by Ms. Tery
Writer
It was night, and a cold moon sent shadows
sliding across the walls of the old school.
Brittle branch fingers etched scratches into other scratches on the
windows and the tapping sound broke the stillness of the gloom. High up, in the far corner room, four girls
lay sleeping.
Suddenly, as night pushed its way towards
morning, an agonized voice sliced through the quiet of the room. "I’m starving.
The creak of iron bedsprings gave notice
that the pain had been heard. After a moment or two to allow for orientation,
feet slid into slippers and bathrobes were donned. Verbal communication was needless. This operation was never a drill!
One girl grabbed the flashlight, signaling
acceptance of her place as leader/lookout, the others waited for muted
orders. The knob of the door squeaked
when turned, but it was not dangerous, as one could be on the way to the
bathroom if challenged. Stepping into
the hall, the guide looked to the right to see if there were signs of
life. A-OK. The left hand waved the
girls ahead to the back staircase.
Then, in the dull yellow glow from the landing’s lights, the fearsome
four furtively tip-toed their way down the steps to the third floor, looked
right, moved forward, down to the
second floor, careful now, Dean’s
domain, looked right, all quiet on the Western Front. Moved forward. Finally they approached the first floor
landing.
Here was where the real danger began. First,
because the kitchen workers were up and about early to start work in the
galley, (and no girl ever knew what the hell time it was) and because among
those same people were smokers who were known to rise at any time to quell a
nicotine withdrawal fit. Many a night
raid had been abandoned due to smoke in the hall. Second, was that the route now called for a 25-foot sprint along
the main floor hallway to the door to the kitchen stairway.
The small band of scavengers paused to
sniff the wind, and to strain their ears for sounds, then; Onward Christian
Soldiers!
They made the entrance without
incident. The fearless leader opened
the door and went down the stairs. At
the bottom, she shone the light upwards to luminate the way for the
others. The kitchen was in complete
darkness. The only light was that of the flashlight beam.
Moving forward through the dining room to
the kitchen was a slow process, but finally the torchbearer sat and shone the
beam on the pantry door. Each
"grabber" filled their pockets, pajama tops, and hands full of as
much food as possible and, once replete headed towards the stairs.
B A N G, not just a bang, but one so loud
that it sounded like an atom bomb in the quiet of the desert. Flashlight beam whirled to catch a victim
falling ass-over kettle dragging with her the steel dish trolley parked next to
the wall near the stairs.
Panic time!
Realizing the need for speed and throwing
all caution to the wind, eight feet beat it to the top of the stairway. The door was thrown open and the front runner came eyeball to eyeball
with the resplendent Mrs. Hoare who looked more shocked than surprised in her moment of triumph.
"I caught you" she quivered in
her frail mouse-like voice. That was
all she got out. In a rush the door was
thrust all the way open and the astonished
Mrs. Hoare found herself reeling into the hallway with nothing to latch
on to. The same eight feet raced in a
very hasty retreat to higher ground.
Alas in the unparalleled withdrawal, the
booty was lost; and, as in the proverbial Hansel and Gretel fairy-tale, the
breadcrumbs did the perpetrators no good, rather it provided a trail to the
unfortunate felons.
Faced with the evidence, our intrepid
heroes were forced to confess. Justice
was swift and painful for it included not only theft, but also the serious bodily harm done to the
righteous Mrs. Hoare.
The rod was not spared that night I can
tell you. I know, for I was the one who
opened the door and saw the red eyes of the devil herself.