by Matt Drabble
He looked around the room for some kind of weapon to use, but the cupboard was bare. He looked around frantically wondering if he could find some kind of tranquillizer before realizing that he would have no idea what to look for. A metal canister hanging on the wall caught his eye and he shrugged; any port in a storm, he thought.
He removed the fire extinguisher carefully from the wall, trying to make as little noise as possible. He hefted the weight and winced; the last thing he wanted was to hit a child with such a heavy weapon.
He made his way back to the door and reached out to take the handle in a sweaty palm. His head still ached furiously and he had to fight waves of nausea. He waited for it to pass and prayed that he wasn’t in serious danger from the two head traumas that he had suffered in quick succession.
He steeled himself and pulled the door open fast and hard. The boy’s back was to him and the kid started to turn in surprise. At the last minute, Stuart changed his mind and let off a stream of foam into the boy’s face. He reached out and grabbed the kid, putting his hand across the boy’s mouth, and pulled him into the infirmary blinded.
He kicked the door shut and dragged the boy further into the room and then behind the large counter that ran across the back of the infirmary. “Quiet, quiet,” he hissed as the boy started to struggle against him.
He held the boy firmly with his hands wrapped tightly across narrow shoulders. “I’m gonna let you go and you’re not going to scream, ok?” He felt the kid nod slowly.
He took his hand away from the boy’s mouth and turned him around to face him. Immediately he recognised Simon Carey from the rugby team. Simon was a decent prop forward and usually an obedient listener in the math classroom.
“Simon? What the hell is going on?” he asked, shocked.
“Hear thou in heaven, and forgive the sin of thy servant,” Simon whispered.
“Simon, where is everyone? Where is Mr. Barnaby?” Stuart demanded, but the boy just rocked back and forth.
“Forgive thy people that have sinned against thee, and all their transgressions wherein they have transgressed against thee, and give them compassion before them who carried them captive, that they may have compassion on them,” Simon whimpered
“Simon, SIMON!” Stuart yelled, louder than he wanted to. “What is happening?”
“He sees you,” the boy suddenly said, staring directly into his eyes. “He sees you and he knows you.”
“Who does?
“And I will send grass in thy fields for thy cattle, that thou mayest eat and be full.”
Stuart stared at the boy that he had known as a rambunctious teenager only days ago; now the kid was sounding like a southern preacher. He had never known any of his kids to have any interest in religion before and now Simon’s eyes were blank and distant like those of a stranger. He loosened his grip on the obviously disturbed child and pondered his next move and whether or not there was anyone sane left at Ravenhill.
“By swearing, and lying, and killing, and stealing, and committing adultery, they break out, and blood toucheth blood,” Simon said in a low and harsh tone that made Stuart take notice of. “Blood toucheth blood!”
Stuart only just managed to pull his neck out of the way as Simon suddenly produced a small knife from somewhere in his waistband. The silver blade flashed by his throat and he pushed himself backwards on his hands and scooted away.
“And again he sent another; and him they killed, and many others; beating some, and killing some,” Simon snarled as he gathered his feet and swayed from foot to foot.
Stuart stood and moved backwards slowly with his hands outstretched in front of him. “Simon, what are you doing? Put that knife down now,” He tried for an authoritative tone but fell someway short in his growing panic.
“If I whet my glittering sword, and mine hand take hold on judgment; I will render vengeance to mine enemies, and will reward them that hate me,” Simon growled as he swung the blade hypnotically back and forth.
“I’m warning you,” Stuart threatened, without much menace, as he continued to back away nervously.
Abruptly, Simon lunged at him and the knife slashed through the air. Stuart twisted to the side and the blade ripped across his chest, tearing his shirt and leaving a thin red line of blood.
He staggered backwards and lost his footing. As he fell, Simon launched himself and landed squarely on his chest. Stuart managed to get a hand up in time to block the bladed blow from landing. His reflexes were slowed from his head injury and Simon was young and strong and possessed with a fevered power.
Stuart got his forearm up to hold Simon’s knife hand but the boy was pushing down hard with all his considerable weight and the cutting edge started to creep closer. The tip of the blade reached his chest and started to pierce the flesh. Stuart made a desperate decision and reached out with his left hand. He gripped the knife’s blade with his bare hand and screamed as he ripped it from Simon’s grasp. The knife tore the soft flesh of his palm open as he squeezed his hand around the razor edge and pulled. He threw his right elbow up into the boy’s face and cracked Simon as hard as he could in the nose. He felt the kid’s face sickeningly crumple under the blow and the boy immediately went limp.
Stuart pushed the still body off him and rolled out from underneath. His left hand was on fire and he risked a look at the damage. The palm of his hand was ruined with a long trench gouged out of the middle. Through the pain he couldn’t spare Simon much sympathy.
He walked to the nearest sink and had to clamp his lips together to stop the scream from spewing forth. He found a bandage and wrapped his hand tightly. He checked on Simon’s condition and rolled the boy onto his side to stop him swallowing any more blood. The pulse was steady and strong but the boy seemed out of it.
He hadn’t gotten any answers, only more questions, but it was time to find some.
----------
Maurice cleared the overgrown weeds and branches and tried the basement doors. He wasn’t particularly happy when they opened.
This was an entrance that few people knew about. It was from a time when Ravenhill had been used as a hostelry often frequented by highwaymen. The passageway led out from underneath the cellar and emerged some 50 feet from the building. It served as a useful escape route when the long arm of the law came knocking.
He ducked inside quickly as Paterson followed him in. The young PC wasn’t talkative and Maurice got the impression that the boy was just as unhappy as he was to be here.
The doors opened onto an old stone set of steps that led downwards into the darkness. It was a level below the area where the boiler was kept and a place where nobody ever ventured anymore. The air was foul and he could feel the damp immediately creep into his old bones with cruel intent.
He had chosen this door to try and affect entry as he had been sure that it would be impassable, just as the kitchen service entrance would be. But it would appear that he was going to have a part to play in all of this mess after all.
He plucked the small but powerful torch from his belt and switched it on. The beam illuminated their path as they headed downwards. He could feel Paterson’s reluctance and he didn’t blame him. There were dark forces at work here and he knew that they should all be running in the opposite direction. He had hoped that Ravenhill would continue to sleep through the ages and that perhaps her time was done. But someone had arrived and woken her. It was like her battery had been jump-started and now Ravenhill lived again.
“What’s going on here?” Paterson asked in a weak voice. “I mean, in general; what is this place and why are we walking into it?”
He wanted to offer the young PC words of comfort, but he had none to give.
“Let’s keep moving, at least we’re out of the storm,” he said brusquely as he headed downwards.
He tried to keep his mind focused on remembering the directions to get up into the house. It was a maze of catacombs down here and Ravenhill had a tendency to change the game whenever you thought that
you had a handle on her. He hadn’t been down here in many years and it was where he felt the true face of the building lay. It was closer to her heart in here and the surface was hard and stony with little room for love or compassion to grow. Instead, only dark intentions festered in this blackness.
He paused at the bottom of the steps and tried to get his bearings. The passageways were narrow and cobwebs brushed and tickled his hair. He slapped away the tingles and shivered at the thought of where he was and what he was trying to do.
“Are there rats down here?” Paterson asked nervously from behind.
“No,” he answered, knowing that for some reason the rodent population steered clear of here.
“There’s nothing down here that can hurt us, is there?”
“Don’t worry, there’s nothing alive down here,” Maurice replied, knowing that wasn’t quite the same thing. “This way,” he said finally, when he was sure which passageway to take.
They moved quickly and, Maurice made sure, quietly. The last thing that he wanted to do was to announce their presence. If they could tip-toe their way into Ravenhill perhaps he could get a better sense of what was happening. There were several staff members still here, and most he cared little about, except Sarah and Barnaby. Sarah - because he liked her; she had the same sort of haunted look that a survivor had. She had been through something that had fundamentally changed her and she carried a heavy burden. Barnaby - because he was the current key master of Ravenhill, his name was above the door and he was in control; if he was gone, then Ravenhill had a new master and Maurice dreaded to think of the new owner’s intentions.
He was pondering the implications of a new name above the door when Paterson started to panic.
“I can’t breathe in here,” he panted, tugging at his collar. “The walls are too tight, they’re closing in.”
“Shush,” Maurice insisted. “You have to be quiet.”
“I don’t want to die down here, we’ve got to get out, help HELP!” Paterson started yelling.
“Shut up, damn you,” Maurice hissed, wondering just who the hell had allowed such a boy into the police to begin with.
“HELP, HELP WE’RE DOWN HERE!” Paterson continued to bellow.
Maurice was about to take a swing at the kid when he suddenly noticed that he could see his own breath. The temperature had dropped abruptly and that was never a good sign. He could feel Paterson behind him walking closely in his footsteps, but he could also feel that they weren’t alone. He didn’t know if it was his imagination or not but his elbows had seemed to start to brush against the passageway walls. The rising tide of panic caught and stuck in his chest as the torch beam started to flicker and fade. He heard the sound of crumbling brickwork as something tried to work its way out from behind the walls. Paterson started to scream as black hands caked in dirt and decay emerged and flexed clutching fingers tipped with long stained nails.
Maurice struggled to free himself from the clasping hands of the dead. He smashed them away with furious fists and his skin burned cold with every touch. He reached back and grabbed Paterson. He pulled the boy hard and they staggered forwards along the narrowing passageway. He fought his way clear as the walls closed in behind them. They ran and stumbled in the dark until at last they were clear.
The passageway opened up into a large room. The torch finally gave up the ghost and he searched his pockets for the lighter that he carried from his smoking days. He looked behind him and saw that the passageway was now completely closed. The air was thick with dust and the sound of crumbling mortar.
“What was that?” Paterson sobbed. “What the fucking hell was that?”
“Ravenhill,” Maurice answered solemnly.
“But that wasn’t real was it? It couldn’t be real; I mean it just couldn’t be.”
“Believe it,” Maurice panted, feeling every one of his many years. He had been a fool to come; he was no hero.
“What do we do now?”
“We go forward,” Maurice answered, looking at the only way open to them. “We go forward and might I suggest that if you’ve never prayed before, this might be a good time to start.”
----------
Sarah was locked in her room under the guard of Alex Thompson. She could feel the strong urge to fight and for that she was grateful. 10 years ago she had been caught in the headlights and frozen with fear; now, she felt a cold, almost reptilian, determination to stop Tolan.
The school was currently occupied by just 12 other children - his new disciples, he had called them. He had said that he needed 12 deaths for his new brethren and she had little choice but to believe what he believed. According to him, he already had nine in the bag consisting of at least two children and several members of staff, including Barnaby. He presented himself as godlike but she knew that there were limits to his ability; after all, it had taken 10 years for him to return and then only in the form of a boy. She cursed herself for not recognising Ravenhill as the threat that it most surely was. She had been here six years without realizing that she was slowly drawing him back. Maurice had told her that the place had a power and drew black-hearted men to her siren’s call, and there was surely none more black-hearted than Tolan Christian.
He had made a slip when he’d told her that after he had his 12 he would be free of this place; which meant that until he did - he wasn’t.
She couldn’t help but wonder where Stuart was and whether or not he was alright; it was a concern that was equal parts selfless and selfish. If Stuart was dead then Tolan was one body closer to his magic number. If he was still alive then presumably he must be secured as she was, somewhere in the school.
She walked slowly to the door and peered through the spy hole. Alex Thompson was still standing motionless in the hallway outside. She knew that Tolan would have only trusted his closest aide to watch over her. She was important to his plans in some way but quite how, she wasn’t sure. She knew that he would always hold a special hatred for her in his black heart for she was a child of Eden and, as such, when she’d turned on him it was the ultimate betrayal. Her mind was thick with bitterness and hate that it had taken her so long to turn on him, to find the strength to see through his lies and act. Her heart ached that it hadn’t been in time to save Samuel from dying at her hand. She had sworn that she would never stand idly by if she ever got the chance again.
“Alex?” she called as she rapped lightly on the door. “I know that you can hear me Alex. You came to see me the other day to tell me, didn’t you?” She leaned against the wooden panel, hoping to reach him. “He lies Alex. All he ever does is lie - it was always the devil’s greatest trick. He’s not a god Alex, he’s a monster, and you have to see through him for what he really is. I think that deep down you know already, don’t you? That’s why you came to see me so that I could help you. Let me help you now Alex, let me help you before it’s too late,” she implored.
“It already is,” he whispered from the other side.
“No,” she stated firmly. “Trust me; it’s never too late, no matter what you’ve done. I have blood on my hands that’ll never wash off Alex, but there is a life after him, there’s a life after all this. You have to believe me.”
“He’s in my head,” Alex replied with such a weight of sadness that Sarah’s heart broke with his pain. “He’s in my head and I can’t see straight anymore; I can’t even hear my own thoughts most of the time. There’s only him, always him.”
“But you can fight him Alex; you can stand on your own two feet and fight him, I promise you. He needs your compliance; he needs you to believe his lies. It’s what gives him strength; it’s where his real power lies.”
“He’s too strong,” Alex sighed heavily.
“No he’s not. I fought him a long time ago and I won. I watched good people find the strength and courage to bring him down when he had a whole town in the palm of his hand. Now he’s just a boy, but he won’t be forever. Whatever this place is, Alex, it’s going to fuel him and make him
stronger than ever before; we have to stop him before it’s too late.” She stood pressed up against the door for what seemed like an age, waiting for him to respond.
Eventually, just as she was about to give up hope, a key clicked and a lock tumbled. The door swung open slowly and she stared into the face of wretched misery and despair.
“I’ve done such terrible things,” Alex whispered as he stared at the ground. “I know that I have and yet I can’t remember everything. If I close my eyes I can see Mr. Barnaby falling under a flurry of kicks and punches and I can feel his wet blood on my hands,” he sobbed.
Sarah wanted to tell him that it was alright, that it wasn’t his fault, but she knew better. There was always an element of complicity with Tolan, no matter how much you lied to yourself and tried to pretend that you had no choice; there was always a slither of seduction involved. She placed a hand on his shoulder instead and gave what comfort she could as the boy started to cry.
“Where is he?” she asked as his tears started to abate, feeling nervous and exposed in the hallway.
“He’s busy somewhere in the school,” Alex replied, concentrating for a moment. “He’s not watching me at the minute.”
“Then we have to go now,” she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him away quickly.
They headed along the deserted hallway. Sarah wanted to put as much distance as they could between them and their tormentor as quickly as possible. Tolan was obviously tapped into Ravenhill now and he would be able to find them if she didn’t hurry. What she needed was information, something to use against Tolan before he became too powerful for her to stop.
She thought of the school and who would hold the key. If what Tolan had said was true, then Barnaby was gone but the Headmaster had been a meticulous man who kept impeccable records. The best place to start was his office; perhaps there was a secret - or two - to find within his filing cabinets.