The Plague (Retired)

The damp smell of earth and mold irritated my nose. The waiting area dripped water from the ceiling onto rotten church pews that were stacked erratically in the hallway. It was cluttered and the floor was covered in debris, but that was pretty typical for most elementary schools in this layer of Hell.

The sections of walls that weren’t rotten hung class pictures from the past few hundred years, with the likes of faculty and staff along with photos of celebrity visitors and other notorious graduates. I see a picture of my mom from when she was younger, only by a few hundred years, after visiting this school as a celebrity visitor for her work on creating the Crusades. I always had to hear of people bragging about her work and how thankful I should be for having her as a mom, as if I had a choice. I love my mom, don’t get me wrong, but it was always a struggle living in the shadow of a famous parent. I looked for a photo of my Dad, but he wasn’t much for being in the spotlight, especially after the incident.

A heavy door creaks from down the hallway, and footsteps from high heels click and crunch on the debris-covered marble floor. “Mr. Plague?” A woman’s voice calls my name.

I turn and see a younger woman, probably middle aged when she died on Earth, wearing a tweed blue coat and matching skirt with turquoise heels holding a clipboard to her chest. Her hair, blonde and curled with faint bloodstains that trail from her nose to her ear, probably died from an overdose or something, not that I’m the one to judge.

“Um, oh yeah. Just Plague.” I replied.

She was very attractive, but unfortunately, being charming was never a strong suit for anyone elected to be one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, or in my case, retired. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss…?” I say, with raised eyebrows, hoping she’d finish my sentence by introducing herself. My robe was made too big for me nearly a millennia ago, so the sleeves draped over my hands. I shake my arm up over my head so the sleeve can fall and reveal my pale withered arms. I reach out for a handshake.

She returns the courtesy and shakes my hand. “Mrs., actually. Mrs. Bingham. Widowed.” Looked up and shrugged, “He lived.” 

I don’t know if it was a joke or not, but I laughed out of courtesy. 

“Oh, is your robe wool?” She asks after the sleeve grazes her hand. She grabs it and rubs it between her fingers. “It’s surprisingly soft.”

“Burlap, actually.” I responded by shrugging my shoulders. “The tar makes it softer.”

“Oh, well it’s very nice.” She smiles and nods, abruptly pulling her hand back and hugging the clipboard. “Yes, well, the children are excited to meet you.” She turns and proceeds down the hallway with me in tow. “It’s been some time since we had a celebrity guest around here. Some of the faculty has been absolutely buzzing about you.”

“Really? Oh that’s very nice of them. What about you?” I ask, hoping my reputation precedes me.

She shrugs. “I heard good things about your work on The Black Death, quite the accomplishment.” She says. “Little before my time, if I’m being honest.” 

We stop just before the door to the classroom where I can hear chattering from school children and the deep groaning from something else. She turns to me and her voice goes soft. “I’m sorry if this is a bit off topic, but have you met the New Plague? I hear their work lately has been astounding. I would love to get a chance to meet them.” She looks into my eyes with excitement.

I gritted my teeth and felt my eye twitch. “Yeah, I’ve met him, but we haven’t spoken much.” I say try not to sound rude.

“Oh I think he’s just wonderful. I hear he was able to shut down the planet, like, the whole planet! And you know what I heard? I heard he’s quite the looker, too. Woof.” She giggled, hugging her clipboard tight like New Plague was her schoolgirl crush.

My presence here was starting to feel less special-guest and more last-minute-celebrity-booking. “He’s definitely, uh, something.” I acknowledged nodding my head. My blood would boil at the mere mention of that half-assed amateur New Plague if I had any blood. “So, the kids are excited to see me?” I changed the subject before she could drown out my spotlight more than she already has.

“Oh, yes. Little Dominic was so excited he nearly ate the school cat.” She reaches out and touches my arm, giggling politely. “Also, try not to acknowledge Bertrude in the back, it’s very self conscious and don’t stare into Clarissa’s eyes, you’ll know which, or else she’ll over your mind, okay?”

“Wait, what?” 

Before I could fully ask what she meant, Mrs. Bingham spun around to the door, adjusted her skirt and jacket before swinging the door open. “Okay, children, settle down!” Mrs. Bingham calls out, strutting inside with impressive assertiveness.

I walk in behind her to see a classroom about as dilapidated as the rest of the school. Water trickles down onto bloated wood scattered across the floor from the broken walls and ceiling. The whole room felt as if it were leaning, like one side of the room had sunken into the building’s foundation, which wasn’t too surprising considering this school was probably abandoned in the late Victorian era. The class had about twenty children, some more human looking than others, all scuttling to their seats with a few children literally scuttling due to their several sets of limbs.

In the back corner, something that might have been a person (at one point) was stuck into the building’s broken walls. It was a gelatinous looking creature with some of the room’s wood beams protruding out of it, yelling in a not-quite recognizable language. Between the grunting and gurgling, it told the kids to “sit down and shut their traps”, even though it sounded more like “Sook-dern ‘n shook-yer trak.”

“Today, we have a special guest. Famous for his works on The Black Death and, um…” She stops to look at her clipboard. “The Influenza in Spain and the Sweating Sickness of London?”

“Yeah, it was a side project.” I mutter to her.

“Okay then, tell us about the Black Death. What was it like being a part of that?” She asks with an upbeat tone.

“Well, it all started when I became one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, we set out to…” 

“My Dad said your Mom got you the job because she’s famous.” Shouted a little girl in front of the class with shiny white hair, glowing green eyes and solid black overalls. Her eyes shimmered with light and, as I looked into them, I could hear whispers coming from within my own head that spoke of death and destruction. I quickly tear my eyes away and look around the room as if I was searching for something.

“We mustn’t shout, please.” Mrs. Bingham tells the little girl. “Please, continue.” She nodded to me.

I tried to cross my arms, but my sleeves got caught up on each other. “Um, well she didn’t get me the job, it was an election thing.” I say, fidgeting with my sleeves to get them untangled until I could cross my arms. “It was hoping to become War like my Mom, but that went to, uh, someone else.”

“But she was the God of War, though?” A large child in the back calls out with both of his toothy maws agape.

“Goddess of war, you dumb idiot.” The girl in the front hisses telepathically.

“Clarissa!” Mrs. Bingham scowels. “How many times must I say to not use telepathy and we do not use that language here. They are not Gods or Goddesses down here. They are just undead like you and me, understand?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Bingham.” The little girl says with drawn out syllables.

My awkwardness was difficult to hide, standing exposed in front of a classroom of future tormentors being overshadowed by my Mom’s accomplishments once again. The leaking water from the walls was the only thing breaking the awkward silence as everyone waited for me to speak. “Uh, so yeah. Back then, I came up with the idea for Black Death because the previous plague released a bunch of rats everywhere, so I figured we could use them.”

“What about New Plague? He shut down the world.” Another kid called out, but I wasn’t paying attention to who said it causing all the kids to gawk and awe in unison at the thought of New Plague. Even Mrs. Bingham joined in with the children like the thought of him had been lingering in the air without my noticing it. Chatter took over the room as I stood there, spotlight stolen once again from that no-talent hack, New Plague.

“He’s not really that good.” I yell above the chattering.

The room fell silent once again as all eyes stared at me. 

“But he shut down the world.” The girl in front said.

“Yeah, it killed like a bajillion people.” Another said.

“I mean, he’s good, but the internet did most of the work, if you ask me.” I say with a chuckle looking over at Mrs. Bingham hoping she’d joined me in laughter, but she had nothing to return but a blank glare. 

“Ner-plerg an go *gasp* an don’ go ger wer endyer.” The molted person in the back said.

“S-sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” I say.

“He said that New Plague is doing good work up there.” Mrs. Bingham said to me.

“Yes, I agree.” I tried to save face, but there’s no saving this conversation and I think Mrs. Bingham knows it.

Mrs. Bingham clears her throat. “Everyone, please thank Mr. Plague for making time to come out here and speak with you all.” she calls out to the kids. “Say Thank you to Mr. Plague.”

“Thank you Mr. Plague.” They all say in a drawn one out tone.

“I didn’t really get to talk about the sweats, though.” I whisper to Mrs. Bingham as she walks close to me, nearly shoving me to the door. “I’m sure the kids want to hear about that.”

“We have to get on with lessons before the day is out. Thank you for stopping by.” She says as she closely follows me out of the classroom. I can hear the kids snicker from inside the classroom.

“I just got here, and what about my picture?”

She stops pushing me as I step into the hallway. “Picture?”

“Yeah, you know, for the walls.” I point to the end of the hallways where my mother’s picture hung.

“Oh sorry, our photographer is out today” She says scooting herself into the room. 

“Out?”

“Possessed. Real shame. Have a good day.”

She was about to close the door when I spoke up. “Wait, Mrs. Bingham? I’m sorry if this is a bit forward, but I would love to take you out for a drink. We could set a time and meet up somewhere. No obligation.” I give her my best toothy smile.

“No obligation?” She asks, holding the door half open.

“Whenever and wherever you say.” 

She pauses for a moment with a smile on her face while I try to hold mine, even though I feel the corners of my mouth start to twitch.

“No.” She says and closes the door in my face.

My head drops and I let out a sigh. I can hear the children giggling inside the classroom and the barking laugh of the gelatinous mass, Bertrude.