#1 ·
In my relatively brief but deeply personal career as a foreign language instructor, I have encountered a fair amount of absurdity. However, one particular incident stands out as so bizarre that I suspect it will stay with me forever. This string of strange events still leaves me wondering about the outcome, which is why I’m hoping someone here might be able to help me answer one specific question: "What ever happened to Anne?" Of course, given the sensitive nature of the situation and out of respect for those involved, I will be altering names and omitting any compromising details. That said, I have no doubt that those the story concerns will know exactly who—and what—I am talking about.
Right after college, my first real job was a substitute teaching gig out in the middle of nowhere, rural Midwest. I had the distinct luck of being handed a classroom on day one, and as it turns out, Anne was in that class. She didn't stand out from the rest of the group particularly much—just a quiet, withdrawn kid who struggled immensely with my subjects. But unlike the others, she was a genuine angel, though that might be a story for another time.
One afternoon, the principal called me into his office with some unsettling news: Anne had vanished. She had taken the bus in from a nearby small town along with the other students, but once she stepped off at the station, she seemed to have evaporated into thin air. Without a second thought, I grabbed my keys and sped toward the school so we could figure out our next move. However, by the time I arrived, the principal was already offering a sense of relief—Anne had been found. Apparently, she had simply wandered into a local convent. My immediate question, naturally, was how on earth that even happened.
According to the director, Anne headed into those woods—which are notorious for more than one reason—with the intention of ending her own life. Fortunately, fear took hold at the last moment, prompting her to flee toward a nearby monastery instead. Upon hearing what had transpired, the nuns provided her with spiritual protection and sent her to the chapel to pray. For some reason, he recounted the ordeal as if he were describing something mundane, remaining silent until I finally posed the only question that mattered: "Why?" Because, he replied with genuine bewilderment, Satan is speaking through her.
I found myself momentarily stunned, especially when the director simply waved me off after my repeated attempts to appeal to his common sense. He dismissed the whole thing with a hand gesture, claiming everything was fine now and insisting he wouldn't be notifying the relevant authorities. In my struggle against the wind turbines, I felt forced to make the one desperate move I had left: I told him plainly that I intended to speak with Anne personally to find out exactly what is going on.
I decided to address it immediately. After about an hour, I pulled her aside and asked her to walk me through what had actually happened that day. "You see," she said, with a palpable sense of unease, "I listen to Metallica, and Satan speaks through me." Her response left me momentarily speechless; after all, the child barely had a grasp of English, let alone the ability to interpret song lyrics. I tried to gently suggest that might not be the case, but she dismissed my concerns with absolute sincerity. She claimed a friend from New York City—someone she met online who happens to be part of that elusive Black Rose sect—also listens to Metallica and experiences that same connection to Satan. Based on that, Anne concluded that she was simply experiencing the same thing. I ended up offering her nothing but support, assuring her that, by any reasonable standard, there was absolutely nothing "wrong" with her.
Eventually, I got it in writing: my opinion on local matters doesn't carry any weight around here. I received a call from the principal, who informed me that during religious studies, the instructor had kicked Anne out of class because she was being so disruptive that he had to devote his entire lesson to addressing her behavior. Naturally, I rushed to the school at breakneck speed and caught the instructor right as he was filing his report. As expected, his excuse was that Satan was speaking through the child. It gave me a bit of a jolt—a momentary clouding of the mind—before I finally found the courage to ask the question everyone has been wondering: how, exactly, does Satan speak through Anne?
His whole story was just as bizarre as everything else. He had assigned the class to read a text in silence and pull out the key points, but then Anne started making these unsettling muttering sounds—likely because, like many kids, she was reading under her breath instead of silently to herself. Not that he was caught off guard by any of it, though. By the end of our discussion, I had decided the best course of action was to call a meeting with the principal and my little one.
I met Anne's parents during my time there. Her father wasn't much for small talk; he seemed preoccupied with more pressing matters and left us quite early. His wife sat beside him the entire time, withdrawn, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor. But the moment he stepped out and I heard the door click shut, something shifted in her. She reached out, took my hand, and in a moment of raw vulnerability, confessed that she had started organizing prayer circles with a group of local women. She couldn't bear to share a roof with Anne anymore, and frankly, she was terrified for her own life.
That was the extent of our interaction.
Not long after, my assignment wrapped up, and I walked away from that place for good. The last bit of news I heard was that Anne had been sent off to a spiritual retreat in Sedona to undergo some kind of religious renewal. Apparently, the reign of terror she inflicted on that small town became so unbearable that the local priest fled overnight—though the official word was that he’d been caught in an affair with a married woman.
That’s all I have. Anne should be an adult by now, and there's no questioning the psychological torment she endured over these past few years. I can only hope she survived it all and found some semblance of peace...
Right after college, my first real job was a substitute teaching gig out in the middle of nowhere, rural Midwest. I had the distinct luck of being handed a classroom on day one, and as it turns out, Anne was in that class. She didn't stand out from the rest of the group particularly much—just a quiet, withdrawn kid who struggled immensely with my subjects. But unlike the others, she was a genuine angel, though that might be a story for another time.
One afternoon, the principal called me into his office with some unsettling news: Anne had vanished. She had taken the bus in from a nearby small town along with the other students, but once she stepped off at the station, she seemed to have evaporated into thin air. Without a second thought, I grabbed my keys and sped toward the school so we could figure out our next move. However, by the time I arrived, the principal was already offering a sense of relief—Anne had been found. Apparently, she had simply wandered into a local convent. My immediate question, naturally, was how on earth that even happened.
According to the director, Anne headed into those woods—which are notorious for more than one reason—with the intention of ending her own life. Fortunately, fear took hold at the last moment, prompting her to flee toward a nearby monastery instead. Upon hearing what had transpired, the nuns provided her with spiritual protection and sent her to the chapel to pray. For some reason, he recounted the ordeal as if he were describing something mundane, remaining silent until I finally posed the only question that mattered: "Why?" Because, he replied with genuine bewilderment, Satan is speaking through her.
I found myself momentarily stunned, especially when the director simply waved me off after my repeated attempts to appeal to his common sense. He dismissed the whole thing with a hand gesture, claiming everything was fine now and insisting he wouldn't be notifying the relevant authorities. In my struggle against the wind turbines, I felt forced to make the one desperate move I had left: I told him plainly that I intended to speak with Anne personally to find out exactly what is going on.
I decided to address it immediately. After about an hour, I pulled her aside and asked her to walk me through what had actually happened that day. "You see," she said, with a palpable sense of unease, "I listen to Metallica, and Satan speaks through me." Her response left me momentarily speechless; after all, the child barely had a grasp of English, let alone the ability to interpret song lyrics. I tried to gently suggest that might not be the case, but she dismissed my concerns with absolute sincerity. She claimed a friend from New York City—someone she met online who happens to be part of that elusive Black Rose sect—also listens to Metallica and experiences that same connection to Satan. Based on that, Anne concluded that she was simply experiencing the same thing. I ended up offering her nothing but support, assuring her that, by any reasonable standard, there was absolutely nothing "wrong" with her.
Eventually, I got it in writing: my opinion on local matters doesn't carry any weight around here. I received a call from the principal, who informed me that during religious studies, the instructor had kicked Anne out of class because she was being so disruptive that he had to devote his entire lesson to addressing her behavior. Naturally, I rushed to the school at breakneck speed and caught the instructor right as he was filing his report. As expected, his excuse was that Satan was speaking through the child. It gave me a bit of a jolt—a momentary clouding of the mind—before I finally found the courage to ask the question everyone has been wondering: how, exactly, does Satan speak through Anne?
His whole story was just as bizarre as everything else. He had assigned the class to read a text in silence and pull out the key points, but then Anne started making these unsettling muttering sounds—likely because, like many kids, she was reading under her breath instead of silently to herself. Not that he was caught off guard by any of it, though. By the end of our discussion, I had decided the best course of action was to call a meeting with the principal and my little one.
I met Anne's parents during my time there. Her father wasn't much for small talk; he seemed preoccupied with more pressing matters and left us quite early. His wife sat beside him the entire time, withdrawn, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor. But the moment he stepped out and I heard the door click shut, something shifted in her. She reached out, took my hand, and in a moment of raw vulnerability, confessed that she had started organizing prayer circles with a group of local women. She couldn't bear to share a roof with Anne anymore, and frankly, she was terrified for her own life.
That was the extent of our interaction.
Not long after, my assignment wrapped up, and I walked away from that place for good. The last bit of news I heard was that Anne had been sent off to a spiritual retreat in Sedona to undergo some kind of religious renewal. Apparently, the reign of terror she inflicted on that small town became so unbearable that the local priest fled overnight—though the official word was that he’d been caught in an affair with a married woman.
That’s all I have. Anne should be an adult by now, and there's no questioning the psychological torment she endured over these past few years. I can only hope she survived it all and found some semblance of peace...