School of Fear by Gitty Daneshvari Page A

cheese maker ages it, he allows flies to lay eggs in the cheese. Then maggots,” Madeleine said
     before pausing out of grossness, “are born and swim through the cheese, releasing enzymes which make it taste like …”
    “Like the most heavenly thing on earth. That’s why I have chosen to have all the meals flavored to taste like Casu Frazigu,”
     Mrs. Wellington said happily.
    “This could ruin food forever,” Theo said dramatically as he placed a piece of gum in his mouth. “I should have gone to fat
     camp. At least the little food they give you there is good.”
    “Before anyone continues eating, we must say grace,” Mrs. Wellington said while straightening her wig.
    “Mrs. Wellington, I should tell you I have an uncertain relationship with God right now,” Theo rambled. “It’s part of my whole
     fear-of-death thing. What’s going to happen to me? Where will I go? Will I go anywhere? Is it like when I’m asleep? Is it
     possible that I am already dead and this is all happening in my mind?”
    “That’s quite enough. Grace has nothing to do with religion in this house. Schmidty, will you please begin before Theo gets
     another word in?”
    Schmidty patted his long gray comb-over before lifting his left hand toward the table display of flowers and greenery. He
     knocked three times, resulting in a hollow echo, before spouting a quick, “Thank you, Grace.”
    Mrs. Wellington turned to Garrison, impressing her desire for him to follow Schmidty’s lead. He wiped a blond lock off his
     forehead, then tapped the display three times and casually uttered, “Gracias, Grace.”
    “I’m afraid Grace doesn’t speak Spanish, Garrison,” Mrs. Wellington said with a straight face.
    “Thank you, Grace,” he relented.
    Madeleine, Lulu, and Mrs. Wellington followed, leaving just Theo.
    “Are you ready? Or are you still in the midst of an existential crisis, Theo?” Mrs. Wellington asked with her lips’ color
     flickering rapidly, unsure what mood to embrace.
    Theo stretched his plump white arm toward the display and knocked three times before saying, “Thank you, Grace.”
    “Was that witchcraft or something? Because I don’t want to be involved in that, Mrs. Wellington,” Lulu announced.
    “Witchcraft?” Mrs. Wellington laughed uproariously. “You have quite the imagination, my pious one. Schmidty prepares all our
     meals, so it’s only appropriate we thank Grace for saving his life and allowing him to continue to cook.”
    “If I may inquire, who was Grace? And what does she have to do with the table display?” Madeleine asked between sips of orange
     juice. None of the children touched the sandwiches again.
    “Schmidty used to be a risk taker, and I’m not just talking about his hair. I am referring to something much more treacherous
     …” Mrs. Wellington said with a pause worthy of a horror story, “… the Lost Forest.”
    Lulu rolled her eyes and sighed. Theo on the other hand was rapt, utterly seduced by the word “treacherous.” Any kind of danger
     made Theo’s ears perk up. He insisted on being aware of the risks around him, in order to take the necessary precautions.
    “As I’m sure you’ve heard, the forest is legendary for its abilities to confound and confuse even the strongest of men, who
     become so turned around they never manage to escape. Or perhaps they get stuck in sticky vines with no viable means of extrication.
     Regardless, many a man, woman, and pet have disappeared in there, but not our Schmidty. He would traipse through the forest
     to fish the banks of the Moon River, totally oblivious of any danger from the forest to the violent currents.”
    Garrison’s face contorted with fear at the mere mention of the river.
    “How did Schmidty get down to the forest?” Madeleine asked.
    “I attached the crane to the back of his overalls. But then they ripped, and he plummeted the last twenty feet, breaking both
     arms. It was such a tragedy; those overalls were