Todd Strasser - Wish You Were Dead

The wooden handle of the hayfork felt heavy and cold in my trembling hands. I turned and went back into the kennel. Still dragging Ethan, Ms. Skelling had her back to me. I stopped and waited, holding the hayfork out in front of me. As Ms. Skelling dragged Ethan past my pen, she saw the open gate and stopped. She twisted her head around.

She stared at me with the slightest scowl, as if wondering how I’d managed to escape. My heart was banging out of control, and I was trembling. I’m sure she saw that. Her scowl slowly became an evil, knowing smile. She let Ethan drop to the ground, and reached for her belt.

I felt a light jolt at my neck and the shingle grew hot. Ms. Skelling frowned deeply and pressed the button again. Another jolt and the shingle grew so hot it practically burned my skin, but I knew I couldn’t take it away. Ms. Skelling sneered and reached for the pipe.

I was no longer trembling. Now I was shaking, almost uncontrollably. I felt the urge to cry for help. That’s what I’d been able to do all my life, and someone—my mother, my father, a friend—had always come. But what good would crying for help do now? I wanted to drop the hayfork and run, but I knew I wouldn’t get far. And that left only one choice. I had one chance, and that was to stand and fight. It wasn’t much of a chance. I’d managed, my whole life, to avoid fighting. But now this hayfork was all I had. It was all that stood between me and certain death.

Ms. Skelling came toward me. She was bigger and stronger, and she had no reluctance about using that pipe. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that she was looking forward to using it in the most horrible ways imaginable. I gripped the handle of the hayfork. One more step , I thought, and you have to do it .

For Courtney, and Lucy, and Adam .

And all the others .

And for yourself .

She took that step. We locked eyes. Hers were wide but strangely blank, almost as if someone were operating her body by remote control.

I squeezed the handle of the hayfork and—

Just at that moment, Ms. Skelling fell.

I heard the thud and the grunt. Ms. Skelling was on her hands and knees just a few feet away. On the ground just behind her was the slat from Tyler’s doghouse.

He’d used it to trip her. Still sprawled on the ground, he looked up at me, his face contorted with pain and covered with dirt and blood.

Ms. Skelling also looked up at me. The pipe had flown from her hand and lay on the ground between us.

“Madison, do it!” Tyler rasped.

Shaking, more terrified than I’d ever been in my entire life, I took a step forward, gesturing threateningly with the hayfork. The sharp prongs were less than a foot from Ms. Skelling’s face. But it felt like an empty, feeble gesture. It was one thing to defend myself if she were attacking, but now her weapon was gone and she was on her hands and knees.…

“For God’s sake!” Tyler pleaded.

Ms. Skelling looked up at me, her eyes no longer blank. Now they were filled with reason and sincerity. “Don’t listen to him, Madison. You don’t have to do it. I’ll let you and your friends go. Just give me a few hours to get away. You can give Courtney water. Just promise me you’ll give me a few hours. You’re a good girl, Madison. I know you’d never break a promise.”

She was lying, and we both knew it. She wasn’t about to let me go.

“I swear to you,” Ms. Skelling said. “You have my word. Let me go and nothing bad will happen to any of you.”

I glanced at Tyler. He lay on the floor of the pen, his eyes filled with terror and his mouth open, either too exhausted or in too much pain to speak. I looked back at Ms. Skelling and said, “You’re not going anywhere. I want you to give yourself up. We’re going to find a phone and call the police.”

Ms. Skelling hesitated, then said, “All right.”

“I want you to get up … very slowly.”

Ms. Skelling stared up at me. Hands still on the ground, she started to rise, pulling her feet under her. Suddenly her hand darted toward the pipe.

I jabbed the hayfork forward, stopping just inches from her face.

“I won’t!” she gasped, jerking her hand back. “I’m sorry. Really! I can’t always control it. If I could, I wouldn’t be this way in the first place.”

Still trembling—from the cold, the fear, the terrible thought of what I might have to do—I held the hayfork level with her eyes. Crouched on the ground, Ms. Skelling stared up at me, a puzzled, almost curious expression on her face, as if she didn’t understand why I didn’t just do it.

She slowly started to rise. “You don’t want to do it, do you? You don’t want to hurt me. You’ve never wanted to hurt anyone. That’s why everyone likes you so much, Madison. It’s why I like you, too. It’s why you were never one of the ones we singled out. It’s why I won’t hurt you now. I swear you can trust me, Madison. I know what we’ve done is terrible and evil. I know we’re sick. Horribly sick.”

She was standing now. I held the hayfork, aimed at her stomach. Ms. Skelling’s right hand began to slowly move toward the tines of the hayfork and gently but firmly pushed them aside. “You see?” she said calmly. “We’re not going to hurt you. And we’re not going to hurt your friends.” She placed her hand on the handle of the hayfork. “You can let go, Madison. It’s all right.”

I felt her take hold of the hayfork handle, could feel her start to ease it away from me. I didn’t want to kill her. I wanted her to give herself up.

Don’t let her … , a voice in my head said. I saw Lucy, Adam, and Courtney. My mother and father. They all knew. It was their voices I heard. My hands tightened on the handle.

Ms. Skelling felt the resistance. Her eyes narrowed and suddenly she pulled hard, trying to yank the hayfork out of my grip. But I didn’t let go.

It was a tug-of war-now, with Ms. Skelling holding the hayfork handle near the tine end, and me on the other end. Ms. Skelling yanked. “Let go!”

But I held on. For dear life.

“I said, let go!” Ms. Skelling yanked again.

“You have to give yourself up,” I said, still holding tight.

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed.

“I mean it!”

“You couldn’t hurt a fly, you wimp!” Ms. Skelling snarled and pulled hard on the hayfork.

This time I didn’t resist. I jabbed the hayfork as hard as I could.

Ms. Skelling stumbled backward and slammed into one of the pens.

The hayfork kept going.…

Ms. Skelling’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She stared down at the hayfork buried deep in her middle, at the red stains growing around the tines. Then she looked up at me.

“You … little … bitch.”

“Damn right,” I said.

I CALLED 911, then brought water out for Courtney. Ethan was still unconscious on the kennel floor, but his heart was beating. When the police arrived, I was sitting with Tyler’s head in my lap, just holding him.

The police would eventually establish that Joyce Carol Alberti—age 47, aka Mary Louise Smith, Rhonda Petersen, Carol Skelling, and IaMnEmEsIs—was responsible for at least seven deaths in five states. All the victims were considered popular kids and all lived in “nice, safe, well-to-do” suburbs like Soundview, the last places on earth where anyone imagined something like that happening.

But it indeed happened, and more sadness would follow. Lucy’s funeral was held three days later. Adam’s, two days after that. School closed and everyone went and cried for days afterward. Even today it’s still indescribably sad. Life in Soundview will never be the same.

The blow to Ethan’s skull caused some slight brain damage. His parents took him back to Shawnee Mission, and he’s getting all kinds of treatments and therapy. We send each other a Facebook message now and then, and he tells me he’s getting better.