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There’s a new teacher at their school.
The four of them—Hilda, David, Frida, and Louise—had noticed the unfamiliar name on their schedules that morning, when Frida had been trying to get Louise (who up until recently had been homeschooled) acquainted with her schedule.
Well, more like she was trying to get all of them acquainted with their schedules. They were in Year 9 now, which meant separate classes for each subject, which also meant new schedules. Hilda still isn’t sure of the reason for the change, they had been perfectly fine the year before when they were all in one big class for the entire day. Just another thing she still didn’t quite understand about school.
Now, Period 1 has come and gone, and the Freaky Four are huddled near Frida’s locker, staring at the matching “Period 2: English, Room 201” time blocks printed on each of their schedules in crisp Sans-Serif font.
“Teacher: Sims, Jonathan,” Frida reads out loud. “Hm. He must be new. I know most of the teachers in the school, and I’ve never met a Mr. Sims before.”
“I was hoping to get Mrs. Dana.” David sighs, shoulders slumping slightly. “Guess we’re stuck with the new guy.”
Louise shrugs and gives a small smile. “Well, all of the teachers are new to me. It’ll be nice to have English with you three.”
Hilda chuckles lightly and pats David on the back good-naturedly. “Well, let’s just hope that this new guy can handle us Freaky Four,” she jokes, and their laughter trails after them as they start making their way down the hall to Room 201.
The classroom is decorated simplistically, but it’s far from bare. Bookcases line the back wall, filled with books of all sizes and colors, and strings of fairy lights decorate the edges of the room. A chalkboard hangs at the front, just behind a large wooden desk, upon which rests a small succulent plant, a pretty blue mug filled with writing utensils, a picture frame, an unopened box of chalk, and a small stack of books.
There are already quite a few students in the room, milling about and catching up with old friends, but the four of them manage to secure four adjacent seats near the center of the room, with Hilda and Louise in the front.
Just as the bell rings and the last few students trickle in, a man enters the room, carrying a laptop and a few folders. He looks to be in his mid-thirties, but his dark wavy hair, which is styled in a half-braid, is streaked with gray. He’s dressed in a comfortable-looking green jumper over a white button-up and slacks. His dark skin is speckled with odd circular marks and jagged scar tissue, and Hilda watches with wide eyes as he raises a hand absolutely covered in shiny burn scars to adjust his collar, partially hiding the sharp pale line cutting across his throat.
“Whoa,” Hilda breathes. She’s never seen that many scars on a single person before.
The rest of the class seemingly notices the newcomer and goes almost completely silent, staring at him in open curiosity.
“Is he Mr. Sims?” Frida murmurs incredulously. “He must be, right?”
“He… does not look how I expected he would,” David whispers.
The man—Mr. Sims—deposits his things on the desk with a sigh. He shuffles around his papers for a bit and then turns to face the students, holding the class register and a pen. His eyes are a startlingly vivid green.
He clears his throat, and the class quickly scurries to their seats as Mr. Sims begins taking attendance. He calls each name out surname first, briskly marking down each present student with a nod. Once he finishes, he places the register on his desk and clears his throat once again.
“Good morning, everyone,” he says. He slips a fresh piece of chalk from the box on his desk and writes “Mr. Sims” on the blackboard. His handwriting is rather shaky, likely due to the scarring on his hand.
“My name is Mr. Sims,” He continues, underlining his surname. “I’ll be your English teacher for this year. I moved to Trolberg a few months ago, and this is my first year teaching. I hope we can have a productive and enriching year together.”
He offers the class a small smile. “Now, if anybody has any further questions before we begin class, you may ask them now.”
Half of the hands in the room go up. Mr. Sims blinks.
“Hm.” He scans the myriad of raised hands. “Mira?”
Mira lowers her hand. “Where did you live before Trolberg?”
“London,” Mr. Sims responds.
“Where’s London?”
“It’s a big city quite far from here. Rather… busier and smellier than Trolberg. Trevor?”
“How’d you get all those scars?” Trevor asks bluntly. Hilda’s brow furrows. She wants to know too, but he doesn’t have to be so rude about it.
Mr. Sims sighs wearily as if he were anticipating the question. “Let’s just say they’re from… workplace accidents from my previous profession.” At that, the class bursts out in curious murmurs.
“What kind of workplace accident causes holes in your face?” Someone asks from the other side of the room.
“Or burn scars all over?” Someone else exclaims.
“Or-”
“David,” Mr. Sims says loudly and gestures toward where he’s sitting behind Hilda.
"What was your previous profession?” He asks.
“I was the Head Archivist of an academic research institution.” At that, Frida lets out an impressed little “ooh!”
Louise slowly raises her hand from where she’s sitting to Hilda’s right, and Mr. Sims nods towards her. “Louise?”
“Why’d you leave?” She asks quietly. Hilda shoots her a thumbs up.
Mr. Sims scratches at one of the circular marks on his cheek. “The aforementioned workplace accidents.”
“Which institution?” Frida asks without raising her hand. “What did you research?”
At that, Mr. Sims looks distinctly uncomfortable. “We researched the paranormal. You, uh, probably wouldn’t be able to find anything about the institution itself, since it was… terminated some time ago, er, given all the- the scars and the murders-”
Hilda all but shoots out of her seat. “Murders?!” She shouts to a chorus of exclamations from the rest of the class.
Mr. Sims looks like he’s mentally kicking himself. “We are starting class now,” he announces, plucking a book off the top of the pile on his desk.
“You can’t just drop that on us and expect us to move on!” Hilda exclaims.
“Sit down , please, Hilda,” Mr. Sims says sternly. “That’s a story for another time. If we get through the class material. Everybody, quiet!” The class quiets once again, and Hilda drops back into her seat with a huff.
“Thank you,” Mr. Sims says. He raises the paperback in his hand. “This is your assigned reading for the first several weeks of class. Of Tide Mice and Men. ” He turns and scribbles the book title on the blackboard. “Now, I highly recommend you find a way to acquire a copy of your own for annotations, but if that’s not possible, there’s always the library, and there are limited copies the school can provide for you…”
“I’ve got Mx. Shah for Science. Thoughts?” Louise asks as the four of them settle on some benches in the schoolyard to eat lunch. It had been over a week since they’d started school, and they were comparing opinions on their various teachers.
“I have them too!” Frida responds, rummaging in her bag for her utensils. “They’re super nice, but from what I’ve heard their class is pretty hard. They’re younger than a lot of the other teachers though, so they tend to offer their students more support outside of class. You should be able to pass, no problem.”
“I’ve got Mr. Billings,” David says. “Y’know, the guy who let some kids light a giant pile of magnesium on fire last year and almost burned down half the science wing.”
Hilda takes a bite out of her cucumber sandwich. “I still can’t believe he got away with that. Kind of wish I had him too.”
“No, you don’t,” all three of her friends say at once.
“...Yeah, no I don’t.”
“What about Mr. Sims?” Frida asks.
Here, the group pauses. In the week that they’d known him, they’d found that Mr. Sims, while he’d seemed quite strict and professional at first, is in fact a delightfully odd man.
Though he was clearly still getting used to his job, he had a near encyclopedic knowledge of everything they read and any topic that was brought up, no matter how obscure, and was prone to going on long tangents.
He had a penchant for being rather ominous when he spoke. Earlier that day, he’d successfully warned the class off of cheating on their upcoming book chapter tests by simply leveling a look at all of them and saying “I’ll know” in a properly spooky voice. Several members of the class had gone quite pale.
He didn’t talk about his past much. Other than what he’d said on the first day, he hadn’t mentioned his life before Trolberg at all.
He never seemed to ask anyone any direct questions. Whenever he needed to ask a question, he deftly reworded it into a simple declaration.
And then there were his eyes. Acid green, so vivid your own eyes were almost automatically drawn towards them. If the light hit them just right, they almost looked like they were glowing. They were… Hilda didn’t know how to best describe them. They always seemed to see more than they should.
Hilda taps her chin in thought. “He’s… interesting, ” she chirps after a moment. “I like him a lot! Oh, we’ve got to get him to tell us about the murders .”
“I mean, he probably has a very good reason for not telling us,” David points out.
Hilda just shrugs.
“He’s very good with names,” Louise supplies, taking another picture of the courtyard with her portable camera. She’d been doing that a lot—taking pictures of the school, that is. It was probably her way of getting better acquainted with her new environment.
“He is , isn’t he?” Frida observes. “I’m pretty sure he only looked at the register once , and he already knows everyone by name! It’s quite impressive.”
It’s at this point that Louise swings her camera around for another shot, only for it to be snatched roughly out of her hands.
“Hey!” Hilda shouts, jumping to her feet. Her eyes meet those of a large boy, who’s tossing Louise’s camera from hand to hand as his two friends stand behind him, laughing. Hilda recognizes the boy from a few of her classes. He was always harassing smaller kids and playing innocent when he inevitably got in trouble. It was infuriating .
“What’s all this, then?” sneers the boy. “What’s with all the pictures, New Girl? Kind of creepy, don’t you think?”
Louise looks up at him. “I wasn’t bothering you,” she says. “Can I have my camera back?”
“Oh, but you were bothering me.” The boy grins wickedly. “You were taking pictures of me without my say-so! Have been for days, bloody annoying, that is.”
“She wasn’t taking pictures of you!” Frida counters, standing. “Who’d want to take pictures of you, anyway? She was taking pictures of the school! Right, Louise?”
Louise nods, brow furrowing. “Right. Can I please have my camera back now?”
The boy scoffs. “You’re weird . Anyone who hangs out with the Freaky Friends probably isn’t right in the head. Nah, I think I’ll keep it for a bit.” He tightens his grip on the camera and turns to leave.
Louise suddenly leaps up with impressive speed and grabs for the camera. The boy growls and slams an elbow into her chest before snatching her by the collar. “Oh, you’ve asked for it!”
“Yah!” Hilda lunges forward and wraps her arms around the boy’s middle, knocking him and Louise to the ground. The boy lets go of Louise, and after a brief scuffle, turns his attention to Hilda instead.
He aims a punch at her, but she jerks a hand up and palms it dead. Her Troll-enhanced strength really came in handy sometimes.
The boy snarls in her face, eyes wide, and moves to yank his fist from her grip-
“Stop.”
Everyone—from the bully’s friends who are rushing forward to join the tussle to David and Frida who are helping Louise to her feet—freezes.
Then slowly, ever so slowly, they all turn their heads toward the source of the voice.
Mr. Sims is there, frowning.
His eyes are as green as ever.
“Hilda, let go of him,” he says evenly. She does so without a second thought. “Tom, give the camera back to Louise.” The boy—Tom—silently steps forward to hand the camera back to its owner.
Is that an odd staticky hum in the air, or is it just the adrenaline from the almost-fight buzzing through Hilda’s veins?
Louise makes a crestfallen noise. “The lens is cracked,” she says.
Mr. Sims blinks. The hum abruptly vanishes.
He sighs deeply, eyes softening, then steps forward and places a comforting hand on Louise’s shoulder, gently guiding her towards the school building. “Right. Come on, let’s have the nurse check you kids over, and then let’s go see the principal. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. You just need to tell Magnusson what happened.” He pauses and looks over his shoulder at the rest of them. “That means all of you.”
Hilda exchanges a glance with David and Frida. It had only been a week since she’d transferred to a public school, and Louise had not only already almost gotten in a fight, but her camera had been damaged. They couldn’t let Tom and his friends get away with this.
They share a nod and follow Mr. Sims without a word.
“I just wanted to see it for a bit! I was going to give the camera back, I swear, but she just- lunged at me and I had to defend myself!”
To the surprise of approximately no one, as soon as their unhappy gang entered Principal Magnusson’s office, Tom and his friends immediately started putting on the victim act.
If Hilda’s blood boils any harder, it’s going to start steaming out of her ears.
“That’s not what happened at all!” Hilda exclaims. “You tried to punch me!”
“In self-defense!” One of Tom’s friends insists.
Tom nods emphatically. “Plus I didn’t even get to punch you because you grabbed my hand! Hard! I think you cracked a knuckle!” Tom grabs his hand in pretend pain. He wasn’t even grabbing the right one. “How are you that freakishly strong anyway?!”
“That’s not relevant. The fact is that you’re blatantly lying ,” Frida interjects.
“You stole Louise’s camera, broke it,” David says angrily, gesturing at Louise, who’s sitting quietly and holding her camera, “Grabbed her, tried to hit Hilda, and now you’re trying to pass the blame onto us!”
“Hm!” Principal Magnusson hums loudly, rubbing his beard and watching the students bicker with wide, excited eyes. Mr. Sims stands to the side of his desk, an unimpressed expression on his face. “This is a very complex situation indeed. Both sides have their stories-”
“Because he’s lying- ”
“I was assaulted-”
“-and I truly cannot decide who was in the wrong here!” Magnusson continues. “Oh, this is such a dilemma-”
“Principal Magnusson,” Mr. Sims interrupts, stepping forward. “I would like to try speaking to the students, if you’ll allow it.”
Magnusson blinks up at him. “Oh, of course, Sims,” he says.
Mr. Sims nods once and turns his gaze upon the seven students before him.
“Your statements don’t match up,” he says bluntly. “It’s very clear that one side is lying about what truly happened and is attempting to manipulate our perception of the situation to be more in their favor. Likely as a way to escape responsibility or punishment.”
His green eyes narrow and he leans forward. “I don’t appreciate being lied to or manipulated,” he says.
Tom and his friends shrink back slightly.
Mr. Sims takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. "I am going to ask all seven of you a question. I implore you to answer honestly .”
He opens his eyes again. His yawning pupils seem to stare into Hilda’s very soul.
“Did you tell the truth?”
Hilda… can’t really describe what happens next. It’s like all of her thoughts go a bit muted for a brief moment, and a feeling like soft buzzing static seems to hook itself around her vocal cords, gently tugging her answer from the depths of her throat and past her lips.
“Yes,” she answers honestly.
“Yes,” answers David, Frida, and Louise.
“No,” answers Tom and his friends.
There’s silence.
When Hilda comes back to herself, Mr. Sims’ eyes are wide in abject horror.
“What the hell,” Tom says, stunned.
Mr. Sims quickly straightens and turns away.
“W-Well, uh, there you have it,” Mr. Sims says. “Now you can tell Principal Magnusson what really happened. I… I need to get these four to their respective classes, they’re already far too late. Come on.”
Hilda, still unsure what to make of what the heck just happened, stands. Her friends quickly follow.
Just as they’re about to leave the office, Tom whirls on Mr. Sims.
“How did you do that?” He demands. “What did you do to me?”
Mr. Sims just looks at him with those tired green eyes.
“Simple. I asked you to answer my question honestly, and you did.”
With that, the five of them leave the office.
When school lets out that day, Hilda tells Frida and David to take Louise and go ahead to the photography store without her.
“I’ll catch up,” Hilda promises them. “I just… forgot something.”
Frida sighs in good-natured exasperation. “Okay, but hurry! We need to pool our resources and buy Louise a replacement camera lens. It’s the least we can do to help cheer her up.”
Hilda nods and takes off back towards the school. She makes her way inside and ascends the stairs, and is soon standing before the entrance of Room 201. The door is closed, but she can see Mr. Sims sitting at his desk through the window.
She takes a deep breath and raises her hand to knock-
“Come in, Hilda,” comes Mr. Sims’ voice from inside.
Hilda freezes, then swallows, steels herself, and opens the door.
Mr. Sims is on the phone with someone. He says a few words, too quiet for Hilda to hear, then places the phone back in its receiver.
Hilda winces. “Sorry, did I interrupt…?”
“Not at all, I was just about to head out,” he replies and looks up at her. His eyes are still that unnerving green, but his expression is open and more than a little apprehensive.
“I suppose you have questions,” he says.
Hilda presses her lips together and, after a brief moment of silence, nods.
“…In the principal’s office today,” she starts. “Did you… do something? To get Tom to tell the truth?”
Mr. Sims sucks in a breath and slowly lets it out.
“Yes.”
He stares at her. She stares back.
“Okay,” Hilda says. “What did you do?”
“I compelled him to tell me the truth. It’s something I can do—If I ask anyone a direct question, they must answer me truthfully.”
“So is that why you never ask us any questions during class?”
Mr. Sims shifts in his seat. “Yes. Unfortunately, I don’t have much control over this ability. I don’t want to subject anyone to it if I don’t have to.”
Hilda’s eyes narrow slightly. “Then why did you do it to Tom? To us?”
Mr. Sims sighs deeply and covers his face with his hands. “I- I didn’t mean to. I lost control, and I can’t apologize enough for that. …But even so, I can’t bring myself to fully regret doing it. You saw what he did to Louise. I-I couldn’t just let that lie.” He withdraws his hands and looks down at his desk. “I was telling the truth back in the office. I’m- not the biggest fan of those who lie or manipulate for personal gain.”
His expression darkens. “I’ve… had to deal with one too many people like that in the past.”
Hilda frowns in the silence that follows.
Just what happened to you?
“Are you a witch?” She asks.
“No,” he replies.
“Huh.”
More silence.
“…I’d appreciate it if you could tell me if you’re afraid of me or not,” Mr. Sims says.
“Mm,” Hilda hums. She thinks for a moment, then shakes her head decisively. “No. I’ve seen weirder. And scarier.”
At that, Mr. Sims lets out a laugh. It’s raw and disbelieving.
Hilda huffs and takes a few steps forward to lean against Mr. Sims’ desk.
“I’m serious,” she insists. “My mum and I were once almost eaten by this frog-spider-monster thing. Actually, no- we were eaten, were inside its stomach and everything, but it puked us back up because we were ‘too human to eat.’ Between that and you, you’re way less scary.”
Mr. Sims blinks owlishly at her for a beat, then laughs again. It’s genuine, this time. Warm and sonorous. He runs his scarred hand through his hair, loosening a few gray strands from his half-braid.
“Right,” he says. “I keep forgetting that this is Trolberg, a town built in the middle of Troll country, where the existence of strange and dangerous creatures are just- a fact of life.” He huffs out another quiet laugh. “It’s so different from where I came from…”
With that, he pushes himself to his feet and reaches for his satchel. “Well, it’s getting late. You don’t want to keep your friends waiting.”
Hilda gasps. “Oh, right! We still have to buy Louise that new camera lens!” She darts for the door.
However, when she places her hand on the handle, she pauses.
“…I have one last question.”
Mr. Sims nods. “Ask away.”
“If you’re not a witch, then what are you?”
“That’s…” Mr. Sims looks down at the floor and rubs at the gnarled burn scars on his hand. “…A very complicated question. One I don’t think I’m ready to answer yet.” He looks up at her again, meeting her gaze.
Hilda finally has a word to describe how Mr. Sims’ eyes look.
They look haunted.
“For now,” he says softly, “I’m just your English teacher.”
One last brief moment of silence.
Hilda smiles at him. “Okay. See you tomorrow, Mr. Sims.”
Mr. Sims smiles back.
Haunted, but hopeful for a better future.
“See you tomorrow, Hilda.”