The Flower and the Serpent

by Madeleine D'Este

  ‘You don't need my help. You are ruining it all on your own,’ the voice whispered directly into his ear. ‘Useless.’

  He clutched his head. ‘You're supposed to be dead.’

  The door handle rattled and Ravenswood scuttled into the corner, away from the shadowy creeping oil slick. He barricaded himself behind a chair.

  The voice followed him. ‘I only want to help you. You know what you need to do.’

  He shook his head. ‘I don't. I don't. I never did.’

  ‘But you do. I've told you a thousand times. Beg forgiveness. Atone for your sins. All of them.’

  ‘I have. Believe me, I have.’

  ‘Liar! Nothing has changed.’

  Ravenswood squeezed his eyes shut.

  ‘Why single me out?’ he wailed. ‘Why can't I have what I want? Why do you make me suffer?’

  ‘You never learn. I am trying to help you. Do you want to embarrass your father and God again? Don't you want to be pure?’

  Ravenswood covered his eyes. ‘Leave me alone. You're not real. I'm overworked, or something.’ His breath rasped in his throat. ‘This is impossible. Dr Leishman said...’

  The door handle jolted again.

  ‘Enough. Face your punishment like a man.’

  ‘You're not real. You can't touch me.’

  Out of the darkness, the blurry shadow grew claws and loomed ten feet tall. Ravenswood covered his nose as another familiar smell invaded the room: the eye-watering reek of chicken manure and corn pellets.

  Hiram.

  Ravenswood froze. He was a kid again, cowering against the chicken wire fence. The black shadow claws lunged at him. Ravenswood yelped and protected his eyes. One. Two. The razor-sharp spurs slashed his cheeks.

  ‘Stop,’ he spluttered.

  But Hiram kept coming.

  Ravenswood flinched and moaned, his arms like jelly, useless against the clawed attack. How could this be happening? It made no sense but the pain was real, and deep down he knew every word Josie said was true. There was only one way to make them go away. He gulped and cleared his throat. ‘You're right. I wanted to be the centre of attention. The one they all looked up to.’

  Hiram struck again. Slash.

  Ravenswood squealed but kept going. ‘I wanted their praise, and their admiration and respect. I thought I deserved it.’ He licked his dry lips. ‘But I was wrong.’

  Slash.

  ‘Isn't this what you want?’ he said, shrilly. ‘What else do you want from me?’

  ‘You're not finished.’

  He sucked a jagged breath in through his teeth. ‘I have impure thoughts. But I haven't done anything. Believe me. I've been too ashamed to act. But the thoughts are there. I can't help it. I can't be like the others.’

  As he said the words, the shadow of Hiram melted back into the gloom. Ravenswood breathed out and wiped his cheek.

  The shadow laughed. The sound bounced off the walls and rang inside his head, and a new set of shivers rippled down his spine. Ravenswood chewed his lip. The laugh was unfamiliar. Or was it? His eyes widened as he stared into the raven-coloured cloud at the other end of the room, his mouth opening and closing.

  The laugh sounded younger, playful, yet hard. Josie had never laughed like that, she barely laughed at all, except when fluttering her eyelashes at his dad.

  ‘Who are you?’ he stuttered.

  The laughter changed from female to male.

  This was a very familiar voice.

  It was his own.

  ‘You know exactly who I am,’ the shadow said in his own voice.

  ***

  VIOLET

  Violet's mind churned with thoughts of evil and red paint. The hooded man with the black dog, the green-faced witch and the garbled plea for help over the PA system. And it all began with the words of the bus driver. Darkness and one will never return.

  What had she stepped into?

  She focused on the sound of her boots, the squeak of leather and the comforting normal noise of her own footsteps on the ground. Left. Right. Left. Right. Floors and shoes were reliable things. But in the distance she caught a new noise, a squeaking. Had the maintenance monks changed their minds? It didn't sound like men. It sounded like...

  Violet turned and gasped.

  Rats, hundreds of them.

  Bile squirted up the back of Violet’s throat.

  Sleek, black and Chihuahua-sized with big yellow teeth, the wave of rodents scurried along the corridor towards her.

  She squealed and picked up her pace, her pulse thumping in her throat. The writhing crowd of rats rushed down the corridor, clambering over each other and skidding up the walls. Their scraping claws and squeaks came closer and closer.

  Violet burst into a sprint but her legs and lungs were quick to complain, thanks to all her smoking. She panted up the corridor towards a weak light coming from the metal workshop. She ran full pelt towards the door and tumbled inside, frantically slamming the doors behind her. Violet leaned her full body weight against the doors and wheezed. For once she was glad of those her few extra kilos.

  The scratching at the door started before she had a chance to catch her breath. She pushed back and grunted, anchoring her feet into the floor as the door buckled inwards.

  But then the scratching stopped.

  Her heartbeat hammered in her eardrums as Violet listened hard against the door. The plague of rats seemed to be heading away in the opposite direction. But she braced herself against the door until their claws and squeaks were completely gone. She sagged against the door, only the pipes rumbled softly overhead.

  There were stories of a wave of rats streaming down Liverpool Street after they demolished the old hospital but she'd always thought it was a myth. Was this yet another example of the darkness in the school walls?

  As her breathing returned to normal, Violet glanced around. It had been two years since she'd last stepped inside the workshop but nothing had changed. Like Phys Ed, metal work and woodwork were the first subjects she dropped when she could choose electives. She had been happy to escape the sour beery breath and tangy B.O. of the tech teachers.

  The room looked the same, except for one thing, a splash of something red on the scuffed lino floor. A wet red stripe led all the way into the dim workshop. She checked her shoes. Her soles were painted with blood.

  Lila?

  The workshop was dark except for a single square skylight. Violet squinted over the dented and graffitied wooden benches, past the looming shapes of industrial lathes and drills and all the way to the chainmail gates at the back where the dangerous tools lived.

  The tech teacher's office on the right was lit up, with its glass windows all round like a fishbowl. It was perfect for the lazy teachers, the ones who pretended to supervise without actually leaving their desk, while down the back, kids sniffed glue and welded ninja stars. There was no one inside the office, only a desk and an empty chair in front of piles of papers.

  Standing in front of the main source of light, Violet realised she was on display, that anyone hiding in the dark would be able to see her clearly.

  Another noise came from deep inside the dark workshop.

  Violet froze.

  She heard a sniffle.

  ‘Violet,’ said a voice, ever so quietly from the same direction as the path of blood.

  Was it Lila? Violet craned forward to listen but her heartbeat was too loud. She couldn't tell for sure.

  ‘Violet.’ The voice spoke again, this time a little louder.

  She squinted into the dark, her head tilted but she didn't move.

  ‘Violet!’ screamed the voice.

  This time Violet was certain.

  ‘Lila! I'm coming!’ She rushed into the darkness towards the scream.

  ***

  HOLLY

  Holly ran past the closed doors of the science block and the library. She didn't look back until she reached reception. She stopped at the main office and listened but there were no footsteps following
her. Had she imagined the hand on her shoulder? Holly shuddered, picturing Violet with wild eyes and a maniacal grin. Her straggly mousy hair half-hiding her face and a revving chainsaw in her hands.

  She cupped her hands and peered through the rectangular sliding reception window, where the sour-faced school secretary Miss Fischer usually sat. A weak light was shining from the back: possibly a lamp in the out-of-bounds teachers’ lounge or Mrs Petrakis's office.

  Something or someone shifted in the half light.

  ‘Open up.’ Holly battered on the glass. ‘I can see you in there. Mr Booth?’ She scowled at the telephone sitting out of reach behind the locked window on the reception desk. ‘Where are they?’ She growled. ‘Slack arses.’

  Shapes shifted in the shadows and Holly's heart wrenched. She pulled her face back from the window. She wished her cousin had never dared her to watch those videos, with the evil dolls and masked men. ‘Calm down. There’s nothing to be frightened of. Everything’s completely normal.’

  She took a deep breath and focused. She wasn't afraid of the dark. She wasn't. It had only been a dream on Monday night and it was daytime right now. Although with the storm and the dodgy lights, it was barely daylight. But there was no need to be afraid.

  ‘I need to use the phone.’ She knocked again. ‘Somebody? Anybody?’

  But no one answered.

  She grit her teeth as she turned. Should she go back to Ravenswood's office and use his phone? Or follow the trail of blood?

  A chemical stink smell floated past her. Holly scrunched-up her nose. The sweet-sour stench intensified. Holly coughed as the foul smell turned acrid and burned the insides of her nostrils. She covered her mouth and nose with her sleeve. Was it paint or varnish? A gas leak?

  With her free hand, she beat on the reception window again. ‘Mr Booth!’

  The brick walls wobbled at the edges of her eyes and the floor shimmered underneath her. Dark blotches swarmed in her vision. Unseen hands clutched her chest and squeezed the air from her, like the shadowy figure from her dream.

  ‘This can't be real,’ she murmured to the empty corridor.

  Her knees buckled and she slid to the ground, her ears ringing. The walls around her undulated with menacing faces and the air filled with hysterical laughter.

  Is this black magic? Or was she the one losing her grip on reality?

  Holly gasped for fresh air, the smell like a noose around her throat. Holly lay her cheek down on the cool linoleum. She was drowning. As she struggled to keep her head above consciousness, she thought of the black and white candles, the spool of white ribbon and the scrunched-up spell. If only she'd had the guts. If only she'd listened to Dahlia, she could have stopped all this.

  The cackling died away and the corridor was quiet again but the floor hummed. Something was coming. Then Holly heard it, subtle at first, masked under her own laboured breaths, but the scurrying grew louder. Holly squinted into the dim light, her ears straining towards the coming noise. She gasped.

  Rats.

  Like burst floodwaters from a dam, hundreds of slick greasy-furred rodents hurtled towards her, snarling with their yellowed teeth bared. The corridor echoed with squeals as the germ-ridden horde rushed closer.

  Holly screamed.

  This was no dream.

  ***

  VIOLET

  Violet’s pulse hammered as she headed towards Lila's scream.

  The rain was pelting down on the skylight like gunfire, and the afternoon sky was as dark as night. Violet was left with only her eyes to guide her in the deafening rain. She checked left and right and then smiled.

  She leaned over a graffiti-etched work bench and grabbed a hammer from the wall. The tool was heavy and comforting in her hand but not enough to stop her shaking. As the rain dwindled to a steady drizzle on the roof, she crept further into the dim workshop.

  The industrial-sized machines loomed over her. She rested her hand on the cold textured surface of a lathe. Each machine was wide enough to hide a person, or a body.

  The knot in her stomach tightened, her every instinct urged her to get out but she couldn't stop now. Lila was here somewhere and this was the only way Violet could make things right. She winced, thinking back to the terrible things she'd said and the pain on Lila's face.

  Violet couldn't blame a curse or a play or black magic. There was no conspiracy. It was Violet and Violet alone. Her dreams had transformed her into a monster. Is that what Holly had been talking about all along? Violet cringed again. Holly was the next person on the list after Lila, but first things first. She set her jaw and walked towards the locked gates at the back, hammer held high.

  The lathe roared into action. Violet jumped back, almost dropping her hammer as the engine revved up to full speed.

  Something sharp hit her in the back of the head. She grabbed at her hair and spun around quickly enough to see a screwdriver clatter to the concrete floor behind her.

  ‘Real funny,’ she yelled over the rumble of the machine, her eyes narrowed. Her hammer ready, she swivelled in all directions.

  The lathe switched itself off and the whirring died down until the room grew quiet again.

  A giggle echoed from the far side of the room.

  The hairs on Violet's arms bristled as the room turned icy cold. It was exactly the same feeling as in the red-painted classroom. The evil was here. Violet exhaled long and low through her teeth.

  ‘Violet,’ a teasing voice whispered in her ear.

  Violet spun to her left. The voice was so close, a puff of breath tickled the skin of her neck. But there was no one there.

  ‘Violet...’ called the female voice again, familiar yet unfamiliar. ‘Violet...’

  ‘Show yourself,’ Violet demanded, using the full power of her theatre voice.

  Someone gasped close by.

  Her eyes widened and her stomach flipped.

  Lila.

  Violet rushed behind the six-foot drill press machine to her right.

  But it wasn't Lila.

  Angelika stood with her hands hoisted above her head, tied to the machine. Blood dribbled out her nose and her hair was plastered against her face. She looked up at Violet with a trembling lip.

  ‘Violet,’ said another voice behind her.

  Violet whirred around. Like Angelika, Lila was tied to a bandsaw bench, lying flat on her back.

  ‘Lila,’ Violet exhaled.

  ‘No,’ croaked Angelika.

  Violet rushed over to Lila. Her burgundy hair was wild and messy and there were five thin scratches like claw marks down her cheek.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘You're here,’ Lila sighed through dry lips. ‘I knew you'd come. I knew you wouldn't forsake me.’

  ‘I'm sorry.’ Violet reached around to untie Lila's hands. ‘I've been such a bitch.’

  ‘You don't need to apologise.’

  ‘But I do. Oh, you're not tied up.’

  ‘Don't,’ said Angelika again. ‘Please.’

  Violet scowled. ‘Wait a sec. I'll untie you next.’

  ‘I think she's in shock,’ Lila said, her eyes gleaming as she sat up.

  ‘Everyone seems to react differently to stuff like this.’ Violet helped Lila off the bench. ‘Tell me. Who did this?’

  ‘I knew you'd come,’ Lila said

  Violet sighed. ‘When I heard you were missing, I had to do something. I'm so sorry.’

  ‘You were just upset.’

  ‘No. I was awful. Can you forgive me? I can understand if you won't.’

  ‘Of course,’ Lila laughed, her hand on Violet's shoulder. ‘I never blamed you. I only wanted to help. That's why I did this. I did it for you.’

  ‘What?’ Violet frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘This,’ Lila said.

  Lila strode forward and slapped Angelika across the face hard. Angelika cried out and collapsed into gulping sobs.

  ‘I got rid of her exactly like you wanted. Now the role is yours.’


  Lila's pupils were huge like shiny black marbles. She moistened her lips with a grin. ‘What shall we do with her?’

  Chapter 16

  RAVENSWOOD

  ‘Out, out, brief candle!’

  A voice boomed in the lighting box. A new voice. Ravenswood flinched. What now?

  It was Macbeth’s, or rather, Lionel’s clear voice amplified by the microphone on stage, his words drowning out the other voice in the lighting box.

  ‘Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

  That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

  And then is heard no more: it is a tale

  Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

  Signifying nothing.’

  Shakespeare's words rang in Ravenswood’s ears. He parted his fingers and looked up. He nodded and clutched his head once more. Suddenly it all made sense.

  The door rattled again but this time it swung open. Ravenswood gasped and huddled into the safety of his corner.

  ‘Mr Ravenswood? Mr Ravenswood? Are you alright?’ Toby said, jangling a set of keys.

  Ravenswood spluttered and shielded his face. ‘Leave me alone.’

  Toby flicked a switch and the small room was flooded with harsh white light. Ravenswood blinked and the haze eventually lifted from his eyes. There was no one else there. No Josie, no Hiram, not even a shadow.

  ‘You're bleeding!? What happened?’

  He stared at his hands, there was blood caked under his fingernails. His shoulders slumped.

  ‘Should I call someone?’

  Ravenswood stumbled to his feet, and Toby rushed forward to take his arm, but Ravenswood fobbed him off with a wave.

  ‘Everything’s in place,’ Toby said, backing away from him with his palms outstretched. ‘When Violet comes back with the others, we can start straight away.’

  ‘Thank you, Toby.’ Ravenswood wiped his face with his blue plaid handkerchief. He should have felt buoyant after his confession. He'd released all the lies sitting like silt in his chest. Instead, he felt deboned.