Spring-Heeled Jack

by Wyll Andersen

  The day had flown by. It was quickly approaching go time, and several people noticed that Varnum had just up and vanished. Atticus overheard a few of his classmates laughing about how he probably had to go powder his nose and then go kill a baby kitten.

  Brock overheard the commotion as well and decided to jump on the bandwagon. He turned to Atticus and asked, “What do you think Varnum’s up to?”

  “Nothing good.” Atticus lowered his head and pulled Brock to the side. “This whole event has got to be a big ploy to cover up something.”

  “You certain?”

  “He knows something,” Atticus whispered. “I need to know what he’s hiding.”

  “The Jack and Mekanile,” Brock asked.

  Atticus looked around at the cafeteria that they’d spent the whole day preparing. “Don’t you suppose it’s a bit strange that a man as grumpy and selfish as him decides to throw this huge charity event, but then goes and basically tries to ruin the whole thing?”

  Brock agreed. Everything seemed a bit out of place. “Do you suppose he left? Like maybe he just needed everybody gathered here and now something bad is going to happen?”

  “No, that can’t be,” Atticus said. “He needs to be here.”

  Then without warning, Atticus felt a tug in his gut. It was the same familiar sensation he got when he was searching for Camila. He couldn’t explain it, but it felt instinctual. He just had to follow it. He turned around and through all the hectic workers and decorators, he stared down a hallway that lead to a custodial closet. It was just a regular old closet with brooms, mops, and other cleaning supplies Atticus assumed, but the feeling in his gut said that there was something more.

  He began to make his way down the hall, Brock following close behind. He tried to ask questions, but Atticus was silent. It was almost like the tugging was literal, pulling him to the small room.

  Before Atticus could open the closet door, Brock stopped him.

  “Atticus, enough! What are you doing?”

  “This room,” he said. “Something is in it.”

  He pushed past Brock and opened the door. Much to his surprise, it was just a regular custodial closet, exactly like he’d assumed. But still, something didn’t feel right. The tugging in his gut was still pulling him inward. He took a step inside and began searching all around for something amiss. Brock tried to convince him that he was going crazy, but Atticus wasn’t listening. He fell to his knees and began to crawl around, scouring the floor for something. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he knew that something was there.

  Finally, Atticus found a small knob on the floor, easily overlooked. He twisted it and felt the floor in front of him give way, revealing a small trap door. He peaked down and saw a ladder leading about thirty feet down into darkness.

  He looked back at Brock who was just as awestruck.

  “I-Is this a secret door,” Atticus said.

  “At this point, I’m willing to believe anything.” Brock took a step into the closet, but Atticus cut him off.

  “No, you stay out there,” he said. “I’m going in, and if anybody asks where I went, tell them I’m in the bathroom.”

  “Atticus, you’re crazy if you think I’m gonna let you go into this creepy hole by yourself.”

  “You have too!” Atticus didn’t want to go alone, but he didn’t want to risk Brock getting hurt. Plus, if there came a moment where he had to run, Atticus didn’t want to hold anyone back. He didn’t even let Brock respond before he started climbing down the ladder.

  The hole was definitely dark, that was to be expected, but it was far deeper than Atticus thought. From above, it looked just about thirty feet, but it felt like he descended for an eternity. When he reached the bottom, Atticus looked up and couldn’t even see the top. It had to be a trick of the light, he thought. But, he couldn’t get distracted. The tug in his gut had resided and now he had to find whatever it was that compelled him down into the abyss.

  Atticus followed a long hallway leading down into the depths of the school. It wasn’t pitch black, but it was close enough. Dim, barely working plasma tubes hummed throughout the long corridor and made the whole place feel like an abandoned prison cell. It was easily the most terrifying moment of his life.

  As he made his way down the maze-like corridors, Atticus began to hear what sounded like mumbling. It was faint, and against his better judgment, he followed it. The lights got dimmer and dimmer the deeper into the tunnel he went, but eventually Atticus came across a large metal door. He heard the mumbling on the other side, and he gently creaked the door open and peaked inside to see Professor Varnum, hunched over a small wooden table littered with papers; his back to the door.

  Atticus couldn’t quite hear what the professor was saying. He pressed his ear to the door and listened closely.

  “I was wrong, I was wrong,” the professor muttered. “I’ll never escape. He sees me! He sees right through me!”

  Atticus’ curiosity glued him to his spot. He couldn’t move. Whatever the professor was rambling on about, he needed to know.

  “The Master’s plan, I have my part. I was wrong to go against The Master, and now I’ve paid the price. I’m sorry, Master! I was wrong, Master!”

  Atticus took a step back from the door, accidentally nudging it. A faint squeak echoed through the corridor. Varnum tensed up, and suddenly everything went silent. Atticus didn’t dare move. He didn’t even want to breath. He continued to peek inside and watch the professor, hoping that maybe the madman would just shrug it off.

  “I-Is that you, sir,” Varnum called out. Atticus didn’t respond. “I-I didn’t expect you to be here already. I swear that n-nothing will go wrong. I’ve done everything you’ve asked.” Still, Atticus said nothing.

  Then, Varnum snapped. “Would you give me something? Anything? I swear I’m not going against The Master’s will!” Varnum lashed out, smacking the table and sending the papers sprawling across the floor. A long bloody gash appeared across the professor’s knuckles, but he didn’t seem phased by it. “What must I do to regain your trust, you dog? If you’re too cowardly to kill him, I’ll do it myself! You don’t overlook anything, huh? You see right through things? Well good! Then you’ll see just how loyal I am to The Master!”

  Varnum hurled the table across the room, smashing it on the floor. He went into a berserk state, howling and pounding his fists on the walls. Atticus backed away, hiding in the shadows, but still trying to keep an eye on his lunatic professor.

  “Do you hear me, Jack,” he shouted. “It was me! I’m the one who found the lockets here! And, I found their son as well! You’re too busy hiding in the shadows while I do all the dirty work! Well, if you’re too scared to kill Whaelord, then I’ll do it myself!”

  Atticus leapt back, his heart beating violently, and his legs started moving without thought. He had to get out of there as soon as possible. He heard Varnum continue his screaming in the distance. The professor had completely gone off the deep end.

  But, worst of all, thanks to Varnum’s insane ranting, Atticus knew exactly who The Jack was. He knew exactly what his mother meant when she said The Jack lies. He’d been wrong all along and his heart felt broken.

  He sprinted down the corridor and vigorously climbed up the ladder back into the closet. He slammed the trapdoor shut and ran off to find Brock.

  Chapter 16

  Atticus found Brock near the entrance to the cafeteria. He and a few other students were getting prepped by Principal Shepard who said that some guests would be arriving soon. She went on to name a few before getting pulled aside by another faculty member.

  Brock saw Atticus looked terrified. “Hey, what happened?”

  “That hole I found,” he said, “it leads to a maze-like basement. But that’s not important; what is important is that I found Varnum down there mumbling some crazy stuff to himself. H-He kept saying that he was wrong and kept calling out to some ‘Master,’ talking about a plan that he played part in, and how
he’s in trouble and paid the price, but there is-”

  “Atticus, calm down,” Brock said. “You’re speaking a mile a minute. Just tell me what the professor said.”

  Atticus was completely flustered. There was so much ne needed to say, but his brain wasn’t cooperating. He took a few deep breaths and tried to regain his composure. Atticus pulled Brock to a corner and huddled up. In a feint whisper he did his best to explain everything he’d heard the professor say.

  “Atticus, that crazy old coot says he wants to kill you,” Brock said. “If he’s serious, you can’t just stick around.”

  “He said The Jack would be here.” Atticus pulled his locket out of his pocket. He stared at it for a moment. “I know who it is.”

  “Y-You do?”

  Atticus nodded, but before he could say anything, a crotchety old shadow loomed above them.

  “So, what gossip is going on over here, pray tell?” The two students looked up and saw Professor Varnum giving them both a cold stare through his dark tinted glasses. The two nearly jumped out of their skin at the sight of him.

  Atticus caught a glimpse of the professor’s hand. He’d expected it to be all bloody, but it was completely healed.

  “Y-Your hand?”

  Varnum stared at him, confused. “Yes, what about it?”

  Atticus wanted to snap and call out the professor, but his words were lost in his throat.

  Luckily, like usual, Brock had his back. “Sorry professor, we were just talking about how wonderful of a job you’ve done today.”

  Varnum scoffed. “Your flattery will get you nowhere with me, Mr. Mackenzie.”

  “Oh, but it’s not flattery,” Brock said. “You’ve done so much for the Nelsons, professor, but don’t you feel just a tad bit guilty?”

  “What are you trying to say?” The professor pursed his lips.

  “Trying to use the death of a student to further your plans. Maybe to make yourself look better in the eyes of your superiors?” Brock looked at Atticus with a devilish smirk. “What if someone was to see through your actions, professor? What if this didn’t work?”

  Beads of sweat formed on the professor’s forehead. “I don’t know what it is you’re getting at Mr. Mackenzie, but I warn you that it is not funny.” The professor’s face began turning a bright red. “Now, how about you assist the kitchen instead of lounging about.”

  Brock tried to argue, but Varnum kept his foot planted. He let out a sigh and began to make his way to the kitchen. When Atticus tried to follow, Varnum stopped him.

  “Not you, Mr. Whaelord,” he said. Atticus could see the look of fear on the professor’s face. Even through his glasses, Atticus could see that the professor was slowly losing it. “I-I need you to stay here and usher the guests when they arrive.”

  Finally, Atticus couldn’t take being silent any longer. He looked down at the professor’s hand and said, “Did it hurt when you smashed the table, professor? How did it heal so quickly?”

  “What did you say?”

  “Stop hiding it, Varnum.” Atticus glared at the professor. “What are you so afraid of?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything!”

  “Really? Nothing?” Atticus asked. “You’re saying you’re not afraid of something going wrong? You’re not afraid of making The Master angry?”

  Varnum tensed up. He shoved Atticus up to the wall and got up to him, face-to-face and whispered, “You keep silent, Mr. Whaelord. Now get back to work.”

  About a half hour passed and Atticus was forced to stand at the entrance to the cafeteria and wait for guests to arrive. It was his job to show them where they’d be sitting for the evening. Of course, high end snobs wouldn’t listen to a student; they’d just walk by and sit where they pleased.

  Guests after guests passed. Some fancy looking higher-ups and some students. Camila decided to come. She wore a pink dress and her hair was hanging down over her shoulder. Atticus wasn’t sure why she’d came. She wasn’t really friends with Mike, and she wouldn’t get anything for attending. Perhaps she just thought it was the right thing to do.

  As she walked past, Atticus tried to speak with her, but she continued to give him the cold shoulder.

  After about ten more minutes of greeting guests, the guests of honor arrived: The Nelsons. Dr. Clayton Nelson was wearing a dark green suit with a black tie. His hair was neatly groomed and he was still wearing his goggles. Mrs. Pearl Nelson had on a dark emerald dress with golden trim, a pair of long black silk gloves and a decorative pearl necklace.

  Atticus couldn’t help but feel they were hiding something. Dr. Nelson looked particularly disgusted by the whole event, almost as if he never wanted the whole event to take place. He’d said that the only thing his son’s death had given him was harassment. Was this what he meant? A constant reminder that his son was gone? Atticus knew what it was like to lose his parents, but he couldn’t imagine what it must be like for parents to lose their children.

  “Welcome,” Atticus said with a fake smile. “May I lead you to your seats?”

  Mrs. Nelson gazed right past Atticus as if she hadn’t heard him, but Dr. Nelson looked down with a much concerned look. “You look familiar. Where do I know you from?”

  “Not too good with faces I see,” Atticus mumbled. “I’m Atticus Whaelord. We’ve met before at the-”

  “Whaelord,” he shouted. “As in, William and Isabel Whaelord?”

  Atticus was a bit taken back. He didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded.

  “I can’t believe it,” the doctor said jubilantly. “All this time you were right here!” He took off his goggles and looked Atticus in the eyes. “I was foolish not to see it before. You’ve got your father’s eyes.”

  “Y-You knew my parents?”

  “Knew them? We were partners!” Dr. Nelson’s face shifted. His joyous glimmer changed to a look of sadness. “However, that was a long time ago.”

  “What happened to them,” Atticus asked. “What’s Mekanile? What’s going on in all of this?”

  Atticus didn’t care that he was bombarding the man with so many questions. He needed answers, and now he was dedicated to get some.

  Dr. Nelson shook his head. He was about to say something, but he lost his breath. His wife had vanished. “Pearl? Where did she dawdle off to?”

  Atticus hadn’t noticed, but the doctor was right. It seemed that Mrs. Nelson was just there not more than a couple of seconds ago, but then she’d just completely up and disappeared.

  That’s when a lump formed in Atticus’ stomach and chaos broke out in the midst of the cafeteria. Students, faculty, and guests alike began to let out screams of terror and scattered about as if someone released a swarm of bees. What was really there, was much worse.

  Barreling through the crowd was a dark cloaked figure, leaping bounds over attendees, onto tables, a knife held firmly in its hand: The Jack. Its speed was remarkable. It slashed at anyone in its path.

  Atticus didn’t even get a chance to run before the assassin was only a few yards in front of him. He was certain the figure was going to attack, but he was wrong. The Jack leapt over him and tackled Dr. Nelson, his knife sinking into the doctor’s chest. A terrible scream of pain filled the room, and Atticus was forced to watch in horror. He wanted to do something, like grab a nearby chair and smash it over the assassin, but he was too afraid to move.

  The Jack ripped the knife out of the doctor and turned to face Atticus. Its green eyes focused on him. Atticus was certain he was going to die, but just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard Professor Varnum.

  “No! You’re not supposed to be here!”

  The assassin quickly changed focus to the professor. He pushed past Atticus, knocking him to the ground, and made a mad dash to the professor, leaping over any obstacle in his path.

  The professor’s face trembled with fear as The Jack closed in. He tried to turn and run, but between his chest pains and the assassin’s speed, he stood no chance. It was like a tortoise rac
ing a cheetah. The Jack bashed the professor over the head, and lifted him up onto his shoulders; bounding down the hallway.

  Through all the chaos, Atticus didn’t know exactly what to do. Everything had happened so fast. He quickly turned back to Dr. Nelson, who was barely gripping onto life.

  “D-Dr. Nelson,” he said quivering. The doctor’s face was pale and his eyes were staring off into the distance.

  He turned to Atticus and said, “I’m sorry.” That was it. The life had completely drained form his face.

  It felt like Atticus’ heart had been replaced with a burning coal. He wasn’t going to let The Jack get away. He bolted up to his feet and made a mad dash to the custodial closet at the end of the hallway. He knew that’s where it was going to hide.

  As he ran, Atticus saw Brock in the distance. Luckily, he wasn’t hurt. The two locked eyes and Brock was relieved to see that Atticus was still safe.

  Brock ran up to his friend and said, “That was him wasn’t it? The Jack?”

  Atticus nodded. “It killed Dr. Nelson, and now he’s taken Varnum. We have to find them before they escape!”

  “Atticus, that’s for the police, not us.”

  “We can’t wait for them,” Atticus shouted. “We can’t just sit by and do nothing!”

  Brock shook his head. He wanted to argue, but he knew nothing would change Atticus’ mind. “Then what do you propose we do?”

  Atticus looked down the hall towards the closet. “Make sure everyone is okay, and when the officers arrive, gather as many as you can and met me down the trap door.”

  “W-What?”

  “That’s where they went,” Atticus said. “I know it, and I’m not letting them get away again.”

  “Atticus, no, you’re not going alone!”

  “Just trust me,” Atticus begged.

  Brock didn’t want to let his best friend just rush head first into a dark basement where a serial killer was waiting for him, but he couldn’t stop him. Nothing could.