The Unknown Object
Johnny Hudson enjoyed being in a position of authority, he always had. From the moment he’d graduated high school and done a stint in the army, he found he loved the feeling of being respected. He hadn’t been deployed overseas like had hoped, but he got a thrill from how people reacted to him whenever he wore his military fatigues, like people at the local supermarket thanking him for his service, or giving him a seat on a crowded bus, and being able to board airplanes before anyone else.
When he’d finished his time in the army, things changed. The deference he’d gotten used to disappeared. He was no longer able to skip ahead when waiting in line at the movie theater, for example. Women didn’t gaze at him admiringly anymore. He was just one of the crowd, which frustrated him to no end.
Luckily, Johnny had always been athletic, so once he left the army he decided to go on to college and join its basketball team (he had been team captain during his senior year of high school), but an injury during his first semester ended that dream. He’d been ‘undeclared’ during that first year, but after looking at his grades, he decided to focus on physical education, with the goal of eventually becoming a P.E. teacher. Being an educator, he’d reflected at that time, would work with all of his strengths—he was a natural leader, he inspired respect among his peers and those beneath him, and his years in the military had left him physically strong. Besides, working in a high school had other advantages.
He’d gotten his teacher’s license on the first try. Afterwards, he had worked at Central High, one town over from Lansdale, for over fifteen years. At first, as a younger teacher, he had found it easy to relate to his students, as the juniors and seniors were not that far apart from him in age. He could speak to them in their own language, use the same slang, and he was considered one of the ‘cool’ teachers. It made Johnny feel like the big man on campus—he was respected, just as he’d been when he was in the army.
Unfortunately, as he’d grown older, he found that the admiration he had hoped to receive from his pupils gradually vanished. Students often disrespected him or rolled their eyes when he ordered them to do exercise routines. Johnny Hudson found himself growing jaded and apathetic, and as a reaction, became more and more of a disciplinarian. He even applied for the position of dean of discipline at Central High, but was rejected due to what the school’s principal termed as Johnny’s “draconian disciplinary proposals.” He was disillusioned at the reality of being a P.E. teacher versus the expectations he’d held, but at least the job still carried some perks.
It was taking advantage of those perks that had finally resulted in his transfer to Lansdale High. Some of the female students had complained to the administration about Johnny’s tendency to hang around the girls’ locker room, how he tended to stare at them when they were in their P.E. uniforms, and how he gave certain girls special treatment or would ask them to come after school for additional ‘practice.’
The school had investigated Johnny, but didn’t find any solid proof other than the fact that some girls felt uncomfortable around him. He had explained to the administration that it was clear the students were trying to retaliate against him due to his strictness, but the principal was unconvinced. Maybe it was the fact that Johnny was almost forty and unmarried. Maybe some other teachers had noticed how he tended to gaze at his female students, or how he used his phone camera to record the girls’ sports practices for ‘review,’ but never the boys’. Ultimately, though there was no solid evidence, the school used the excuse that Johnny Hudson had caused ‘friction’ among the staff at Central High to transfer him to Lansdale, where he’d been for the past year.
Working at Lansdale was hell—unlike Central High, its P.E. program was disorganized and the head of the department resisted all of Johnny’s recommendations for improvements. The best clubs (like track and field) had already been assigned to other coaches, and Johnny found himself frozen out of his attempts to join the disciplinary committee. He suspected that rumors about him had reached Lansdale High, because he immediately noticed that his teaching schedule only ever had him teach the boys’ classes, which just made him more bitter.
Nevertheless, there were still some advantages to teaching at Lansdale, he mused to himself as he walked down the corridor. A lot of the students were appropriately deferential and respectful, as he had established himself as strict and unforgiving early on. The students avoided him outside of class for the most part, which suited Johnny Hudson just fine. And even if he didn’t get to teach the girls, he still got to see them in the hallways in their cute uniforms—Lansdale’s uniform policy was pretty lax, so a lot of the girls rolled up their skirts, revealing a tantalizing amount of skin. And he’d already set up a secret little system so he could see far more than that, whenever he wanted.
But by far the best perk was the fact that he was teaching the same grades as Hannah Davis. Hannah was a few years younger than Johnny, but she was attractive and (as far as he knew) single. Johnny had been finding excuses to interact with her as much as possible over the course of the last few months, and he had a feeling she was growing fond of him—just the other day, she’d called him a ‘lifesaver’ and thanked him for his help when he told her about that student who’d been cutting her class to go to the town library.
In fact, he’d followed up on that incident afterwards, in hopes of impressing Hannah even further with his diligence. He’d called the library and found out that the student’s identity was Timothy West, a chronic underachiever whose only distinguishing feature, as far as Johnny could recall, was his ability to weasel out of doing any real work in P.E.
In fact, the reason Johnny was now heading to Hannah’s classroom was to discuss strategy with her in regards to what to recommend to the dean of discipline—he would suggest to Hannah that she suggest Timothy be given a ten-day suspension as well as request a meeting with his parents. Hannah, he’d noticed, tended to be too much of a soft touch with the student body, but luckily, Johnny was going to help her overcome that weakness, and he hoped she would recognize how helpful he was being, and be grateful. And who knows where things would go from there?
Johnny was just a couple of meters from Hannah’s classroom when he heard raised voices. It sounded like Hannah was verbally disciplining a student.
Good girl, Johnny thought. You’re getting the hang of it—don’t let these little shits get away with anything.
He then heard another raised voice, a boy’s voice, talking back.
How dare a student talk back to a teacher like that!? Johnny was incredulous. He decided that Hannah Davis could use some assistance.
He peeked in through the door’s window only to see Hannah, an anxious expression on her face, on one side of the desk, and Timothy West on the other. West was agitated and looking through his backpack for God-knows-what. Maybe an excuse from Mommy and Daddy for skipping school?
Time to play the hero, Johnny thought to himself, concealing a smile. He’d probably score a few points with Hannah for helping her out with this unruly little turd.
He opened the classroom door and put on his best ‘concerned and upset’ expression.
“Well, well, what’s all this commotion?”
Timothy West turned to look at him, all the color draining from his face.
Hannah never thought she’d be glad to see Johnny Hudson, but she couldn’t suppress a grin when she saw him walk through the door. Mr. Hudson was a blunt instrument, but that was just what the situation called for. He walked in from the doorway and loomed over Timothy in a vaguely threatening manner. She’d seen him do this dozens of times before whenever he wanted to intimidate a student he found particularly disrespectful. Hannah would normally just cringe internally at his bullying tactics, but they might just save her today.
“Thank God you’re here…it’s…I…His bookbag…Johnny, his bookbag!” Hannah said, hoping that Hudson would understand to grab it. She suspected that whatever Timothy was using to control her and his family was in that bag, given how desperately he’d been searching through it.
Hudson, however, made no move towards the bag. Instead, he glared at Timothy.
“Mr. West, I could hear you from all the way out in the hall—do you think that’s an acceptable, respectful way to speak to a teacher?”
“I-I…,” Timothy West was momentarily flabbergasted.
“Don’t lecture him, just…his bookbag!” Hannah found that, due to Timothy’s commands, she could not be more explicit about what she wanted Hudson to do. She couldn’t move from where she was because Timothy had ordered not to. And she couldn’t just tell Mr. Hudson that Timothy was using some sort of …device… to control people’s minds because Timothy had forbidden her from revealing that information. But if only Mr. Hudson would grab and search through the bookbag, he’d find whatever it was, and hopefully, at the very least, confiscate it.
Mr. Hudson had other plans, however. He wanted to show off.
“I heard you’ve been skipping school to go to the library, Mr. West. Ms. Davis and I spoke about this just the other day,” he said, his expression still stern.
“Uhm, I don’t…”
“Did I ask you a question, Mr. West? Just shut up and listen. Not only did you lie about being sick, but you also used Ms. Davis’ good name in your subterfuge. I spoke with the assistant librarian yesterday by phone and he confirmed that you had falsely used your history teacher’s name as an excuse to play hooky.”
“QUIET! Unlike certain teachers, I don’t permit backtalk. In fact, I think a call to the dean of discipline is in order about all this, don’t you, Ms. Davis?”
“Mr. Hudson, the…the bookbag!” Hannah repeated herself. Why was he ignoring her?
“All in good time, Ms. Davis. We’ll have the dean of discipline check his bag for contraband and anything else. Maybe we’ll give your folks a call, right, Mr. West?” Mr. Hudson allowed himself a slight smile and grabbed his phone from the front pocket of the Adidas track jacket he always wore.
“I’ll just phone the dean,” he said, winking at Hannah.
“N-no!” she shouted, as she realized what Timothy was doing—while Hudson had been focused on dialing the dean’s number, he’d taken the opportunity to grab something from his bag and was now pointing it at the P.E. teacher.
The P.E. teacher just grinned, saying “What’s that little toy?”
He didn’t have a chance to say much else. There was sharp crackling sound that lasted less than a second, and then Mr. Hudson dropped his phone onto the floor, his body almost immediately slumping over, but not falling. He made no further movements—it was clear to Hannah that Mr. Hudson was now under Timothy’s control.
“The bookbag, huh, Ms. Davis?” Timothy said, now glaring at her. “What did I tell you about following my orders?”
The teenager now turned to her, raised his arm, still holding the unknown object (for some strange reason, Hannah couldn’t make out what it was), and she heard the crackle again, as her whole world went dark.
Fuck, this was a situation Tim hadn’t planned for. He had two zombiefied teachers in a classroom, in the middle of the school day. In just a few minutes, the bell would ring, and students would be swarming the hallways.
“Do you have any other classes today, Ms. Davis?” he said to the woman sitting at her desk, her eyes glazed over.
“Shit. What time is your next class, Ms. Davis?”
That was good. He had more than enough time to clean up this mess. Unless…
“How about meetings, Ms. Davis? Do you have any meetings, and if so, when?”
That was no problem. He turned to Mr. Hudson.
“When’s your next class, Mr. Hudson?”
Okay, okay, I can make this work, Tim thought. Neither Mr. Hudson or Ms. Davis would be missed in the next couple of hours. Tim decided he could safely skip next class, which was mathematics. His math teacher, Mr. Humbert, never called roll anyway.
This was an unexpected development, but he’d been planning on eventually subjugating the school’s teaching staff anyway. He might as well begin with Mr. Hudson, though he wasn’t a particularly useful acquisition, considering he only taught boys’ P.E. classes.
Tim grabbed Ms. Davis’ classroom keys from her desk, locked the history classroom and then rolled down the window curtains she used whenever she wanted to project something onto the whiteboard. Since Ms. Davis’ classroom was at the end of the hall, it was an area that didn’t get as much heavy student traffic as other parts of the school.
Tim had Mr. Hudson sit down at a nearby desk, then went to his bookbag and pulled out his phone and a pair of earbuds. As he did so, he felt his left foot bump against something, and looked down—it was Mr. Hudson’s phone. He’d been in the process of calling the dean of discipline when Tim had used the mind control gun on him. Luckily, he hadn’t been able to complete the call, but the phone had been left unlocked when it fell to the floor.
He knelt down and grabbed it and then, without giving much consideration to Mr. Hudson’s privacy, began going through its apps. First, he looked up his emails. Lots of orders for sports equipment, some email back-and-forths with what sounded like his brother (?) about putting their dad in a retirement home, some messages about hair restoration treatments. Tim looked at the thinning hair on Mr. Hudson’s head, chuckled slightly at that. There were also, he noted, a bunch of emails about ‘discreet security cameras’ designed to blend into the environment. Apparently, Mr. Hudson had ordered a bunch of them over the course of the last six months or so.
Huh, weird, Tim thought, then shrugged. Maybe he was paranoid about home security?
There wasn’t much else of interest in the emails, so Tim turned now to the photos on Mr. Hudson’s phone. Again, there wasn’t much of interest. Photos of sports equipment, what looked like a Christmas party with Mr. Hudson’s extended family, pictures of sports games.
“Are you married, Mr. Hudson?” he asked as he scrolled through the photos.
“…no…” the response came in the usual monotone that subjects of the mind control gun had when they were under its power.
Too bad, Tim thought. If only he had an attractive wife or girlfriend.
Mr. Hudson led a pretty dull life, Tim concluded. He was just about to turn the phone off when he noticed that there was a subdivision of photo folders under the main album. It was titled ‘Top Secret.’
Huh, what could this be? Tim asked himself.
He tapped on it to open it up, and it asked him for a password.
“What’s the password for your top secret photo album, Mr. Hudson?”
“…zero…eight…zero…three…one…,” Mr. Hudson said, trembling slightly. Even under the ray gun’s effects, Tim could tell that the P.E. teacher was somewhat agitated.
Tim pressed the code and opened up the folder.
His jaw dropped when he realized what he was looking at.
Some of the images were quite blurry. Others had clearly been taken behind grates, or wire mesh.
All of them were of the school’s female students in various states of undress.
Tim gulped, licked his lips involuntarily.
He scrolled through the images, one after another. Many of them were taken in what could only be the girls’ locker room. He saw girls changing into their P.E. clothes, cheerleaders changing into their uniforms. None of them were looking at the camera, clearly unaware they were being photographed. In these photos, all the girls were wearing underwear, but it was still quite a thrilling sight.
The shower room photos were even more exciting. The camera used to take the images had been placed at a high angle, probably behind one of the grates near the ceiling, or on top of one of the nearby lockers. He saw girls from throughout the senior high soaping up, washing themselves after sweaty P.E. sessions. He recognized some of them—Jenny Li, for example, who was Heather’s friend from track and field. Jenny was featured in over a dozen of the photos, fully nude and soaping up. She had her eyes closed as the water hit her body. Her slim, athletic physique was visible in all its glory. Her small breasts, with light brown nipples, her crotch with its black pubic hair, soaked with water from the shower. Scrolling past, he saw shots of Tricia Moore, another track and field member. From the times she’d dropped by the house to visit Heather, Tim remembered her as being kind of loud and a bit obnoxious. Personality quirks aside, though, her body was something else. She had red hair, pale skin, small freckles all over her arms and shoulders. Her boobs were massive, and she had pink nipples with tiny areolae. Tim could imagine burying himself in her mounds, sucking away at them. Her pubic area showed she was a natural redhead, as if there had been any doubt. She seemed to be chatting with someone in one of the next shower stalls, a smile on her face, completely unaware of how her privacy was being violated by Mr. Hudson. Other photos featured girls from his own classroom, some senior high school girls, and some girls from some of the grades below Tim.
There were hundreds of pictures, dozens and dozens of different girls. It was obvious none of them knew they were being recorded. He paused when he noticed a familiar face—the punk girl from one of the lower grades who he’d seen chatting away with her boyfriend. Tim pondered briefly if the girl’s boyfriend had ever seen her naked. She had a slim body and modestly-sized breasts, the hair on her crotch a dark brown color very unlike the colorful dyed hair on her head. Subsequent images showed her soaping herself up. Tim wondered what her name was.
So this is what Mr. Hudson is using the security cameras for, Tim realized. He might not be teaching the girls’ P.E. classes, but he still had access to the locker rooms and showers, and he must have set these cameras up over the course of a few months. He was a pervert, a peeping tom.
Tim shifted his waist slightly, as he felt a tightness around his pants. He was breathing heavily, his heart beating a mile a minute. He’d become excited by the voyeuristic images.
He kept scrolling past the images, as one beautiful girl blended into another, and then stopped suddenly when he recognized a very familiar face. His sister, Heather. Like the others, she’d been photographed in both the locker room and in the shower—her body, intimately familiar to him, was on full display for Mr. Hudson’s perverted gaze.
Tim’s face reddened in anger. He looked at the P.E. teacher, seated with a blank expression on his face.
“Do you realize I have enough evidence on this phone to get you fired, Mr. Hudson? And probably charged with a bunch of crimes?”
Tim paused, had a wicked thought, then smiled.
“Lucky for you, I’m not going to do that. No, I have a much, much better idea of what to do with you,” Tim said.
He turned off Mr. Hudson’s phone and turned on his own. Scrolling through the apps, he found the recording he’d made of the guide of obedience, connected the earbuds to the phone and placed them on Mr. Hudson’s head.
“Now, you’re going to listen to this recording very, very carefully, Mr. Hudson, and follow its suggestions and commands as though they came from me.”
With that said, he hit ‘play’ and sat back and watched as Mr. Hudson listened to the guide…and became Tim’s slave.