The Slither Sisters

NINE





The next morning, before classes started, Robert went to see Mr. Loomis.

A lot of kids made fun of Mr. Loomis. He had a reputation for being a pushover. If you ever needed an extension for a book report because of a “sick grandmother,” Mr. Loomis was the man to ask. And he was universally mocked for wearing pastel-colored sweater vests—pale yellow on Mondays, robin’s-egg blue on Tuesdays, girly pink on Wednesdays, and so on, always in the same order, week after week.

So Robert never admitted to anyone, not even to Glenn, that Mr. Loomis was his favorite teacher at Lovecraft Middle School. He taught language arts, Robert’s favorite subject, and he was always writing encouraging notes at the bottom of Robert’s assignments: You have good ideas, the most recent one said. You should share more in class!

When Robert arrived, Mr. Loomis was sitting at his desk, eating a bran muffin and reading the local newspaper, the Dunwich Chronicle. “Hey, Robert, listen to this,” he said. “A woman was walking on the docks last week? Down by the water? And she swears she saw a leprechaun swimming out of the ocean. ‘She described the creature as a tiny man, three inches tall.’ ” Mr. Loomis shook his head. “People are crazy.”

“I want to run for president,” Robert said.

“Right, exactly!” Mr. Loomis said. “ ‘I want to be a movie star!’ ‘There are leprechauns on our beaches!’ Where do people get this stuff?”

“No, I’m serious,” Robert insisted. “I want to lead the student council.”

Mr. Loomis closed his newspaper. “The election is Friday. Two days from now. Sarah Price has been campaigning for weeks.”

“I can win,” Robert said.

Mr. Loomis shook his head. “Not in two days, you can’t. She’s got momentum. It’s too late. Why don’t you try out for Handwriting Club? They always need fresh faces.”

“I want to be president,” Robert said.

“Why?”

Robert realized he lacked a convincing answer to this question. Because Ms. Lavinia told me to? Because the Price sisters are monsters in disguise? Because they’re planning to capture the soul of every student attending Lovecraft Middle School?

“Look, Robert, I’m going to be frank,” Mr. Loomis said. “I know you were redistricted. I know all your old classmates are at Franklin Middle School and you got stuck here. You don’t know anyone and that stinks. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“So let me ask you a tough question. And I’m sorry if this sounds mean. But who do you think is going to vote for you?”

“I don’t know,” Robert admitted. He knew Mr. Loomis was right. Robert’s only friends at Lovecraft were a bully, a ghost, and a two-headed rat—and only one of those friends could actually pull a voting lever. “I guess I just want to try. I don’t care if I lose. Our school deserves better than Sarah Price. Deep down inside, I think she’s a … monster.”

Mr. Loomis shook his head. “I won’t tolerate name-calling in this election. You can disagree with her policies, but I don’t want to hear any personal attacks. You keep it clean. Do you understand?”

“Are you saying you’ll do it?” Robert asked. “You’ll put me on the ballot?”

Mr. Loomis’s reply was lost under the sudden wail of a blaring siren. Lovecraft Middle School was equipped with a state-of-the-art fire safety system. Whenever an alarm was triggered, the siren could be heard in every corner of the school, and all doors automatically unlocked, so that no student would be trapped in the blaze. Robert and Mr. Loomis were hurrying to the door when the alarm stopped short and Principal Slater’s voice came over the PA system. “Please excuse that test of our emergency alert system,” she said. “I repeat, the alarm has been canceled.”

Mr. Loomis pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he was fending off a sudden headache. “Every time that stupid alarm goes off, I feel like I’m losing my mind,” he complained. “What were we talking about?”

“The ballot,” Robert said. “Will you put me on?”

“If you insist on being part of the election, yes,” Mr. Loomis said. “But you’d better start preparing for the presidential debate on Friday morning. I’m asking tough questions and the whole school will be watching. You don’t want to embarrass yourself.”

Mr. Loomis explained that Robert would need to sign a written application and then went to the main office to retrieve it. Robert sat at a desk and waited for him to return. His ears were still ringing from the alarm, so he didn’t hear soft footsteps sneaking into the classroom; he didn’t see Sarah and Sylvia until they were nearly on top of him.

“This is so disappointing,” Sarah said. “Master is very upset.”



“And now you’re making things worse,” Sylvia said. “You think you can defeat my sister?”

Sarah laughed. “He’s just a child. Look at that baby face! No one will vote for him.”

Robert rose from the desk but he was unable to back away. There was something hypnotic about their gaze; his feet felt anchored to the floor. He tried to look brave.

“We know you’re scared,” Sarah said, and her long purple tongue flicked out of her lips, dripping gooey saliva. Her pupils narrowed to thin vertical slits. “We can smell your fear.”

Sylvia reached for Robert’s wrist. Her fingers were cool and dry, like the texture of a leather shoe. “And we know about your nightmares. Master is keeping his eyes on you. You’re wise to be afraid.”

They took turns whispering to him:

“Tell Loomis you made a mistake.”

“Tell him you changed your mind.”

“You’re just a child.”

“You’re too weak to fight us.”

And Robert knew they were right—he was too weak. He was too scared even to make eye contact. How was he going to debate them in front of the entire school?

“Allrighty, I’m back!” Mr. Loomis announced, entering the classroom with paperwork in hand. “Oh, hello, girls! Did Robert share his big news?”

In an instant, Sarah retracted her tongue and her pupils popped back to normal. “It’s wonderful!”

“We’re so excited!” Sylvia gushed. “Democracy flourishes with competition!”

Mr. Loomis placed the application in front of Robert, handed him a pen, and showed him where to sign. “Last chance to back out,” he warned. “Are you sure you really want to do this?”

“No,” Robert said, but he went ahead and put his signature on the document anyway. He felt like he was signing his life away.