a parrot to keep her company, Jake realizes that the old woman is no longer paying attention to him. Jake retaliates by sneaking over to Mrs. Harrison’s house during her naps to teach the bird some juicy new words. Mrs. Harrison soon hears what her pet has new to say, and the end result will leave Jake literally speechless.

“Overanxious Mr. Miller": Mr. Miller has no contention about lording it over his children, Tina and Bobby. When they vanish Mr. Miller believes he’s been given another chance to make the kind of life that having children had deprived him of. But as Miller reaches the zenith of success the echoes of his past cruelties come to exact justice.

“Stone Jimmy” : Merciless bullying from his older brother has made life insufferable for Russell. When sweet but eccentric Aunt Olympia offers Russell help he thinks the amulet she gives him is nothing more than a river rock. Very soon, however, Russell comes to realize the power of rural magic and the price of revenge.

"The Ghost of Jacob Abel": it is moving day and Baby’s family learns that a mysterious jar of coins, a table and a ghost are part of the deal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Swanbeauty Books
• Release date: Jan 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458023735

Beth Perry

Beth Perry has written extensively on the subjects of folklore, legends, and the paranormal for books and other media. One of her favorite pastimes is exchanging “spooky” stories around a cozy winter’s fire with her family members. She attended ETSU and presently resides in Eastern Tennessee. Although she has written Romance professionally under a pseudonym, she is currently enjoying creating darker fiction for readers.

Book preview

Nine for the Nightlight ©2007-2011 Beth Perry

A Smashwords edition. Except for short excerpts used for purposes of review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or part in any form by electronic, mechanical or other means is forbidden without the prior written permission of the author and publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover photograph by Elizabeth Herbert Osborne. Cover art by Beth Perry

This collection of stories is dedicated to Autumn and Wolfy, with gratitude and love.

With special thanks to Abigail and Rebecca

Nine for the Nightlight

Table of Contents

Messages In The Lunchroom

Mushed

Ashburger

Missy Mage and The Mean Old Lady Down The Street

Cal and the Birthday Party

The Parrot

The Overanxious Mr. Miller

Stone Jimmy

The Ghost of Jacob Abel (retold from the traditional)

Messages In The Lunchroom

Ms. Johnson had diligently watched over her class until the very last fourth grader had taken their lunch trays to their tables. Satisfied with their relative silence she then filled her own tray with the generous teachers’ portions and took a seat at the wobbly fold-away table in the corner where the cafeteria staff took their breaks. Ms. Johnson had skipped breakfast that morning and was more hungry than usual, so she paid little attention to the laughter she heard coming from the official teachers’ table across the room. She had long ago chosen privacy to the immature gossip and unprofessional jokes that the other teachers were prone to telling during lunchtime. She considered herself a professional, and laughter and joke-telling was a bad enough habit to deal with from children, she considered; any adult who acted so childish were not real teachers in her book.

It was Wednesday, soup day. The delicious aroma from Ms. Johnson’s bowl made her stomach tighten with anticipation. She unfolded her paper napkin with one crisp flip of her hand and laid it neatly beside the tray. Her mouth watered as she opened the pack of saltine crackers. She crumbled them over the steaming vegetables and pieces of alphabet-shaped pasta in floating in the thick, tomato broth in her bowl. Filling her spoon, Ms. Johnson raised it to her lips to blow on when a sharp scream from the next table slicked the air. So unexpected was the sound that Ms. Johnson dropped her spoon on her lap. The hot soup splattered over her knit pants.

Peeved, Ms. Johnson saw that Greg Stanton –one of her fourth graders- had jumped up from his seat. The cafeteria was silent now as all eyes turned to the standing boy. His mouth was agape as he stared down at his own tray, pointing and jabbering like a loon. With a huff, Ms. Johnson scooted her chair back and went over to where Greg stood.

Well, now that you have everyone’s attention, Greg, Ms. Johnson said, would you mind sharing with us all the reason for screaming like some two year old afraid of the dark?

Greg looked up at her, his eyes huge with seeming fear. My-my soup, Ms. Johnson!

Your soup? What about your soup? Burn your tongue? That’s no reason to interrupt the entire cafeteria, is it?

The boy shook his head. No, it’s not that. I-I saw words in my bowl of soup!

Ms. Johnson’s hungered stomach knotted impatiently. "Words? Well, Greg, it is called alphabet soup for a reason. "

She heard a riffle of giggles from a couple of other students, but to her disappointment, Greg didn’t seem to hear them at all.

It was a message, Ms. Johnson, he said in a small voice. "It said: There will be a terrible accident!"

The next giggle only addled Ms. Johnson’s growing anger. Hmm, she responded coldly, you usually don’t even find that kind of message in fortune cookies.

Greg bit his bottom lip. You don’t believe me? It was there, Ms. Johnson, I saw it!

Ms. Johnson smiled, although she had rarely felt less like smiling. "Of course it was, Greg. Now, I don’t suppose you’ll mind writing that sentence out – there will be a terrible accident- out for me three hundred times tonight along with your regular homework, will you? I’d like to have a memento of this precious moment you’ve shared with us all."

The boy looked at her, his face unforgivably white with the fear Ms. Johnson just knew had to be fake. He blabbered something, but she shook her head, and pointing to his abandoned seat, watched as he sat down. She strode back to her own table then, and watched as Greg stared at the bowl of soup like some monstrous bug. The cafeteria again filled with the din of conversations, and everyone seemed to forget Greg’s interruption. Ms. Johnson vowed not to forget, however; if she was ever embarrassed again like this, she would come up with much more than a mere three hundred sentence lesson to give Greg Stanton.

And when she at last took the first spoonful of her own soup she found it was lukewarm. She hated anything lukewarm. She smiled again, this time with anticipation of seeing Greg Stanton in the morning, and telling him that his behavior today in the lunchroom had earned him an F in citizenship.

But Greg didn’t come to school the next morning. As Ms. Johnson called the roll, Greg didn’t respond when she called out his name.

She lifted her face and peered hard out over the classroom. Small, sleepy faces blinked back at her, but none of them belonged to Greg. Ms. Johnson’s mouth pursed.

Has anyone seen Greg Stanton? Surely he’s not out sick. He was as right as rain yesterday.

Melody Baker raised her hand. Ms. Johnson nodded hopefully at the girl.

Ms. Johnson, he won’t be in today, Melody answered, Greg is in the hospital.

Ms. Johnson looked at the girl suspiciously. Hospital? Whatever for?

A driver didn’t stop at the school crossing yesterday, Melody explained. Greg was hit by the car, and has a broken leg.

The girl’s news brought several gasps from the other students, and Ms. Johnson held up her hand immediately to hinder the inevitable whispers. She cleared her throat very audibly and nodded again.

Thank you, Melody, Ms. Johnson said. She was disappointed that Greg had an excuse not to turn in his penalty paper. But at least she would have the pleasure of making Greg pay for the interruption of the day before by making sure he was kept busy with assignments while he recuperated from his injury.

I will have to make a call to Greg’s parents, she said, so they can come get his assignments.

The rest of the school week went by without any further embarrassing moments for Ms. Johnson. She spent the weekend just the way she liked best, catching up on her laundry, paying bills, grading papers, and going to church. Monday morning arrived with not too much sunshine or too much morning haze. With the first ring of the morning bell her students took their expected mannerly seats at their desks. Not a single giggle did she hear all morning; not a single disrespectful bored glance or visible, or even a disrespectful yawn. When lunchtime came, her students walked in a perfect, silent file behind her to the cafeteria.

As the children got their trays and headed down the lunch line, Ms. Johnson’s nose skewered at the raucous sound that boomed off the walls. The other classes were all laughing, chattering, probably conniving all the pranks that unmodified children thought about. It was all so inappropriate, she thought, immaturity run amuck with the full approval of her irresponsible colleagues. She sighed and tried to lose her irritation in the tasty smells that wafted up from the lunch line.

It was soup day again, complete with sandwiches this time. Ms. Johnson grabbed three pouches of oyster crackers –her favorite- and took her preferred seat at the foldaway table. Once seated, she gave a final warning glance to her class’s tables. And finding them appropriately quiet and subdued, she opened one of the pouches and poured the little beige crackers over the broth in her bowl.

"No, no- oh no!"

At the unsettling exclamation Ms. Johnson raised her eyes. She saw Brad LaCroix scooting his chair away from the table in a very excited way. He stood up then, and as the other students began to ask what was wrong, he pointed to his tray.

His voice was high, whiny, and disruptive: "In there! In there!"

Ms. Johnson was on her feet the next second. As she stomped to the table she realized the classroom had become suddenly much quieter, and she could feel eyes follow her as she ordered Brad to scoot his chair back to its appropriate place at the table.

To her shock, the boy refused. Uh-uh, no way! I’ll sit here, Ms. Johnson!

Ms. Johnson’s voice remained level as she replied to this remark. I see you prefer to spend the rest of your afternoon in time-out, Brad. That can be arranged to please you.

The boy raised his face to her. I don’t care, Ms. Johnson! That soup made words!

A single chuckle from Allan Street was the only sound that came from her other students. Ms. Johnson saw the distress on their faces as they stared at Brad’s tray. She construed at once the boy was looking for attention just like Greg had the week before. And to make matters worse, Ashley Cross gave Brad’s remark credence by asking, What did it say, Brad?

"It said There will be a terrible accident!"

At once the classroom fell completely silent. Ms. Johnson was incensed, and reaching past Brad she snatched the tray up from the table. She walked to the discard area, threw the leftovers into the trashcan, and laid the tray on the dirty-tray bin.

As she walked back over to Brad, she said curtly, "Well, I hope you’re just as not hungry as you are making yourself out to be, Brad. And when we get back up to the classroom, you can spend all the time you want with your imagination in the time-out area."

I don’t care, Brad said.

His lips were trembling, and the color had drained from his face. How convincing Ms. Johnson thought he looked: just like a person who was really too scared to worry about the just consequences for inappropriate behavior. But Ms. Johnson decided the face was just part of a game he was surely playing, and that it was time to ignore the disruptive child.