Dancing With Devils

by Scott Webster

  I often reflect on the thrill of knowing we were all plotting against Father. I felt alive, for the first time in a long time. There was a shred of hope amongst the constant despair. I genuinely felt as though I would never get out of Fort Rose. Every day merged into the next, wondering who would slip up next and get the next beating. But our sudden desire to try and save ourselves by letting Mallory know what was going on seemed to inspire everyone.

  Then one night, we were beckoned back into our bedroom after supper and as we were shut in, I heard a distant voice shouting to the orderly tasked with taking us all to bed. They shouted back they wouldn’t be long and would be there to watch shortly. Clearly, something was on television worth watching but I didn’t know what.

  We were so secluded from current events, that television was a pipe dream. We didn’t even see so much as a newspaper. Then suddenly, silence. I didn’t hear it. The almighty cranking of the lock as we are shut in didn’t come. No one else seemed to notice, because it was just one of those things we’d become socially compliant in anticipating. As darkness started to dissipate and my eyes adjusted to the room, I hopped out of bed. My bare feet hit the cold floor and I felt blood pounding through my veins, creeping quietly so as to not make a sound.

  I slowly meandered my way to the door and reached out to the knob, twisting gently. A glorious click had proven I was right, and the door was unlocked! Stunned silence ensued, and then panic set in. There were whispers and ushers to entice me back to the warmth of my bed from one of my sisters, but it didn’t deter me. All the planning to escape and one forgetful orderly was all that was needed. At least we had fun plotting on the run up to this mishap.

  I swung the door open some more and the room filled slightly with light. If I was caught out of bed, I’d be the one to take a beating, so I was already fully committed. I snuck out of the bedroom and closed the door behind me. My brothers and sisters had probably written me off at that point, but I wouldn’t be slowed. I had to get to the nurse’s office where Mallory and I had hidden her diary and my watch. It was on the other side of the building.

  I walked patiently down the hallway, creeping against the walls to minimise my shadow. I could see flashes down the hallway and blurred sounds. I crept closer, being sure not to make a sound. My movements were ever so stealthy that I envisioned myself, in my own youthful enthusiasm, as a ninja on a secret mission. As I neared the open room with the flashes, two security guards were talking over the news programme on the television. There was coverage of a story of the successful opening of the ‘No Nukes’ concert in Madison Square Garden, headed up by musical powerhouses. I always think back to that moment, as the date would have been September 29, 1979. I’d been in Fort Rose for almost two years, nearing my seventh birthday.

  I kept myself in the shadows and moved past the two guards, my heart racing at what fate awaited me if I got caught. I had to do it though. I had to see Mallory, to talk to her about what was going on. I was venturing into practically unknown territory, lost in darkness trying to find the nurse’s station. I’d only been to it once, and that was well over a year ago. The brain does some strange things when you think you know somewhere but realise you don’t. It felt like I was walking into nothingness, a maze of hallways I hadn’t seen before.

  I tested a few doors, some were locked, some weren’t. Then I heard it. The last sound in the world I wanted to hear. Tut-tut-tut. It was getting louder. That was Father’s cane. I started to panic, realising I was a helpless gazelle and a lion was closing in.

  I hurried back to a maintenance room I had stumbled across previously and closed the door as quietly as I could. The tutting as his cane hit the cold hard floor was deafening, amplified by the surrounding silence. He was so close. I couldn’t even close the door properly out of fear he would have seen it. Tut-tut-TUT. I froze. The tutting stopped. I heard Father mumbling. He was on the other side of the door.

  As if driven by sheer willpower, my eyes adjusted to the room I was in, looking for a place to hide. It was a fairly deep room, just thin. A few tall lockers stood at the side, with some shelves following the walls, loaded with various items. I didn’t have time to look, but I chose a place, and committed to my hiding spot. I tried so hard to be quiet, but my breathing was laboured, and I worried I was making more noise. Terrified of the beating I would get if caught, I ran through all the scenarios. Why did I leave the room? I should have listened to my brothers and sisters. Why was I so stupid?

  “Jack?” I heard Father say. I had no idea who Jack was.

  “JACK,” he shouted. I covered my mouth to try and silence myself further, realising I was breathing in a panicked state. I then held my breath as the door opened.

  I kept saying in my head: don’t turn on the light. I could see the outline of Father’s face, as he looked in the room, curious why the door was left open.

  “Jack, are you in here?”

  I stayed deathly silent. I reached a zen-like state, realising I had to control my emotions. If I lost control now, I was done for. I’d be lost like Robert, in the cage, whatever and wherever that was. The tut of Father’s cane matched my heartbeats as he shuffled around.

  “Born in a bloody barn, Jack.”

  The door slammed on me and I sighed a sigh of relief. Thank God. I was safe. Then a click followed by sound of his cane on the hard floor. At least he was going. I was safe to explore again. Or did I go back to my room? That was the wise option, but I was already in too deep. I stood at the door, deciding my next course of action. Like a few years prior when I heard my Grandfather arguing with my parents, I counted to ten. Then counted to ten again. Still couldn’t muster the courage.

  “Two, three, four…” I felt rejuvenated. Now was the time!

  I turned the knob of the door. Nothing. That’s what the click was. My heart sank as I contemplated the truth of what had just happened. I was locked in. Panic started to set in again. Father had locked me in, and I was stuck. I didn’t know what to say, or what to do, other than resign to my fate. I was captured. I’d be found in the morning and have to face my punishment.

  The adrenaline in my body started to leave as I relaxed some more. I focussed on my breathing and calmed down. I realised just how cold it was and began to shiver. My feet were freezing, having walked sockless on the floors so I rubbed them a little, trying to generate a modicum of warmth. I sat in the corner of the room, next to the door and curled up. I eventually searched the lockers to look for something of use. I found an old coat and wrapped myself in it, finding an old chocolate bar in the pocket. I ate it without hesitation, treating it as my reward for the inevitable punishment.

  I took the time to reflect on my situation as I wrapped myself in the coat, making sure to lick the residue of chocolate from my teeth and lips. My eyes had adjusted to the lack of light in the room, and I could see an array of various liquids and cleaning products. It was clearly a generic storage cupboard, likened somewhat to an indoor shed. In the faint light, I twisted my neck up to see what was above me and I could see a switch but didn’t see the point in flicking it. I felt safer in the dark as no one knew I was here. If I turned the light on, I might attract the attention of anyone walking by, possibly Father.

  My mind wandered. I thought back to a time when I played hide and seek with my mother. It warmed me to think about it because I sat in the dark, just like I was now. I went in my parent’s study, and then hid in a large storage chest next to their antique globe. I used to love playing with the globe, spinning it and looking at all the different countries. My real father would tell me how to pronounce the countries, and if he had any interesting stories about them, would tell me.

  I remembered one particular story where I pointed at the U.K. and he told me about the time he travelled to Loch Ness in Scotland. My father told me about a local legend of a monster that lived in the lake. We used to fantasise about what it would be like to go in a submarine, find the monster, and become rich and famous. I remembered re-living that sto
ry as I hid in the chest next to the globe, pretending it was our submarine. I felt incredibly safe, and incredibly secure.

  I snapped awake, remembering where I was. Reminiscing of my real parents and the story of the Loch Ness Monster had sent me into a light sleep. I was exhausted. As dangerous as it was being hidden in the maintenance cupboard away from my room, there was a welcoming peace to it. I didn’t have the whispers or tears of children around me. I felt quite content to the point I smirked at how I should sneak out every night to rest in my new corner. Then I heard a whirring sound, like some sort of air conditioning unit.

  I had a sudden brainwave. My desire for survival and safety made me think of the vent in the nurse’s office, where I’d hidden my watch with Mallory’s diary. The vent was the answer. Perhaps I could escape through it and make my way back to the room? I got up from my corner and tidied away the old coat, to remove any evidence of me being here. I placed the chocolate wrapper in the adjacent locker as a practical joke in the event someone else got the blame for eating it. The staff here would deserve it for the most part, and it would remove any sense of doubt for the owner of it.

  I followed the sound and just beside the locker furthest away from me, on the ground, was a vent. I lifted the latch for the vent and kneeled down. It was a tight space, full of cobwebs and incredibly dusty, with a few cigarette butts stuffed at the entryway. A secret smoker was in the midst, discarding any evidence of their vice. I felt the back of my throat start to tickle as I inhaled but managed to control my breathing to prevent bringing any attention to my whereabouts.

  I shimmied in to the vent and let the latch fall down behind me. The only way was forward now. I pressed on and shuffled until I came across a split in the vent. I could go left, or right. I tried to mentally picture where I was, like I did when I played with the globe, and mapped how I had walked out of our dormitory and decided the most logical way was to go right. Whatever guided me, I continued on my claustrophobic path. I shimmied further down the vents and could see a break of light in the distance. I probably hadn’t travelled too far in the grand scheme of things, but it felt exhilarating to make progress. As I neared the light, it turned off to the right ever so slightly and I was immediately met with glee on my face. There it was, my watch.

  I quickly grabbed it and opened it to try and view the photo of my mother. It was so dark in the vent that I could only see the outline on her photo. I moved in to the nurse’s office, grabbing Mallory’s diary at the same time. It was dark, but a small rectangular window at the top of the room brought in some light to see well enough. The sky was clear and the moon visible, which helped. I looked at the photo of my mother and felt quite emotional. I’d been through a lot in the last year or so. I truly, deeply missed them.

  I wished they hadn’t been killed. I wished they hadn’t left that day. I imagined happier times, when my mother would play the piano and sing, to the simpler times like sitting across from my real father as he read his morning newspaper. I inspired to be a better person just thinking about them and remembered why I was here. I came to find Mallory to tell her what we were going through. To tell her how much pain we were suffering at the hands of Father and his staff. If she wasn’t here though, how on earth could I tell her?

  Then it dawned on me to read her diary. Maybe I could leave a message in it. I flicked through the pages and the most recent entry was dated 27th September 1979. Going by the news report I sneakily witnessed, it had been two days prior. I felt ashamed for reading her private thoughts but did anyway.

  Mallory wasn’t as happy as she let on, clearly. There were pictures she had drawn of flowers in the diary, alongside some rather painful poems, and phrases of feeling weak and worthless. She wasn’t really the strong woman I took her for. Wanting to better understand the beautiful angel I had envisioned. I flicked back to an undated entry at the beginning of the diary.

  Today was another horrible day. Jack had his hands all over me again. I’m having to put more makeup on to hide the marks from the last time he got his hands on me and… raped me. There’s no point saying anything. The policeman that came left with a smile on his face. Corrupt bastard. Money talks, clearly! I wish I could have left this place a long time ago. This town is my prison and I am living a life sentence. A few silly mistakes as a teenager, angered mother. I always wondered what mother’s relationship is to Cyril. I heard her refer to him as a loving uncle, cuss him in one breath, then worship him in the next. He has some sort of control over her, and by proxy, me. Forced to work here now that he is paying mother’s care bills. As much as I love her, I also hate her because of what I have to do.

  I didn’t really understand it all as a child, but upon reflection, it was obvious that Father seemed to be quite a powerful man. For years, I have wondered how he became so influential. He had clearly taken care of Mallory’s mother, whatever the relationship was between them. I’m not sure I would want someone like that having a hold on me though, after all, I remember when I looked him in the eyes when he brought me to Fort Rose and thinking how there was a deep-rooted evil inside. The compendium of Father, of Cyril, would be an interesting one. Who was he? The way he even had me referring to him as Father, he was a master manipulator and had spread his virus across multiple people, multiple families. I kept reading with the moon as my nightlight. I read it over and over until I practically memorised the words.

  I remember when I last tried to run away. Tried being the key word. The last time I ran away, he just found me anyway, I was dragged back, literally by the hairs on my head. I screamed. My punishment was the lowest point. He watched as I was raped on that fucking bed with the straps on each corner. Jack was one of the last. He whispered in my ear that he would have liked me more fifteen years ago. Sick. Why does Cyril protect people like this? He is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

  I flicked forward a few pages.

  Well, I’m pregnant. Thankfully, it can’t be Jack as he can’t have kids. I think that Gerry will be the father. He promised to take me away from this place. I only hope he will.

  I reacted quite suddenly as I heard noise outside the door. I froze in place. Eventually the racket died down and I continued reading from a new page, having lost my original place.

  I don’t know if I’m lucky or unlucky, because I’m a mother to twins: a handsome boy and a beautiful girl, Robert and Alexia. I’ve not seen Gerry in months. Cyril has promised to keep me safe from harm now that I have kids. He knew I was being abused and let it happen; now he’ll protect me? Mother took a turn for the worse. She’s on the decline. Part of me can’t wait until she is gone so I can try to disappear again. I write with a sarcastic smile, as that will happen… if not just for me, my kids.

  Oh my God… Robert and Alexia are Mallory’s children? I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know whether to tell them, or to keep the secret to myself. I felt a real pang of guilt for reading and felt as though I was being too invasive. I was hooked though.

  I spoke with Cyril and I know who he is. He’s family all right. He was my grandfather’s younger brother, the bastard child from an affair with thirty years between them. At least he isn’t my father. He told me a little about my father though, and called him a dirty, meddling, pig. Talking about my father put him in a bad mood, and he told me that if I ever mention him again, I’d end up like Gerry. At least I know what happened to him now too: Cyril made him disappear. Whether dead or bribed to leave, I guess part of me knew he had a hand in it. I’m sorry Gerry. Sorry you ever met me.

  I felt quite sick reading just how dangerous Father was, but I couldn’t stop reading.

  I spoke to mother about my father and about Cyril, but in her weakened state she didn’t have a whole lot to say. She did tell me about some old letters that might tell me more about them. I read some. My father never liked Cyril. I need to be careful, because if he can make policeman disappear, I’m in deep. I’ve got two babies now. At least working here, I stay close to them. No one has touched me or raped me sin
ce he said he would sort it out. Some kind of silver lining I guess.

  I was already reading too much; I was reading Mallory’s most intimate thoughts and it wasn’t right. I flicked forward and was nearing the end of the diary.

  Cyril told me about a little boy he brought here last night. He laughed saying the boy would be something special in life. I’d never heard him speak so highly of a child before, not even my own; and they are his own flesh and blood, to a degree. He told me the new boy, Sebastian called him Sir when they met, and then selflessly protected my Alexia when he was going to give her the belt. I’m too weak and pathetic to do anything about it. This little boy Sebastian protecting my little one makes me smile. I feel like a proud mother to him, and I’ve never even met him.

  I felt a slight sense of pride knowing how much my actions affected Father to comment, and that Mallory was proud of me. I didn’t really have anyone left in life to call me proud. For a message in a random diary that I had no right to read, it really impacted me. It taught me that honourable actions may be remembered and by what I was reading, could give hope to those that have none.

  I read the most recent entry:

  I have to do something. That beating little Erin received has torn me inside. I know Cyril is an evil man. Jack even had his wicked way with her. I’m a failure as a parent, as a mother, and as a responsible human. I just don’t know how to do something without putting the lives of my kids in danger. I don’t even know where Robert is. I wrote a letter to the nearest police station, begging for help and whoever reads it to be discreet and careful. I hope and pray someone out there will do the right thing where I couldn’t.