Banshee or Not Banshee?
This was my very first thought after waking and I've been thinking about it all day.
In 5th grade, I was completely convinced--for weeks--that one of my classmates was a banshee. According to a book I read in the school library, you could recognize a banshee by three things: 1.) A mess of stringy hair 2.) Inhumanly pale skin 3.) The fact that a banshee's feet don't quite touch the ground. I was able to confirm the first two characteristics just by observing, but the other one was trickier. According to the book, banshees worked really hard to make it seem like they were walking on the ground. I had to get devious if I was going to confirm my suspicions.
I rallied two of my friends to the cause. Getting rid of the banshee in class became a top priority and during recess we formulated a plan. My friends would call the "girl" over to their desks at the end of the day. She would have to pass by my desk to get over to them. All I'd have to do is stick my foot out. If she tripped, she was human. If she didn't...
We knew how serious this was. If she was a banshee, she would be on to us the second she didn't trip. If we didn't destroy her by the next full moon, she'd show up in our bedrooms and eat our faces. But, despite the risks, we had to expose her. Surely an adult would help us once we had proof.
The end of the day came too quickly. I was terrified. I couldn't believe that I didn't discuss an abort signal as I suddenly really, really didn't want to do this. What if the banshee got so angry that she turned around and tore my eyeballs out right then? Perhaps she hadn't eaten in a thousand years and was just waiting for someone to cross her. But I heard my friends call her name and could sense them beckoning. I started sweating. I watched her step closer, smiling. I could feel my friends tensing. At the very last second, I jutted my foot out.
She caught my shoe and went down. Her face hit the edge of the desk catty-corner to mine. She broke her nose and lost the fingernail on her left pinkie finger.
Later, in the principle's office, my teacher asked me, "AnnMarie, your friends say you thought Tiffany was a banshee. What got into you?"
I said, "Well of course she's not a banshee! Her feet touch the ground!"
And I never apologized. So I'm really sorry Tiffany, wherever you are. I hope your nose healed okay.
In 5th grade, I was completely convinced--for weeks--that one of my classmates was a banshee. According to a book I read in the school library, you could recognize a banshee by three things: 1.) A mess of stringy hair 2.) Inhumanly pale skin 3.) The fact that a banshee's feet don't quite touch the ground. I was able to confirm the first two characteristics just by observing, but the other one was trickier. According to the book, banshees worked really hard to make it seem like they were walking on the ground. I had to get devious if I was going to confirm my suspicions.
I rallied two of my friends to the cause. Getting rid of the banshee in class became a top priority and during recess we formulated a plan. My friends would call the "girl" over to their desks at the end of the day. She would have to pass by my desk to get over to them. All I'd have to do is stick my foot out. If she tripped, she was human. If she didn't...
We knew how serious this was. If she was a banshee, she would be on to us the second she didn't trip. If we didn't destroy her by the next full moon, she'd show up in our bedrooms and eat our faces. But, despite the risks, we had to expose her. Surely an adult would help us once we had proof.
The end of the day came too quickly. I was terrified. I couldn't believe that I didn't discuss an abort signal as I suddenly really, really didn't want to do this. What if the banshee got so angry that she turned around and tore my eyeballs out right then? Perhaps she hadn't eaten in a thousand years and was just waiting for someone to cross her. But I heard my friends call her name and could sense them beckoning. I started sweating. I watched her step closer, smiling. I could feel my friends tensing. At the very last second, I jutted my foot out.
She caught my shoe and went down. Her face hit the edge of the desk catty-corner to mine. She broke her nose and lost the fingernail on her left pinkie finger.
Later, in the principle's office, my teacher asked me, "AnnMarie, your friends say you thought Tiffany was a banshee. What got into you?"
I said, "Well of course she's not a banshee! Her feet touch the ground!"
And I never apologized. So I'm really sorry Tiffany, wherever you are. I hope your nose healed okay.