Free Don't Call Me Ishmael by Michael Gerard Bauer Page A

small fidgety form of James Scobie.
    Looking back, I suppose I should have done something or warned him in some way, but what could I have said or done that would have made any difference? Everything
seemed
normal enough, and though I knew
something
was going to happen, I had no idea what it was or exactly where or when it would unfold. I did try to catch James Scobie’s eye, but he just nodded once, sat down and started to unpack his bag. It wasn’t until he placed both hands on the lid of his desk and began to lift it that the memory of Danny Wallace sitting on top of it flashed into my mind and I finally knew at least
where
the danger lurked.
    But it was too late. James Scobie had already straightened his arms and pushed up the lid.
    A blur of wings exploded from within. It was like a scenefrom
The Mummy, Arachnophobia
and
A Bug’s Life
all rolled into one. First about a dozen enormous green and brown grasshoppers catapulted themselves into the air, smacking into windows, leaping past startled faces and clasping their sharp spiky legs into unsuspecting hair, necks and limbs. This led to random outbreaks of what appeared to be the Mexican hat dance around the class.
    Then three enormous stick insects the size of rulers roared into the air with humming, purple wings. Unfortunately one immediately flew up into the fan and was slung across the room, hitting the whiteboard with a sickening
Thwuug!
before sliding slowly and messily to the ground. One landed with a thud on Bill Kingsley’s back and held on for all it was worth until Bill Kingsley ripped his shirt off in panic and flung it unintentionally over Doug Savage’s head. This in turn caused a strange rapidly escalating growl to rise from Doug Savage as he madly tore the shirt from his head and sent it sailing out the window and into the playground three storeys below. The third stick insect continued to sweep around the room like a Black Hawk helicopter while everyone ducked and dived for cover.
    As all this was happening, dozens of big dark brown cockroaches were spilling from James Scobie’s desk, scuttling among stamping and pirouetting feet, diving into school bags or flying unpredictably around the room like hit fighter planes. Taylor MacTaggert, who sat in the desk immediately in front of James Scobie’s, was laughing so hard at all the ‘wusses’ dodging and dancing around him that he failed to see until it was toolate the three large spiders on the front of his shirt. He became aware of their presence only when the biggest one decided to seek shelter under his collar. At that moment Taylor MacTaggert did a fine impromptu impression of a Zulu warrior as he leapt madly into the air beating his head and torso like a frenzied drummer.
    I would really like to be able to report at this point that I coped well in all this chaos, but the truth is, as soon as the first insects appeared, I leapt backwards from my seat, tripped over my school bag and landed on my backside on the floor. When I looked up and saw an advancing wave of spiders and cockroaches heading towards me, I scuttled backwards on my hands and feet like an upside-down crab to the far corner of the room. I was still taking refuge there when I finally looked up to see what James Scobie was doing.
    About the same time, the rest of the class also began to regain some composure and, apart from isolated outbreaks of hysteria, they too were looking in James Scobie’s direction. It seemed that in all the chaos, Scobie hadn’t moved an inch. Now he sat motionless as the last of the cockroaches dived from his desk and scuttled to freedom.
    Finally he lowered his arms. Then he turned slowly around and looked squarely at Barry Bagsley. The entire class stared at James Scobie’s face. A spider the size of a saucer had spread itself over his cheek and neck. When Scobie screwed his mouth around and wrinkled up his nose, the spider’s great hairy legs picked their way