“Now, when they were putting in the foundations, they came upon a cave. Remember, these were men who spent their lives down the pit...they were used tae the dark and they were hard, afraid of nothing. But they found something down under there that scared the shit out of them, and they would never talk tae anybody about what it was they had found.
“They went on strike and refused tae have anything more to do with it, even though they lost all their wages, and the owner had tae ship people in fae as far as Edinburgh tae get his house built.
“No that he got any pleasure oot o’ it. He went mad less than a year later and was put away. And ever since then everybody that has ever stayed there has gone mad...even those Army men who used it as a shelter during the war. Old man Dickie once told me that you would nae get him back in that house for all the tea in China.”
He stopped and smiled at Brian.
“Noo is that the kinda thing you wanted tae hear Mr. Teacher man?”
“Come on, Sandy. Is that it? Some two bit ghost story to keep the weans away from a derelict house?”
Sandy looked disgusted at Brian’s lack of faith, so much so that Brian felt guilty.
“Okay, I suppose you deserve another drink for your imagination. What’ll it be? Another double Grouse?”
“Aye, that’ll be fine,” the old man said. “But it’s no’ imagination teacher man. And there is definitely something going on in this town. So don’t you go and pass it off as imagination because if you do the shock could be all the worse when you discover the truth.”
“Aye maybe, but school teachers are supposed to keep superstition at bay.” Brian said with more than a trace of wistfulness. “I’d better be going. I might see you again on Friday or Saturday. Here.”
Brian left a ten-pound note on the table and picked up his jacket.
“Buy yourself a couple of drinks. They might dull your imagination.”
Sandy chuckled, making him look like a garden gnome again as he called after the teacher.
“Okay, come in and you can tell me one of your classy teacher’s stories. Take care of yourself.”
He got answered by the wave of a hand and then Brian was gone.
They were never to see each other again.
~-o0O0o-~
Tony Dickie was late. Late for his big scene. He’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t provide the promised trick, the one he’d learned the day before. He ran wildly down the long empty corridor, hands slapping on the walls for balance, and slammed heavily into Tom Duncan, his Maths teacher and the scourge of Tony’s young life. Tony winced, expecting the usual verbal lashing and cuff around the ear. Instead the teacher merely grunted and moved aside to let him pass.
Saying a silent prayer for his good luck he burst, a bundle of flailing arms and legs, into the boiler room. They were all waiting, silent.
Almost falling down the stairs he got carried by momentum into the center of the small circle of seven.
“Sorry…I…missed the bus…”
He was always apologizing recently...apologizing for getting good results in exams, apologizing for having two left feet when it came to playing football, but most of all apologizing for being late.
But football was the worst. There they would be, all lined up against the wall, peeling off as their names were called, until only one or two were left. Tony was always one of the ones who were left.
“Oh, all right, we’ll have, Dickie,” a voice would say. “He can always go in goal.”
And there he would stand, cold seeping into his hands until finally, dismayingly, a horde of screaming bodies would descend on him, herding the ball in front.
He tried, he always did, but the ball always slipped out of his hands at the crucial moment and he was always left crying.
But magic, ah yes, magic was a different story.
He noticed that they were all waiting for him.
“Okay, just get on with it. Do we have to do anything?”
This came from Isobel, his first ever object of desire, she of the jet-black hair and baby blue eyes. He blushed every time he had to speak to her and this little demonstration of his ‘magic’ was primarily for her benefit.
“I hope somebody brought the chairs.”
“Yea, they’re here. Come on, hurry up...the bell will be ringing soon.”
Nick Bayliss stepped aside, revealing two small chairs leaning against the boiler. Tony had now caught his breath properly and was just about ready to start but first he needed to set up the proper atmosphere.
Years ago Granddad had told him that atmosphere was all, and that without it the trick would fall flat as a pancake and he would be left looking like a duck’s arse. Tony had never seen a duck’s arse, but he imagined it to be pretty horrible.
Just wait till they see this trick, he thought, …then we’ll see who looks like a duck’s arse!
“C…could I have those two chairs,” he stammered, pointing with a shaking finger, “Over here in the middle of the floor facing each other.”
By the time the chairs had been positioned to his liking he had regained his composure completely and he stood silently in front of them, saying nothing, letting the tension build.
He looked around, meeting each one of them in the eye before finally settling on his accomplice.
“All right Ian, lie down over here across the chairs.”
Ian Brown, a tall but fat boy, looked around with an aggrieved expression.
“Why does it have to be me? I always get to do the stupid things.”
Ian was the class scapegoat. He was always the very last one chosen when it came to picking football teams, always the last one back from cross country runs and always, but always the brunt of the cruelest classroom jokes. Fortunately he was good-natured and had developed a resignation to his lot. He only really protested when, as now, he got called upon to be a guinea pig. He was also Tony’s friend, since Billy’s disappearance his companion in adversity against the whims of the other children.
Tony looked at him and smiled. He hoped his look would say all that he felt. That he chose Ian because he was his friend, and that he trusted him not to make a fuss, that he could share in the reflected glory once the trick was performed and the full scale of Tony’s talents was known.
But he couldn’t say it. For now he was the Magician and Magicians treated everyone else with disdain. That was something else Granddad had told him.
“Because you’re the biggest one here and this works better with big people. So just lie down and shut up or else we’ll never get this done before the bell.”
After finally getting Ian to lie down, Tony explained to the rest what they had to do, slowly, so that he could be sure they understood him.
“I want you to stand three on each side with one finger of each hand under Ian’s body. Space yourselves out, two at the legs, two at the waist and two at the shoulders. Then you’re all got to stay quiet and try not to think of anything except my voice. I’m going to say some sentences and I want you all to repeat them after me, but changing the word ‘looks’ to the word ‘is’. When I get to the word ‘illusion’ I want you to try lifting him, using only the tips of your fingers.
“Don’t try to force it, you’ll only break the spell. It only works if you listen to what I’m saying...you’ve all got to concentrate hard, okay?”
He looked around for confirmation and most of them were nodding. All that is, except one. Tony’s heart sank when the dissenter turned to him, the big grin fixed in its usual place.
“I’ve seen this before. It never works unless everybody cheats. Is this your big new trick? I’m not staying here for this.”
Nick Bayliss was Tony’s rival for Isobel’s attention. Tony knew that if Nick left the rest of them would soon follow, he was that sort of a leader…the first to suggest anything which was liable to lead to trouble, the last to get caught. His mother said he was ‘tuppence short of a bob’ and Tony, although he didn’t understand, knew that it meant t
hat Nick wasn’t one of life’s good guys.
He trusted his mum’s judgment but he couldn’t see what made Isobel so attracted to the boy. He supposed it was something he might understand when he got older.
“All right then, if it doesn’t work, I’ll give you all ten pence each.”
“Ten pence? That’s not going to break your bank is it? If you want me to stay you’d better make it fifty at least.”
Nick was still grinning at him, that big crazy grin that meant he was onto a winner. Fifty pence was all that Tony had, and if his trick didn’t work he’d have to pay out over three pounds. He was about to pull out when he caught Isobel looking at him, big black lashes fluttering. He felt a warm tingly feeling in his stomach and had to lower his eyes. There was no way that he’d back down with her watching him.
“Okay then, let’s do it.”
After they had placed themselves around the prone figure he started the chant.
“He looks pale.”
“He looks fat!” A low voice replied and they all burst out laughing. All that is apart from Tony. He was furious.
“Okay. If you’re not going to take this seriously, I’m off. I’ve got better things to do anyway.”
He looked round and felt a warm smile of pleasure inside which he daren’t let reach his face. He had their attention again...he was the Magician once more.
There were several protests, not the least of which came from Isobel. He permitted himself one small smile as he looked across at her.
“All right then, I’ll try it again. But don’t blame me if this doesn’t work. I told you that you had to be serious for it to happen.”
He placed his hands on the side of Ian’s head, feeling the heat at his ears underneath the hair.
“He looks pale,” he began.
“He is pale.”
This time they all replied, not quite in unison but the atmosphere of the occasion was beginning to get through to them. Even Nick Bayliss looked like he’s started to take it seriously. Tony permitted himself a quick glance at Isobel but her eyes were closed and she frowned in concentration.
“He looks ill.”
“He is ill.” Six voices replied. Nowhere existed except for that room, that moment.
It’s going to work, he thought, excitement rising in him.
By now they were all caught in the special atmosphere, so much so that no one noticed the whitening around the lips of the boy between their hands.
“He looks dead.”
“He is dead.”
“Dead?” whispered the head held tightly between Tony’s hands.
“Sshh!” Tony said, pressing his palms even tighter against the large boy’s ears.
“We are now entering the World of Illusion.”
Twelve fingers and one pair of hands lifted but found the body already afloat, bobbing upwards like a helium balloon on a piece of string.
Tony looked down the double row of faces, a triumphant smile on his face, a smile that was wiped out by the sight of Nick Bayliss. The older boy grinned widely, the same old manic grin, the one he always wore just as he was about to stomp all over you. Slowly, looking at Tony all the while, he removed his fingers from beneath the body. The grin never left his face.
Time slowed for Tony, like a projector running down. He had a bad taste in his mouth, the taste of cold metal.
Ian fell stiffly to the ground, head striking a corner of the large boiler with a crack. They all stepped back, first one then two steps and there was a moment of silence as they looked at the body at their feet.
Then Ian began to cry and the spell was broken.
“Come on.” Nick Bayliss said. “We’ll collect our money from Dickie tomorrow.”
The rest left, and Tony’s heart sank as he saw Isobel chatting with Bayliss on their way out. She didn’t look back at him as he bent to help Ian. He didn’t even notice the fine mist that was beginning to seep in through the small window in the corner of the room.
“Come on Ian,” he said. “Let’s have a look at that head.”
The bigger boy sat up, still whimpering as Tony parted the hair at the back of his head and whistled.
“You’ve going to have a hell of a lump there.” He said appreciatively. “How do you feel?”
“Like a piece of shit,” Ian said and giggled. Tony joined him, relieved that his friend had come to no great harm.
He froze as a voice from the corner called his name.
“Tony,” it said, and he almost recognized it.
He turned towards the corner, looking over Ian’s left shoulder and only now saw the gray mist that obscured the shadows.
“Tony,” it said again, and a figure emerged out of the mist...a red-eyed figure from his nightmares. There was more flesh on the creature; red sinews and muscles showing under a paper thin, almost transparent skin…watery, almost pink, blood running sluggishly from a weakly pumping heart, clearly visible between the ribs.
It all came back to him: the stone slab, the darkness of the cave, the still, lifeless body of his friend, the flight through darkness into the light. He stepped back as the creature moved towards him.
“Hey, Tony. What’s the matter?” Ian said as Tony stepped away. Tony couldn’t speak, couldn’t scream, his throat was dry and locked tightly shut. He could only moan, wide eyed, as the taloned hands reached out and grabbed his friend by the shoulders.
~-o0O0o-~
The wind had dropped outside and, although the window was open, blue tobacco smoke hung in wispy layers at waist height. Although it was nearly eight-thirty the sky was only just beginning to lighten in the east, the onset of morning being delayed by the thick fog that hung over the valley.
Brian was trying to concentrate on his newspaper but his thoughts kept returning to Sandy’s story from the night before. He was brought out of his daydreaming by Margaret Brodie; the physical education teacher nicknamed ‘Jean’ by the bulk of the staff. He thought that Margaret was beautiful...five-foot-four feet of pure sex appeal.
He’d first really noticed her last year at a staff against pupils hockey match. Brian hadn’t played very well having spent the bulk of the game following Margaret’s legs around. There was something about short green hockey skirts that always got to him.
Today she wore her hair tied up, which was a pity. She had one of the fullest heads of hair he had ever seen, long, full of body and a deep auburn color that glowed in the sun and looked like smoke in the moonlight.
At one time Brian had harbored high hopes for his future with the hockey player. They had met a couple of times for drinks and she seemed to have enjoyed herself in his company but he had always got tongue tied when on the point of taking it any further.
That had all changed with the arrival of a new young PE teacher who had swept Margaret off her feet and who was now, as rumor had it among the pupils, ‘screwing her arse off’.
“Ah Brian,” she said as she approached, “The very man I wanted to see. Are you still all right for the guitar class after school? I’m afraid that I won’t be able to make it so if it’s okay by you, you’ll be on your own. Do you think you can cope?”
Brian had to force himself to concentrate, to drag his eyes higher than the level of her chest.
“Aye, I would think so Margaret. It’s not as if they’re a rough bunch and there’re only six of them. I’ll teach them something calm and soothing. Neil Young, or an old folk song or two. That should quiet them down a bit...you know how much they hate my old hippy stuff.”
Brian had always had pretensions to being a musician since his own school days. When he realized that he couldn’t make his fingers move fast enough to pass as a rock guitarist he fell back on his first-learned tunes. From there he progressed through American Country rock, through blues and back to his present preoccupation, Scottish folk music.
He usually spent his Wednesday nights giving lessons to pupils but lately there had been getting to be fewer actual lessons in technique, most of the pupils
having already caught up with his primitive style. Most often nowadays his time was spent teaching the youngsters new songs and preparing for his big event.
A four-piece folk group, including Brian, were practicing for their first live appearance at a local folk club in two weeks time. It would be a rush but he now thought that they would be ready in time.
“Oh and Margaret”, he called after her as she turned away. “Is there any chance of a drink after work tomorrow? There’s some things I need to talk to you about.”
He never got a reply, for at that moment waves of high-pitched screams echoed down the corridor.
For a long heartbeat they looked at each other before Margaret sprinted out of the room, closely followed by Brian.
~-o0O0o-~
The boiler room was full of small gaping faces; all arranged in tight circles around two figures in the center. Two chairs had been overturned and between them lay a young boy bleeding from a neck wound.
“Blood,” thought Brian, “That’s blood.”
Standing beside the rapidly growing pool was Tony Dickie, obviously the source of the screams. His face was bright red and he breathed in great gasps of air, looking set for a fresh bout.
Brian decided that it was time to do something, anything, so long as he got their attention away from the blood.
“For Christ’s sake get an ambulance somebody...and Margaret, get these kids out of here. Tony, you go with Miss Brodie here.”
The boy looked into space, oblivious to everything except the blood.
“Tony!” More forcibly this time, causing the boy to turn towards him, blue eyes wide in fear.
“Come on son, it’s all right, Ian will be okay, just go along with Margaret.”
The boy’s head shook violently from side to side. As Brian reached out to take his arm he bolted under the grasping arms of Margaret Brodie and off down the corridor, receding footfalls followed by the slamming of the heavy wooden door down at the far end.
Eldren: The Book of the Dark Page 6
