Day three of that so-far crazy week. It was Wednesday. The day of our English and American Literature class under the very able tutelage of the mysterious Mr. Trevor McAllisdair.
Before Janice, Melinda and I went into his classroom, I instructed them to keep their minds clear of anything except for the lesson at hand. They agreed, though I knew that was going to be an extremely hard thing to do when we had such big plans to follow him later...
Again, I was impressed by what Mr. McAllisdair was dressed in. A white shirt this time, black knit tie, a v-neck grey, black, and white argyle sweater, grey slacks, black socks and those same black shiny shoes. He was dressed like the average college professor, but the way he wore those clothes was far from average.
His mood was markedly different that day from Monday. He was a bit more subdued and didn’t smile much at all. What struck me as especially odd about him too was that he never once had to open the text book, or any book during the class for that matter. Everything was in his head-memorized. Even down to the exact page number where a specific passage in a literary work could be found.
At one moment during class, he had Oliver to read aloud a passage from Sir Thomas Wyatt’s “They Flee From Me” written during the Renaissance Period in 1557. While all of the class had their heads down reading along with him, I could not resist sneaking a peek at Mr. McAllisdair. I really wished I had not, because he was staring directly back at me! I jerked my green eyes back to the book in front of me, but realized I had lost my place when suddenly the page turned by itself to the exact spot where the passage Oliver was reading was located!
My neck grew cold as ice...
I worked to keep my thoughts clear despite this...
I looked back up at him slowly; his eyes were still fixed on me but then Oliver had just completed his reading and his attention was redirected at Oliver; much to my relief.
Our class was at an end. For some reason, I had the hardest time gathering my books and papers together so that I could leave with everyone else. Janice and Melinda were already headed out the door and I was still sitting there fumbling around...
At last, I had everything together and I was the last one leaving behind two other students, but when they exited, the classroom door slammed shut, and locked, in my face, by itself. There was no point in me testing the door as I knew I heard the clinking sound of it locking for sure. There was also no point in me trying to figure this out; this was, of course, Mr. McAllisdair’s doing...
As I stood still facing that slammed door, I heard him behind me opening what sounded like a cigarette case and quickly closing it. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of a lighter, lighting the cigarette...then he closed it.
The hair on my neck was standing up again. A cold wind blew over my entire body giving me the shivers, briefly. I was standing there thinking, ‘I’m alone in this classroom with the Devil...or something very close to it...’
Perhaps I could talk my way out of this, so I said, “Mr. McAllisdair, that was a...um...very good trick you just did. Now if you could please open the door, I have another class to go to...”
“My dear Miss Margaret Anibel Truell,” he said, calling me by my full name. His voice was very deep and spellbinding. My legs felt as if they were locked in place, “...you weren’t so concerned about the class you missed yesterday in exchange for your little trip to the registrar’s office...”
Alright...now this was getting downright frightening...
I heard his footsteps as he came closer to me from behind. I still could not turn to face him. I didn’t want to, even if I could...
“You and your friends are planning to follow me this evening,” he continued, “They’ll only be wasting their time, but for my own reasons I’ll allow it. However, you won’t be joining them...”
What did he mean by I wouldn’t be joining them? As he spoke, his voice had a powerful effect over me. It was as if he was injecting himself into me and coursing through my most vulnerable veins. He was going beyond just my head now...
“I’m giving you a homework assignment, Margaret. It’ll keep you way too busy to indulge in such foolishness tonight. I want you to visit the New York Public Library. You will likely have to use their microfiche machine along with other resources to find the Cambridge graduating class of 1448. From there, you will learn alot more than your friends are about to.”
He walked over to the closed door then turned and faced me. He took a longer-than-normal drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke out from the left side of his perfect lips. Then, he brought his face extremely close to mine to where our noses were practically touching. The meaning of the phrase “piercing blue eyes” was becoming acutely evident to me right then.
He was reading my soul...I swear before God he was...
Then he said in a low, terrifying whisper, “You want to learn more about me? Do you really want to get inside of my head, Margaret? Well you better be prepared, darling. Because once you’re in there, you’ll find it tremendously difficult to get out of...if at all.”
Oh, God...
The classroom door popped open, again deceptively on it’s own.
I scurried out.
***
I knew my friends were waiting for me to show up at the main office. I was there at 4:02pm. I only showed up to let them know I wasn’t coming along.
“What?!,” Melinda exclaimed, “You are the one that he ‘creeped out’ and you mean to tell me you’re backing out...?”
“I’m sorry, something’s come up. I have to go to the library...,” I explained, feeling as if I were in a daze. They noticed...
“What’s the matter with you, Margie?,” Millicent asked looking at me strangely, “You seem out of it...”
“Yeah,” Janice chimed in, “Almost like you are in some kind of trance...”
“I’m fine, girls,” I lied, “Really I am. I guess I’m just tired and then I have this thing I have to do. I guess you all will have to go have fun without me...”
“And we jolly well will too!,” Mel said in a mock English accent, “Come on girls! Let’s go follow Tall, Light, and Handsome to his lair...”
I didn’t laugh at that one. Mr. McAllisdair, in light of what I had experienced with him earlier, could very well have been residing in some sort of spooky, mysterious hideaway; or cave.
I walked with them to Millicent’s car. Just a few feet away was Mr. McAllisdair’s Mercedes 230 SL European coupe. He was standing in front of it picking off numerous love-letters that some female students had stuck underneath his windshield wipers. I felt sorry for those silly girls. He merely threw them in the trash can next to the car. This was a daily chore for him.
Poor guy...yeah right.
I didn’t want him to see me there, so I bid the girls farewell and walked quickly away to catch a cab to the New York Public Library, as instructed.
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