Aug 31, 2026 · 1 hr 5 min · 10 segments
This week, Shanna reads the short story "The Quiet Boy" by Nick Antosca. Join us as we read this creepy short story together! * * * Hosted on Acast. See…
It happened during her second month as a teacher.
She was 23 and frustrated.
She'd expected to end up in a city, but Teach for America had sent her here to this little town built around a dead railroad station, Rexford, West Virginia.
Another teacher had told her the unofficial town motto was, quote, hills, whores, and liquor stores.
She hadn't seen any whores as far as she knew, but there were definitely hills and liquor stores.
Okay, guys, Julia told her fourth graders, settle down and start writing your stories.
Yep.
So true.
Why am I? And she did.
She loved her kids.
She just wasn't sure she loved being a teacher, especially not here in this town.
She herself had had a few teachers, particularly one in high school, who told her she could be something.
What she wanted now was to be that kind of teacher, one who made a difference for her students, or at least a few of them.
But most of the Rexford kids didn't seem to want anything different.
They already looked forward to dropping out of high school at 16.
Your story can be a fable, a tall tale, or a fairy tale, she told the class.
But remember, what do all stories have? Miss Gray, I know, said Travis, his arm shooting up, a beginning, a middle, and an end.
Don't talk until I call on you, kid.
Travis was loud and bossy.
Yeah.
The lawns were neat.
She talked briefly to the kid's mom, who was a little drunk.
The mom had pointed up the street at all the saplings and their swollen beds of dirt.
Tiny trees, she said, all planted at the same time.
It happened during her second month as a teacher.
She was 23 and frustrated.
She'd expected to end up in a city, but Teach for America had sent her here to this little town built around a dead railroad station, Rexford, West Virginia.
Another teacher had told her the unofficial town motto was, quote, hills, whores, and liquor stores.
She hadn't seen any whores as far as she knew, but there were definitely hills and liquor stores.
Okay, guys, Julia told her fourth graders, settle down and start writing your stories.
Yep.
So true.
Why am I? And she did.
She loved her kids.
She just wasn't sure she loved being a teacher, especially not here in this town.
She herself had had a few teachers, particularly one in high school, who told her she could be something.
What she wanted now was to be that kind of teacher, one who made a difference for her students, or at least a few of them.
But most of the Rexford kids didn't seem to want anything different.
They already looked forward to dropping out of high school at 16.
Your story can be a fable, a tall tale, or a fairy tale, she told the class.
But remember, what do all stories have? Miss Gray, I know, said Travis, his arm shooting up, a beginning, a middle, and an end.
Don't talk until I call on you, kid.
Travis was loud and bossy.
Yeah.
The lawns were neat.
She talked briefly to the kid's mom, who was a little drunk.
The mom had pointed up the street at all the saplings and their swollen beds of dirt.
Tiny trees, she said, all planted at the same time.
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