The Gated Trilogy

by Matt Drabble

  “Goodnight Stuart,” she said as she closed her door on his puppy dog face before he could speak again.

  She stayed there with one hand pressed against the door until she heard his footsteps moving away slowly.

  A couple of minutes later she was beneath the covers and fighting the temptation for a nightcap that would open a set of floodgates that she was desperately trying to keep closed.

  Whatever was going on at Ravenhill, and however much of it was in her mind, would soon be behind her.

  ----------

  Alastair Barnaby walked the halls for the second night in a row.

  He had swapped with Ms King to take a consecutive night shift. He was determined to reclaim Ravenhill in his own name and wouldn’t be scared away like some child by ghostly laughter that had surely been the work of one of the children playing some kind of prank.

  The theory was sound in the daylight when his rational mind won out over the more primal part, but the sun had long since died and his courage was faltering.

  Earlier he had thought that he had heard light running footsteps down the back staircase, but he had quickly convinced himself that it was just the wind echoing through the corridors. The explanation made no logical sense, but he had clung to it just the same.

  He had lost the war to bring the flashlight with him for the first time, but he had won the battle to keep it switched off.

  The wind outside was intensifying as the storm continued to rage. His mind drifted to the predicament of his secretary. No matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t picture Mrs. Merryweather being responsible for the death of her husband.

  Sergeant Ross had seemed like a stable enough fellow in the past, but when they’d spoken on the phone he had seemed shaken and disturbed.

  It was the feeling of a loss in the sense of order that troubled him the most. He was a man who lived by the clipboard of routine and structure and his centre balance was off - way off.

  He walked all too casually along the upper floor hallways, a man merely out for a Sunday stroll in the park without a care in the world.

  He ignored the voices that wafted up through the house and the strange chants that seemed to carry small voices on the cold air.

  As far as he was concerned there were no such things as ghosts and ghouls. He would hold an assembly first thing in the morning and instruct the pupils in no uncertain terms about the perils of pranks and breaking the rules.

  ----------

  Sarah woke in the middle of the night with no clue as to why.

  Her dreams were a blurry and fading haze, but they hadn’t been dark or scary.

  She sat up in bed and saw a giant puff of white breath exude from her. She sat that way for a minute or so before knowing that her pressing bladder was most likely the reason for her broken sleep.

  She gingerly hopped out of bed and ran quickly across the cold floor for the bathroom. When she emerged a short time later, a noise from outside caught her attention.

  She slipped her bathrobe on and gratefully put on a pair of warm slippers.

  She eased the door open and poked her head out into the hallway. She checked to her left and saw no one, then turned to the right and just saw someone disappearing through the double doors at the far end of the hallway. For some reason, she felt compelled to follow.

  Her feet whispered across the carpeted corridor as she swiftly pursued the figure. The doors were still softly swinging when she reached them and she pushed through. The stairwell seemed empty but she could just hear footsteps walking upwards.

  She ran to the first landing just in time to see a pair of legs vanishing as the stairs twisted around and upwards.

  “Hello?” she called out, fighting the urge to whisper. Ever since she had was panicked into sounding the alarm, she wasn’t keen on repeating the ordeal. There was no answer.

  She ran up the stairs moving quickly and nimbly.

  The stairwell ran the height of Ravenhill from the basement to the roof.

  Every now and then she would catch a glimpse of shoes above her to assure her that she was on the right trail.

  Eventually, she reached the door that led out onto the balcony that ran around one of the turret tops.

  She tried the handle and was surprised to find the door unlocked. It was dangerous up here and the door should have been secured.

  She pushed it open and stepped out into the howling wind.

  The snow was being driven hard against the building and she had to raise a hand to shield her eyes.

  Through the snowfall she could make out a man. He had his back towards her and stood by the railings.

  Her heart was frozen as she feared he was about to jump.

  Suddenly he turned towards her; his face looked strangely familiar like an older version of someone that she knew.

  He was wearing blue and white striped pyjamas and a long blue silk bathrobe.

  He stared at her hard and directly into her eyes. His face was haggard and haunted and her heart broke at his obvious unhappiness.

  He lifted a finger to his mouth and although she couldn’t hear him over the wind she could see him mouth, “Shush,” and then he jumped over the edge.

  She screamed and rushed to the railing. She gripped it firmly before leaning out as far as she dared. She expected to see a large splattered mess on the ground far below but she could barely see anything.

  She turned and raced back into the building and down the stairs. By the time that she finally reached ground level she was exhausted and panting heavily.

  She half ran and half stumbled her way down through the dining hall and out through the kitchen behind.

  There was a key on a hook which she used to open the back door. She ran out into the snow and felt the cold bite through her pyjama bottoms and sockless feet.

  Her legs began to soak through with the freezing snow as she wandered around looking for the body.

  She turned her head upwards to gather her bearings and make sure that she was in the right place.

  She followed the sight of the turret top around to the side so that she was directly underneath where she had witnessed the man plummet over the edge.

  Here, the ground had been salted and lay barren, as the large metallic bins were kept here and carrying garbage out would have been treacherous if it wasn’t kept clear.

  She checked her sightline again and could see that this was where the body should have been, but there was no trace of anyone, dead or alive.

  She was a practical woman who had seen that the world was larger and darker than most people realised.

  She had seen a man jump from the roof, only to never reach the ground. She didn’t care if it was a ghost or not; whatever it was, she wanted no part of it.

  Eventually, her chattering teeth drove her back inside where she carefully locked the kitchen door behind her.

  Her feet squelched coldly as she walked back through the dining hall and back up the stairs towards her room.

  She couldn’t deny now that this place felt different to her. When she had first arrived it had been a sleepy school full of tradition and order. It had been the perfect place to lie low and convalesce.

  She had hoped to spend many more years here, but now something was different, something had woken Ravenhill from its slumber and she knew that the sooner she was gone the better.

  ----------

  Brendon woke bright and early. It wasn’t his choice but the sound of Edna Bailey, his housekeeper, was enough to wake the dead.

  He got up groggily and crossed his room to the ensuite bathroom.

  He checked his reflection in the mirror and winced at the deep scratches on his face. He dreaded to think just what his parishioners would make of his wounds, especially if he tried to explain just where they had come from.

  He still found yesterday’s events difficult to picture even though he’d been there in the flesh.

  He’d left soon after they had secured Mrs. Merryweather back in the maintenance c
loset and after Sergeant Ross had treated his wounds with a first aid kit.

  He still shuddered when he thought of the pure hatred that had been prevalent in the school secretary’s eyes.

  He still had no clue just why she had turned on him, and only him, with such venom.

  She had spoken with a strange thick tongue in a language that he didn’t recognise.

  Her voice had seemed almost possessed and his first thought was about demons and exorcisms, but in the cold light of day that seemed preposterous.

  He washed his wounds as gently as he could, but he still winced like a baby.

  Donald had given him the rundown or least as much as he knew.

  Brendon knew that the elderly sergeant was counting the hours until the city cops showed up and took her off his hands.

  He didn’t blame the policeman; the whole thing was a million miles from rescuing some old lady’s cat from a tree.

  He dressed quickly, figuring that a generous soaking of deodorant could replace a shower for one day at least.

  He followed his nose to the kitchen where there was coffee brewing and bacon frying and his stomach rumbled at the aroma. He found his housekeeper busy at the stove as he entered the room.

  “Good morning, Father,” she greeted him without turning.

  “Good morning, Edna,” he yawned in reply. “Breakfast smells delicious.”

  “It’s a little more like lunch now,” she said with a touch of disapproval.

  “Then you better fix me a double plate then,” he grinned, unwilling to be chastised by her this morning. “Edna, how well do you know the Merryweathers?”

  He watched as her back stiffened. “No more than most folks, I guess,” she said guardedly.

  “I take it that word has spread around the village by now?” he asked casually, not wanting to tip his hand if it hadn’t.

  “I’m sure that it’s all part of God’s plan, Father,” she said, still without turning so that he could see and gauge her expression.

  “I’m not sure that God had much to do with what happened in that house, Edna,” he said shakily. “Or with what Mrs. Merryweather was thinking.”

  “There are always scales that have to balance, Father - a bill to pay and token to offer in his name,” she said and she sounded like she was smiling for some reason.

  “That sounds decidedly like Old Testament virtues Edna and they went out with Noah and his ark,” he said, frowning.

  His religion was not covered in glory when it came to moving forward through the ages and he was ashamed of many parts of its past.

  “God is older than any book,” she scoffed. “He is older than time itself and his word is the way and the light; sacrifices are always required for the greater good.”

  Brendon sat at the kitchen table deciding upon the best way to fire the woman, charity be dammed.

  She was starting to sound a little unhinged and he was starting to feel a little uncomfortable when all he wanted was his breakfast.

  “Is that bacon ready?” he asked, changing the subject quickly.

  “Here we go,” she said, finally turning around.

  Brendon could see that she was smiling broadly and truth be told, it was freaking him out.

  Her eyes looked like twirling spirals of light and her smile was stretched and plastic.

  She laid a plate down in front of him with a huge breakfast piled high.

  Normally he would have been digging in the second the plate was down, but now he couldn’t help but notice that she was staring right at him as though waiting.

  He cut a piece of sausage off and broke it into the poached egg surface. He lifted the dripping morsel to his mouth and the housekeeper seemed to be holding her breath.

  His nose twitched with something unusual about the forkful. He looked up at her expectant and eager face and he just knew that something was wrong.

  “Eat up dear, before it gets cold,” she urged.

  He sat there with the fork frozen in midair and the last thing he wanted to do was to put it in his mouth.

  He could feel her eyes burning into him and her face swollen with anticipation. A tiny bead of sweat sprung from her forehead and ran down the side of her face; it was just the smallest bead, but he saw it just the same.

  He placed the fork down on the table. “What did you do, Edna?” he asked quizzically.

  “I really don’t know what you mean, Father,” she blustered. “Would you like me to make you something else?” she asked as she made a grab for the plate. “I mean, I’ve never known you to be fussy.”

  He looked down at the cooling food in front of him as she suddenly snatched the plate away.

  She was lightning fast and the breakfast was already being swallowed by the garbage disposal before he could move.

  He pushed her out of the way of the sink, suddenly believing that something terrible had almost happened here.

  He flipped the switch to turn off the disposal and reached into the drain to grab the last remaining sausage that was clinging on above the rim.

  He grabbed it just in time as Edna turned it on again and the whirling blades gnashed their metallic teeth together.

  He managed to salvage one small piece of meat in the palm of his hand just in time before his fingers ending up getting severed.

  He turned towards her in shock and amazement at what she had tried to do.

  His words of chastisement and no doubt coarse language died in his mouth as someone else swung an unopened can of beans into the side of his head.

  He saw stars as he sunk to the floor dazed and confused. He could feel wet blood flowing down the side of his head as the world spun around him. The figure that had struck him from behind remained out of sight.

  He reached out and grabbed Edna’s bony ankle as she stepped over him and made for the door, but she shook her leg free with ease and a surprising amount of strength.

  She stared down at him with burning hatred.

  She spat a thick glob of phlegm onto his face and snarled a single foreign word that sounded oddly familiar.

  He just heard the front door slam behind her and her accomplice before he fell into a deep dark sleep.

  ----------

  Jemima stared down at the little plastic stick with shock in her wide eyes.

  The small blue plus sign was blaring like heaven’s bugle charge in her ears and rocking her to her core.

  She couldn’t understand what was happening. It just wasn’t possible that this could have happened. She was cut off in Ravenhill, far removed from the dating scene and its willing and irresponsible players.

  A hand flew to her mouth as she suddenly remembered: Stuart, the night of the party. It had only been days ago and yet it felt like years. But it still wasn’t possible for her to be exhibiting symptoms, surely? She had been throwing up every morning like clockwork and her moods had definitely altered.

  Her hands travelled down to her stomach. She stroked and prodded the soft flesh and found that she was bigger.

  It had only been days since she’d had sex and now she was showing. The whole thing stank of nut house crazy and yet, somehow, there was a strange feeling of right about it. A warm glow of bliss started to creep up from the soles of her feet and spread throughout her bones.

  She cradled the small but unmistakable swell above her waist and felt the warmth radiate from there. It was a gift from God she was sure now, a blessing that filled her entire being with grace and love.

  She was chosen; she was chosen by the hand of God and placed high above others to sit at his side and provide him with this child. A child of God and a child for God to serve him as he best saw fit. She just knew that he had plans for her and their child, plans that would change the world.

  ----------

  The following morning barely dawned at all as the sky was scarcely visible above the falling snow.

  The storm seemed to be intensifying rather than dwindling, as predicted by the shiny well-groomed men and women standing in
front of large maps on the television.

  Sarah threw back the curtains with a sense of dread. She was beginning to think that she was never going to get free of this place.

  What had once seemed like a welcoming - if a little cold - home now felt more like a prison. There was nothing to see except a white blanket stretched across the world, burying everything and everyone beneath it.

  The room felt particularly icy this morning and she walked to check the large radiator on the wall.

  The metal heater was bone cold to the touch. She looked over at her radio alarm clock on the bedside table and saw that its face was dark and dead.

  Despite the obvious lack of power in the room, she still felt compelled to flip the light switch a couple of times just to make sure.

  She dressed quickly and didn’t dare risk a frosty water shower.

  She had to check her watch to make sure that she wasn’t running late and was relieved to find that she wasn’t. Her internal clock had always functioned reliably well and as she was on duty this morning she was grateful for it.

  She exited her room and headed down towards the dining hall.

  She knew that it would have been easy to dismiss what she saw last night as yet another hangover of her troubled past. But she knew that she wasn’t quite so easy to fool.

  She had followed an old guy to the rooftop and he had jumped over the edge.

  She had then rushed outside to find no trace of a body. Whoever the man was, she couldn’t help feel that he had been warning her in some way, and she was fully prepared to listen.

  She approached the dining hall with a puzzled expression. Normally, the room would be a buzzing hive of noise and clattering crockery, especially during the more relaxed atmosphere of the holidays.

  She pushed open the door expecting to find the room empty, only to her surprise there was one fully laid table with a dozen clean and smiling faces sat around it.

  The kids were all dressed smartly in their school uniforms even though they weren’t required to be. The kitchen staff were standing to attention behind their counters and all were waiting patiently.

  She had assumed that breakfast would have been a cold affair, but in the back of her mind she remembered that the ovens ran on gas, not electricity. Through the kitchen she could see that the back door was slightly ajar and that milk bottles were placed out in the snow to keep cold.