Whisper Down the Lane by Clay Chapman (inspiring books for teens txt) 📕

is it? Out of the mouths of babes, as it says in scripture.”

So many eyes. The eyes in the audience.

The camera. That glass eye.

Staring.

“How are you feeling, Sean? Are you scared? It’s okay to be scared. I would be if I were in your shoes…But I want you to know you’re safe here. With me.”

Sean nodded.

“Now, Sean,” Mr. Cassavetes started, just as he told him he would when they prepped backstage earlier that afternoon. “In your own words, as best as you can, can you describe how your teacher brought Satan into your classroom?”

Sean nodded again. “He made us sit in a circle and close our eyes. He made us sing a song he taught us with funny words…”

It was so easy. Saying these words. He’d said them so many times before. The more he spoke, the more he noticed how the audience reacted. A woman brought her hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp. Another woman’s eyes glistened with tears. So many distraught faces. All of them saying, poor you.

How brave.

“I want to remind our viewers that there have been multiple reports of grave desecrations, graffiti of occult symbols.” Cassavetes had to keep the pace building without going too far. He quickly pivoted, crossing his arms and pinching his chin, as if to summon a question from somewhere deep within his valiant heart. “Sean, if you can…I’m curious: What made you take part in these terrible things? Why didn’t you speak up? Tell your mother?”

“Because…” What was Sean supposed to say again? “He was my teacher.”

Someone from the audience let out a shout, like a balloon popping.

“My teacher,” Mr. Cassavetes repeated. “Someone you have been told to trust. To depend on. To learn from. A teacher is supposed to show you the ways of the world…What hope do our children have if their own teachers are indoctrinating them into the ways of Satan?”

Mr. Cassavetes let this question hang in the air for a moment.

“Mrs. Crenshaw, I have to imagine this has been particularly difficult on you…”

Mom nodded. Her mouth made a funny shape. To Sean, it looked like she was sucking on a hard, sour candy.

“What is it like to hear your son say these things?”

“It’s…” she started, then halted. Her eyes darted to her hand, still gripping onto Sean. Squeezing. “It’s terrifying.”

“Now I understand that your husband is no longer a part of your family.”

“That’s correct…”

“What were the warning signs that you missed?”

Mom’s pinched expression turned into something that was harder for Sean to read. “Excuse me?”

“You’re going to have to forgive me, ma’am…but a part of tonight’s program is to help show other parents how they might be able to stop this from happening in their family. Looking at your own personal experiences, your son’s molestation, will help those watching at home—”

“I protected my son,” Mom called out. Her voice was higher than before.

“Of course you—”

“I love my son.” Her lips tightened. “I did everything I could to—to keep him safe.”

Sean didn’t like the way Mr. Cassavetes was talking to his mom. It sounded like he was saying it was all her fault. That she was a bad mother. That wasn’t a part of their deal. Mr. Cassavetes never said anything about that before the show started. He was changing the rules.

He was playing a different game. All by himself. With rules only he knew.

Mr. Cassavetes was cheating.

“And how do you react to claims your son made about cannibalism?”

Sean’s mother opened her mouth but couldn’t speak.

Cannibalism? Sean was suddenly stuck in the stickiness of the word. What’s that?

“Allegedly, students were forced to eat the flesh of aborted fetuses,” Cassavetes said without a hint of doubt. “We’ve had reports that young women—kids themselves—were impregnated by these devil worshippers, forced to abort their babies on an altar.”

Sean was confused. Mr. Cassavetes was saying things that Sean had never said before.

“Students like Sean were allegedly forced to eat the flesh of these babies, and I can’t help but ask how in the world we, as a nation, have come to this? How can we make this stop?”

Sean looked at his mother, whose face was practically on fire. Mr. Cassavetes noticed too and turned to the camera. “Joining us now is a trained specialist and child psychologist, Dr. Mia Kinderman. Dr. Kinderman has been working exclusively with Sean and other victims of the Greenfield Six. Her findings have been revelatory.”

“Thank you for having me, Manuel.”

Could a man with a leathery tan like Mr. Cassavetes blush? Not under that much makeup, but his smile took on a sheepish quality, as if he were being bashful.

“Dr. Kinderman,” Mr. Cassavetes continued, “what can you tell us about your research?”

“Well, Manuel, given that this is an ongoing case and I’m working with children, the lion’s share of my findings must remain private. But, that said, from what I’m able to discuss with the public, I must say…this epidemic is far worse than anyone can imagine.”

“Worse? How so?”

“Ritualistic abuse is a cancer. It is spreading throughout our communities, small town after small town. It has made its way into our schools and it has infected our children.”

“But how? Why children, Dr. Kinderman? Why target our most innocent?”

“Because of their innocence. Because Satanism has one goal and one goal only. To make people despair. If they can corrupt our most impressionable citizens…what hope do we have?”

“How could such atrocious acts go unnoticed for so long? How did we get to this point?”

“Simple,” she said. “Because nobody wants to believe something so evil as this is possible. And yet…here we are. It’s only when someone brave, like Sean, steps forward and shines a light on this type of moral corruption that the rest of the world is willing to listen.”

Miss Kinderman turned to Sean and smiled.

That’s when it struck him. Miss Kinderman was looking more and more like his mother every day. Or the way she used to look. Healthier, happier. More beautiful. How much longer would it be until there was nothing left of his mother and