Of the twenty-five students in Greg Pauket’s Algebra two class, only about five of them actually worked. Another ten hoped for good grades but seemed unwilling to put any effort into the class. The remaining ten did not seem to care whether they failed or not. It took all of Greg’s effort and skill just to get them to open their book during work time.
This day had been particularly trying on the first-year math teacher. The tests he returned to the students had been more abysmal than normal. He scolded himself for thinking that the low scores might be just what some of the students needed to motivate them. The result had been just the opposite. Most of the students were adopting an I-don’t-care attitude. There was very little math being done.
About the only positive event of the day, so far, had been the discovery Greg had made while cleaning out some of the files left by the previous teacher, Mrs. Shaw. While tossing out reams of old tests and worksheets, Greg had found an antique compass deep within the recesses of the metal file cabinet. The compass was from a bygone day. It was not one of the modern safety compasses; the ones designed to eliminate even the remotest possibility of a student injuring himself. This tarnished silver compass had an incredibly sharp point designed to stick in the paper while the user twirled the instrument to make perfect circles. It was probably worth a significant amount of money. Greg contemplated polishing the old tool and selling it to supplement his first-year teaching salary.
“Mr. P, Tommy took my phone,” called Angela Bishop from her first-row seat. “How am I supposed to check Twitter.”
“You aren’t supposed to be checking Twitter,” said Greg as he made his way toward the young man who had taken the phone. “Tommy, you need to give the phone back and start working on your assignment.”
Greg twirled the old-fashioned compass in his hand. For the briefest of moments, he considered using the sharp end of the instrument as a weapon against the trouble maker. He quickly pushed the evil thought aside, but not his frustration. “I wish all high school students were motivated to work harder on their math,” he thought.
“Ouch,” he screamed. While absentmindedly spinning the compass in his hand, he had punctured himself in his right index finger. A few beads of blood dripped onto his new white dress shirt and the sharp point of the compass. Of course, none of his students offered to help. Instead, most of them had a good laugh at his misfortune.
#
The first case was reported that evening. By the next day, there were over twenty known cases. Greg remained unaware of what was happening until he walked into the teacher’s lounge during lunch break.
“All the victims have been teenagers,” explained Ned Holle, one of the school’s history teachers, as he read from his tablet. Four or five other members of the teaching staff listened intently.
Ned nodded toward Greg. “Have you heard anything about the comas?”
“I haven’t heard a thing. I’ve been in my room all morning, trying to get at least one sophomore to understand factoring. What’s going on?”
“Well, since last night there have been about two dozen high school kids, throughout the country, who have lapsed into unexplained comas. A few reports say they acted strangely, as if they were having some sort of hallucination, and then simply passed out.”
“I still think it has to be some kind of new drug,” said Mrs. Larson
Ned shook his head. “None of the toxicology reports have found anything unusual in their blood. This article says that all the patients seem to be perfectly healthy, just comatose.”
“What sort of hallucinations?” asked Greg.
Ned scrolled down on his tablet. “Like I said, there haven’t been too many witnesses but I saw something earlier. Here it is.”
Ned read from the article. “Mrs. Hoover says her son was sitting on the couch playing a video game when he suddenly recoiled in fear. She watched as the boy stood and shook his head, saying ‘No’ repeatedly. Eventually, he shouted ‘I have no idea’ and began running from the room. After a few steps, he fell and has been unresponsive ever since.”
Mary Smithers, an English teacher, stood up and threw her leftover salad into the garbage. “I have to get back to class. I hope the CDC is taking these cases seriously. The last thing we need is some kind of epidemic.”
“I’m sure they are,” replied Ned. “So far they have found nothing medical to explain what’s happening to these kids.”
#
That evening, Greg had the television on in the background as he corrected a pile of poorly done quizzes. The total number of coma cases had risen to fifty during the day and the public was beginning to become extremely concerned.
He had just finished writing “You can do better: D+” on the top of Angela Bishop’s paper when the sounder for a news bulletin drew his attention.
“We have some strange and unbelievable new details about the mass comas hitting teenagers throughout the world. In the last few hours multiple social media reports have been posted by high school students claiming that they were visited by some sort of spectral being. Young adults from a variety of locations and backgrounds all say that the ghostly figure of a bearded old man wearing a robe and sandals appeared to them. They claim that the ghost threatened to place them into a state of constant sleep if they could not answer a mathematics question.”
Greg grabbed the television remote and turned up the volume. He stared at his TV, forgetting about the stack of papers beside him.
The reporter continued. “Investigators have interviewed many of the students who are making these claims. So far there is no indication that they are lying. There seems to be no possible reason for them to perpetrate a hoax. Our reporter, Susan Hartford, interviewed one of the youths who came forward with their story. Here is that interview.”
The picture changed to an acne-covered teen with thick glasses standing in front of a Star Wars poster.
“So, can you tell us exactly what happened?” asked a voice from off-camera.
“Sure. I was doing some homework when I got home from school and suddenly this white transparent old dude appeared out of nowhere. He called me by name and said that he had a question for me. If I didn’t answer it correctly, he would put me to sleep for five days. He said I would wake up but the sleep would be permanent if he returned and I failed a second time.”
“What kind of question?”
The young man smiled. “Oh, it was a simple question about the number of real roots for a quadratic with a negative discriminant. It was pretty easy.”
“And what happened after you answered the question?”
“The figure simply nodded and said that I had done very well and to keep up the good work.”
“You have to be making this up,” said the reporter. “Why are you making a mockery of the suffering of all the families and children who have been stricken by the comas?”
“Honestly, I’m not making this up. I have a hard-enough time making friends as it is. Why would I make up something like that? I came forward in the hope that this info could help others.”
The image of the original reporter returned to the screen. “Other witnesses have reported that they were asked questions about many various math topics from advanced Algebra, Geometry, and Trigonometry. We will be back with further details as they become available.”
Greg sat mesmerized by what he had just seen, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb against his index finger. Could his absent-minded wish from the other day be the cause? Was the ancient compass magical in some way? If it was his request that was the reason for the ghostly visits and the unexplained comas he had to try and repair the situation.
He ran to the closet and pulled out his backpack. The compass was in one of the side pockets. His plan was to clean it up sometime over the weekend. When he found the compass, he would simply use it to make a new wish; one that would cancel the effects. Greg checked and rechecked every possible storage pocket in the backpack. After failing to find the compass, he diligently searched his car and apartment. The magic compass was nowhere to be found.
Greg returned to his couch and sat down, stunned. He tried to convince himself that the compass and his wish couldn’t be behind recent events. Even if it was, there seemed to be nothing he could do about it. Eventually, he shrugged and grabbed the next quiz and began correcting it.
#
Greg looked around his crowded classroom. Four full-time aides and a bunch of volunteer parents were circling the room helping students diligently attack the day’s assignment. A line of eight students waited patiently for Greg’s attention.
“Will you double-check that I took the notes on the rational root theorem correctly?” asked Angela Bishop. “I think I understand what to do but I really want to know why it works.”
Greg couldn’t help but smile. Ever since the first coma patients awoke and verified the stories of a questioning apparition, things had changed dramatically in the classroom. The school district had found extra funding. Mathematics education was everyone’s top priority.
Angela interrupted Greg’s pleasant reverie with another question. “Is there any way I could get some extra work? Maybe something about conic sections.”
#
Mary Smithers couldn’t help but frown as she passed Greg’s room. She saw the students putting their entire heart and soul into the work. She wished students felt as inspired to work on English as they did math.
“Ow,” she exclaimed. Looking at the papercut on her finger. It was surprising that the antique bookmark which had mysteriously turned up in the backroom of the library could make a cut deep enough to draw blood.
—
James Rumpel is a retired high school math teacher who has greatly enjoyed using his newfound additional free time to rekindle his love for science fiction and the written word.
