CHAPTER 16

EVERYONE’S AFRAID OF SOMETHING:
Helminthophobia is the fear of being infested with worms.

All you need is fresh air. To the polo fields,” Mrs . Wellington said, leading the group down the Great Hall.

Madeleine simply wasn’t prepared to brave the polo fields. With tears brimming in her eyes, she caught up with Mrs. Wellington and grabbed the old woman’s cold hand. “Mrs. Wellington, please. I don’t want to go outside. There are spiders, insects, and such,” Madeleine explained politely, albeit with a strained voice.

“Outside? Dear, don’t be so narrow-minded. Not all polo fields are outside.”

“Then how’s the air going to be fresh?” Theo mumbled quietly to himself.

Mrs. Wellington proceeded down the hall with Lulu, Theo, and Madeleine trailing behind her.

Garrison, further behind everyone, scrutinized the doors along the way. He ran his fingers across a standard sized wooden door, forgettable in every way except touch. Instead of sleek wood, Garrison felt the tight weave of a painter’s canvas. It wasn’t a door at all, but rather a painting of a door. The crevices and indentations of the wood were mere shades of paint tricking the eye.

“What’s with the painting, Mrs. Wellington?”

The old woman stopped walking, as always in unison with the clock, some ten feet ahead of him. She turned and stared into his tan little face. The hall became uncomfortably quiet except for the clock and Madeleine’s repellent spray.

“Did you think it was a real door?”

“Yeah.”

“And it’s really only a painting of a door. Contestant Garrison, please tell me what you think that means in thirty seconds or less.”

“That you ran out of doors?” Garrison said oafishly.

“You have much work to do on your elocution skills. All contestants should be prepared to answer questions intelligently in thirty seconds or less.”

From behind Mrs. Wellington came Madeleine’s proper British voice: “Mrs. Wellington? If I may, I believe the door represents that things aren’t always as they seem. On occasion, it’s necessary to inspect things, or people, a bit closer,” she explained while staring directly at Garrison.

Mrs. Wellington nodded approvingly at Madeleine.

“I thought we were going to the polo field?” Lulu interrupted.

“A reminder to all, don’t stand behind the horses; it’s very dangerous,” Theo said seriously. “My mom knows a woman who was kicked in the face by her horse. Her head swelled big as a basketball. After that she couldn’t remember anyone’s name, called everyone ‘what’s her name,’ even herself.”

“Yeah, right,” Lulu said incredulously.

“It’s true,” Theo bellyached, “I met her at the Christmas party. She said ‘hello, I’m what’s her name. Pleasure to meet you.’ All because she walked behind a horse. If only I had been there to warn her,” Theo finished spectacularly.

“Excuse me, Cowboy Chubs? Are you finished?” Mrs. Wellington asked exasperatedly while standing in front of the red and white gate.

The latch on the polo field gate was dated and rusty, seemingly from years of exposure. The lock squealed and grunted its way out of the corroded slot. Theo bit his lip, ruing the decision to remove the tetanus shot from his first-aid kit. The school nurse had claimed that rust didn’t cause tetanus; a cut from rust merely created an ideal habitat for bacteria to breed. Of course, in the face of rust, Theo started to second-guess the nurse.

Unable to watch Mrs. Wellington jimmy the lock, Theo turned to the partial body of a 1959 DC-8 jet lodged in the wall opposite the polo field. The red, white, and blue United Airlines logo was faded from years of wear and tear in the air. Theo pushed his face against a small circular window, steaming it up with his breath. He spotted a snack cart, inciting a rabid desire for salted peanuts. Maybe Mrs. Wellington left treats in the cart to create an authentic experience. Theo imagined hiding out on the plane eating peanuts, missing his family, and sleeping. He would much prefer that to spending time with this group of risk takers.

Mrs. Wellington finally dislodged the rusted lock, opening the polo field’s gate and releasing a wave of horse manure. Ripe and earthy, the scent prompted Madeleine, Lulu, Garrison, and Theo to wince.

“Wow, that is … ,” Garrison mumbled.

“Nasty,” Lulu finished his sentence.

“This is supposed to help us get over the steak?” Theo scoffed.

“Manure is a natural cleanser of the olfactory glands. Didn’t you know that?”

“Nope,” Lulu said glumly, revolted by the latest affront to her nose.

“That’s why perfume counters often keep a small dish of manure for clients to sniff between scents.”

“I’ve never seen that before,” Madeleine said honestly.

“Don’t feel bad; that’s why you’re here. To learn,” Mrs. Wellington responded as she femininely sashayed onto the field.

It was approximately the size of half a football field with eight oddly tranquil horses standing in the center. Murals of rolling hills and white clapboard fences surrounded the abnormally green lawn while sunlight poured through the plate-glass ceiling. Although seemingly pastoral, it was also curiously creepy. Madeleine remained close to the door. Having inspected the grass visually, she then did something extremely out of character. Madeleine touched the grass.

“Mrs. Wellington, is the grass artificial?”

“It’s AstroTurf, dear. The next best thing to the real stuff.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Mrs. Wellington,” Madeleine said assuredly, “it’s far superior. Bugs can’t live in plastic grass!”

“Are you starving these poor horses? No wonder they’re so tired. Look at them, they’re barely moving,” Theo exclaimed.

“Barely moving?” Mrs. Wellington responded. “Theo, they’re not moving at all. They’re dead.”

“Did you kill them?” Theo asked with his lower lip quivering.

“Kill them? Heavens no. I simply had them stuffed. Good job too — you can still ride them.”

“Then how did they die?”

“A strange mold on their hay. It was devastating. I was heartbroken at the idea of life without them, so I built the polo field.”

“This mold you mentioned, did you find the origin of it? Is it toxic to humans as well?”

“Theo, please don’t concern yourself with that. To the best of my knowledge, Schmidty never cooks with hay,” Mrs. Wellington said before pausing to glance at the ceiling, as if to think it over.

Meanwhile, Madeleine stopped spraying herself, instead focusing on the horses in the room.

“Not to be nosy, Mrs. Wellington, but were the horses’ coats treated for insects and other organisms?” Madeleine asked.

“Of course!”

Relieved, Madeleine turned to explore her new surroundings. Mrs. Wellington then shook her head and mouthed “no” to the other students.

Lulu, Garrison, and Theo couldn’t help but wonder what else she had fibbed about.