School of Fear (2 page)

Madeleine often remained at home, unwilling to stay in any structure that hadn’t been fumigated recently by exterminators.
The brightly colored stripes of an exterminator’s tent gave her the warmth and excitement that most children reserved for
birthday or holiday gifts. Regrettably, few parents at Brunswick were willing to meet the costly and time-consuming demands
of the young girl behind the netted veil.

In an effort to pinpoint the exact origin of Madeleine’s fear, the Mastersons racked their brains for traumatic incidents
involving spiders or bugs. They came up empty every time. As early as Madeleine’s first birthday, they remember her crying
fervently at the sight of a daddy-longlegs spider. With time, Madeleine’s fear became more hysterical and extreme, until the
Mastersons could no longer rationalize it as a normal childhood stage.

At six years of age, Madeleine drove herself into a panic-stricken state, complete with heart palpitations, after she watched
a grasshopper slip through the front door. She became obsessed with the idea of the musically inclined creature crawling across
her face while she slept. The mere thought made the already weak-stomached girl keel over with nausea. Within minutes, Madeleine
gave her parents an ultimatum: move or call Wilbur, the trusty exterminator.

Wilbur had spent so many nights at the Masterson household that he not only was on their speed dial, but he also received
holiday cards from them. He was an extended member of the family and the only person in the world who actually relished Madeleine’s
fear. If it wasn’t for Madeleine, it was doubtful he would have been able to afford annual holidays to Bora Bora. So when
the Mastersons called about the grasshopper, he happily obliged. It was an awfully expensive job to remove one measly grasshopper,
but Madeleine insisted.

In front of Brunswick School for Girls, Madeleine prepared to enter the car when a shiver crawled up her spine. Instinctively,
she grabbed her repellent and prepared to spray.

“Don’t shoot!” a shocked classmate begged, hands above her head in the surrendering position.

“Sorry, Samantha, I wasn’t sure what was behind me,” Madeleine replied as she lowered the can.

“When was the last time a spider tapped you on the shoulder? Honestly, Madeleine,” Samantha said with exasperation. “I’m having
a party tomorrow afternoon and I thought you might like to come.”

“Would you mind terribly having it at my house?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The party. May we do it at my house?”

“Then everyone will think it’s
your
party.”

“I suppose that’s true. Has your house been fumigated lately?”

“Sorry, Mum says she won’t fumigate again. Can you at least stop by for pizza?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think it would be prudent. Plus, your mum doesn’t much like the smell of bug repellent.”

Mrs. Masterson listened to the exchange with a sinking heart. She only hoped that after the summer Madeleine’s “problem” would
cease to exist. As intelligent, polite, and soft-spoken as Madeleine was, she was equally dramatic where spiders or insects
were concerned. Mrs. Masterson had been forced to confront Madeleine’s issue several months ago when she requested a note
to excuse her from physical education class at school.

“Mummy, please write a letter informing Mrs. Anderson of my inability to play outside due to the flesh-eating virus I recently
contracted.”

“The virus isn’t a problem indoors? Just outside?” Mrs. Masterson asked with amusement.

“Mummy, the virus feeds off the UV rays of the sun.”

“Surely you don’t have to choose such an extreme disease to avoid playing outside. How about something simple like a cold?
I don’t want the school calling the Center for Disease Control again.”

“Mummy, must you bring that up? I had no idea that foot-and-mouth disease was real. I was put on the spot and it popped into
my head.”

“Flesh-eating viruses are real too, Maddie.”

“Yes, Mummy, but Mrs. Anderson has given me no choice in the matter. She said that short of a flesh-eating virus I would have
to play outdoors.”

“Maddie, don’t you think it would be easier to play outside?”

“Mummy, not to be cheeky, but I would truly rather have a flesh-eating virus than go outside.”

Mr. and Mrs. Masterson had tried traditional therapy and hypnotism to quell Madeleine’s growing fears, but both were fruitless.
The therapist and hypnotist believed Madeleine’s dread of spiders had morphed into a phobia, arachnophobia. Of course labeling
the fear did little to alleviate it. When instructed by Mrs. Anderson to attend school without her veil or aerosol cans, Madeleine
faked her own kidnapping.

An hour after discovering the ransom note in the kitchen, Mrs. Masterson found Madeleine cocooned in mosquito netting at the
bottom of her closet.

“Madeleine, what are you doing down there?”

“Mummy, I’ve been kidnapped; do you mind coming back later?”

“Darling? Who exactly kidnapped you?”

“No one was around, so I had to kidnap myself.”

Mrs. Masterson nodded before asking, “Any reason in particular for the kidnapping?”

“That mad, bonkers Mrs. Anderson is forcing me to go to school without my veil or repellents. It’s cruel and unusual punishment.
I think I ought to consult a solicitor,” Madeleine said.

“Honestly, darling, there isn’t a solicitor in England who would take your case. On the off chance that you were
seriously
planning on taking legal action.”

“Mummy, I don’t have time to discuss this; I’ve been kidnapped.”

“If I speak to Mrs. Anderson and convince her to let you keep your veil and repellents, will you call off the kidnapping?”

“Well, I suppose so. But you’ll still have to pay the ransom. It’s five quid.”

“I don’t have it on me, but I can get it from your father downstairs. Will you come out in good faith?”

Shortly after the great kidnapping scare, Madeleine’s school counselor, Mrs. Kleiner, invited Mr. and Mrs. Masterson to her
office for a private meeting. Mrs. Kleiner’s office did not come equipped with a comfortable couch, as Mr. Masterson had predicted,
but rather two very uncomfortable baroque chairs. Mrs. Kleiner closed the office door, locked it, and pushed a towel against
the base of it. Mrs. Masterson had only ever seen someone do that when there was a fire, as a means of blocking the smoke.
As Mrs. Masterson prepared to ask if there was a reason for the towel, Mrs. Kleiner flipped on the radio. The gray-haired
counselor removed her oval glasses and dabbed the sweat off her upper lip before speaking.

“Thank you so much for coming in today. I have an important story to share with you,” Mrs. Kleiner said quietly.

“We’re delighted that you’ve taken an interest in Maddie,” Mrs. Masterson responded.

Mrs. Kleiner nervously nodded before beginning her story. “About twenty years ago I enrolled my niece, Eugenia, in an atypical
program after she became petrified of dogs. If she even saw a dog, she would faint straightaway. She could be in the middle
of the road, and boom; Eugenia would be facedown on the asphalt with black cabs and lorries barreling toward her. And all
because there was a little white poodle a mile down the road.”

“How frightful,” Mrs. Masterson exclaimed.

“I’ve never much cared for poodles,” Mr. Masterson said absentmindedly.

Both women chose to ignore his comment and continue with the conversation at hand.

“We needed something potent for Eugenia’s phobia, yet with a proven track record, which isn’t an easy combination to find.
However, after much research, that’s exactly what we found.”

“I’m so pleased to hear that. What is it called?” Mrs. Masterson asked.

Mrs. Kleiner looked both ways and then whispered, “School … of … Fear.”

“School of
what
?” Mr. Masterson asked.

“Shhhh. You mustn’t throw that name around. You cannot tell anyone what I am about to share with you. It is of the utmost
importance that the details of the program remain vague to allow students the highest possible chance at recovery.”

“Mrs. Kleiner, is this a school or Scotland Yard?” Mr. Masterson asked jokingly.

“Mr. Masterson, this is a school unlike any other and as such requires total discretion. Are you both prepared to make that
sacrifice for Madeleine?” Mrs. Kleiner asked sternly. “Because if you aren’t, I shall turn off the radio, remove the towel
under the door, and stop whispering. I am late for a game of backgammon as it is. If you’re not serious about helping Madeleine,
tell me now.”

“Of course, we are very serious about helping our daughter,” Mrs. Masterson responded while staring down her husband. “I can’t
tell you how concerned we are for her lungs alone. All that repellent can’t be good. She wakes up three to five times a night
for maintenance sprays.”

“Are you absolutely sure you can handle it?” Mrs. Kleiner asked while staring coldly into their eyes.

“We’re sure,” the Mastersons responded.

Mrs. Kleiner explained that School of Fear is an exceedingly exclusive program run by the elusive Mrs. Wellington; it is actually
so select that few people are even aware of its existence. If one asks a postman, greengrocer, operator, or judge about School
of Fear, they won’t have a clue. The general public has no idea that such a place exists because the chosen group of parents,
doctors, and teachers in the know are vigilant about maintaining the institution’s anonymity. It is at the group’s discretion
that candidates are nominated, as Mrs. Wellington requires a letter of personal recommendation to consider a student.

Continuing with School of Fear’s clandestine nature, rigorous background checks are performed on both candidates and their
families. These background checks are so thorough that Mrs. Wellington often learns information that belies logic: everything
from eating paste in preschool to misspelling one’s own surname in second grade.

After acquiring all pertinent information on the applicant and family, Mrs. Wellington then requests an essay of no less than
one thousand words detailing the child’s fears and the traditional methods that have failed them. Points are deducted for
grammatical errors, spelling mistakes, and poor penmanship. The application explicitly states that all essays are to be handwritten,
as Mrs. Wellington doesn’t care for dubious technologies such as typewriters and computers.

Not since the Mastersons changed health-care plans had they heard of a process with so much red tape. There was fingerprinting
and extensive tests with peculiar names such as The Standardized Childhood Insanity Exam and Personality Defect Assessment.
Overall, finishing the elaborate application was quite a feat considering it was all handled through the mail. Mrs. Wellington
did not wish to disclose the identity of her employees prior to acceptance. While the candidates may have been in the dark
about Mrs. Wellington, her private investigators ensured that nothing escaped her attention.

If Mrs. Wellington was notified of an information leak during the application process, candidates were immediately disqualified
and sent a stern warning from her private attorney at Munchauser and Son. As anyone could tell you, no one messed with Munchauser
Senior, absolutely no one. Many former students became fixtures in society while never breathing a word of their days at School
of Fear. It was a two-part vow of silence, one for extreme loyalty to Mrs. Wellington and the other for fear of the infamous
Munchauser wrath.

Leonard Munchauser Senior was known for his wicked temper, ruthless nature, and cold heart; and that was with his family.
The story goes that he once removed his son’s eyebrows, one hair at a time, as punishment for spilling milk. Worst of all,
Leonard Munchauser Junior’s eyebrows were permanently affected, growing in spottily and lopsided. As atrocious as that may
have been, it paled in comparison to the treacherous tactics Munchauser Senior employed to protect his clients. And no client
was of greater importance than Mrs. Wellington and School of Fear.