The School of the Undead

by Michael Woods

  “There’s a lift, you know,” said the deputy, as if addressing someone he did not know on the street who needed a little assistance. “It was installed some sixty or so years ago, but he always forces new arrivals to come through the house and use the stairs.”

  The attention of the deputy on Brenden suddenly made the boy feel worse as shame resulting from the man seeing him cry only added to his misery. He tried to will himself to stop, but this only made the tears flow with a new force, and for several moments Brenden just stood on the stairs continuing to cry as the deputy looked on in an awkward silence.

  The deputy came to rest his hand on Brenden’s shoulder, at a loss at what else to do. The boy tried to wipe away the tears from his face with the sleeve of his pullover and settled on the view that the only way for him to stop crying was to carry on down the stairs. He now wanted to walk on, but for a while longer he remained rooted to the spot. There was no real notion keeping him there, just the fear of whatever was to come next and a preference for a deferral of everything. However, he endeavoured to rationalise why he was not moving, and he fixed upon the idea that there on the stairs, he was caught between the empty, friendless existence he had carried on at his school and the unknown world of whatever lay before him in the Tunnels. He suddenly felt at a loss to explain his conviction that entering the Tunnels was the right thing to do, and without even really thinking about it, he resumed his descent down the stairs.

  A wave of relief swept over the deputy when Brenden started to move. As he did not want to risk upsetting the boy again, he kept his distance behind Brenden for the rest of the journey down into the ever cooler air as they made their way to the bottom of the stairs. This left Brenden to his own devices, and to finally be able to take in his surroundings. The stairway consisted of a single, time-worn set of steps, an arched ceiling, a metal bannister on one side of the space and a ramp – presumably for the transportation of goods – on the other. Like the house above, the walls were painted white and the whole space was lit up by a series of oval bulkhead lights, each spaced around forty feet apart from the next. All in all, Brenden counted twelve lights before he reached the bottom, leaving him wondering how deep under the ground the stairway had led him.

  When Brenden reached the base of the stairs, he turned around to look at the captivating sight of the tunnel stretching back up to ground level. For a moment, it captured his whole attention and freed him from his thoughts about why he was there. But as the deputy came ever closer, so did the reality of his situation. When the deputy finally came to a stop beside him, Brenden was released from his concerns for a moment longer as he became aware of the stillness of the place, something which was broken only by the gentle buzzing of one of the lights. Finally, though, he could prolong things no longer.

  “What do I need to do now?” asked Brenden.

  “We just need to go through there,” answered the deputy, while pointing to a rather normal looking white door that sat at the back of the fairly small rectangular space that formed the base of the stairway. “But first, I just need to contact the man upstairs.”

  The deputy strode forwards and pressed a buzzer that was beside the door. An undulating electric tone followed until a click cut it off to indicate that someone was listening.

  “We’re here,” stated the deputy, flatly, into the little plastic grate above the buzzer. A loud crack emanated from the door, which then opened to reveal a corridor that extended about one hundred feet further into the earth. As they left the stairway behind, Brenden found the room beyond it to be much wider and higher than he expected. How wide this happened to be, though, he could not see as the place was filled with containers of different sorts, many of which were stacked, one on top of the other. Many of these containers were also for refrigeration, as suggested by the chorus of humming generated by the machines.

  “What’s all this for?” asked Brenden, who did not even try to hide the surprise in his voice.

  “For those in the Tunnels. Some who have ended up down here who still have the means to supply themselves with a little of what they need. It prevents, well, what comes after the hunger goes away. I wish it were otherwise, but I’m afraid you’ll become familiar with what I’m referring to all too soon.”

  For the first time that he could remember, Brenden truly met the gaze of the deputy and tried to understand what the man was telling him. Though no one had ever told him so, Brenden had come to believe that coming down here would provide some sort of escape from what it meant to be a vampire. Why else would anyone choose to hide away if this were not the case?

  “There’s usually a number of ex-students working here, but they’re always kept away for new arrivals. Some are on the other side as well. We keep them in supply to ensure things are orderly down there. You may even want to consider such a position for yourself once you cross over, though you needn’t worry for a little while as the school will provide you with some blood for a couple of years. It’ll be much less than you would get if you were up above, but it’ll be sufficient.”

  “But what happens to those who can’t pay?”

  The deputy took a few steps over to one of the containers and pretended that he had not heard the boy’s question. After retrieving a piece of paper from the inside of his jacket pocket, he then muttered something to himself about how he always found it difficult to find the right one. Brenden did not follow the deputy and hardly even paid attention as the man drifted from container to container, checking whether the number that he had on his slip of paper matched that of the refrigeration unit before him. The boy did not even repeat his question.

  “Aha!” exclaimed the deputy as he reached the end of one of the lines of containers. “Come over here. Come here, my boy!”

  Slowly, Brenden traipsed his way to where the deputy was standing and watched as the man tore away a piece of paper that had been sellotaped over the side of the container’s door. The deputy then threw the door open to unveil ten drawers - one on top of the other - each of which contained five rows of blood pint bags.

  “This one is to get you going,” said the deputy as he handed one of the bags to the boy. “I also have another one here for you to take, but it’s for you to deliver.”

  After he had closed the fridge, the deputy delved into another container situated nearby. This one turned out to be just a shelving unit, from which the deputy removed a small cool bag. He placed the pints of blood in the bag, extended its strap and handed it over to Brenden.

  “Who’s it for?” enquired the boy, who was becoming steadily more confused over what lay ahead of him.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. See, there’s a number on the bag. Just match the number to the person and you know you’ll have got your man. Right,” added the deputy before Brenden could ask any further questions, such as how he would find out about a person’s number, or to whom he would be delivering the blood. “We really must be getting on; we’re already running a little late.”

  Without waiting for Brenden to respond, the deputy marched off towards the centre aisle. Brenden was still inspecting the bag that the deputy had given to him as the man disappeared around a corner, meaning the boy had to run in an effort to catch up. When he reached the corner, Brenden just about managed to see the deputy at the end of the aisle, but he soon disappeared behind a wall of containers.

  “Just a little farther,” shouted the deputy from out of sight.

  Brenden jogged past lines of buzzing machines to reach the spot where he had seen the deputy disappear only moments before and turned to see the white haired man speaking with a lowered voice into another intercom. By the time Brenden reached the deputy, the man had finished his conversation. But whatever curiosity the boy had with regard to the deputy’s words was wiped out by his discovery that he was standing before an enormous steel door, into which was cut a man-sized opening and several slits for peering into the space beyond. A loud clunk of a noise announced that a bolt was being withdrawn, and the smaller
opening lurched forward.

  “This is where we part ways, my boy,” said the deputy. “You’ve got your bag, and as long as you don’t cause any trouble, you’ll be fine. I think I ought to remind you - as I mentioned in our meeting after your decision to come down here - that it may be possible for you to return to the world above. It can be a tricky process, but it can be done.”

  Brenden stared into the corridor beyond the steel door, which just like the stairway was a bare space, painted white and lit with oval lights. The area, which was about one hundred feet long, was almost completely empty, the only exceptions being two trollies which were covered with plastic cool boxes.

  “Well,” announced the deputy as he stuck out his hand for Brenden to shake, “farewell and good luck.”

  After having his hand pumped a few times by the deputy, Brenden found himself being guided through the opening. Before he really knew what was happening, he heard the jolt of the bolt locking him in. He spun around and saw the deputy’s eyes peering through one of the slits cut into the steel door.

  “Just walk along,” came the muffled voice of the man, “and when you get there, they’ll open the gate at the other end.”

  Brenden looked back over his shoulder several times as he cautiously made his way down the corridor; until he reached the halfway point, he could still see the eyes of the deputy watching him. After that they disappeared, leaving him finally alone in the strange hidden space under the earth that was to be his new home. The gate at the other end of the corridor seemed at first glance to be an exact replica of the steel door that Brenden had just passed through. However, as the boy got closer, he could see that there was one key difference: this one had no holes cut into it to enable someone to see what was beyond.

  When Brenden reached the door, he was unsure as to what he was supposed to do. As nothing continued to happen, he looked around for an intercom to say he had arrived, but he could not see one. Instead, all he discovered was that it was possible he was being watched as he noticed the presence of a video camera to the side of the massive steel portal. He looked up into the lens and gave a tentative wave. Suddenly, the now familiar crack of a bolt being retracted emanated from the door. This time, however, the portal did not swing open. Instead, after a few moments, the sound of a motor started up and slowly the opening cut into the large steel surface began to move. Time seemed to pass as if it were an irrelevance as the door gradually edged its way open. Fear of what lay in store for him rooted Brenden to the spot, he did not even move when the whirring of the motor finally died. From where he stood, all Brenden could see was a little more of the painted white concrete wall that seemed to continue on into the tunnel beyond the steel barrier.

  Nothing stirred, no sound came from the unseen space beyond the opening. Indeed, Brenden’s senses seemed to give him nothing, until, that was, the stale air of the tunnel reached him. His immediate reaction was to take a few steps back, but he forced himself to press on. As he moved closer to the opening, the strange form of a figure, which stood just on the other side, was revealed to him. At first, Brenden thought he was misreading what his eyes were telling him as it appeared that the figure was over six and a half feet tall and covered from head to toe with sown-together linen rags. However, as Brenden drew closer, the figure did not transform into something else, but only became more real.

  “I can hear you breathing,” croaked whatever it was.

  Some memory of life told Brenden to run, but all the boy’s fear managed to do was to bind Brenden’s feet to the concrete beneath him. A fabric covered hand fumbled its way around the edge of the opening, then the figure stepped out, revealing the uneven pattern of lines that formed the seams which criss-crossed its body as well as the absence of even holes for eyes to break the fabric’s surface. With surprising speed, the figure covered the distance that separated itself from Brenden. A linen covered spider of a hand stretched out, found one of Brenden’s shoulders and slowly gathered together to form an iron grip.

  “Come in,” it uttered.

  ***

  Out somewhere in the darkness before her, Amanda knew the two teachers were sitting in the minivan waiting for the deputy. Following the disappearance of Brenden and the deputy into the farmhouse, Amanda, Adam and Ms Halford discovered that they had very little say to one another. Ms Halford had become particularly quiet after watching the boy go and Amanda subsequently began to feel that the ghost wanted nothing more than to leave but remained out of a sense that wandering off would be inappropriate. Though Amanda was similarly concerned about the propriety of the situation – especially as she happened to be with a couple of rather ancient individuals who possibly held such things to be of considerable importance – she eventually felt that having to suffer the tension created by the silence within the little group to be worse than whatever might result from breaking a few rules of social etiquette. She laid out an apology that it was time for her to leave and tried to sound as convincing as she could when she lied about having to return to some files of a case she had waiting for her in her car. The relief which resulted from Amanda’s little lie enabled the three to part with fond farewells and promises that they would have to keep in touch.

  That farewell had passed more than a quarter of an hour before, and there Amanda continued to sit only several feet away from the two teachers. At first, Amanda made an effort to rifle through a few papers she had from a case, but soon enough she gave up the pretence and turned her attention to a game on her phone to pass the time. She did not wish to linger near the house: not only because of the discomfort she felt from having to wait so near the teachers from whom she had departed only to sit about in her car but also as the whole place weighed heavily with regret, failure and guilt. However, she had no intention of leaving before trying to see the deputy. After what Adam had told her about Packard and the man’s position as a blood supplier to the school, she felt again the need to press the man to let her investigate further, to tell her more about why he was avoiding her.

  She was still not entirely sure why she was so compelled to continue on with the case. Perhaps there was a measure of guilt within her that she had been granted the chance to remain in the world above through the destruction of a life Mary and Peter had fought to maintain over decades. However, whenever this opinion raised itself, Amanda always quickly contradicted it by reminding herself of what Peter and Mary had done. Finally, she came to believe that though it may also have been true that a part of her was just curious to know - and that she had a desire to see if there was something underhand which had been protected through getting rid of the residents at the end of Balfour Lane - her prime motive was possibly even more selfish. Though she had to admit she had benefited from solving Brenden’s case, she was still angry at having been used. While she may have done a little work to help move the case along, the solving of it had almost been forced upon her, meaning that whoever was behind the assistance she had been given had no real faith in her ability to discover Peter on her own. Indeed, there was a good chance this person, who she firmly believed to be Packard, had hardly given her much consideration at all when he determined that it was time to get rid of Peter and Mary; it was just that Amanda’s investigation provided an opportune way to deal with the situation at the time.

  While continuing to stare out into the darkness before her, Amanda hurriedly drummed her fingers on her steering wheel and then punched the thing in frustration, dropping her phone in the process. After muttering to herself about her stupidity and how things would be simpler if she were more than just dead, she fumbled around in the driver’s side of the footwell to retrieve her missing device. The sound of an engine starting, however, cut her search short. In her rush to look at what was happening outside, Amanda cracked her head against the steering wheel. She only managed to get back into a normal sitting position just as the headlights of the school minivan were turned on, dazzling her. She scrambled to open the door, stepped on her still hidden phone and only got out of
the car in time to see the minibus bounce its way across a couple of pot holes at a speed with no consideration for comfort. It quickly disappeared down the untended road from which it had arrived only about an hour before.

  Amanda’s first reaction was to jump back into her car and turn on the ignition, but as soon as the engine started to run she turned the engine off. She was certain that the minivan would not stop for her, nor was she keen on the idea of racing down the treacherous track that led back to the main road. Slumping down into the seat, she managed to kick her phone. When she finally managed to retrieve it, she was relieved to find she had only scuffed its case.

  Though she was not certain, Amanda believed she had seen the deputy at the wheel of the minibus, with two slightly surprised looking teachers behind him. Had the man been watching her from the darkness, waiting for the right moment to rush to the minibus and avoid any of her questions? Surely such a thing was preposterous, she told herself, though she had to admit that it seemed to be a rather fortuitous coincidence for the deputy that he had appeared just as she had turned her attention away from the school’s vehicle. Either way, it did not matter. The man had left and she was fairly certain she would not be seeing him anytime soon.

  Now that Brenden had gone, she supposed she could tell herself that there was no expectation that she should delve up anything else about the Radcliff case. No-one cared about addressing the minor loose end in a case that had already been solved. But these arguments did not sit well with the young vampire. She drummed her fingers again on the wheel and calculated how much blood she had stored in her car, and in her fridge at home. It had to be enough for just over a month. She then thought about what she had saved from being paid for the cases she had worked on since solving Brenden’s murder, and what she was yet to be paid, and came to the conclusion that she probably had enough money to keep herself going for at least an additional half a year. All she needed was someone from whom she could buy blood, and suddenly there was only one name on that list that she was interested in. After opening a map app on her phone, Amanda called up the directions for Radcliff.