Horror D’oeuvre #3
by John Maclay
© 2006 by John Maclay.
All Rights Reserved.
In 1957, at age thirteen, I was in eighth grade at a small, private school in suburban Philadelphia. Dressed formally, the teachers were an eccentric lot, and prone to harsh disciplinary measures.But the most frightening of them all—beyond frightening to me, because of the personal experience that follows—was Miss Craig.She was tall and slender, and wore her black hair tied back in a bun. Without her rimless glasses, which added to her severe impression, her face might have been attractive. I realize now she was about forty, though she then seemed like a much older woman to me.Miss Craig used a two-foot wooden ruler to keep order in her classroom. She slapped it loudly on the blackboard and on her desk, shouting sharply. And her ruler often landed on a student’s knuckles instead.She was sadistic, too. The more she used her ruler, the more her thin mouth twisted with glee.While the other teachers may have had different ones, Miss Craig, I know now, had a specific, hidden reason for her behavior. She was an old maid, as was then the term, and in those days, release wasn’t readily available to such as she. So beneath her acts, there was a passion that had become perverted.
I myself, of course, had just experienced the physical transition into the sexual world.
But I was yet to learn the dark side of that world, that especially the sexual frustration of those times could bring.
And so I was prey to Miss Craig.
I was good boy, so I’d never felt the sting of her ruler on my knuckles. Looking back, I realize that made me an even more attractive subject for her perversion.
But in any event, one dark afternoon, for no apparent reason at all, Miss Craig kept me after school, alone in her room with her.
I’ll never forget the red dress she was wearing, and the look she gave me. It was one I’ve often seen since in a woman’s eyes, but thankfully never again with such a twisted cast.
And when she took off her glasses and let down her long, black hair, I knew I was in territory I never wanted to enter again.
Miss Craig ordered me to lower my pants and underpants, and to bend over a desk. I obeyed without thinking, and soon her long ruler was hitting my naked rear. And I realized something she could also see was responding, in spite of everything I tried to do to prevent it.
Then, when I looked back over my shoulder, I saw something far more appalling. She was gasping wildly, her skirt was lifted with one hand . . . and her other hand was on something I’d never seen before.
When it was over—totally over—and our clothing was in order again, Miss Craig gave me what must have been her standard speech about what would happen to me if I told. As I should have realized, there must have been other boys.
And I went through the rest of eighth grade, even in her class, without ever being kept after school again.
Why didn’t I tell my parents, in spite of her threat? At least, why didn’t I tell the authorities about her later, when I was grown?
Simple. I only recovered the experience—my first real sexual one, and so horrid—last year, at age sixty-plus, with an analyst, to whom I’d gone due to sudden panic attacks, since the truth always comes out in some way.
And if anyone doubts such recovered memories, I went to great lengths to find some male classmates from that time, and discovered two who’d had the same experience with Miss Craig.
But what of Miss Craig, herself? She was about forty in 1957, so she could still be alive. Therefore shouldn’t she at least be reminded of what she’d inflicted?
And she was alive, when I’d gone to equally great lengths to find her—in a nursing home, where she was wearing a red dress that almost sent me back to my analyst.
“I forgive you, Miss Craig,” I said.
But from the depths of Alzheimer’s, all I got back was a twisted smile.
And, most horridly, her shrunken hand going to her skirt, again.
All Rights Reserved.
Comment by kurtnewton on 31 October 2006:
Great story telling, John. Reading that last line made me ill.
Comment by Shane Ryan Staley on 31 October 2006:
Another short-short that packs a punch in the gut in the end. The horror looms in the little tale and unfurls an even greater horror in the end. Maclay is a master at creating this type of horror in so little words.
Comment by H Casper on 31 October 2006:
zing!
love it.
kesby
Comment by ruderabbit on 2 November 2006:
Damn…that was hot. If you’ll excuse me now please, I’ve got the urge to go touch myself.
Good short dude!
Comment by Chris Hansen on 6 November 2006:
Hehe. I wanna write something but I can’t stop giggling…
Comment by Francesca Hansen on 6 November 2006:
John –
Whew! Brought back memories (or should I say, nightmares!) of Catholic School and those sadistic nuns. Now I know why they paddled us so much…hehe!
Very enjoyable quick read, thanks!
Comment by H Casper on 6 November 2006:
Is everyone but me a perv?
kresby
Comment by Chris Hansen on 6 November 2006:
You got that backwards, Kresby.
Comment by H Casper on 6 November 2006:
Huh!?! What’s a vrep then wise guy?
kresby
Comment by Shane Ryan Staley on 6 November 2006:
I know one thing: I sure ain’t no perv or vrep! Or a pervrep!
Comment by ruderabbit on 7 November 2006:
OK.
I’ve just finished up, cleaned up, and I’m ready for another Horror D’oeuvre.
Come on Kresby…you know you do it too. I bet that Ultra Rising brought on an ultra rising.
Hey Francesca, You had some of those Nuns too huh? I had one just like “The Penguin” from THE BLUES BROTHERS movie. I still hate wooden ruler’s!