by M S C Barnes
raspy sound, thin and high-pitched, but it uttered no words.
“Seb, your mouth is so far open I can see your breakfast!” Zach glanced over his own shoulder and then back at Seb who was frozen where he stood, watching the silhouetted figure shamble forward, still making that creepy raspy sound.
Seb tried to regain his composure. It’s only a member of staff, he told himself.
“We were just making our way to the playground,” he offered, as the large figure took another lumbering step towards them.
Zach stared at Seb, his back to the giant and laughed again. “Yes we were. So why the heck are we stood here?” Another glance over his shoulder and then he looked back at Seb. “Come on Seb, you’re being weird.”
Ignoring Zach’s laughter and confused as to why his friend wasn’t concerned at the monstrous shape just behind him, Seb tried to control his rising fear. The ominous figure shuffled another step closer. It had no discernible features and Seb’s imagination created the missing information: he pictured a huge, ugly visage, one massive eye in the centre; a low, heavy forehead; large, rubbery lips and a selection of random, mismatching teeth. And this monster was lurching nearer to Zach as it wheezed and hacked.
A sudden bang behind Seb made the massive bulk jump and the light behind it intensified. It stumbled back, turned right and disappeared through the classroom doorway, the door slamming behind it.
Seb turned towards the sound of the bang and saw the head teacher, Mr Duir, staring at him from the far end of the corridor. As the light behind Seb waned he smiled.
“Take your friend Master Thomas and find the rest of your group.” He turned and headed towards Reception.
Seb was concerned that The Head knew his name but the thought disappeared quickly as an overwhelming desire to be anywhere except in this corridor swept through him. He grabbed Zach by the arm and pulled him.
“Zach, let’s go!”
“You mere mortals, you fear to be late. We gods fear nothing.” Zach chuckled.
“Zach, are you mad? The ogre will hear you!” Seb said in an angry whisper. “Let’s just get going.”
“Ah yes, ‘ogres’. You mortals fear ogres too. Not us gods, we fear— ”
Seb yanked Zach’s arm harder. “Oh come on, or I’m going without you.” He began speed-walking to the exit, leaving Zach trying to keep up. He pulled the door open and felt a gust of wind and a smattering of raindrops on his face as he stepped out and straight into a huge puddle.
“Seb you fool!” Zach howled.
Seb was mortified. Everyone knew about The Lake. It was famed throughout the school and Year Nine students were warned about it on day one. Don’t fall in The Lake.
It was a mystery to most why The Head had not provided funding to fill in the deep subsidence just under the step. He had taken the job four years earlier and in that time had spent money on additional buildings: a theatre, fantastic science labs and a new gym, but no provision had ever been made for a simple resurfacing of the playground.
Seb stood, feeling his new left shoe filling with water which seeped up his trouser leg. He leapt out and onto the raised concrete two feet away.
Zach stood on the wooden ramp that formed a dry pathway across The Lake, laughing so loud that all the children within a radius of, well, the whole playground, now turned to look at the Year Nine-er who had stepped in The Lake.
Giggles and chuckles started up and Seb wanted to disappear. Then he felt a touch on his shoulder.
“Come on, little brother.”
He turned to see his annoying, full-of-herself sister, with her hand on his shoulder, smiling so nicely at him. Around her were three of her new friends, forming a barrier from the rest of the laughing school cohort. Seb guessed she was trying to impress the girls with a show of kindness. Scarlet took his PE rucksack and handed his satchel to one of the girls, introducing her as Nat. She smiled kindly at him as the girls escorted him out of the main playground.
“Hey, wait for me!” Zach called, chasing after them.
The laughter died down as they turned the corner and headed along the Year Nine pathway. Seb’s shoe squelched and his sock moved around on the slippery insole. He didn’t know whether to be grateful to Scarlet for rescuing him or totally humiliated at having to be looked after by his sister. Whatever, he was content to be out of the spotlight.
When they reached the smaller Year Nine playground, Scarlet and her group left Seb and Zach and went to find their own class line. Standing in his line, Seb now had time to worry about how his mum would react to his ruined shoe. At least the day couldn’t get any worse …
It Gets Worse
Academically, the morning lessons were a breeze for Seb – Maths, Science, then two periods of History whose topic was Greek mythology and specifically Theseus and the Minotaur and Ariadne’s thread. He was able to forget his damp sock, able to blot out the embarrassment in the playground – temporarily.
The History teacher, Mr West, had to wait for the class to settle and come to terms with his unusual appearance. The pupils were unused to a teacher who was actually shorter than even the smallest child in the class. His stubby fingers, squeaky voice and the rolling gait, with which he waddled around and between the desks as he talked, drew sidelong glances and the occasional murmur or snigger.
Though they all knew of dwarves or Little People and had all heard of the West Twins, a frequent topic of both student and parent conversations, there was always an initial shock when students were faced with the reality in their midst.
Once that shock subsided and his build and features had been accepted, pupils warmed to Mr West’s dynamic personality. Every word he uttered was enthusiastic and mesmerizing. He related the tale of Theseus and the Minotaur and the students followed his storytelling as if connected by the very golden thread Ariadne had given the adventurous hero.
Seb was in his element. So, unfortunately, was Zach, only more loudly. Zach continually put up his hand, each time breaking the spell as Mr West paused, fixed his sunken eyes on the boy and asked, “Master Orwell, you have another question; or is it another observation?”
Zach interjected continually with additional, wholly unnecessary information, facts he had read, speculations and questions designed to demonstrate what he knew rather than to seek answers.
The rest of the class didn’t seem to notice or mind, but for Seb, who had experienced years of the same, it was infuriating. Normally he wouldn’t be bothered but this was a favourite subject and Zach was ruining it!
Mr West continued, the thread began weaving again and Seb floated along with it. He was in the dank, narrow passageways of the labyrinth. He could feel the cold, sense the dampness on the walls. He was passing the blackened bones of youths who had met their demise in that oppressive place, hearing the low growls and grunts as Theseus neared his quarry. And then the thread snapped; again Zach’s hand was up and Mr West was fixing his gaze on him.
Seb sighed. He hadn’t meant to, but it was a loud and obvious sigh, accompanied by a visible slump as he planted his elbows on the table and lowered his head. Now all eyes were on him, especially those of Mr West.
“Master Thomas?” The squeaky voice sounded surprised.
Seb straightened awkwardly in his seat, fixed his own eyes on Mr West’s, which were half-hidden beneath bushy brows, and said nothing.
Zach, dropping his hand, also looked at Seb; actually he frowned at him.
Mr West turned to Zach. “Master Orwell, I note some among your classmates are struggling to keep up with the story. So they don’t lose the thread as it were, can we save questions and observations for the end? If you must, write notes and we can deal with them afterwards. Is that satisfactory to you?”
Zach looked at Seb and nodded smugly. Seb dropped his eyes to his desk and ignored the other glances from around the room. His hands idly played with his water bottle then a small pattern on the surface of his desk caught his attention. He slid the bottle
to the side to see the mark more clearly, but knocked it over. The screw top wasn’t on properly and it dislodged, emptying the contents across the desk. The spreading puddle dripped over the edge of the table and into his lap. His trousers, the left leg still wet, were now soaked around the crotch. He could feel cold liquid dribbling between his thighs and under his bottom. A girl sitting opposite him, as the water spread towards her, wrenched her chair backward, bumping into the boy behind who had been balancing forward on the two front legs of his chair. As he fell to the floor he clipped his lip on the table and blood oozed from his mouth. The girl beside him screamed and the domino effect spread. As she screamed she raised her hands to her mouth, sticking her elbows out, nudging the boy next to her in the side of the head. He howled and leant away to the side, knocking a vase off the cupboard beside him. The resulting crash seemed to create a crushing silence as all the children turned first to the fragmented pottery on the floor, then to the boy with his lip dripping blood and then back to Seb.
Events after this were a blur: lots of laughter and pointing; Mr West waddling across the room to yank blue-roll from the dispenser and throwing it in a streamer over the heads of the students to land perfectly in the swelling puddle on the table in front of Seb; the boy with the bleeding lip being escorted to the medical room and then Mr West, his oversized backside sticking in the air, on his hands and knees with a