by Tim O'Rourke
“Sure,” I said, pulling gently away from him.
Sam crossed the room to the desk and started to rummage through the paperwork that was placed there. “Well that’s a surprise,” he whispered into the dark.
“What is?” I asked, peering into the wardrobe.
“Miss Clarke had given Pryor a “D” on his last piece of homework,” he said, thumbing through a workbook. “He really is thick as shit.”
I smiled to myself as I closed the wardrobe door and looked back at the room. Elizabeth had said that Emily had woken to find McCain standing at the foot of her bed. So where would have been the best place to hide a camera? I wondered. Where would I have hidden it? I looked around the room and if it had been me waking to find McCain watching me as I slept, my first instinct would have been to rip his balls off, but Emily didn’t do that — she wasn’t me. But if I were her…then, I guessed where she would have hidden a camera. The bookshelf!
I crossed the room towards it and started to pull aside the books. Then, I came across a small green light shining from amongst the row of books, which lit up my face like a Halloween mask. The green light seeped from behind a thick leather-bound book. I pulled the book from the shelf, and there was the camera.
“Wassa-matta?” Sam asked, looking over his shoulder and seeing me staring at the bookshelf.
The camera was very small and was one of those that could have easily been hidden in the palm of my hand. It was the type of camera that didn’t take a disc or memory card, but one which you downloaded straight to your laptop. If I could take it without Sam noticing then that would be great. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him, but the fewer people that knew about it, the better.
“Wassa-matta?” he asked again.
“I’m listening, just in case someone comes down the corridor,” I told him.
“Chill out, will ya? You’re making me nervous,” Sam said.
“I’m making you nervous?” I half-smiled back at him. “How do you think McCain’s gonna make you feel if he catches us in here?”
“He ain’t gonna catch us. You don’t think he lives here, do ya?” Sam scoffed. “He’s probably got some right nice drum somewhere. It’s just us mugs that have to put up with living here. He won’t be back ‘till the morning.”
Sam turned back to the desk. I slipped my hand between the books and tried to free the tiny camera. I could feel wires leading from the back of it. I tried to loosen them with my fingertips, when I heard someone in the corridor outside. Sam must have heard the footsteps too, as he hissed, “Hey! Someone’s coming!”
I drew breath and it made a shallow wheezing sound in the back of my throat. I had been so close to taking that camera. I turned to look at Sam. His eyes were wide.
“What are we gonna do?” Sam panicked.
I scanned the room, searching for a hiding place for the both of us. From the corridor, the sound of approaching footfalls grew louder.
“Under the bed!” I whispered.
“You’re kidding me?” Sam groaned.
“Get under the bed!” I spat and I could see terror in Sam’s eyes, and seeing it only heightened my own sense of fear.
Sam seemed to freeze, unable to do anything. Knowing that my friend had become cemented to the spot, I rushed forward and pushed Sam hard in the chest.
“How you ever talked me into this, I do not know!” Sam groaned.
“Get under the bed!” I hissed.
Sam dropped to the floor and rolled underneath, and I followed. Wrapping his arms about himself, Sam curled up, his knees were against his chest and he was taking small, shallow breaths.
“Budge over!” I whispered. “I need some room.”
“Perhaps you’d like to sit on my lap?” Sam said.
“Yeah, very funny. Now move!”
I forced my way into the space and made myself as small as possible. I screwed my eyes shut and prayed that whoever it was coming down the corridor would walk straight past.
Please go right past! Please don’t come in here and find me and Sam hiding under the bed curled up like a couple of babies!
The sound of approaching feet stopped outside the door.
Please!
I peeked through my fingers and watched as the bottom of the door swung open. A pair of gleaming black shoes entered the room. I knew who was wearing them. I could hear him sniffing as if his nose was blocked. McCain closed the door and came inside. He stood in the middle of the room and sniffed the air. Then, crossing over to the wall on the opposite side of the room, he did what I had fought the urge to do. He rolled his tongue from his mouth and licked the congealed blood that covered the wall. He licked it like you would a lollypop, in long, drawn-out movements as if he was savouring every moment. I watched as he pressed his nose into the dried blood and sniffed. He sniffed again, and he seemed to become agitated as if he couldn’t smell the blood in some way, like his nose was stuffed with snot.
McCain crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.
How did I get into this? I cursed at myself.Should’ve listened to Kiera.
I heard McCain sniff again and then rummage through his trouser pockets. Empty. He sniffed again. I guessed he was looking for his nasal spray. McCain squirmed on the edge of the bed as he bent forward. Sam flinched beside me and rammed his fist into his mouth as one of McCain’s shoes brushed against him.
He’s gonna find us! I screamed inside.
Sam lay on his side, eyes closed. If he had popped his thumb into his mouth, the image of a baby in its cot would have been complete. McCain shifted above us again, and the springs in the bed groaned.
“Where is it?” I heard McCain curse under his breath.
I can’t breathe! McCain’s feet were now so close to us, I could smell the leather that they had been cut from and see the stitching that was holding them together. Then, something landed on the floor just inches from where we were hiding. Sam jumped and looked at me. Seeing what it was that had fallen beneath the bed, Sam’s eyes bulged in their sockets like hardboiled eggs and he pointed at it with one trembling finger. I looked in the direction that Sam was pointing, and could see McCain’s bottle of nasal spray lying between us beneath the bed.
Suddenly, McCain’s hand appeared. It scurried about like a bony spider, as it felt for the medicine beneath the bed. To my horror, his hand began to scuttle towards me. And with no room to manoeuvre beneath the bed, I might well end up in Sam’s lap. McCain’s hand inched nearer and nearer, in search of the bottle. Sensing that I was only seconds from being caught, I leant forward and pushed the medicine towards McCain’s hand with my fingertips. McCain’s spidery-like hand curled around it and snatched the bottle away.
I looked sideways at Sam. He closed his eyes, then tilting his head as if looking up at the ceiling, he mouthed the words, “Thank you.”
I felt McCain stand up, and from our hiding place we watched him head over towards the bookcase to where the camera was hidden. I watched McCain unscrew the cap, like a desperate drunk opening a bottle of beer, then ram the bottle into his right nostril. Throwing his head back, he squeezed the bottle between thumb and forefinger and breathed in deeply. He then thrust the bottle into his left nostril and did the same. Shaking his head from side to side, tears began to trickle from the corners of his eyes, and his nose began to dribble snot onto his top lip. He replaced the cap and put the nasal spray back into his pocket. There was a small mirror attached to the wall next to the bookshelf. From our hiding place, we watched as he pushed up the end of his nose and tilted his head from side to side as he glared up his own nostrils. Then with his right forefinger, he pulled a bloody length of snot from his nose. After inspecting it, I gagged as McCain rolled it between his fingers then popped it into his mouth.
Forget being discovered under the bed with Sam, if he ever found out we saw him do that, we’d get more than a few zaps with a sizzle-stick — we’ll be doing twenty years hard labour in the Rat-House, I thought and rammed my knuckles int
o my mouth to stop myself from puking.
I looked at Sam, who was pretending to throw-up. He was putting two fingers into his mouth and grinning. Turning away, I watched McCain stand in front of the bookshelf and my stomach scrunched up in fear.
The camera! He’ll see the camera! I screamed inside my head.
Then, a high-pitched wailing sound broke the silence and McCain turned away from the bookshelf. The noise was ear-splitting and I placed my hands over my ears. Spying from beneath the bed, I could see the green light from the camera peeking between the spines of two books.
“I don’t believe it!” McCain groaned. “How many more of those things are gonna freak out?” McCain left Emily’s bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
No sooner had the door closed then Sam and I were scrambling out from beneath the bed.
“C’mon!” Sam said, heading towards the door.
“Hang on,” I told him, knowing that I would never be able to sneak the camera out of the room now without him seeing me. But I needed that camera — that’s what I had risked everything for — and I wasn’t leaving without it. I pushed aside the books and grabbed the camera. It wouldn’t come free; the wires attached to it were still holding the camera in place.
“What are you doing?” Sam hissed from the doorway.
“I think I’ve found something,” I said back, tugging the camera free of the wires.
“Have you lost your mind?” Sam snapped. “We don’t have time for this. Can’t you hear the sirens? This place is gonna be crawling with Greys.”
I yanked one last time on the camera, and it came free of the wire. The green light went out. “I’m good to go,” I said, trying to conceal the camera in my hand.
Sam looked at it, then glancing at me he said, “Whatever is on that camera had better be worth the shit we’re gonna be in if we get caught.”
Then, sneaking from the room and back into the darkness of the corridor, we crept with speed through the labyrinth of passageways. Not wanting to be caught by McCain, who we feared might still be close by, we headed back towards our rooms as quickly as we could.
Racing through the hallways and corridors, the searchlights whizzed frantically back and forth. No longer were they controlled, sweeping movements, but desperate and erratic as if searching for something that was now loose in the grounds of Ravenwood. Sam charged down the passageways. Almost halfway back to the safety of our rooms, the air raid sirens grew louder. It was like I had been transported back in time to the Blitz. The noise was deafening, and with the sudden flashes of light illuminating the corridors from outside, both Sam and I became disorientated.
We raced on, every part of my being urging me forward. Sam’s arms pumped beside him, and he ran so hard and fast that his knees looked as if they might just touch his chin. Reaching a bend in the corridor, we sprinted around it, stalling in fright as a Grey sprung from the shadows.
“Whoa!” Sam shrieked as the Grey took hold of him by both shoulders.
Light flashed into the corridor and in that instance, I recognised the Grey to be Brother Michael. The light darted away again, leaving his large frame shrouded in darkness.
Brother Michaelmade a rasping sound in the back of his throat, like he was gargling blood or something. His tongue smacked off his chin, spraying spittle through the air. Brother Michael screamed, tilting his head to one side as if waking from a nightmare. His screams were hideous, gut-wrenching, and filled me with dread. I wanted to get far away from Brother Michael but he had Sam trapped. Without thinking, I grabbed at Sam. Taking hold of his shirt, I yanked him back and away from the Grey. Brother Michael released his grip, and then shook all over, as if he’d just received an electric shock.
Spinning round, Brother Michael charged into the corridor wall, smacking his head against it. He staggered and then fell backwards. The sound of his head striking the wall was a dull, sickening thud and I half expected to see the Grey’s brains explode out of the back of his head. Somehow, Brother Michael managed to stay on his feet as he began to spin around and around, his arms flapping up and down on either side. We watched in disbelief as Brother Michael bounced off the walls like a ball in a pinball machine. He reached the end of the corridor, where he crashed through a set of doors and out into the grounds of the school.
Seizing our chance, Sam and I dashed up the stairs, taking two at a time until we had reached the landing outside our rooms. At the top of the spiral staircase, I looked out of the window. I watched as several of the Greys wrestled with something on the lawn beneath the window. Whatever it was, it was screaming. The noise that it made sounded like it was having its throat slit.
Sam crashed into my bedroom, and I followed close behind. I slammed the door closed, lent against it, my chest pumping up and down, trying to suck mouthfuls of air into my burning lungs.
“That was close…too close!” I gasped. “I guess Brother Michael will be sending us to the Rat-House when he catches up with us!”
Sam collapsed onto my bed and lay there panting for breath like a tired dog.
“Are you taking the piss, Kayla?” Sam wheezed.
“No.”
“He ain’t going to be sending us to no Rat-House. We won’t be seeing him again. Didn’t you see him? He’s freaked out — gone bat-shit!” he puffed. “Have you still got that camera?”
“Yes,” I said, not wanting to let go of it.
“What do you think is on it?” Sam asked, getting his breath back.
“I don’t know,” I said, collapsing onto the bed next to him.
“Maybe it will show us what really happened to Miss Clarke,” Sam said. Then he added, “It might show us where all that blood came from.”
“It might,” I said, wondering now if I really wanted to watch what had been recorded on the camera. Did I really want to see Emily Clarke being butchered?
“Well, let’s have a look then,” Sam said, propping himself up on one elbow. We lay so close to each other that our heads nearly brushed together.
“We can’t,” I said, holding up the camera. “I left the power cable behind.”
“You’re shitting me, right?” Sam gasped in disbelief.
“You were rushing me,” I insisted.
“You’re telling me we nearly got busted to get that camera and we can’t even watch what’s been recorded on it?” he asked me.
“Looks like it,” I said, looking at the camera.
It was then Sam started to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I asked him.
“Us,” he laughed. “We must be out of our freaking minds.”
Staring down at the camera and knowing there was no way I was going to find out what was on it, I started to laugh too. It wasn’t just a giggle or snigger. We lay next to each other and laughed great big belly laughs until tears streamed from our eyes.
With his laughter under control, Sam turned his head so he could look at me and said, “You know, Kayla Hunt, I’ve never met a girl like you before.”
“Oh,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say.
“You’re different,” he smiled. “It’s kinda exciting being with you.”
“Is that a compliment?” I asked him, his blue eyes burning into mine.
“A big compliment,” he smiled again.
I didn’t know what to say. I had never had a boyfriend before and the last guy who paid me a compliment ended up murdering me. With those memories in the front of my mind, I sat up and said, “I think you should go back to your own room now.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Sam said, sounding concerned.
“I’m just tired,” I lied.
Sam went to the door and opened it. Before he left, he looked back at me and said, “There is something different about you, Kayla. I don’t know what it is, but you’re definitely not like other girls.” Then he was gone, closing the door behind him and leaving me alone.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Kiera
On arriving back at t
he farmhouse, Potter and I found Isidor sitting before a roaring fire with the laptop on his knee. The late afternoon was cold, and the sky looked as if it was threatening to snow. Isidor sat with his back arched and his eyes fixed on the screen before him. The fire flickered in the grate, casting warm-looking shadows across the walls. The room felt cosy, and sinking onto one of the old armchairs next to Isidor, I stretched out in front of the fire.
“Had any luck?” he asked us without looking up.
“I don’t know yet,” I said, taking the disc from my jacket pocket. “Put this in.”
Isidor looked at the disc. “What’s that?” he asked.
“A disc,” Potter said.
“I know what it is,” Isidor said. “What I meant is, what’s on it?”
“It’s CCTV from a petrol station which looks across the street at the store where Emily Clarke’s credit card was used yesterday,” I explained.
“Nice,” Isidor smiled, taking the disc and sliding it into the side of the laptop. “What about CCTV from the store?”
“Didn’t have any,” Potter said, perching on the arm of my chair.
We all sat and watched the screen as the disc loaded. In seconds the shot of the petrol station forecourt flashed onto the screen.
“Wind forward to ten-thirty-three,” I told him. Isidor found the place on the disc. I stared at the screen and waited for the man to appear from within the store. The image looked clearer on the laptop than it had on the TV back at the station.
“There!” I said, jabbing my finger at the screen. “Stop right there.”
Isidor hit pause and the image froze as the man I suspected to be McCain left the store.
“It’s not great,” I said. “Is there any chance you can get a bigger image?”
“Give me a second or two,” Isidor said, and I could see that he was enjoying showing me, more likely Potter, that he could be of use. Isidor took a screenshot, then opened it with the paint programme, where he enlarged the picture.
“That’s McCain,” Isidor said, looking at me.
