Before and After the Curious Appearance of Barnabus Lansky Installment #5

June 14, 2013 10:20 a.m.
    Before Barnabus could disappear along with the stone and the mouse, Mr. Yates strode into the room. “Alright, who wants to share first?” His voice sounded so loud compared with our stunned silence.
    “Mr. Yates, look!” Cameron clutched her sides as if to keep herself from exploding with happiness. “I wrote him- I mean, I think the pen...”
    But she didn’t have to tell him. Mr. Yates had already spotted the strange character. He turned as pale as the printer paper in his hands.
    “You.” He took a step back.
    Barnabus smiled. “Hello, Daniel.”
    Finally, Sanders found his voice. “Wait a sec. First, Nicole and Cameron try some magic tricks, then Cameron thinks she has conjured up a character from her story, and Mr. Yates- our English teacher- knows this guy? No way. I’m not buying it. Next thing you know, Elaine will come back shouting that the zombie apocalypse has finally come.”
    “Nah, that’s not ‘til next Tuesday.” Cameron was still clutching her sides. How could she joke now? “I’m Cameron, by the way.” She addressed Barnabus. “I wrote you out. Well, maybe the pen did. I’m not sure.”   
     “I am aware.” He bowed slightly. “Cameron, would you please hand me that pen you are holding and a piece of paper?” Barnabus stood formally with an out-stretched hand. His accent seemed mashed with modern English. It made me think that, “Lassy, would ye hand me that pen of yours and a piece of paper as well,” would roll off his tongue easier. Cameron curtsied, which looked funny in nike shorts, and handed him the requested items. At the same time, Mr. Yates cried, “Don’t!”
    “Thank you.” Barnabus nodded his head and began writing. All of this happened so fast, I can’t remember what I was thinking when it did. The door shut behind Mr. Yates of its own accord and the clicking of a lock was heard. I felt frozen to my seat. The window blind pulled itself across the window and Cameron began to frown. Mr. Yates lunged for Barnabus and knocked him to the ground. Mr. Yates is bald with a sole patch and about five feet six. Watching him tackle the lanky Mr. Lansky was hard to process.
    My teacher just tackled someone... was all I was able to  think. I guess I found that more fantastic than substitutiary locomotion.
    From the brief struggle on the ground, Mr. Yates called out, “The pen! Grab the pen!”
    “But-” Cameron protested.
    I was still in a stupor. “My English  teacher just...”
    Luckily, Sanders had his wits about himself and snatched the pen from the podium just as Barnabus freed himself from Mr. Yates and lunged. Finally, I snapped to attention,  jumped up from my seat and backed up to the wall. I wanted to be as far away from Barnabus Lansky as possible. Cameron was still frowning; her initial glee was gone. Mr. Yates had scrambled to his desk by my left, still in a defensive stance.
    Our antagonist brushed himself off, resumed his formal position in front of the door and surveyed us.  “Now, that was not very productive.” He said coolly. “We are only where we started, except now, you are trapped. The door is locked, the window is shut, and your phone line has been cut.”
    Suspiciously, Mr. Yates picked up his desk phone. His face fell. “He’s right.” Giving a stern teacher-look to each of us, he added. “Do not give him that pen again.”
    “Darn.” Cameron sat on top of her desk. “I was really hoping he was a good guy.”
    “Good guys don’t dress that nice.” I said once I found my voice.
    “No, Cameron.” Mr. Yates was the most serious I had ever seen him, like a student had plagiarized on his essay. “Barnabus Lansky is a villain.”
    There was a moment of silence. Fear clutched at me with its many claws: my throat, my heart, my stomach.
    Barnabus threw up his hands. “Well, if ye wish to be all bloody cynical about it, yeh.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I just meant don’t be so pessimistic. I don’t have to be the bad guy.” This confirmed my suspicion that Barnabus was not accustomed to modern English.
    “Only a bad guy would say that.”
    I’ve heard it said that in moments of terror, you remember small, insignificant details. This is true, and for me, at that moment, my small, insignificant detail was the book case in the back of the room. It was a plain, black book case with three shelves nine feet long. The books on the top shelf were in the best condition. All the rest had blunted corners or torn pages or weak binding. Most of the characters in those stories would be much braver, if they were here right now. Even Huckleberry Finn.
    I think I can be as brave as Huckleberry Finn. I will have to try. I clenched my fists and opened my mouth, but Sanders spoke the words before I could.
    “Not that I will believe anything you have to say, but I want either Mr. Yates or you-” he pointed at Barnabus, clutching the pen like a comfort object in his right hand “-to please explain the situation. And I don’t want any cozenage.”
    Cozenage? Yes. Sanders does have a bigger vocabulary than Webster.
    Barnabus tightened his lips. “You are not in the position to be negotiating, young man. Trust me.”
    “No way am I gonna trust you!” Sanders backed up until he was against the wall next to me. “I’ll- I’ll break this pen if you don’t tell us what you want it for.”
    This time, Barnabus laughed and shook his head. How stupid you are, little boy, he seemed to be thinking, but said in an amused voice. “You cannot break that pen, but if you give it to me, I will be gone as soon as I finish writing.” He indicated to his paper on the podium.
    I covered my ears tightly. “This makes no sense. Nothing anybody is saying makes sense.” Then I looked up suddenly, eyes wide. Elaine!