Night School

By T. A. Staver

Copyright 2012 T. A. Staver

Cover Art Copyright 2012 Julie Staver

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Night School


The cold air smelled damp and musty, like a graveyard. A hand, as hard as iron, gripped my arm. I looked away from my arm, towards the sky. The sun had set and the moon shone full and bright. A thumping beat, like a kettle drum, pounded out a slow rhythm. Looking in the direction of the thudding sound, I saw an elephant lumbering down the hallway. Its tusks were straight and pointy; sharp. The sight filled me with fear, and I closed the lid to the coffin, hoping it would pass by my bedroom without seeing me. As I waited, I pulled a crucifix out of my pants pocket, just in case. I heard a voice speaking in a language dead when Rome was just a village, and I knew that it was Satan, coming to steal my soul. But why did my neck itch so? Hands flying to my collar, I swatted away the mosquitos as large as birds. Satan’s voice grew louder, but not clearer. My neck itched so bad that I thought I would scratch it raw. Satan’s voice grew even louder, and now I could almost make out the words. Suddenly, the casket lid flew off, and I was exposed to the cold light of the moon. Satan’s voice boomed clear as a bell saying “Rodger, your class is ahead. Groove it” Groove it? What did that mean? Was the Devil to blame for disco? And what did my class have to do with it?

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