Purveyor of Second Chances

This story is by Mike Conradt and was part of our 2024 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

“Eric, take your seat and be quiet,” said first-year teacher Emily Parks.

Eric sat down, leaned over, and glared at the kid across the aisle.

“I’m going to kick your ass,” snickered Eric as he punched the kid’s arm.

“Eric, that will be enough.” Emily could feel her temper rising.

“Ha, who made you the boss,” scoffed Eric, standing up.

“Eric, sit down and behave,” Emily’s voice wavered.

“Listen,” Eric pointed his finger at her. “I could break your skinny body like a pretzel.” Emily’s face flushed as she stepped back. The threat took her by surprise. She didn’t expect such a rebellious response during the first week of school.

“Emily raised her voice and pointed to the door, “Go to the office!”

“Make me,” chuckled Eric.

“ERIC! Leave now!”

“Why,” said Eric with a condescending sneer. “My dad’s on the school board, which means you can’t do shit to me. Got it bitch!” Eric yelled. “No, wait a minute. I have a better idea. Why don’t I get my gun and shoot you in the head!” As he laughed.

Emily’s face turned pale. In tears, she raced out of the classroom to the principal’s office and told him what had happened.

Bob Williams, the principal, listened in horror, rose from his chair, and hurried to Emily’s classroom.

Bob found Eric sitting in Emily’s chair. “Eric, what is going on?”

“Nothing,” said Eric.

“Didn’t Emily tell you to go to the office?” asked Bob. “Do it NOW!” The rest of the class jumped. Eric relented and headed down to the office with Bob close behind.

When they entered the office, Eric sat in the corner while Bob called his dad and the sheriff. Within minutes, the sheriff arrived, and Eric’s dad, Brad Anderson, came shortly after. Bob called Emily to the office.

“Emily, tell us what happened in class this morning concerning Eric,” said Bob.

Emily described Eric’s unruliness and his threats of killing her and the class.

Bob studied Eric’s face. “Do you have anything to say, Eric?”

“Hey, look, I was kidding around. I would never bring a gun to school,” pleaded Eric.

“Even so, we have rules, and Emily and the class felt threatened by what you said. This is serious,” said Bob. “According to school policy, I am expelling you for the rest of the year. You are not allowed on school grounds. You must arrange for homeschooling or other means to finish the year.” Eric didn’t say a word, but the anger was rising inside. Any outburst now would mean a beating at home.

“The sheriff will take Eric down to the station for questioning. Brad, you can pick him up there,” said Bob. Brad shrugged and waited until the sheriff and Emily left.

“What is the meaning of all this? Kicking Eric out of school and calling the sheriff.” Brad yelled as he stood up and shook his finger in Bob’s face.

Bob kept calm, “He threatened to kill a teacher and her students.”

“Hell, you know he didn’t mean it. You know my son. He flies off the handle on occasion. You heard what he said.”

“This was a serious threat. We have to take measures to protect the staff and children.”

“You call that a threat? He was teasing, trying to get a rise out of her,” yelled Brad.

“It was a threat, and you know it.”

“Listen, you take him back to school, or by God, you will have to deal with me,” Brad slammed his fist on the desk.

“My decision stands,” said Bob, standing up to make his point.

“You have not heard the last of me. Your reputation won’t be worth shit,” Brad’s red face and protruding veins in his neck showed his anger. “You wait until the next school board meeting. You’ll be lucky to have a job.” He slammed the door as he left.

Brad’s threat was a little unsettling. Bob had received threats before, but not like this. He leaned back in his chair. If only it were a dream as he closed his eyes.

Within a couple of weeks, cracks in Bob’s reputation began to show. Customers in coffee shops, hair salons, and gas stations whispered mendacious words. They criticized his every move, how he dressed, and his treatment of students. They accused him of having a relationship with one of the cheerleaders. His reputation plummeted. Parents called for his resignation, which he decided to do after they egged his house.

On the eve of his resignation, Bob went to the Flying Monkey Bar and Grill, looking for solace.

“Oh, it’s you. What ya have?” asked Chuck, the bartender.

“A shot of whiskey, please,” said Bob. He downed it and then asked for another. Chuck filled the glass again and again.

“You know, I regret expelling that arrogant Eric Anderson,” muttered Bob, staring into his whiskey. “If I could do it over, I would—a second chance, so to speak. What do you think, Chuck.”

“I might be able to help,” said Chuck.

Chuck leaned over and whispered in Bob’s ear, motioning toward a back room.

“Really,” Bob eyed him with one eye, slid off the bar stool, and staggered to the back.

A tattered desk piled high with papers and books sat in the back room. From between the books, an unpleasant character peered. A spectral image of a man with a menacing fat face, sunken fiery red eyes, and unkempt hair. His fat fingers stroked a black cat beside him. A sign above him read: Chester—Purveyor of Second Chances.

“Welcome,” said Chester. “Take a seat.” Bob sat down.

“What can I do for you?” asked Chester.

“I’m not sure,” said Bob, feeling apprehensive. The room became quiet.

Finally, Bob whispered, “Do you repair reputations.”

“Sure,” said Chester, his attention piqued. “Is that what you want?”

“Umm, yeah,” Bob looked down, embarrassed.

“Why so timid, Bob.”

“Uh, you know my name.”

“I know everyone,” bragged Chester.

“But how?”

“Must we go into details? Let’s not. I think I can help you,” Chester cackled, looking at a red screen. “Umm, let’s see what do we have here.”

“Been busy, haven’t we,” said Chester. Bob didn’t answer.

“Can you pay?” asked Chester.

“I, I don’t know. What does it cost?” Bob became hesitant about the whole thing.

“There’s a little matter of souls. Don’t worry about it,” Chester said, smiling.

Bob failed to understand what he meant as Chester placed a piece of paper in front of Bob. “Sign this contract. I have taken care of everything.” With a feeling of regret, Bob signed.

Bob blinked his eyes. Emily had just finished a statement about the threat. When he saw the people in his office, it was like déjà vu.

“Bob?” said Brad, irritated. Bob studied Eric’s face, showing sorrow. Emily’s face had genuine fear.

“I will give Eric a stern warning this time. But I will expel him if he threatens anyone again,” said Bob.

“Thank you. I owe you one. You won’t regret your decision,” Brad said, shaking Bob’s hand. Bob sat back and closed his eyes. A person feels the moment when a second chance comes. Bob felt this was one of them.

Eric stayed out of trouble for a week. Then, one day, after class started, Bob heard a commotion down the hall. He sat and listened. Someone was yelling and throwing things. A door slammed shut. Bob looked down the hall and saw nothing.

A short time later, the glass in the front door shattered into pieces by gunfire. Bob got up and yelled for the secretary to sound code red and call the sheriff. He ran down the hallway. More gunfire and kids screaming. He approached Emily’s room with caution. She lay dead along with her students in pools of blood. Eric stood in the hall. He looked at Bob.

“Bob. This one is for you,” said Eric, pointing the gun at Bob. Bob closed his eyes. A shot rang out. He opened his eyes and saw Eric on the floor. Bob turned to see the sheriff behind him with his gun drawn.

“Get out of here,” said the sheriff. Bob staggered outside, stopping in the middle of the street. Students ran around him, running into him, screaming and crying. Parents cried for their children. He couldn’t believe what happened. It wasn’t real. He didn’t know what to do.

Bob’s senses numbed as he stumbled across the street. He tripped on the curb, falling to the ground face-first. The sounds of crying children buzzed in his ears. Bob looked up. A black cat was staring at him. Its piercing, fiery red eyes held his gaze as the scenes of every shot, of every child dying on the floor, played out. Their souls, snatched away in payment. In Emily’s dying eyes, Bob could see what should have been. It was then he realized what he had done.