Pet Day
By Chip McEnroe
It was pet-day at Hilltop Elementary school; a day that six-year-old Billy Frampton would remember forever. He had just experienced a traumatic Christmas that would give him night terrors until he turned 19 and wrote them into a terrible story. That story would go on to win the Bram Stoker award. He would base it on the terrible things that happened in his home on Christmas Eve; strange things that would make nearly anyone think themselves insane for witnessing them. Now, as if that night weren’t enough punishment for his undeveloped yet bright little mind, he would have to deal with an ignorant first grade teacher named Paula Ragnis.
Ms. Ragnis had been teaching first grade since 1964. She was a miserable old woman who hated children and should have never been given a job in public education. Her hatred for those she taught was probably brought on by her own traumatic childhood. Her father was an abusive military man who kept her and her five sisters in check with a long wooden paddle. She had a bad reputation among children as a ruler-wrist-slapper back in her prime. She believed the rod was the only way a child could flourish. Without it, the kid would grow up to be a moron.
There were 15 children in Ms. Ragnis’s first grade class. They had to endure her punishment for six hours a day, five days a week. Today was a wonderful day though, because it was a half-day, and it was pet-day. Today, Billy had brought his pet weasel, Sammy, for show and tell. Sammy was a rare type of weasel that could only be found in farmlands on the inland outskirts of Cala Bay. Ms. Ragnis had no knowledge of these kinds of animals. To her, a weasel was a weasel.
Billy watched as Sally, a girl in his class, walked her Labrador puppy back to her desk. Ms. Ragnis gave the dog an evil eye. The puppy tucked its tail between its legs and whimpered all the way back to the little girl’s desk.
“Next,” said Ms. Ragnis in a voice abused by years of Chesterfields.
Billy stared into space.
“That means you, Mr. Frampton.”
He snapped back into the world.
“Sorry, Ms. Ragnis,” said Billy, in a shaky voice.
He picked up the gray kennel that housed Sammy and walked up to the front of the class. There, he sat the kennel down on Ms. Ragnis’s desk and opened it. Out crawled little Sammy, into Billy’s arms.
“What the hell is that awful looking thing?” asked Ms. Ragnis.
Billy looked at her. He could feel tears welling up in the back of his eyes.
“This is Sammy,” said Billy. “He’s my pet Cock Weasel."
Ms. Ragnis gasped.
Billy looked perplexed. He knew he had just done something wrong, but what that thing was, he couldn’t figure out. Obviously Ms. Ragnis wasn’t up on her Cala Bay history. If she were, she would’ve known that the Cock Weasel got its name from angry farmers who always found the rodents in the coops, stealing eggs from the chickens. Ms. Ragnis stood up out of her seat and pointed her finger in Billy’s face. Her hot breath washed over his cheeks. It smelled like onions and raw fish.
“You go to the principal’s office right now, young man.”
Tears began to stream down Billy’s face. He started to walk away.
“And take that awful rat with you!” hollered Ms. Ragnis.
Billy scurried back to her desk and stuffed Sammy into his kennel. He half-walked, half-ran out of the classroom and all the way to the principal’s office.
“So what brings you to my office, Billy?” asked Mr. Stancilton, the principal of Hilltop Elementary school.
“Ms. Ragnis sent me,” whimpered Billy.
“What for?”
“I don’t know.”
Mr. Stancilton sighed.
“Well, let’s give her a call and see.”
Mr. Stancilton picked up the phone and began to dial. Billy liked Mr. Stancilton. He seemed friendly. The man had a fluffy white mustache and little square glasses that seemed to float on the bridge of his nose. He reminded Billy of the Keebler Elf.
“Ms. Ragnis?” began the principal. “I have Billy here. What’s the problem?”
Billy looked on with red, puffy eyes.
“Cock Weasel?” said Mr. Stancilton. “Well what’s wrong with that? It’s the damn thing’s name.”
Ms. Ragnis was yelling on the other end. Billy thought he heard some nasty words.
“Perverted?” yelled Mr. Stancilton into the phone. “The kid is 6 years old!”
More yelling from Ms. Ragnis’s end.
“Look, Ms. Ragnis,” said Mr. Stacilton. “I want to see you in my office. I’m sending Billy back and I’m also sending Mr. Tudor to cover for you.”
The yelling was louder, and Billy thought he heard Ms. Ragnis call someone a “maggot”.
“Mr. Tudor is not a homosexual, Ms. Ragnis, and you’re behavior is extremely inappropriate,” said Mr. Stancilton. “There are young children in that classroom.”
This time Billy heard two distinct words. They were fuck and you, followed by a loud, click. Mr. Stancilton hung up the phone.
“You can go back to class now, Billy.”
That night, when Billy went home, his dad called him into the living room while he ate dinner.
“Hey Billy,” said Mr. Frampton, pointing at the TV screen. “Isn’t that your teacher?”
Billy looked at the screen and yes, that was Ms. Ragnis. She didn’t look very happy in the picture. Then again, she never looked very happy. She was wearing an orange jumpsuit and being escorted into a building by two police officers.
“Yes, Daddy,” said Billy. “That’s Ms. Ragnis.”
“Imagine that…”
Billy’s dad had put the TV on mute, and it’s probably a good thing that Billy couldn’t read, because underneath Ms. Ragnis’s picture was a header that read:
“FIRST GRADE TEACHER STABS PRINCIPAL TO DEATH”
January 18th, 2007
6:45 PM
