Dark Halls - A Horror Novel

by Jeff Menapace

  “He was my best friend,” Stew said.

  “Did he tell you he saw something? That he saw a child? That the child told him to dig around in the boiler room?”

  “Yeah, he told me.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  Ryan was stunned that Stew did not immediately answer in the affirmative. Instead, he dropped his head and fiddled with his bottle cap. It was an odd sight. Such an imposing man, now looking ashamed, almost childlike.

  “No,” was all he said.

  “Why not?”

  Stew continued fiddling with the cap as he spoke.

  “John was going through a divorce at the time. He was drinking too much. Caught his wife in bed with another man. Each day I saw him it was obvious his situation was taking its toll. Maybe some couldn’t see it in him, but I could. He was my boy, you know? I could see it in his eyes. Each day that passed, the light in those eyes would get dimmer and dimmer. I offered all the support I could. When he mentioned seeing the little boy in the school, what that boy had said, I just…I don’t know...”

  “You didn’t believe him.”

  “Maybe I misspoke. I believe he saw a boy. A student. I can even believe that the boy said something about the boiler room. But the reasons John was going on about? That the boy was some kind of ghost telling him something bad was in that boiler room?” He splayed his big hands. “Can you blame me for doubting? Especially given his addled state of mind at the time?”

  “Not at all.” And it was true. Even after what Ryan had seen, he himself still doubted. He sipped his soda. “He went back to that boiler room the following night,” he prompted again.

  “Yeah. God knows what he found or what happened, but the next day was when we found…when we found him in the gym.” Stew had tears in his eyes. Ryan’s heart sank. He admired an imposing man like Stew showing such vulnerability. It was an impressive show of character.

  Ryan waited a few moments for Stew to collect himself. He sipped quietly from his soda.

  “What do you believe now, Stew?” Ryan eventually asked.

  Stew wiped away the last of his tears. “Everybody thought John did what he did because of his divorce. It made sense to most, and with a school like this, the less unexplained stuff the better, right? Far easier to blame his suicide on divorce than some malevolent force, you know?”

  Ryan nodded.

  “But I know my friend,” Stew went on. “He was depressed and devastated about what happened with his wife, but I know—I know it in my heart—that he would never have taken his own life. Not John. Not unless someone made him.”

  Stew’s last words dropped the temperature in the room. At least for Ryan, they did. “Karl told me that everyone who had taken their own lives at Highland had claimed to see something,” he said. “He then said the reason that photo was left on my car was because someone was trying to help me—to get me to start digging. I definitely saw something that day in this lounge and will swear to that until the day I die. But I have to confess that if ‘digging’ is going to end up getting me killed, well, then you can count me—”

  Stew held up a hand. “I can’t speak for Karl. And I can’t tell you about who left you that photo on your car, but the truth is, you did see something. And my guess is you’re gonna keep on seeing things until something is done.”

  “You sure as hell sound like Karl.”

  Stew offered up a mollifying little smile. “I’m a God-fearing man, Ryan. And I think God chooses those he wants to protect. John—given what was happening in his life at the time—likely wasn’t strong enough. Mr. Johnson or Miss Ballentine probably weren’t either. But maybe you’ve been chosen because you are.”

  “I’m not a religious man, Stew.”

  Stew did not seem offended or deterred.

  “That’s okay. I don’t think faith in God can help us anyway. His will can guide us, but it won’t help us.”

  “So what will help us?” Ryan asked.

  Stew splayed his big hands again. “If I knew, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  Ryan rolled his eyes. “Great.”

  24

  Rebecca’s headlights washed over Carol Lawrence’s den as she pulled into the driveway. Carol sat up from her spot on the couch and greeted her daughter at the door. Rebecca entered, looking upset.

  “Uh oh—I’m taking it the date didn’t go so well?” Carol asked.

  “No. I mean, yes—yes, it went well. It went really well, but…something weird happened after.”

  “Tell me.” Carol guided her into the den.

  Rebecca flopped on the sofa and sighed. Carol took a spot next to her daughter, both women doing a quarter turn to face one another.

  “So, tell me what happened,” Carol said again.

  “Happy hour was great. We got along really well and just had an amazing time. He’s awesome.”

  “But?”

  “But then later I saw him outside the school, and it looked like he got into a fight with these two guys.”

  “What?”

  Rebecca nodded.

  Carol then frowned. “Wait—why were you at the school after you went to the bar?”

  “He offered to drive. We left my car in the school lot. He was taking me back to get it after our date was over.”

  “So, he got into a fight with two guys when he was dropping you off?”

  “No—it was after I had left.”

  “You’re confusing me, Becks. Are you saying he got into a fight after you had already left the school?”

  Rebecca nodded.

  “Well, then how do you know he was in a fight?”

  “I guess I was still kind of smitten from the date. I turned around real quick after I had left, hoping I’d catch him before he’d gone. Sounds kinda corny, but I was hoping for one more goodnight kiss.”

  Carol smiled and rubbed her daughter’s knee. “Not corny at all.”

  Rebecca went on. “Anyway, I pull in, and he was still there, but he wasn’t alone. The two guys were there with him. I was confused, so I parked on the road to watch and listen. The two guys were really angry with Ryan about something.”

  “Angry about what? Could you hear anything?”

  “Not much. I did hear one of them accuse Ryan of wanting to kill more children.”

  “What?”

  “I know, right? Anyway, they started fighting, but then some big black guy showed up and pulled the two guys off of Ryan. The two guys took off after, and Ryan and the big black guy went inside.”

  “Went inside the school?”

  Rebecca nodded.

  “That must have been Stew Taylor. He’s the gym teacher there.”

  “He sure saved Ryan’s butt.”

  Carol grunted. “I wonder what Stew was doing there. Lucky break he just happened to be there at that precise moment to save Ryan’s butt.”

  Rebecca shrugged again. “Got me there. Are you suggesting that Stew the gym teacher might have been following Ryan?”

  “No idea. It sure doesn’t make a heck of a lot of sense. Chances are you were right in that Stew just happened to be in the right place at the right time, and let’s be grateful for that.”

  Rebecca nodded again. An emphatic one.

  “So, with the exception of the weirdness at the end of the night, all else went well?” Carol asked.

  “It really did. I like him a lot.”

  “Are you going to see him again?”

  She smiled. “Yup. In fact, we already made plans for another date tomorrow night.”

  Carol rubbed her daughter’s knee again. “I’m happy for you, sweetheart. I really hope it turns out to be something.”

  A thought hit Rebecca. She stopped smiling. “Should I mention what I saw tonight?”

  “I wouldn’t,” Carol said. “See whether he mentions it first. If he doesn’t say anything, then maybe he’s got something to hide.”

  Rebecca looked upset by her mother’s comment. “What would he have to hide?”<
br />
  “I’m not trying to be a downer, Becks. But this is twice now you’ve said he’s acted strange.”

  “But this time was different. The first time was just—” She shook her head, not wanting to believe her potential knight had a chink in his armor. “This was different than the first time.”

  Carol rubbed her daughter’s knee once again. “Okay, okay…”

  “Oh God, please don’t let there be anything wrong with him. We had such a great time.”

  “I’m glad,” Carol said, but her reply sounded hollow.

  Rebeca gave a dry chuckle. “Knowing my luck, he’ll be the next teacher at that stupid school to commit suicide.”

  “Rebecca.”

  25

  Stew and Ryan, still seated across from one another in the teachers’ lounge, sat in silence for a spell. There seemed nothing else to say. Ryan felt a kind of protection in Stew’s presence. Not for his size, but because…

  (because what?)

  because the man was still alive? Whatever it was that lived in this school—and Ryan was shocked at how easily he was now considering such absurdities, because he still considered such paranormal notions absurd; he did, dammit…didn’t he?—clearly hadn’t been able to claim Stew. And it was this shield the man possessed that gave Ryan his temporary sense of comfort, as though he was sharing that shield. Unless…

  (unless what?)

  unless Stew was the one who had, as Karl had so delightfully put it, brought it here.

  And what else was it that old Karl had said? I don’t trust a single one of ’em.

  (Well, if Stew was the one who brought it here, then he’s got more in common with Denzel Washington than just looks. Guy’s got his acting chops as well; he seemed genuinely distraught when discussing John Gray.)

  As a great actor should. And how about his just happening to be in the neighborhood when you were getting your ass kicked?

  (Saving my ass just to kill it later?)

  To make you kill it later.

  (Absurd. All of it. Absurd, absurd, absurd.)

  “You about ready?” Stew asked.

  Ryan jumped. The break in silence, the break in his train of thought; he couldn’t help it.

  Stew gave a little laugh. “You all right?”

  “I’m fine. Yeah, I’m ready.”

  Stew leaned across the table, grabbed Ryan’s empty soda bottle, stood, and dumped it into the trash can in the corner along with his own.

  “Wait,” Ryan said. “I’m actually not ready.”

  Stew glanced back at Ryan. “Something wrong?”

  Let me count the ways…

  Ryan decided to just come out with it. “Karl told me about the veterans of Highland. You, him, Carol Lawrence, and…shit, I can’t remember her name. The head secretary?”

  Stew took his seat again. “Barbara.”

  “Right. Barbara. He told me the four of you were there from day one, from the very first tragedy.”

  Stew nodded. “That’s true.”

  “Karl also told me that he didn’t trust any of you. According to Karl’s logic, whatever was ‘brought here’ must have been brought by one of you four. Well, according to Karl, you three.”

  “You believe that?”

  “My belief system has been on the fritz lately.”

  Stew smiled. “Understandable.” He stood again. “Come on, we’ll talk along the way.”

  Ryan stood and followed Stew out of the lounge.

  ***

  “It was nice to meet you, Ryan,” Stew said as they headed back towards the main entrance. “You’re an easy guy to talk to. Can’t remember the last time I cried in front of another man.”

  Them Denzel acting chops?

  (Shut up.)

  “You’re an easy guy to talk to as well,” Ryan said. “And thank you for the help earlier. I’d probably be in the ER right now if it wasn’t for you.”

  “Yeah—I’m sorry you had to deal with that. I’d love to say it was a onetime thing, but the locals around here…”

  “So I’ve noticed.”

  “Can’t really blame some of them—there’s a lot of heartache in this town. Some folks moved on or moved out, but some just can’t let go, I guess.”

  “I get it,” Ryan said. And a part of him truly did. To lose a child was unimaginable.

  “As far as your other concern, or should I say, Karl’s concern, his lack of trust, I wouldn’t entirely chalk it up to an old man’s paranoia. When you’ve experienced the things we have, it can make you a little batty. But Karl means well. I expect it’s why he encouraged you to go digging around. He wants your help. We want your help—the four of us.”

  “So Carol and Barbara know about what I saw too?”

  “No. Not sure if I plan on telling them just yet, either.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “All right. But I can tell you that if you somehow have the ability to…” He searched for the right words. “Find a thing out or two, then I’d be keen on telling them then.”

  “Assuming one of you four aren’t responsible for bringing the devil here.” His sarcasm was out before he could pull it back.

  Stew stopped and faced Ryan.

  “I’m sorry,” Ryan said.

  Stew ignored his apology. “You say you saw my dead friend.”

  “I think I did.”

  “Earlier, you swore on it.”

  Ryan dropped his head and sighed. “I did.”

  “That means you have the ability to see things we can’t.”

  “I know. Karl already told me all—”

  “It means you may have the ability to fix things. Put them right.”

  “How the hell am I—?”

  “I don’t know. Like I said in the lounge, if any of us knew, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. And if we don’t know, then how the heck are you supposed to know?”

  “Exactly, Stew. I don’t want to get—”

  “But I’m asking you to try. To not shy away from anything that may come your way. Please, Ryan.”

  Just placate the guy. Tell him what he wants to hear, however insane it sounds.

  (And yet you did see his dead friend…)

  “Fine,” he said. How he’d love to be back at West Chester right now with his grumpy old academic advisor. Now suppose I get a job in a haunted fucking school…?

  Stew placed one of those large hands on Ryan’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

  Ryan grunted.

  They headed out to their cars, said their goodbyes, and left.

  ***

  Three hours have passed since Pinewood Elementary has had a visitor. Now, at half past midnight, it is occupied again. The footsteps are neither hurried nor slow; they are patient and methodical, knowing exactly where they are going throughout the dark halls, knowing the precise location where they will soon stop before the steel door that leads below ground, into the boiler room.

  Down the stairs, below the earth, and into complete darkness, the blackness of the boiler room’s surroundings no impediment for the footsteps that know their way as footsteps do when strode thousands of times.

  Light does eventually appear, but it is minimal, all that is necessary. A flashlight, its small circular beam in the blackness soon settling on a section of wall behind the great boiler, the section of wall unremarkable. A steel panel on that wall, a few feet high, a few feet wide, it too unremarkable, no different than the myriad of steel panels throughout the four walls of the boiler’s dungeony home. That dungeony home one of the few places unaffected by the great fire, needing no renovation, much to the current occupant’s exceptional delight.

  A sizable canvas bag hits the floor, its contents clanking slightly on concrete. Also…moving? Something in the bag moves when it hits the ground. Something alive inside.

  Hands withdraw a large screwdriver from the bag, one of the remaining contents of the bag moving again, stirred by the act, perhaps wishing the rummaging hands would soon set it free
from the confines of the canvas bag.

  The tip of the big screwdriver is worked into an edge of the panel, popping it free with a wavering clang. The panel is then carefully removed and set aside, the sole occupant of the boiler room then crawling their way inside, canvas bag with them, crawling deep inside the concrete wall, the narrow passage long since chipped away by deliberate hands, akin to an inmate’s life’s work.

  The narrow passage ends, opening up to a makeshift chamber no bigger than a prison cell. The ceiling is low, allowing kneeling only. Another click of the flashlight and the beam settles on a large ring of thick candles. Into the canvas bag again, and out comes the lighter, the hands promptly lighting the large circle of candles. The flashlight now tucked back into the canvas bag, the flickering glow from the ring of candles sufficient lighting for the job ahead.

  Back into the canvas bag. Out comes a square of cloth, a piece of charcoal. The hands begin to work with the charcoal and the cloth. Before long, the cloth reads Ryan Herb, the cloth then delicately placed within the large ring of candles.

  The canvas bag, its lively contents still moving, finally clucks. Hands remove a chicken, the chicken then cradled into a pair of arms, hands stroking it lovingly until its fidgeting subsides.

  The hands stop stroking, one of them reaching for the final item in the canvas bag. A scalpel. The chicken’s throat is slashed; the arms immediately drop the scalpel and hold the chicken tight, waiting for its death spasms to play out. They soon do, and the hands hold the chicken over the piece of cloth, working the lifeless animal in small circles across the cloth within the ring of candles, deliberate spiral patterns in the medium of the chicken’s blood covering the charcoal work that reads Ryan Herb.

  The chicken is placed back into the canvas bag, along with the scalpel that took its life. The busy hands are not quite done; the remainder of its ritual will need to wait. It cannot be finished tonight, as a more personal item of Ryan Herb needs to be obtained to do so.

  But there would be compensations until the ritual was complete. The animal sacrifice would achieve a probing effect that would jab at the delicate walls of Ryan Herb’s psyche until something personal could be acquired, something that would ultimately drive the young man over the edge. And how fun it would be to see those walls slowly crumble during the interim. Compensations indeed.