The Gated Trilogy

by Matt Drabble

  Once they were inside, Maurice took a quick check outside to make sure that they were alone and slammed the door shut again.

  Sarah couldn’t help but feel a little concerned as he slid the large bolt back across.

  Her little concern grew legs and sprouted when she looked at the man close up.

  She had always assumed that he was a healthy and hearty 60-something-year-old, but now he seemed to have aged a couple of decades overnight.

  “Maurice, you look terrible,” Stuart said indelicately.

  “Just a little under the weather,” the caretaker replied, adding a couple of sniffs and a small cough as if trying to back up his own story. “Come through, the fire’s going and it’s warmer in the lounge.”

  They followed him into the cosy room and both had to immediately take their coats off as the heat was immediately stifling from the roaring fire.

  Sarah watched as Maurice leant over and stoked the fire. He stood back and rubbed his hands as though he was having difficulty getting warm despite the intense heat.

  “Have you got a temperature?” she asked, leaning forward to feel his forehead but he jerked away from her touch.

  “It’s just a bug or something,” he snapped.

  “Well, bug or not, the boiler is out and the whole school is like an icebox,” Stuart said a little testily. “There’s no heating and no hot water.”

  Just then the overhead light in the lounge dimmed and flickered before settling down again.

  “And perhaps no power at this rate,” Stuart added.

  “Do you need anything? Is there anything I can get you?” Sarah asked the caretaker, playing good cop.

  She had known the man long enough to know that he didn’t take sick days and he never seemed ill.

  A few years ago there had been an outbreak of food poisoning that had spread through the school like wildfire and struck down everyone who had eaten dinner that night. Everyone, that was, except Maurice who had merely called his constitution ironclad.

  “We need you to get the boiler going again,” Stuart said firmly. “That is your job after all, isn’t it? Your responsibility?”

  “Not my problem,” the old man sulked.

  “The hell it’s not,” Stuart snapped.

  “Look Stuart, if Maurice isn’t feeling up to it then stop badgering him,” Sarah said defensively.

  “Don’t you go treating me like one of your bloody kids,” Maurice barked.

  “Then stop acting like one!” Stuart barked back.

  “What is going on Maurice?” Sarah probed gently. “In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never been sick a day in your life and you’ve never shirked your responsibilities. Now if you are unwell then I’m sure that between the three of us we can get the boiler up and running again.”

  “Hey, hang on a minute; I don’t get paid for messing around in the basement,” Stuart said nervously.

  Sarah flashed him a stern look and he shut up quickly.

  She took a long look at Maurice. The man looked old and haggard, but he didn’t look unwell, he looked…, well he looked scared and that was a look and an emotion that she knew only too well.

  “Stuart, why don’t you go and make us all a nice cup of tea? Isn’t that what you guys do in times of trouble, pop the kettle on?” she said lightly.

  She waited until he had left the room before she turned her attention back to the caretaker. “Ok, Maurice, out with it.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” he pouted.

  “Bullshit you don’t, old man.”

  “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you,” he said in a small voice that touched her deeply.

  “Oh Maurice,” she said in a low voice to avoid Stuart in the other room hearing her, “you’d be surprised at just what I would believe.”

  ----------

  Donald hiked his way through the wind and snow.

  He knew that at his age he should be safely tucked up by the fireside with a tumbler full of whisky. He had left the good Father Monroe back at the station waiting for Paterson to finally drag himself into work.

  The young PC could tap away on the computer and try to figure out the strange words that Monroe claimed to have heard.

  Donald had little use or interest for the vagaries of modern technology outside of a TV remote but whatever was going on in Bexley Cross was far outside his experience.

  All he could do was to wait for the storm to break and the cavalry to arrive.

  He was on his way, albeit rather slowly, to Edna Bailey’s cottage.

  Monroe had claimed that his housekeeper had tried to poison him for some as yet unknown reason; it was not a claim that he could ignore.

  Monroe had proudly produced a chunk of sausage from his pocket like a magician making a bunch of flowers appear from thin air. But Donald had no way of testing the piece of meat for nefarious content and could only place it in the freezer for safe keeping.

  Fortunately, the village was relatively rather small and Edna’s home was a short walk from the station, or at least a short distance.

  The snow was banked up high along the pavements and the roads were impassable save for the most determined of vehicles kitted out for just such an occasion. Even the police’s own 4x4 would struggle to make it out of Bexley Cross.

  Along the road, curtains were drawn tightly against the storm as residents cowered behind closed doors.

  Donald knew that the power wouldn’t last much longer. The sheer weight of snow and strength of wind would start bringing down lines and cables any time now. For the first time in his life he started to feel that they were isolated from the world beyond their narrow borders.

  He reached Edna’s cottage as his legs burned with lactic acid unused to such heavy exertion. His heart fluttered worryingly in his chest as he felt every month of his age.

  The pathway had at least been cleared sometime in the near past, but now the concrete was slippery with ice.

  He wobbled his way cautiously up to the front door and hammered loudly on the wooden panel.

  He tried the bell and heard the shrill ring echoing inside the cottage but there was still no answer.

  He tried the handle and found the door locked firmly to his touch.

  He peered in through a front window cupping his hands against the glare but he could see no movement inside. He stopped and thought for a moment.

  There was no probable cause to affect entry to a private and locked residence. He had come to interview Edna Bailey to investigate an accusation, but nothing more.

  He made his way around to the rear looking to hopefully discover another entrance but he found the back door secured like the front. Again, he cupped his hands to peer in through the kitchen window but there was still no sign of life.

  He wandered back around to the front of the property whilst he weighed up the odds of Monroe’s words and Edna’s age as the snow continued to fall and the biting wind blew.

  It was not inconceivable that a woman of Edna’s age may well have had a fall or been taken ill. The storm was certainly far too strong for the woman to be out wandering the countryside, so surely she had to be home.

  The front door’s feeble lock thankfully gave on the first kick. He wished that he had a set of lock picks and the knowledge to use them like the cops on TV seemed to have but all he was equipped with was a trusty pair of size ten boots.

  The stench hit him hard the second that he put his first foot inside the door.

  A number of years ago he had been out on his rounds visiting some of the surrounding villages.

  It was always a good idea, he had found during all his years in the service, to maintain a cordial relationship with those under his jurisdiction. A stern or kindly word went a long way in his book and a lot farther than a swinging truncheon.

  He had been paying a visit to Paul O’Connell’s farm several miles away.

  The farmer had been in a dispute with his neighbour, the bank, the Inland Revenue, and pretty much ev
eryone else that had the misfortune to cross his path.

  O’Connell was a heavy drinker with a short temper and quick fists. When Donald had walked through the man’s front doors he had been struck by the same pungent odour that assaulted his senses now.

  O’Connell had taken his trusty shotgun and put both barrels in his mouth. His headless corpse had sat undiscovered for a couple of weeks whilst the flies and then the vermin had gone to town.

  Standing in Edna’s hallway, he smelt that same rotting perfume again; it was blood and death.

  His first thought was that perhaps Monroe’s story was true and that the woman had taken her own life in failure. His second, and rather more unpleasant thought, was that perhaps the priest’s story was made up to cover his involvement in Edna’s death.

  The hallway was dark and empty and he knew that he had to venture further into the cottage despite every sense telling him not to.

  He tried the light switch on the wall to illuminate the proceedings and the hallway was suddenly bathed in brightness but it did little to alleviate his sense of dread.

  He passed through into the lounge and felt on the wall for another switch. The smell was stronger here and he had to clamp his hand over his mouth to stop himself from gagging.

  The kitchen was through an archway and he could hear the collective buzzing of flies drifting through the gap. He steeled himself and strode purposefully around the corner determined to carry out his duty without soiling himself in the process.

  His first thought was she actually sat down and ate in this, his second was to spew his own breakfast across the room.

  The table was laid with a cereal box, a tablemat with a bowl sitting on it, a spoon laid beside on a napkin and the severed head of a chocolate Labrador proudly displayed in the middle.

  His stomach churned further when he approached the table and discovered that her bowl was stained red; apparently, she hadn’t been using milk on her cereal.

  ----------

  Sarah listened to Maurice’s tale of being hounded in the middle of the night by the children and found it difficult to believe.

  She knew these kids and just couldn’t picture them carrying out such an act, but Maurice was obviously scared of something. She had enough experience in her own life to not dismiss anything out of hand.

  “And you saw the new boy, Joshua?” she probed gently.

  “They were all following him. There’s something off about that boy Sarah,” Maurice said quietly. “Something is wrong here, very wrong. I know this old girl inside and out, but now it’s like she’s a complete stranger to me, and it’s all ever since he arrived.”

  She sat back and pondered the new kid.

  He was certainly popular with the others and she had even seen Alex Thompson deferring to him and that kid always wanted to be top dog.

  “I’m sure that it’s just the new guy phenomenon. He’s a bit different, from a different country with a different accent.”

  “You can’t be serious?” Stuart suddenly said from the doorway. “I’ve seen him around the rugby team. Sure, he’s got a kind of charisma that draws people to him. I’ve got a group of wannabe alpha males and they all turned to Joshua almost immediately, even Thompson. He’s just a leader I guess.”

  “He’s a fucking Pied Piper,” Maurice said bitterly.

  “Look, this is all starting to sound a little odd if you don’t mind me saying. This is just a boy that we’re talking about here, just a 13 year old child,” Stuart said, as though he was speaking to his class.

  “Bollocks,” Maurice spat as he cleared his throat.

  “A very informed and rational debate I’m sure,” Stuart said haughtily. “Sarah, surely you’re getting a little carried away here?”

  Sarah thought back to the dining hall earlier at breakfast: the way that the kids had all sat in silence with Joshua at the head of the table; the way that they had all suddenly stood and filed out of the hall as though operating with one thought and one mind.

  She had known a man back in Eden a lifetime ago that had exerted a similar influence over an entire town.

  She desperately wanted away from Ravenhill as soon as the weather broke. Perhaps she wouldn’t even work out her notice; perhaps when the snow thawed she would just leave and put as many miles between her and this place as possible.

  “Maybe,” she replied unsurely, “and maybe not. I’ve seen enough things in my life, Stuart, not to just dismiss such things out of hand; trust me it can be very dangerous to do so.”

  She stood up quickly, determined not to get dragged down into another pit of madness. Whatever this was, it wasn’t her business. She wanted the caretaker to get the boiler running again and nothing else from the man.

  She was almost out of the door when she saw the photograph. She wanted to scream and throw a tantrum. She had almost been out free and clear. She had almost been able to convince herself that she had no part to play here, but a small silver frame and a 6x4 image changed everything.

  “Who’s that?” she asked Maurice, pointing to the photograph of a man with a half-smile and self-conscious gait.

  The caretaker turned to the frame as Stuart leant forward. She heard the small gasp from Stuart as Maurice answered. “That’s my grandfather, why?”

  Sarah immediately recognised the man in the blue and white striped pyjamas that she had seen throwing himself off the school roof. And judging from Stuart’s small exclamation, he recognised the man too.

  She looked up and cursed the heavens; she would have gotten away with it too, if it wasn’t for that pesky photograph.

  ----------

  Edna finally managed to reach the woods that surrounded Ravenhill.

  She paused and checked the area for prying eyes and found it empty. She was secluded and his voice drifted on the winds calling her forwards.

  The storm had eventually subsided and she took it as a sign from God.

  The strong winds had dropped and the snow had fallen to a light flurry.

  She couldn’t feel her extremities anymore but it was of little concern. Hers was no longer an existence dependant on earthly limitations; hers was a higher calling now.

  She hid in the trees and waited. Her instructions came in the form of distinct feelings and pictures in her mind. It was a direct line to the man upstairs and further evidence that she was indeed blessed. But her heart was heavy.

  She had failed in her mission and could only pray that his love was eternal and his forgiveness was eternal.

  She had been tasked with the removal of the false priest, to stay the hand of the devil and halt the spread of his lies. But the monster had somehow seen through her and she had failed.

  She had thought that the glutinous fool would be easy to manipulate, but the devil was far cleverer than she had ever assumed. It was only the intervention of one of his emissaries that had saved her and now she had to hide until she was needed again.

  The snow froze and soaked her impractically covered feet. Her body trembled and shivered but not from the weather - he was near.

  As she stood under the tree canopy she suddenly realised that the day was oddly silent. There were no rustling wildlife or chirping birds and the air was oppressive and heavy.

  A soft noise behind her made her turn in surprise.

  A chunk of snow fell to the ground from a bare branch. For some reason she suddenly felt strangely uneasy.

  Her face crinkled in confusion as this was supposed to be a place of worship and peace.

  Suddenly, the woodland seemed dark and foreboding; the trees were reaching out towards her with claws of menace and her mind started to rebel with questions.

  Father Monroe had always been a kindly man, concerned with the village and the residents.

  Could he really be the monster that she had been told about? Was his the face of the devil determined to bring about the ruination of them all?

  She was so deeply lost in her thoughts that she didn’t feel the coarse rope slip around
her neck.

  The noose tightened before she realised it and suddenly her breath was coming in short sharp bursts.

  Her feet were rising above the ground and she clawed desperately at the rope. Her eyes bulged grotesquely as her throat was crushed. The rope pulled ever upwards until she was suspended and her legs jerked and danced in midair as the noose was secured and tied off by unseen hands.

  Her hands fell limply away from her throat and her head lolled forward as the darkness closed in around her. She began to feel herself slipping away and leaving her body. She looked down upon her mortal form and waited to rise up to the heavens. Her bewilderment turned to horror as she began to slide in the opposite direction.

  ----------

  Barnaby paced around his office looking for a familiarity that would signify his regaining of control over his school.

  He was confident that he had re-established order when he had spoken to the pupils that morning.

  Their contrite and obedient faces had proved to him that his words had been heard and digested.

  Breakfast had been a sombre and quiet affair that had surely placed him back at the head of the food chain. And yet he didn’t feel as though anything had changed. These walls, which had once been his to breathe life into, were now alien to him. It was as though he no longer even belonged at Ravenhill.

  He stood and stared out of his window at the grounds below, grounds that had once trembled beneath his footsteps. The landscape was snow covered and desolate and nothing was moving.

  His eye was suddenly caught by a slow dash of dark movement. There was something out in the shadows of the woods that looked strange and out of place. A long silhouette looked to be hanging from one of the trees.

  His heart sank as his fears rose. Ravenhill had a long and carefully guarded past that involved a whole slew of suicides. It was a past that was kept well hidden and fiercely protected.

  There was no way that the most prominent families around Europe would send their children here if they knew about the school’s bloody history.

  He took the stairs two at a time on the way down, his feet barely touching the soft carpeted ground. He ran for the main entrance before changing his mind and turning towards the kitchens.