Gated II: Ravenhill Academy

by Matt Drabble

  Determined not to be scared by a group of children, he took a step further through his door and his foot crunched in the fresh snow gathered on his porch. Immediately the children all took a step forward completely in unison. Their mouths were silent but they moved as one. He took another small step forward and they all followed suit. He took a small step backwards and this time so did they. He stepped back again and his feet fell inside of the cottage and the children retreated to the edge of the bright light’s perimeter.

  He stood in the doorway looking out across the snow covered garden at the shimmering eyes that now peered out from the darkness like wild animals.

  Suddenly, there was a single movement and one child stepped forward into the light. The boy was blonde and slender and Maurice recognised him as the new boy, the American. The boy stared directly at him with piercing eyes and Maurice instantly got the message. Stay out of this old man, the voice inside his head ordered. Sit in front of your fire, and stay out of business that doesn’t concern you. There’s a new owner of Ravenhill and your services are no longer required.

  He closed the door slowly and for the first time in his life he threw the bolt across and locked it.

  ----------

  Sarah reluctantly took the brandy on offer. Jemima was fussing around her like a mother hen and it only served to make her feel more foolish. She had managed to faint because she had subconsciously painted an image of Eden. She should have known that there was no purging some memories, no matter how deeply she buried them.

  She was sitting in a small chair pushed up to one of the desks in her studio. The liquid burned her throat on the way down but the warming effect in the pit of her stomach was most welcome.

  “Are you ok? Jemima asked, concerned.

  “I’m fine, just a little embarrassed,” she replied. “I didn’t eat or drink anything today. I guess that with the heating cranked up full blast I just had a dizzy spell there for a moment.” She knew that the idea of the school ever being hot enough to make a person faint was laughable, but she didn’t have any other explanation save for the truth. “Are you ok? You look a little peaky yourself,” she asked her young friend.

  “Me? I’m fine,” Jemima answered a little too quickly.

  “You’ve just been looking a little odd lately, like you’re under the weather or something,” Sarah probed gently.

  “Maybe I’m coming down with a touch of something, I don’t know,” Jemima said quietly. “I think…, that is I feel…”

  “What is it?”

  “I just heard; are you alright?” Stuart said, as he rounded the corner into the art studio.

  “Oh brilliant,” Sarah whispered under her breath and looking up at Jemima.

  “I knew that he’d be worried,” Jemima shrugged.

  “Well what have we got here?” Hannah Marks, the school nurse, exclaimed as she followed Stuart into the room.

  “Oh jeez,” Sarah said, exasperated. “Who else is on the invitation list?”

  “Now, now my dear,” Hannah said pleasantly. “We all just want what’s best for you.”

  “I’m fine, really,” Sarah said, standing up and ignoring the lightheaded feeling that coursed through her. For some reason, the last thing that she wanted was the nurse to be touching her right now. She saw out of the corner of her eye that Jemima had withdrawn again. Whatever had been on the young teacher’s mind had receded back to its cubbyhole again.

  “I really should check you over; perhaps if we could have a little privacy?” Hannah said lightly.

  “Really, I’m fine,” Sarah said quickly. “I just need a little lie down is all,” she said, forcing a smile.

  “Maybe Hannah is right Sarah,” Jemima said kindly. “Maybe she should give you the old once over; we can certainly wait outside.”

  “I’m fine,” Sarah said firmly. “Really, I am. I just want to have an early night and everything will look better in the morning.”

  “Perhaps we should all turn in,” Stuart said helpfully and Sarah was grateful for him seemingly reading her distress signals.

  “Who’s on duty tonight?” Sarah asked.

  “Mr. Barnaby,” Hannah answered tersely.

  “Well then, why don’t I make sure that you get to your room safely?” Stuart offered towards Sarah and she gave him a small smile of encouragement.

  They walked away from the studio and Sarah could feel Jemima’s and Hannah’s eyes burning holes in the back of her head. Tonight it felt like everyone in the whole damn world was losing their collective minds.

  “You know you can talk to me if you want to,” Stuart said meekly as they walked.

  “I’m fine, really,” she replied as strongly as she could muster. “I’m just tired.”

  They reached her room and he lingered. Part of her wanted him to come in, if only for the company. But now that she had decided to leave, she didn’t want to muddy the waters anymore than they already were.

  “I thought that this Christmas break was going to be a happy occasion,” Stuart said sadly

  Sarah couldn’t help but feel a tug on her heartstrings towards him. It wasn’t his fault that she was as messed up as she was, but that didn’t alter the fact that she was. She had slipped once, just once, out at the lighthouse when she’d kissed him, but she didn’t intend to compound the error.

  “What is it Sarah? What is it that keeps you so distant and closed off?” he asked imploringly.

  “My past is…, it’s complicated, and it’s private,” she stressed gently. “What do you think of the new boy, Joshua Bradley?” she asked, changing the subject with breakneck speed.

  “He seems ok,” Stuart replied thoughtfully. “I know that the rest of the rugby team took to him pretty quickly, and that’s unusual for them.”

  “He’s got a kind of magnetism, a charisma, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe, why the interest?”

  “He reminds me for all the world of someone, and I can’t quite place who,” she answered honestly.

  He stared at her delicately, waiting for her to continue and not wanting to interrupt her in case she stopped.

  “I keep seeing him around the school. It’s like he’s watching me, watching and waiting for something,” she said quietly. “I know how it sounds so don’t look at me like that. But I can’t help but feel like there’s something wrong with that kid.”

  “Wrong how?”

  “Just wrong,” she said definitively. “I think I’m going to be leaving Ravenhill soon, Stuart.”

  “Because of Joshua Bradley?” he asked surprised.

  “Because of several things,” she replied honestly. “I think that my time here is done and I need to move on.”

  She watched his face as he seemed to be trying to articulate the perfect set of words to make her stay.

  “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 cl
ung 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 pajamas 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 pajama 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 closet 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 tha
t 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.