Math Gremlin

By one o’clock the students were dragging. It no longer mattered to them that it was the first day of school. They had already caught up with their friends and had shown off their new clothes and hairstyles. Most of them felt like they had already been back to school for at least a month and the newness had worn off.

High school hadn’t changed from last year either. There still weren’t any new books, there was no air conditioning and the rooms still looked like it was 1969. The linoleum was cracked and dented, the ceiling tiles were stained and the only view was the other side of the buildings. Not much to look at, but everyone found themselves glancing at it.

The herd filed in and made their way to chosen seats. Little cliques grouped together and those on the outside were forced to sit closer to the front, near the blackboard and the teacher’s desk. These students quickly found out that small conversations started in hallways did not a friendship make. One unlucky guy had to make the choice between a seat in the front row or one that rocked because it sat over a dip in the floor. He chose the rocker.

The teacher wasn’t in by the time the bell rang. Girls talked about the boys they liked and places they had gone while the guys made up stories about the girls they had dated. No one noticed when she came into the room. It wasn’t until she shut the door, cutting off the room’s airflow, that they finally looked toward the front.

If their parents could have seen the woman, their first thought would have been of Bugs Bunny. She didn’t look like a bunny. She looked like the witch that wanted to make rabbit stew. Her hair was straight and a dull brown. Her face, pale, because of her lack of makeup. Her figure, none. Her clothing was black and impersonal.

It wasn’t until later, when they really got to know her, they gave her a nickname. It wasn’t the nicest name, but it also wasn’t something they said to their parents. They just simply rearranged the letters of her name.

Mrs. Cluntz stood in front of her algebra class. She looked around the room and sized them up. In her right hand she held the class list. She smiled, barely.

“I am Mrs. Cluntz,” she said. Soft giggles came from the back of the classroom.
“ This is Algebra One. If you did not take Pre-Algebra last year, you are in for quite a shock. Please feel free to come to me if you have any problems.” She glanced down at the list and smiled. Her teeth were glaringly white. She leaned against the desk right in front of her own, using her hand to prop her up.

“Now that you are all comfortable, I have this year’s seating arrangement.” Groans from around the room. “You will all be seated alphabetically, starting with this seat.” She tapped the rolled paper on the desk. She passed the list to the first student and waited patiently. Desks squeaked on the floor and a few mumblings about the unfairness of it all were heard.
When everyone had quieted down, she began to tell them about the Math Gremlin. She leaned on the corner of her desk and looked toward the closed door on the other side of the room.

“Has anyone ever told you about the Math Gremlin?” There were a few negative sounds and she watched them look at each other. She’s crazy, their faces said. She continued.

"Know matter how much you pay attention in class, and no matter how much you think you understand what we talk about in class, I guarantee that when you walk out this door, the Math Gremlin will suck it right out of your little heads." She laughed at her own cleverness while looking around the room. She pointed towards the door. “He sits right on the edge of the overhang above the door. He reaches down and pulls everything out of your brain.”

And that was her excuse. It was never that the students were intimidated by her or they were loaded down with so much to begin with their stress levels were already high. These were adult reasons the students weren’t able to recognize and didn’t know how to deal with. So it became just another problem they had to deal with and the Gremlin another tongue in cheek excuse.
"Ok, enough about our friend, how much do you remember from your last year?"

Outside of the classroom was no exception. The problem with Mrs. Cluntz was that her intimidating rule extended beyond her classroom. She was in charge of the National Honor Society, hand picking only the brightest from the student body. She made it her personal goal to “bring up” the students from their status and teach them the finer things in life. The occasional field trip was filled with classical music and trips to the theatre.

Mrs. Cluntz’s class soon became the worst forty-five minutes of the day. Students could not afford to be bored. There was very little review time and a new lesson was covered every day. Students began to feel that there really was a math gremlin. They would pay attention, go to the board and do problems, and occasionally get them right the first time. But, as soon as they left the classroom and went home, took out their papers, pencils and books, it was a completely different story.
Clicks no longer dominated. Students who never spoke to each other in school exchanged phone numbers creating study groups at night. Math sessions would last for hours and still it was a miracle if the problems were correct the next morning.

“No, this is not right. Don’t you remember what we talked about?” Mrs. Cluntz would say making a large ‘x’ over the problem a student had just completed. “Are we going to have to go over this again and again?” And each day she made a reference to the gremlin.

She made them miserable. Honor students felt lucky to survive the test with a low B. Other students simply accepted defeat and failed. She enjoyed her position. She strutted back and forth in front of the blackboard and was easy to make a snide comment.

She made it her duty to raise the intellectual level of her members. Once they were inducted, they attended plays, symphonies and would listen to classical music in her van on the way. Sometimes her own children would attend. Her daughter wore patent leather shoes and dresses, no makeup, and her son, suits and ties. Both were under the age of ten. Most of the female members of the group felt bad for the kids. They couldn’t stand some of the outings and knew that children their age were miserable. It was hard to forget what they had to go through in order to enjoy NHS status and the perks that came with it.

This was not to say that all students hated the field trips.


Darla was an extreme example. Her dislike for her Algebra teacher extended far beyond the woman's personal attributes. Darla was a member of the NHS and was regularly subjected to the down turned nose of Mrs. Cluntz. She could have handled the snide comments and the way the teacher dealt with her students. No, it was one particular incident that made her hate the woman.

Darla had just been inducted to the National Honor Society and the students were treated to half day off from school and a trip to a local dining establishment. It was the type of place that many of the students had never been to which was why Mrs. Cluntz chose it. Proud parents were in attendance and like most of the students, Darla was glowing.

She had a sense of humor that extended beyond her age group, so most of it was directed at the adults. While waiting for the meal to arrive, she made a joke about the number of forks sitting beside the China. Without missing a beat, Mrs. Cluntz replied,

"Well, if your parents took you someplace other than a local steakhouse, you might know what those were for." She laughed and went on talking to the other parents.

Darla got quiet. She looked at her parents and neither of them said anything. She didn't say anything either. She was pissed at this woman who was supposed to be an example for students. She didn't mention it to her parents afterwards either. How dare she say something to them like that! They had done everything for her and because she made a joke, they got ridiculed. Darla seethed when she thought about it.

She enjoyed the classical music and the trips to the theatre. She bathed in the glow of the lights from the stage and the music that wrapped around her. She felt conflicted. She could take the snide comments and pitiless humor directed toward her, but an insult to her parents was more than she could stand.

Darla was an artist. In English class she read Poe and Shakespeare and in Science she studied astronomy. In History, she read about the Pagans in Europe, the Dionysians in Greece and Salem in the New World. In Art class she drew dragons and faeries, witches and Vampires. She survived math because once it was over she had many places she could escape. She hardly spoke in class after the incident at the restaurant and it was spring when she came in carrying a large black artist’s case.

She came in just before the bell and walked in front of the classroom to the teacher’s desk. She stopped, her wrists crossed in a ‘v’ with the case in both hands

"I made something for your room," she said.

"What is it?" asked Mrs.Cluntz opening the folder.

"It's a Math Gremlin."

Mrs. Cluntz looked up into her student's face. The girl was smiling. When she looked down she saw a green creature with fangs and wings staring up at her. Already the chalk and pencil it was made with was staining the inside of the folder and her hands.

"I know it looks more like a Gargoyle, but I thought because of where it would be sitting, a Gargoyle would be more appropriate." Darla smiled proudly at her work and knew it would be going over the door. She had spoken clearly and had bowed her head. She hated it, but she had seen the way the lower animals in a pride would allow the dominant animal to feel superior. Also she knew that anything Mrs. Cluntz could show the students that would intimidate them would go over the door.

"Would you put it up for me?” her teacher asked.

"Sure!" Darla pulled one of the desks over to the door way, grabbed the scotch tape dispenser off the teacher's desk and blocked the doorway long enough to hang her handiwork.

Mrs. Cluntz was quick to point out the gremlin to her students as they came in. She glorified in the fact that a student was willing to make something for her room. When students left forty-five minutes later, they jokingly covered their heads with their books as the walked under the door jam.

It became a permanent fixture.

Mrs. Cluntz prepared the class for their first big test of the year. Study groups formed and math books were worn out. Darla studied with a friend the night before and felt confident in her ability to solve whatever problems were thrown at her. The time of the test came and she proudly put her name at the top, adding flair to its curls. She scanned down at the first problem and sat there. And sat there. No matter how long she stared, nothing came. She went to the next problem. Same thing. The next problem and then the next until she sat staring at the page until she started to cry.

She finally got the courage to go up to Mrs. Cluntz’s desk and tell her what was going on.

"I can't remember anything, I'm just blanking." Her teacher led her out in to the hall.

"I think this is just a way out of taking this test, you know that don't you?"

"It's not! I promise, I'll still take it, I will!" Darla couldn't stop crying to the point of hysterics.

"Fine, let's go call someone to pick you up." She led the student to the principal’s office where the girl’s mother was called. She left promising to take the test as soon as it could be rescheduled.

When Mrs. Cluntz got back to her students, they all began to ask what was wrong with Darla.

"The Gremlin got her." she said and laughed. Students looked at her uneasily and then at the drawing over the doorway.

That night after school, Mrs. Cluntz stayed late as usual to plan her lessons for the next day. She was not one to hold back if students didn't understand their work. It was a new problem, a new method everyday. Students must keep up.

It was getting dark when she realized there were no sounds coming from the hallways outside her door. She stood up and walked over to the doorway. She glanced out and saw the janitor bucket had been left out and hallway lights were still on.

They must have known I was still here, she thought stepping back into her room. She decided to run to the restroom and then call it a night. She needed to get home and make sure her own children had completed the lessons she had left for them.

Walking down the hall felt lonely. She was always here after everyone had left, but at least the noises of the janitor's mop kept her company. She first noticed the graffiti on the stalls as soon as she walked in and couldn't help noticing the sanitary napkin that had been soaked and thrown up on to the ceiling as she sat doing her business. Girls these days, she thought. She heard the door to the bathroom open and listened for footsteps on the linoleum. They never came. Instead, a clicking noise moved from the doorway and stopped in front of her stall.

"Hello? This stall is occupied." She folded her hands and placed them on her lap. There was no response from the other side. The clicking started pacing back and forth, back and forth. The sound of cloth being dried in the wind accompanied the clicking.

"May I help you?" She said to the closed door. Back and forth, whoosh, back and forth, whoosh. She wanted to get up, but for the moment, she had forgotten how. Soon the scraping began. Now the sound of nails on a chalkboard accompanied the clicks and the flapping. Scriiiiiiiiiieeeeeckkk, all along the front of the stall.

"Fine! I'm coming out." She wiped and pulled up her hose, she struggled to straighten them and finally accepted that the crotch wasn't going to go all the way up. She flushed and opened the door.

Nothing. No one wearing patent leather shoes, a cape and fake long red finger nails as she had imagined. She looked behind the door to the other stall was surprised not to find long scratch marks running the length of the stall doors. She rolled her eyes at herself and washed her hands.

It was a long walk back to her room. When she got there, she packed her bag and headed out. She heard the clicking and the whoosh noise again while walking out to her car. She glanced behind her.

"This isn't funny." She said loud enough for anyone around to hear. She got into her car faster than normal. She didn't notice the glowing eyes staring at her from the back seat of her car as she took off. She barely noticed the tufts of air that moved her hair out of place. The only thing she noticed was the empty feeling that overtook her when she blacked out and ran off the road.

She woke up fifteen minutes later. Her headlights were on and the radio was playing, but the engine was off. She was amazed that she hadn’t run into the ditch. The car sat off to the right on the shoulder well away from passing traffic. Her right turn signal was on and the clicking made her straighten as her spine tensed. She’d never blacked out before and sure didn’t remember quietly pulling over. She looked around the inside of the car and then started the engine. She glanced over her shoulder for oncoming traffic and then pulled on to the road.

When she got home, her children presented their homework to her. Rather than going over it as she usually did, she brushed them off and told them she would do it later. She flopped in front of the TV and stayed there until one in the morning.

Then next day she went in to her classroom and wrote her name on the board. She started by copying the example problem she had picked out the night before. When she finished that, she turned around to face her students.

"This is how we solve this particular problem," and her skirt lifted up as she spun back to the board. She placed the tip of her chalk just underneath the problem and there it stayed. For five full minutes, the class started to whisper, and not once did the chalk move. She stared at the point she had created and could not find where to start. She finally turned around and looked at the students.

"Tell you what, rather than going over something new today, why don't you ask me question about any problems you are having with any homework or lessons we have already gone over up to now."

Pages flipped and problems were dug up. Never was the class left so open to assistance. The example problem was erased and the first student was asked to write their problem on the board and explain to the class why they were having so much trouble.

The first problem was on two complex numbers being multiplied. This was trodden territory to Mrs. Cluntz, First, Outside, Inside, and finally Last and then add the resulting numbers. It was a wrote she had taught her oh, so forgetful students.

She went to the board. "FOIL, remember students, Final, Outside,Inside...no that's not right." She tapped the parts of the problem and stopped. " Maybe it was FLOI, First, Last...” The tapping stopped again. She could feel the students' confused looks and knew they had started to look at each other.

"Pay Attention!" She yelled. And the students watched as she tapped the parts of the problem over and over again for the next ten minutes. She was so involved with trying to remember the method, she didn't notice when a student snuck out of the room and went to the principal's office.

The Principal came in and sat at a student's desk in the back, his knees barely clearing the back of the seat in front of him. He watched for another five minutes as Mrs. Cluntz struggled with the problem on the board. Tap, tap, whisper, start over.

Finally, when the students began to look at him, he got up from the seat and went to the woman at the board.

"Mrs. Cluntz, is there a problem?" He asked. He slipped his hands into his pockets and leaned in waiting for a response.

"No, I know this one, I do. I'll get it in a minute." She continued with her tapping.

"Listen, maybe you should move to another problem, the period is almost over and..."

"I can get this, if you'd just leave me alone!!"

He backed off and stood to the side. He waited until the bell rang and dismissed the class. He waited by the entryway and told her next class to go to the library for a study hall session. When the halls had quieted down and all he could hear was her tapping on the board, he went over to her.

"Mrs. Cluntz, I'm going to call your husband, ok?"

"He doesn't know how to solve this, I do. I just need more time."

"Why don't you come to my office? We can make a copy of the problem and you can work it in there." He grabbed a pencil and pad from her desk and placed it in front of her face.

"Ok, maybe I can get some peace and quiet in there. That's what I need, just some quiet time to figure this out."

"Good, come on then."

Mrs. Cluntz continued to work the problem till her husband came. She took it with her and worked on it in the car. At home, she ignored her children and worked on the problem until she fell asleep at the kitchen table. When she woke up the next morning, she didn't get ready for school. She stayed with the problem all that day and into the next night.

She ate at the table looking at the problem. Her husband found he could only get her to sleep if he slipped Tylenol Nighttime in to her food. She carried it to the bathroom. She made him take her to work for the next few days so she could work on it in the car. She ignored her students. When she didn’t assign any homework or review any of their lessons, the classroom became rowdy. Other teachers began to complain that they found her students in the halls and smoking out back. She was finally sent home for an indeterminate period of time.

Two weeks after the incident, Mrs. Cluntz was admitted into a hospital that specialized in obsessive compulsive behaviors. She didn't want to finish the problem though, she couldn't finish it. She had forgotten how.

Darla was the only one who noticed the Math Gremlin was gone from over the classroom doorway.

Mrs. Cuntz's husband found the drawing in the back of her car and threw it away.