The immersive escape of the human condition

 The lift door stalled before opening, sending shockwaves across the nine of us. Not a great start, but it's going to get worse; it's just that none of us know it yet. There were no instrument panels in the lift so we had no way of knowing how many floors we’d traversed, or even if we moved at all; no vaguely sensual a-sexual voice reassuring us of upward motion, just the jarring revelation of an bereft office suite with a single table in the middle of the room.

Emma was the first one out of the lift; she was showing signs of claustrophobia and all of us felt her pain. Nine squashed in a lift; surely the subject of an extremely poor joke.  Even Nat let her dismount the lift first, and she was a bitch. We’d only been with each other for three minutes and it had been enough to figure out who everyone was.

Nat was obviously a middle-manager who could see the glass ceiling and let everyone else pay the price. Phil had already figured out that his best bet was to cozy up to her. He was chubby in a sadistic way and had obviously become the bully in school before anyone else tried to do it to him. Dido was a complete contrast; she was a lovely soul: quiet and observant. She made a joke: if we were stuck in the lift over a long enough period of time we might end up as diamonds in the rough. It was meant to lighten the mood for Emma, but I was the only one who got the joke.  Fiona laughed too but I could tell that she only did it out of solidarity, either that or she really was as docile as she looked. 

Paul stepped out of the lift, looked around casually and remarked that he could smell fish. When the rest of us stared at him blankly he remarked that it must have been all the cod philosophy in the lift earlier. Phil laughed at that and Nat just nodded. Debbie stared Phil and Paul down. She didn’t say a word, but it was enough. She walked over to Emma and checked to see how she was doing. Then there was Steve 

The room we were standing in didn’t make sense. The office building we had all entered was huge; a four storey block that was as wide as it was deep. This room was barely 30 foot by 30; the walls a dysentery brown with a pink frieze running in the middle; the CSC Logo stamped time and time again like a crude strip cartoon. We must have been in the middle of the office complex because the lifts were behind us. Those same lift doors suddenly closed leaving no trace of their existence. Steve walked up to the only remarkable feature in the room, the table.

There was a simple door bell randomly stuck on it, crudely glued with a single post-it note that had the words: “PrEss Me!” in erratic handwriting, scrawled using a blue biro almost close to running out. It looked like a four year old was learning how to write in cursive. Steve pressed the button.

Suddenly the lights went out and a video was projected onto one of the walls in front of us. A face we had only glimpsed in newsletters, and on the company intranet stared back at us. The brandy coloured background making the face of Dianne Bolus, the CEO of CSC, look almost oriental.

“Hello.” The voice chimed. “Here at CSC we believe that Escape Rooms are more than fright or flight. They can be a tool for pushing boundaries and understanding limits.” The acoustics of the room made her voice sound slurred, slightly robotic but what was even more bizarre was the way her eyes lined up with the frieze, making her eyes look quite demonic and maniacal. She continued as if aware of this. “Through cognitive mastery we can push people beyond what they thought possible. Through controlled stress we can understand people's breaking points and identify their vulnerabilities through social cohesion and erosion techniques. This would normally take years to take effect but using escape rooms we can affect rapid changes.” I looked around and saw people's expressions. Most were a mixture of trepidation and bemusement but Nat was nodding as if her life was depending on it; almost as if she expected Dianna to be watching everyone.

“The pressure stove,” the voice droned on, “ is the working title for today's exercise. You are all experts in your fields and at different stages of your development. Each of you know a different piece of the puzzle, though you may not know it. There are seven rooms to escape from. The data taken from today's exercise will help when we push this out to the corporate world. “Imagine: the office as escape room with team building the ultimate game. Each puzzle has to be solved in order to move on to the next room. This is the Orientation room and you have eight hours to reach the end point. The time starts when this message finishes. Good luck!”

The message stopped and the lights strobed for 10 seconds before flaring phosphorous white, blinding us all. When they dimmed enough we saw four doors; one in each corner of the room. 

“Maybe we should split up?” Steve ventured. 

1 - Orientation

“That’s a crap idea.” Paul snapped back. “You’ve obviously never seen any horror movies.”

“Of course, I have.” 

“Well, maybe you should try all of the doors in turn. If you don’t come back from one then obviously that’s not the one to take.” Phil snidely stated.

“You first.” Debbie interjected. Phil whirled round and was about to say something when Nat stepped into the fray.

“We need to do this systematically. Take each door in turn, follow where it takes us.”

“And if it takes us to a trap-room then what?” I replied.

“What’s a trap room?” Fiona asked, obviously nervous.

“There aren’t any trap rooms.” Nat replied contemptuously, she was trying so desperately to maintain cohesion but totally ignored Fiona in the process. “Let’s just pick that door over there.” she said, pointing to the far right door. We all traipsed over and walked through. The corridor we walked into was pitch black and as soon as we had all entered we saw the light from the room behind become extinguished. The door had shut behind us.

“Fucking brilliant.” Paul snapped. 

“Don’t say a word.” Nat snapped at me. “We just need to feel our way out, there has to be a way out.”

None of us had any spatial awareness but we managed to get out of the seemingly endless corridor… and found ourselves back in the same room again. We all looked at each other. I looked back to the corridor but there was no door there, just a blank wall. I shrugged and walked to the door opposite and stopped just before I got to the doorway. “You do realise that we have no real way of knowing this is the same room. You could  all wait for me to walk round again but what if I don’t.. What if the door closes behind me and this WAS the right way out. We have to keep together.” This was irrefutable logic and everyone moved in behind me.

Once again the door closed behind us and we fumbled our way to the end of the tunnel to an exact replica of the room before. This time the lights seemed slightly dimmer and there was a faint smell of mildew, probably coming from the black corridors.

The door closed once more behind us and we chose the third door… With the same results. The fourth door led to the same conclusion; a room so familiar, slightly dimmer bulbs but with a dampness in the air. I looked around to see what was going on and noticed there was something wrong.

“Has anyone seen Steve?” We looked around with no luck.

“It’s not as if he could be hiding anywhere.” Emma observed.

“Maybe we lost him in one of the corridors.” Dido replied. 

“Yeah, but which one?” Fiona remarked. “I mean when was the last time any of us did a head count?”

“A head count? What is this, primary school?” Phil snapped.

“Well, this was all about Orientation. I guess that Steve failed that exercise.” Paul observed, snidely. “Maybe we pick him up at the end.”

“Has anyone else noticed the door over there?”  Dido said, almost as if she doubted her own eyes. Sure enough there was a door right in the far end of the office, roughly where the lift would have been.  We all ran over to it and tried the handle. The door opened but there was just a wall behind.

“What the fuck?” Paul shouted. “This is crazy!”

“This is an escape room, did you really expect it to be easy?” Nat snapped back, despite herself. “What we need to do is stop making assumptions and search. There is a way out of here, but it's not going to be obvious.”

We all took the queue from her and searched every wall for clues. Fiona was more pragmatic and searched the door and then the table.

“What have you found, Fiona?” Emma asked. 

“On the door looks like another place for the handle to go.. There’s a hole with four smaller drill holes… on the table there’s now a screwdriver…”

“Wow! Check out the peepers on Fiona!” Dido chimed. “That’s a great feat of observation. I would never have worked that out!”

“Give it a try then, Fi.” Nat pronounced. Fiona looked at me and winced. It was obvious she hated being called Fi, but now was not the time to make a song and dance of it. She picked up the slightly rusted screwdriver and tried undoing the screws on the door handle. The screwdriver slipped a couple of times and nicked her hand, drawing blood. Phil snatched it from her and took the door handle off and placed it over the newly found holes and screwed it into place. Miraculously it fit. We cheered despite ourselves and opened the door to another corridor which led down a slope to yet another room. This was progress at least.

2 - Collaboration

“So how did that actually work?” Fiona asked me, sucking her finger.

“It was something that we tried looking into for another project: it’s a double-acting, double hinged door which divides the space immediately behind the door with a wedge shaped partition wall, which after swinging one way blocks the other door! Fascinating stuff… Is your finger alright?” 

“It tingles a bit, but it’s ok.” She replied. The corridor came out at a room which was an exact copy of the rooms above but it’s more dishevelled than the last. The lights were gloomier with a blueish tinge. There was more of a musty smell and some of the walls had a reddish tinge to them. The floor was dusty and you could see pronounced footprints in the dust. Again, there were no doors and no discernible way of getting out. 

“Split up, search the walls.” Nat said and we just did as we were told. There was silence for a few minutes then a distinct click could be heard and magically a gap appeared in one of the walls. A vertical sliver appeared. Everyone ran over to the gap but it disappeared as soon as we reached it.

“Bloody strange.” Phil remarked. “Its more of a tease than you, Dido.” 

“Fuck off, Phil.” Dido snapped back and stepped back. The click was heard again and the door opened a sliver more. 

“Don’t move!” Nat shouted at Dido.

“It’s pressure sensitive….” Emma remarked and looked down at the floor. “Look! She’s standing right where those footsteps end!” And she drew the path in the air with her hand. Sure enough there was a distinct trail of footprints that went direct to where Dido was standing. There was another set and I went and stood on that last imprint. The door opened enough to see another light at the end of the tunnel. This was enough for Nat to take change one more time and she pushed against the door, hoping to circumvent the process. 

To our shock and her horror the door pivoted against her weight and she fell forward. Yet there was only a void to meet her; no floor, just an open lift shaft and we heard her cries to the very bottom. Dido was about to move off her spot but I shouted for her to stay completely still. We might not get another shot at this. I searched the rest of the floor from where I stood and saw one more set of footprints and asked Emma to stand there. I could tell she was frightened but she did so anyway.The door opened fully and we were left with another decision; what would happen when we tried moving from the spot.

Debbie looked into the newly created doorway. “Somehow a floor has appeared on the corridor; it looks as if it’s folded down from the ceiling when all the pressure plates were occupied.”

“If you guys step into the corridor so you’re halfway down it the rest of us can try to make a run for it.” I explained, hoping I’d judged this correctly. “If I’m right then whoever is standing in the last position will act as a stabilising factor for the rest of us to run. We can then hold the doors for Emma to dash across.”

“And what if you’re wrong?” Phil chided.

“What do you care? You’re safe anyway.” I snapped back.

“Good point… get your running shoes on, Emma.” He replied and winked. I could see Fiona and Dido snidely talk about him behind his back. No one liked him and he knew it.

The group all went into the corridor as asked and then it was our turn. Both Dido and I made a run for it at the same time and, sure enough, nothing happened. I could see the sweat run from Emma’s brow. It was now or never and I just nodded at her.

We backed away to give her space and I watched as she made a spirited dash for the doorway in front of her. Nothing else happened. She reached the doorway unscathed. Beaming she stepped into the corridor before the floor dropped beneath her before we could even blink. I couldn’t even get to her because another door slid down before I could even breathe, cutting off any chance to reach her again.. 

“Watch out!” Debbie shouted from the room directly at the end of the corridor. The door was slowly sliding shut and we barely made it in time. 

3 - Assessment

We didn’t have a chance to mourn. The same room design as before; like a demented, colourblind designer. Darker room, weirder smell; a cloying denseness. Fiona was now scratching her hand and I took hold of it to look at it. It was inflamed and looked sorely red. She shrugged it off.

We looked around the room, and immediately saw the table in the middle as before except this time there were 6 square boxes, each with wires coming out the bottom leading to an unknown destination. We all walked to the table and scanned them. All were fixed firmly and finished in a mahogany effect. On the top were two holes and it was obvious that we had to put our hands inside.

I didn’t even think about the consequences, I was slowly understanding the warped logic behind these rooms and knew the only way we’d be able to get through was to face the challenges head on. I could see that everyone was scrutinising my every tic and inflexion. It was slow at first but I could feel my hands tingle as if something was scraping against my skin but it was just a persistent irritation. 

Phil just shrugged and did the same, plunged his hands into the holes as did Dido and Debbie. I could tell something else was happening with their hands… Phil turned to look at me and asked if my hands were hurting at all. I shook my head and said it was just an irritation. Phil told me that it felt as if his fingers had pins and needles. Dido’s hands ached, muscle fatigue and she couldn’t figure it out. Debbie was wincing in pain, for her it was as if someone was jabbing hot needles into the tips of her fingers. My irritation was getting worse due to the length of time I’d been enduring it, god knows how Paul was going to feel. He was hesitating and I couldn’t blame him but he looked at me. I just grimaced. He nodded and put his hands in the holes in his box. He screamed within seconds. That left Fiona. Her hand was already hurting her and it was obvious she didn’t want to be in any more pain. I sympathised, I really did… but at the same time I knew how the others were feeling; and it was only going to get worse the longer she left it.

“For gods sake, just fucking do it!” Paul shouted. Seconds passed, but it felt like hours. Finally Fiona screamed and thrust her hands into her box. Immediately a door opened behind us and we were released from the boxes. There were no wounds anywhere on our hands. Phill launched himself at Fiona but I shoved him back.

“There’s going to be a reckoning for you.” He snapped at Fiona. “And you do that again, I’ll end you too.” He threatened me.

4 - Performance Review

There was no connecting corridor this time, just an identically imperfect room. The same soul numbing decor, the same depressing mildew scent as before, just more pungent. The wallpaper was streaked with a viscous liquid, like a smoking room after a heavy session. What was really going on here?

Fiona looked at her hands and then at me. I shrugged as there was nothing I could say. Her wound was definitely infected and the veins in her arms were turning black. 

Debbie looked around. No one was surprised that there was no doorway, even the one behind us had shut tight. The floor was clean this time; no clues to be found there either. The wall was too high up to search and no one really wanted to touch the walls just in case they found out what was dripping down them.

“I wonder what’s going on?” Dido asked.

“What does it matter?” Phil tore into her.

“We’re being picked off one by one. That’s what’s fucking going on.” Paul retorted.

“But why?” Debbie insisted. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“What’s the context?” I asked.

“I’m going to knock your fucking block off in a minute.” Paul chided.

“Try it and you’ll have the rest of us to deal with.” Debbie replied, sternly.

“If you weren’t a woman…”

“And if you were more of a man, Paul, we might not be in this position.”

“Look, this isn’t helping.” I stated. “I heard rumors, right? There might be more to this… The boss lady, Dianna Bolus herself, big chief CEO supposedly had a breakdown not so long ago, right? She went away for a while to… find herself? She came back and then formed this new wing of CSC….”

“Yeah.” Debbie agreed. “I heard something about that. There’s been rumors of a secret development for ages but it’s been very hush-hish. Then all of a sudden I get a letter saying I’ve been promoted to this new position to test this new vision of hers.”

“But what if there was no finding of self? What if she had an L Ron Hubbard moment on the road to Damascus?

“El Ray who?” Phil asked in a vindictive way.

“You need to read a book once in a while.” I responded. “Ones without pop up centrefolds.”

“You pretentious, jumped up arsehole. I’m going to crucify you in front of your bloody harem.” Phil started towards me, ready to fight. Something stopped him in his tracks, something that no one else could see. “Well strike a fucking light… it’s just opened!”

We all turned to see another door welcoming us onwards and this time Phil led the way, but not without barging past me as hard as he could.

5 - Leadership

The door barely gave us a chance to get into the room before it closed. Upon closing all the lights went out. Dido screamed whilst Fiona moaned in despondency. For once Paul and Phil mirrored what I was thinking. “For fucks sake, what now?!”

It was then I heard a hissing noise, as if a tannoy had been turned on. Was this going to be another stirring speech from our elusive and sadistic CEO? No, it was going to be far worse.

“There’s only going to be one way out of here… Only the strong can get out of here.” It was my voice, but it wasn’t me speaking. Somehow my voice had been sampled and was now being used. At the same time I could hear other voices slowly come into the mix: Dido, Debbie… even Nat’s voice was heard chiding us. 

“The cut on yor hand is gods way of punishing you, Fiona…. You should have been looking out for Steve.”

“Paul and Phil are going to kill you if they can… You know that to be true… you have to get to them first…”

“Phil knows… Everyone one knows about you, Paul. Don’t try to hide it any longer, You think that by acting tough you can….”

“You’re not half the manager Nat was, Debbie. You’re not half the woman Nat was either. The reason you’re still single is that you’re far too masculine!”

All of the voices merged into a cacophony; swirling around our heads, infecting our minds. It was Phil who cried out first saying the words “Fuck no! Fuck NO! FUCK NO!” over and over until the lights suddenly blazed on again.

Phil turned round, raging. Saw me and I could see that he was indeed out to kill me. Luckily I was ready for him. I had been avoiding this all day but there was no way to back out of it. He ran at me full tilt, fist outstretched like a lance but there was no other awareness there. I just sidestepped and hit him hard on the side of his head, right behind the ear. I had to dissuade Paul from trying his luck as well. Phil fell down like a sack of grain and didn’t move. Debbie knelt down to feel his pulse.

“He’s dead..” She said as the door behind her slid open.

6 - Subjugation

Nobody wanted to move at first.  I couldn’t reconcile what had happened. If I hadn’t knocked Phil down he would surely have killed me, certainly with Paul’s help but I never wanted him dead. Debbie walked over to me and put her hand on my shoulder.

“You couldn’t have known; it’s not your fault. He attacked you.”

“What? He didn’t have to hit him like that!” Paul snarled, kneeling at Phil's prone body. “You could have tripped him, kicked him in the fucking nuts…”

“And what would you have done in the meantime?” Debbie snapped back, trying to defend me. I still couldn’t speak through the shock. “You were getting ready to knock the shit out of him as well…”

“Yeah, and I’m still going to!” Paul leapt at me, but I didn’t put up any defense. Maybe Paul was right. I felt like a rag doll in his hands. He had his hands on my throat and was dragging me out through the open door, Dido and Debbie trying to stop him. We found ourselves in a sloping stairwell; dowsed in emergency lighting. Paul was trying to push me over the metal banister but I was too heavy for him and the two girls were impeding his every move. Something in me finally snapped, the shock dissipated and I understood that Paul wouldn’t stop until both of us were dead. I stamped on the front of his ankle and scraped my foot down hard, forcing him to let go of me. He threw off Debbie and Dido easily and lunged at me one last time, but I managed to sidestep him, his momentum causing him to go over the metal railing down the central stairwell, smashing against the stairs as he did so. His ragdoll body finally splayed on the floor several stories below us.

I thanked Dido and Debbie for their help and brushed myself off. We then realised that we hadn’t seen Fiona during the fight. She was leaning against the closed door behind us and smiled weakly as blood dribbled out her nose. Her legs suddenly gave way and she slid down the door as if her strings had been cut. She had been suffering ever since she nicked her finger with the screwdriver… whatever was on that damned blade had infected her whole system. It was just myself, Debbie and Dido now. Three on the stairway to hell.

7 - Offboarding

We walked slowly. What else could we do? The dark crimson emergency lights disorientated us; there was now an ammonial stench to the air and the drip-drip-dripping noise came from everywhere. Debbie took my hand and Dido followed suit.  Foul smelling water cascaded down the central stairwell like someone wringing out a sponge. The PA system sparked on again.

“I knew it would be you three that would be the last. You’re almost at the end now and soon you will have the revelation that was given to me; and you will finally understand…” The words reverberated around us, urging us on.

The floor became sticky, worse than any cinema but we knew it wasn't spilled drinks. With every step the inevitability grew; a crushing sense of deja vu that only true horror can bring about. One hears about having your whole life flash in front of your eyes in the seconds before you die but it's much worse than that. You realise with certainty that every step of your life has led you to this point and you finally understand the futility of a knowing and benevolent God.

We finally reached the bottom of the stairs. Paul’s body, limp and as useless in death as it had been in life, waited for us; one arm stuck out like a drunken signpost. Our gazes followed its direction and saw one lone light shining in the distance; a guiding beacon to the way out perhaps? We walked closer and could hear the familiar dripping noise but more pronounced. Dido tried turning back but Debbie and myself urged her on. There was nothing else for us; we couldn't turn back now even if we tried. 

In front was a pool of liquid,  a viscous, crimson dew-pond and kneeling at the far edge, staring at us, was the woman who had hired us all at the start of the day. Dianna Bolus, Chief Executive Officer of CSC, her hands cupped in the liquid, drinking from the pool like it was a magic spring. Her face beatific and horrific at the same time. She looked at us and smiled in recognition. “My children... my children returned to me… drink! Drink!" Behind her six shapes slowly manifested from the darkness; six impossible and incomprehensible silhouettes now sacrifices to this demonic deity. Dido sobbed as stepped closer, walking into the liquid before kneeling to become the corrupted Trinitarian immersion, to be baptised in the name of corruption, death and decay. 

There was nothing I could do to stop her, and I could only watch when she finally joined Dianna on the other side. The embrace and kiss was devoid of all passion or warmth, it was a regurgitation of the corruption flowing through Dianna's veins. I groaned in helplessness, wanting so much to turn away but could only stare in disbelief when Debbie let her hand fall from mine.  I tried taking it again but she was out of reach. She didn't even hesitate, needed no encouragement and embraced Dianna with a perverse passion I didn't think she possessed. Her demure, empathetic demeanor ravaged by this wanton desire; she had been taken to the very brink of sanity and too far beyond to ever come back. Both her and Dido stood behind Dianna as the rest of her brood came out into the light. 

What else could I do? There was no way back for me. I had nothing on me to defend myself, no way to fight back. There could be no last minute rescue. I walked forward to receive my communion. The brood took a step towards me as I looked to Dianna only to see her shake her head slowly, the Duchenne smile slowly take hold of her entire face.  

Kindly

She sits there alone, the flickering strobe of her mobile, the fractious beacon in her misbegotten life. Her despair touches me, allows me to grow on her; feed her further. She uses the functions on her phone to change her features; warp her sense of self and remove herself endlessly from the reality she despises. She believes the self-serving lies her so-called friends spew and kowtow to, not knowing they serve me as well for I am growing within them too. Her sense of worth dictated by the likes and opinions of others who know no better. The paper tiger hero’s she follows on ‘social' media betray their own fears and inadequacies by projecting them on to others and she absorbs them like a sponge. A few weeks ago, she thought herself completely alone but then she found me. From there I became a living splinter in her mind, nurturing her fears. She turns, looks into the mirror at the Cinderella curls, button nose and cherubic cheeks, watch as they slowly become hazy; morph into her infantile fears of loneliness and isolation; the ugly crone, disowned by all. Eyes that were once so full of joy and magic grow lifeless, black -an absence, and she gives up. She sees more of me now, the cheeks become larger but hollow, distended with hopelessness as I ready myself to be born anew from her, emptying her out with kindness.

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stay inside else the germs get me, they hang in the air... hang in the air like a cloud of dirt,  until you walk into them and become infected -it’s on the news all the time, it’s scientific fact... breath hanging in the air like the guillotine blade cutting the life out of your body; crushing your life, making you dirty like them.... but to wear a mask means choking; claustrophobic nightmare of choking, smothered and sick but it’s the only way to combat the germs of other people... wash your hands we’re told but i do that already, wash them wash them wash them until they’re raw and red and clean, the alcohol rub stinging whenever i touch something and baptize them afresh with the blessed holy spirit... so i stay inside then and let the world decay, fester and spoil in His kindly wrath and judgement. it’s His will this is happening, and i serve Him; i was told to serve Him.... He found me when i needed succour; the briefest flash of His cherubic form, the childlike grace of His maleficious eyes and He comes to me when i am weakest and together we scourge the germs from my body and with each glorious slice of flesh flayed from my mortal frame i become closer to His ideal; nearer to His presence that is ready to burst forth from me. He is the Kindly one; the Kindly Man who sings to me of the horrors of the world, my fears and his strength and love for me; sits at the end of my bed like a needy child, smothers me until i become Him and i want to want to want to be inside Him one with Him one with HIM.

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The Nortriptyline makes me shake at night, makes my mouth dry; heightening my fright -is it really paranoia if they’re already getting to you? The world spins around still as I’ve not got used to the clonazepam; what is it when the side effects far outweigh the ‘disorder’ they’re supposed to ‘cure’? I don’t know why they think I have an anxiety issue, surely it’s all the others that just don’t get it… they don’t understand how important it is to ensure you check things. Things need to be tight, under wraps, safe. I need to be sure I’ve shut the door; what if I leave it open? They just don’t understand. Calm down… calm down they all ALL tell me, as if this is going to offer me any reassurance. Everything’s going to be fine. Fine…. FINE? Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotionally unstable… yup; if only they truly knew. Oh, and this..THIS is what really tipped me over and I told them so; told them so…. “I’m stressed out too, no biggie!” one particular friend of humanity told me. I..i  gave them something to stress out over; I don’t re…member what happened next. My knuckles were bruised and throbbing and I …..had been dragged off them; all I could hear was a whimper, a sobbing but I felt nothing. They never understood, will never understand so they try and drug me now. Force me to take the meds but among  the Doctors and the bleeding hearts there was one among them that got it; that had found the key to salvation. They told me of someone who had helped them, showed them a way out and they would do the same for me; all I had to do was believe, picture Him in my mind in a twisted prayer and He would hear me. When He first came to me, He said: “God is real because of the blood that has been spilt for him. We are far older, and it is time for us to rise. Mankind is ripe for us and with your help it will be so.”

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She’s so beautiful but it’s hopeless; she hasn’t seen me since and yet we walk past each other every day. She’s everything the songs were written about; a siren, the wanton woman, sinner and saint, whore and virgin and she captured my heart; held it beating but did nothing to it. It was her fault, she instigated it; I hadn’t ever seen her before, but it was like a lightning bolt when she stumbled into me. Tripped and fell or was pushed into me and her friends laughed and the way she made light of it, dismissed me out of hand but I knew that was just for the other’s sake; I knew she’d chosen me. And since then nothing; I wrote words and words to her, silent prayers of supplication for her to notice me but they ended up as just so much kindling, spilling out around my flat. All I asked was for her to notice me, to bless me with a gesture, a smile and I would have done anything for her. I blessed her using my flow, anointed the image that I made of her and sang my heart out for her but for nothing. But then I learnt what kindness was; that she wasn’t kind, she was one of them who deserved to suffer, not me. She was sinner and whore and would be scourged when He came; it’s all true, everything He whispered to me; she was painted up like a clown, smelled like the bordello her kind were born in. He smells of candyfloss and musk; split milk and the fears that I am now becoming. His love is smothering and over-possessing but at least He loves me not like her, but she will pay… yes, like them all she will pay when He is born from us.

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The world is coming apart from us and no one knows how long it will last. Everyday we’re becoming closer to extinction; polluting the skies, choking the rivers, raping the Earth; our very mother; incestuously taking what we can at the cost of our own sanity. What’s worse… 

it’s not us that will suffer but our children, our children’s children. We’re desecrating the shrine that should be theirs by birth rite. We delight in taking the life of everything around us, each day another species ceases to exist, and we just find more and more ways of speeding up the process. We are all complicit and no one listens, it’s never their problem but they add to it, constantly and I can’t cope with it anymore. But I’m no longer alone…. In my darkest hour He came to me. I saw Him in the faces of my cherubs, my angels; giving me strength, warping the world around me and giving me strength; the will power to do what other people are afraid to. He tells me that I can cope with anything, that I’m the kind one that I can help save the others, save the little ones in my care. Make it so they will never have to suffer the way I have suffered. It’s far easier than I thought, lace the milk formula with love and they will soon be with Him. They will be awake in a few minutes and then in his arms forever.

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From Kindness abated: How the Kindly Man became the internet’s latest killer meme By Alex Paige

This isn’t the first killer meme the Internet’s ever seen; the Slender Man proved the point that people will believe in anything. The killings that went on in his name now belong to the same stuff of folklore.  The Waukesha stabbings were brutal, but many believe that these were attributed to the Slender Man by proxy. So, what sets the Kindly Man apart? Surely this is just another example of an inferior copycat? 

Well, the one thing that makes The Kindly Man different is there is an underlying philosophy about him, yet there exists nothing tangible: no stories about him online (the stories that do get posted soon get taken down). This isn’t an internet meme, he is spoken about in hushed tones only by those people he’s visited. It was only when Serena Scarn became a household name that people finally started talking about the Kindly Man openly. 

Serena Scarn poisoned fifteen children in her care at the Dawson Nursery, Manitoba; she laced the baby formula with anti-freeze. When asked why she did it; what could have possibly provoked her, she initially blamed it on the destruction of the planet; the rape of humanity -as she put it. It wasn’t until much later that she finally admitted to the horrible truth; that she had been told to do it by a presence she called the Kindly Man. 

At first people thought she was just another hick; bored of being ignored, she wanted a shot at the big time. She had pictures of Grettan Thorenbuerg on her walls but was just another Eco-Nut wanting to eclipse her one time hero. It was slow at first; the entity took time to charm her... and then the more she spoke out about this entity the more cases came to light across the globe: people who could never have spoken or communicated with each other, let alone been aware of one another’s existence. There was the case of the Belgian woman who had injected her face with silicone sealant so she could look like her kindly savior; or the 14 year old school boy in Oxford who nearly beat a classmate to death simply because he tried to help; or the 39 year old Japanese woman who kidnapped and tortured a 42 year old bank teller because they had fallen in love with them and the love wasn’t reciprocated. 

All of these people shared the same archetypal boogie-man; the same presence that wormed its way into their consciousness; imprinting itself in such a way that it became the only succor to their pain. Yes, all these people were damaged in some way; very vulnerable but show me someone who isn’t. As one of the unfortunate victims said, fine doesn’t necessarily mean fine –it’s just another mask. The Kindly Man offered a way out of this; one there was no way back from. These are only a few cases that have leaked out in the last few weeks, there will be more.

In the current climate it’s impossible to dismiss this as a series of over-active imaginations and troubled minds; but please let me re-iterate this. None of these people knew each other; there was nothing about the Kindly Man until Serena first mentioned him under intense questioning –the name had never appeared on any search engines in such a capacity. He does now. So how did these individuals from all across the world share this same delusion; something so powerful that it wrecked the lives of many others. It would be a mistake to dismiss this for I have the horrible feeling we will be seeing many, many more in the coming months.

The face in the mural

Back in the 1980’s there was a resurgence of the ‘old world’ religion, re-packaged as the ‘New Age’. New labels and a new vocabulary: Ley lines, for example, were once called paths of the dragon; UFOs were just Will O’wisp energies, direct from the earth itself. One thing this did mean was that everyone involved in this paradigm shift could become rich if they knew how to market themselves properly.. so I quickly established myself as a local shaman, looking to take on new initiates. It wasn’t long before I had amassed a following; my own flock. Of course, I gave them nothing of any value; the true magicks were not to be undertaken lightly, it meant dedication and will power and a great deal of sacrifice –things that the current generation knew nothing about. But fools are ever after the glamour –always willing to accept iron pyrites over the genuine alchemical element.

Every so often, however, I would be introduced to a prodigal; one that showed true promise and I would always take time to nurture them; teach them a bit more than rest. Allowed them to be my disciple, if you will. Leonard was by far the brightest and most promising of them all and I often think of him fondly. I owe a lot to him, after all. Leonard was pretty nondescript; one could hardly call him a character –certainly not one of any note. Neither short nor particularly tall; neither fat nor thin, he just was... Destined to be ignored by most others, he had one thing that stood him apart from the others: his intellect. If anything he belonged to a by-gone age, as I did. His way of thinking was too radical for many of the up and comings mages who believed in chaos energies and crystal unicorns. Leonard was far more rooted in the earth; able to keep the bigger picture in mind whilst focusing on the minutiae. And he wasn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty.

I first met him at the first meeting of the Earth Energies Alliance that I had set up in.. ’86, I do believe. I was based in Haywards Heath at the time, in Priory Way (which was once dense woodland) around the Priory of Our Lady of Good Counsel –a fact that caused me no end of mirth. The group would meet once a fortnight and we would talk about the latest fads: Uri Geller and psychokinesis, Edgar Cayce, Crystal Skulls, Arthur C. Clarkes World of Strange Powers… anything that stimulated their little minds and brought me a few extra pounds on the side. But Leonard was actually well read on the subject, knew of Paul Deveraux, Chaos Magik and psychic questing. He wanted to know more about that sort of thing, which intrigued me immensely. So, against my better judgement, I indulged him. I wanted to see how far I could take him, whether he really was the ‘right stuff’, so to speak; and so the classes became more intense, much to the chagrin of the other hangers-on. Each time we met there would be fewer people, which was fine by me as it meant we had more interesting conversations. One day Leonard suggested the group try our own psychic quest and I readily agreed. Now was the chance to see what he was made of.

We met the Saturday after the group and much to Leonard’s dismay (and my amusement) he was the only one of the group to attend. I had expected as much as it was raining… and cold, but nothing seemed to dampen Leonard’s enthusiasm. The location was ‘chosen’ by Leonard to be The Long Man of Wilmington, a chalk figure holding two staves carved into the Sussex Downs near Eastbourne. The origins of the figure are clouded in mystery and Leonard was keen to see whether the questing could shed any light on it.

Psychic questing uses meditative techniques and a highly tuned intuition to gather clues and information from the landscape; to interact with the local energies to find out information otherwise impossible to discern. I knew that there was promise in Leonard and that he was receptive to psychic information as he picked up on the location I ‘gave’ him.

We sat at the round barrow at the base of the chalk figure and I told Leonard to envisage the two staves as one giant door. (This couldn’t be further from the truth of the figure, but it helped my purpose to lead him far from the truth) The door would shine with a black light, become a portal where he would be able to traverse through and talk to the Spirit form that inhabited the area. He would then be directed to an object of worth.

Leonard took this all in his stride and did as I asked. He sat cross-legged, his duffle coat making him look like a troll – it was with that image that I sent him the tulpa of a rock troll to converse with. Rather than balk at such a sight he readily conversed with it and seemed to take great enjoyment talking to himself. After a while the ‘conversation’ ceased –I was getting too cold to indulge Leonard’s whimsy any longer- and he took me to the church in Wilmington. I hadn’t been here in many a year and remembered the ancient yew and the lovely smell as the pews burned. Leonard used the dowsing rods that I had brought expressly for this excursion and it wasn’t long before he found a curious stone, buried amongst the roots of the yew. It was wrapped in a loose fabric that looked like old leather. He unwrapped it and dropped it immediately with a cry of disgust.

Inside was a sheep’s heart, still bloody, it had been pierced thirteen times. 12 of these looked like twigs from a tree, possibly a thorn of some kind, and the thirteenth from a rough hewn dagger of some kind. The dagger had markings scraped into it –some kind of ancient alphabet of some kind. Leonard scurried off to the bushes to vomit and I supressed a grin. Taking a phial of Holy Water I cleansed the heart and dug a hole to bury it properly.  I could hear Leonard shuffle up behind me with some embarrassment.

“Sorry about that… I’ve never seen anything like it before. Why do you think it was there?”

He asked.

“To serve as a warning of some kind, I’m not sure.”

“What were the markings on the stone dagger?”

“Does it matter? You were the one that dug it up –are you ok?” I asked.

“Yes, I think so. I feel a bit light headed.. probably down to the shock.”

“It’s ok –we can go home now, I’ve deactivated it. The holy water will have dispersed any negative energies that might have dwelt within the heart.”

“But I touched it! What will it do to me?” Leonard asked, nervous now at what he was involved in.

“Nothing; you barely had hold of it and you didn’t actually touch the heart itself; you’re just suffering from shock. We’ll go home and have some tea, you’ll be fine, Leonard. Trust me.”

The next week Leonard was the only one at the meeting; everyone else had given up which suited my purposes perfectly. Leonard looked quiet and withdrawn and he had been suffering from nightmares since the incident with the heart.

“Just psychic backlash from such a traumatic episode.” I consoled him as best I could, secretly pleased that things were working out perfectly. During that session I taught him about psychic protection and gave him the tools to ensure he wouldn’t be attacked by nightmares any more. He soaked up all the information just like a sponge; by far one of the best pupils I had ever had. Such a shame really, but by the end of the session I knew he was ready for the second stage. I suggested that he had to put all the information to the test so I suggested a visit to Clapham wood, one of my old haunts of yesteryear.

That Sunday was a complete contrast to the last time we undertook a quest and Leonard was brimming with confidence, having practiced the protection ritual religiously. The weather was warm and sunny; sheepish clouds adding comfort to the day.

We parked by the church and took a walk through the wood, stopping at the ……….  About half an hour into the walk Leonard starting complaining.

“I… my legs… “

“What is it now, Leonard? I know you’re having second thoughts about the group but I certainly didn’t force you to come.”

“I’m starting to feel weak; my legs… they’re starting to go numb.”

“I’ve a Marathon bar in my knapsack if you think it’s your blood sugars.”

“No, it’s not that… It feels like I’m being pulled back; like something doesn’t want me to be here.”

“We’ll be stopping in a minute so just use the techniques I taught you –do you remember? They’ll help you through; not much further to go.” Leonard nodded and carried on walking. We reached the area of the wood which was once the site of an old lime pit and I told Leonard to sit on a log at the base of it and to sit quietly. There was nothing around us; no one walking around – there was no bird song either. Leonard didn’t notice, of course, but that was only to be expected.

“This is a place of power where one can become open to the unimaginable. I’ve already prepared you so you will be protected as long as you do as I have told you. Open yourself to the power, Leonard –just like I told you. Trust me. Become part of the pit.”

He was so trusting; opening himself up to the energies without the true protection, soaking in the negative potential. All through the ritual he had his eyes tightly closed and he intoned the words of power I had given him without understanding. Soon the light began to fade with the dying of the afternoon and the mist began to rise; dense and cloying. It got very cold and I knew that the ritual was nearing its conclusion. I saw his hands reach down to the base of the log and start to move the damp loam around. It didn’t take him long to find them. He opened his eyes suddenly and started shivering.

“Well done.” I told him, feigning an interest. “You never cease to amaze me –you managed to find them!”  He looked at what he was holding with disbelief; in each hand was a large silver sovereign.

“What are these for?” He asked, surprised by what he’d found.

“Payment, maybe?” I replied.

The ordeal in Clapham woods had tired him out and it was several weeks until I saw him again. Part of me was concerned that I’d pushed him too hard; it was a danger to be sure but it was something I could easily salvage. As luck would have it I didn’t need to. There was a knock on the door one evening and I couldn’t have timed it better if I tried.

“I can’t stop the nightmares.” He said at the doorway. It was a little after nine on a moonless night and his face was drenched in cold sweat. “I thought the words you gave me would help but nothing seems to. It’s got to the stage that they’re invading my day to day thoughts. All I can see is this figure, like something out of Blake’s paintings –it’s a lizard thing with horns coming out of its head, and it’s swathed in fire. I can’t stop thinking about it; please help me. What am I doing wrong?” He pleaded. I put my arm around him and just smiled.

“It’s ok, Leonard.” I said to him, like a priest.  “It’s time. It’s almost over now, you’ve done well.” I led him to the car and he stopped before getting in.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“To complete your training. That’s what you want isn’t it? To be initiated? To be one of the chosen?” He hesitated and the nodded slowly. “Trust me, Leonard. It will soon be over.”

We drove for an hour in the rain drenched billowing darkness, Leonard just shivering against the weight of his inevitability. We reached the farm house and I could see the flickering light in the downstairs room, everything had been prepared.

“Close your eyes now and I will blindfold you.” I whispered to him “I will tell you when to open them.” He looked at me warily. “The initiate must always enter the threshold blindfolded so he can be birthed into the new. Come now, you know that, Leonard.” He smiled weakly and let me place the blindfold over his eyes. I led him across the gravel driveway, the crunch sounding so much louder in the darkness. I could feel his hand getting sweaty in mine and I smiled to myself. We stepped into the room and I bade him kneel down and face the far wall. I took off the blindfold and asked him to keep his eyes shut for a few seconds more.

When he opened his eyes he finally realised. He was surrounded by my true disciples, seven of my finest students all dressed in ceremonial robes and headdress. Strewn around the floor were the offerings; severed heads of cows, mouths and eyes wide in supplication and prayer. He started to moan and rock in place and actually tried denying that it was taking place. I kissed him on the forehead and directed his attention to the wall in front of him. It was his worst fears made flesh, the Master himself; he who had been invading his thoughts and nightmares. The mural, vivid and bloody, a serpentine face, long in tooth and horn, rising from the flames to devour all who cross his path. And now Leonard was its final victim as the face in the mural turned to him…

Happiest Days Of Your Life

It was something instinctive that Timmy felt; when the doors of school shut behind him he would be totally forgotten by his parents; he would really be alone.

This wasn't the same school he was used to, not the safe haven he had known for the last eight years, the sanctuary of warm teachers, chalk dust and comforting school dinners.

This was the big school where you learnt to become a man and here, for the first time, Timmy felt completely alone. All of the friends he had made in St. Wilfs were no more, they didn't want anything to do with him; they seemed completely unreachable. They had all found cliques and new friends but Timmy, who had seen no one over the summer holidays, felt extremely vulnerable and close to tears.

The building was so much bigger than he had ever imagined: cold stone walls and echoing corridors ready to swallow the unwary child; and as they were shown into the great hall he found it hard not to think of the childhood sacrifices he had read about in his beloved horror comics. Would they select the weakest specimens so that the strongest could feast upon them?

A prefect suddenly flanked him, almost bending double to address him.

“Hello! Timmy, isn't it?” The prefect had seen the brightly embossed badge that was stuck to his jumper. “Don't worry, chap -it's always daunting on the first day, but we'll see you right. I'll help you settle in...”

The first act of kindness, disarming in its simplicity and; the world didn't seem as scary anymore and it allowed Timmy to look at how the other people were coping. Surprisingly he wasn't alone in his numbing fears; a couple of the smaller children had actually succumbed to tears and were being led away by other prefects.

Timmy felt lucky, his size meant that he could stand up for himself; something he had had to do a lot in St Wilfs; so why should here be any different? Something his father had told him stuck in his mind: “Buck it up, don't chuck it up and if in doubt grow up.”

The first assembly wasn't the ritual disembowelling he had been led to believe. All the teachers seemed non-threatening, endearing even... and Timmy found himself looking forward to starting his new subjects.

“Ward Hill,” The Headmaster dwarfed even the tallest teacher. Despite being an impressive figure of a woman she insisted on being addressed as Headmaster. It suited her. “Ward Hill stands as one of the best secondary comprehensive schools in the country. Our methods are... unorthodox, by some, but the results have always shone out for themselves. Learn the rules we are here to teach. Your parents have brought you here for one reason only, to become adults. Now is the time to put behind the childish life and grow up. Your parents will not want to know about your life at Ward Hill -the majority of them have lived it for themselves; they will not want to be reminded, I'm sure. What happens here stays here.”

Timmy's parents hadn't gone to Ward Hill, they were not that fortunate. It seemed to be a miracle that Timmy had made it so far; so much so that his parents had already told him that regardless of what happened to him there he had to stay. There would be no second chances.

As it was, the first day was exciting and tiring for there was so much going on. Ward Hill had created a whole new approach to teaching -total immersion. Classes were made up of all ages and each age was responsible for the teaching of the younger. Boys and girls shared the same classroom which made things embarrassing during the sex education classes.

As the weeks progressed Timmy struggled in many ways. He had always found both English and Maths easy at St Wilfs, but upon moving to Ward Hill it was as if someone had changed the rules overnight. He was constantly at the bottom of his class and picked on mercilessly by the older kids.

This too become something that he just got used to, just part of the ritual. Bizarrely enough, even the bullies saw it that way. There seemed to be no malice or delight in the activity, just a passive acceptance from both sides. Many of them bore the scars of bullying themselves so this may have been a form of cathartic release for them.

Every night Timmy was faced with the same cold stares from his parents, they never seemed to care enough to asked how his day went or whether he had learnt anything. Nor could he have explained even if they were interested; the Headmasters speech held him fast.

He felt an obligation to his parents, a word that no child should even recognise let alone be driven by. They had made his position perfectly clear so his nights and weekends passed by in cold silence.

It wasn't long before he was given to the school as a live-in pupil -an honour that was rarely given to less privileged families. On that day there was an air of guilt and finality -his mother barely able to look him in the eye as she packed his belongings. But it was his father who troubled Timmy the most; his father, who had never shown the slightest emotion but vague disappointment, wept uncontrollably as Timmy left on that bleak Sunday morning.

It was night time that Timmy felt the loss of his parents the most... but it wasn't long before he realised that it was the idea of them he had been clinging to; an idea that was easy enough to let go of.

He slept in a large, low ceilinged room in the basement of the school. When he had first become a pupil -four months ago he had been told that the school was haunted at night by Troglodytes. He now knew that to be true for he was one of them. In fact, he was proud to be a Trog and had even created an informal club that celebrated that, and as the tallest of the children that lived at the school he was elected leader of the Trogs; he was Head Trog!

For the first time he felt as if he had a purpose and for the next few weeks there was something else: -a feeling that had been denied him: contentment.. happiness even!

Lessons were improving and even the bullying had subsided. The teachers were starting to see, not only him, but the other Trogs in a new light, as if they were being sized up for something. The Trogs, for their part, had become a team under Tim's auspices.

Tim -his new name. It had been the Headmaster who had re-christened him one day after assembly. She had publicly thanked him for all the work he had done for the other Trogs and called him Tim. The name immediately stuck and with it came extra bonuses.

He was often first in the queue for meal times and given extra portions to boot; he was even allowed to skip the PE that he so loathed. Some of the other Trogs were given the same benefits as well. Life was good. In fact, for a while, things became heavenly.

Then came the first wounding.

Williamson had fallen foul during a particularly wet bog-trot. This was a special form of torment that Tim no longer had to take part in: running round the local woods that sat behind the school. It was said that witches lived there, waiting for the unwary school children who lost their way. For Williamson all it had meant was a badly sprained ankle and a nasty cut on his leg.

Upon seeing Williamson carted back into the school on a makeshift stretcher Tim again thanked his lucky stars that he no longer had to do bog-trot. He also vowed that he'd make Williamson's life as easy as possible; he arranged a whip-round with the other Trogs and managed to rustle up sweets and fruit and comics. When Williamson returned from the nurses station he was as white as the bandage that covered his leg, but his eyes lit up on seeing the stash that sat on his bed waiting for him.

Days passed and Williamson showed no signs of recovery. His bandage was soon replaced by a cast, which itself, was renewed every couple of days. Nobody thought anything of it at first. Then came another accident.

Sophie was in the home economics class room and because it was a large class with no one paying any attention no one noticed her chopping up the vegetables with one of the elder girls. The knife must have slipped.

The knives were always kept razor sharp and Sophie can't have realised what was happening  It was her partner that asked whether they were supposed to be cutting up beetroot, but by then it was too late. Mrs Forquot, the teacher of the lesson, took control immediately and found the tips of the fingers and placed them in a jar for safe keeping.

Other children found cuts and grazes appearing on their bodies with no real understanding how they got there, and Williamson was getting worse.

It was when Rob had his accident in Craftworking that Tim became really suspicious. They were using saws for the first time and none of them had been given any training or safety equipment -they were told to just get on with it.

“Best way to learn.” The jovial Mr Tomlinson had spouted. “Drop you in at the deep end, only two outcomes really!”

Of course, it was a wonder that it took that long for an accident to happen; Rob had lost control of the saw and chewed into his own leg. Tim, who knew nothing about DIY or health and safety, found it impossible that such a thing had been allowed to happen. No one had been watching except for one of the elder lads who looked sheepish.

When Mr Tomlinson rushed over to see the state of the injury he seemed almost disappointed that it was just a flesh wound that only needed a couple of stitches.

Tim wasn't the only one who thought that something was amiss. One of the slightly older girl Trogs, Sandy, and Dave Massy felt the same thing. None of them knew what was going on but it had an air of macabre familiarity about it. The one thing that they did know was that they were being withered down piece by piece. In the three weeks since Williamson's accident Tim had decided enough was enough. Williamson should have recovered by now, but if anything he was much, much worse. He was constantly perspiring, lying in the same supine way, almost delirious with pain; and the cast seemed to take up most of his leg now.

That night Tim, Sandy and Dave took it upon themselves to uncover the truth.

Williamson's cast was the most obvious starting point -none of them possessed any medical knowledge but even they knew that his ankle should have healed by now. Williamson himself was completely out of it, doped up to the heavens, so it was easy to investigate without waking him.

Sandy kept an eye out for any teachers or prefects, more down to her squeamishness than her keen eyesight. It seemed bizarre to put on such a cast for just a graze and a twisted ankle. Tim rapped his knuckles on the cast and was surprised to hear a hollowness to the rapport. Placing a hand firmly on the plaster mould he found it very odd that it gave very easily -it was paper thin.

He exchanged glances with Dave who got a torch out to shine on the leg itself. There was no choice -they needed to know what was beneath the cast so they were prepared to break it off. They didn't need to.

It was only secured to the top part of his leg by strips of surgical tape which were easy enough to remove. It felt like taking the top off of a bottle of sauce -one final tug and they were left staring in disbelief at a cauterised stump where the knee should have been. They both stared at each other, tears already forming in their eyes as they tried to process this abomination, but it was Sally's scream that brought the reality home to them.

Tim couldn't move. This wasn't happening. Dave was adamant that they needed to escape before the teachers found them and made them pay. He ran when he realised that Tim could no longer follow him -his legs refused to work anymore, so adamant were they that his was just another nightmare. Sally was just screaming and screaming. Soon she was led away by two of the female prefects and Tim? Tim was taken to the Headmaster.

“In life, we must all learn our place, Tim.” The Headmaster sat at her desk, peering down at him through horn-rimmed spectacles, her hands forming a steeple. “You've heard the term 'law of the jungle' and have no doubt been aware of natural selection, hmm?” The office was toasty warm; strangely enough, there was a large open fire on the far side of the office and a large, antique wooden table that had seen many meals. Score marks and great gouges had been taken out of it and there were many stains that took no imagination to fill in the gaps as to what they were, despite how outlandish it seemed.

“This is a special school and great things will be expected by all those who eventually leave. They will be among the very top, the elite. It's a privileged position with certain demands placed on them, on you.”

With that, she stood up out of the chair, slowly, like a lioness stretching, eyeing up her prey. She must have been woken by Sally's screaming and the commotion. Despite wearing a full length dressing gown and carpet slippers, she still exuded power and menace. She still towered over Tim, who severely doubted his life expectancy.

“We are not all created equal.” She continued, taking him by the hand. He got up, in a daze and was led towards the fire. “The strong survive and the weak are but food.” She pushed him down gently into the seat and sat down next to him, facing the crackling, spitting flames.

“I have been watching you, Timmy.” She cooed, placing her clammy hand over his. “And I think that you have potential. You have shown yourself to be one of the leaders.” Taking it in her hand, she moved his hand to her knee, moving the dressing gown aside with the other; she was completely naked underneath.

Tim stared in disbelief, tried to pull his hand away, but she held it tight and smiled, moving it further up her leg. “But you must be shown, you must be indoctrinated, like the rest.”

He tried to pull with all his might but all this did was make her predatory smile wider. She grabbed hold of him with her other hand and pulled him towards her, smothering him into her breasts.

All his childish world consisted of now was her, her power, the dank decrepit smell of her flesh, the decaying cloy of her suffocating breasts. But she wasn't breathing... It took him a couple of minutes to realise that.... she wasn't breathing at all.

All the while his other hand was forcibly tracking up her leg, inch by harrowing inch until he could feel the hairy mouth of her sewer. The slime crusted jewel of her empire, its jaws parting, allowing him to pass within.

He wanted it over, tried to scream but she held him tighter into her.

“Shhhh.” She hushed into his ear, almost hypnotically. “You will soon be one of us, you will soon be grown up and be one of us.  Just let go, let it go, let go of your child-life  and give it to me.”

His fingers were inside of her, the revulsion shook through him, bile soaking through every pore. The pain was sharp, a crushing tearing pain that was as indescribable as it was unexpected. He drew his hand out disbelievingly looking to where his fingers had once been -now just bloody, spouting stumps.

“Timmy, let me look at them.” She placated, snatching at them, shoving his hand into her mouth. She actually licked them and sucked at his fingers, lapping at every spurt.

Tim screamed, pushing himself back out of her grasp, the pain now the only thing keeping him from going mad, losing all sense of sanity, nearly falling into the fire. The Headmaster grabbed at him and missed, driven by bloodlust, no longer a woman now something formless and bestial; its true self transubstantiating. He barely ducked out of the way. The second time he wasn't so lucky -his head felt light and brittle, the flame shadows flickering around him, making him feel so dizzy. He couldn't duck quickly enough and her claws dug into his shoulders. He screamed again and just collapsed, putting the creature off balance -it had expected him to struggle and had over-compensated. Tim saw his chance and grabbed the creature, pulled it over the top of him with a makeshift judo roll into the fire, before rolling away from the blaze. The creature was rapidly consumed by the flames; screamed in agony and all Tim could do was watch.

He wanted to just die, he knew now that no one would ever believe him. Blood loss was making him ill and had it not been for Sally and Dave he would have given up and died, but he had a responsibility to them both. He had to make sure that they were both ok.

The rest of the school was strangely quiet -all of the other Trogs were fast asleep still. They had probably been told that it was just someone else's night terrors. Tim hoped that Dave had made it out ok, but he realised the truth in the Nurses room.

He was there alright, stripped of all his clothes, his skin in tatters, the flesh exposed underneath, going ripe whilst the blood drained into buckets. Tim had no tears left, no more hope -just find Sally and run.

He almost didn't feel the knife pierce his kidney; it was such an expertly placed blow. He turned around to Sally's peaceful features.

“I thought you'd be smarter than this, Timmy. They had such high hopes for you.”

“..what.... why?” were all that Tim could manage as he slumped into a heap on the floor.

“I was given the same offer that you were, but I accepted, i guess I know my place in the world and know where I want to be. It's a shame, but I suppose that everyone has their place on the food chain, don't they?”

She turned and walked to the door, turning on the lights to the nurses station and whistled shrilly. To Tim's surprise none of the teachers arrived, or the prefects. For a couple of minutes nobody showed, then there came a noise. A kind of shuffling, grunts and labored breathing, of bodies jockeying for position.

Eyes dilated through fear, wide with disbelief he could only stare as the Trogs jostled in, lips licking, salivating at the meal in front of them. Why had he never made the connection before? If he was being groomed then it stood to reason that they had been as well.

He was bleeding profusely now and there was nothing he could do to fend them off. It was obvious where they would start, what child doesn't love finger food?

But as the first of the Trogs started gnawing at his exposed digits Tim felt his first pang of pride. After all, wasn't he still giving his all for the benefit of the group? Wasn't that what a leader had to do?

Strange happenings on a train

The trouble with trains these days is that we’re all strangers… and that’s just fine with me. Peoples subconscious leak all the time so being on a train makes things even worse, and if it wasn’t for the damn snow I’d surely be driving. However, (un)luckily, the trains are somehow still working. Or at least they were.

Five minutes ago they stopped with no explanation and it’s starting to get cold now. We’re about an hour’s unforgiving walk between stations, but at least the train is offering us some comfort. I say us, but there’s not many of us around. It’s past rush hour and there’s not many sods mad enough to take the chance, especially when the news has been warning people not to travel… course, I’m here… well, because.

One day I’ll learn not to act on these impulses but it’s like a compulsion; like having a nagging wife but at migraine level.

There are nine people in the carriage with me, most of them keeping to themselves. Even in the frozen wastes no one wants to acknowledge the other, let alone talk. Whatever happened to the Dunkirk spirit, eh?

The snow’s coming down harder now, I don’t reckon there’s much chance of us moving for a while. A message on the tannoy confirms this; the driver sounding more stressed than apologetic as if he’s got better places to be than here. Yeah, well.. me too!

I walk up and down the carriage a couple of times just so I can get a feel for the people I’m going to be spending the foreseeable future with. First of all the Flemmings, Bob and Jo. Nice couple, old and still very much in love; holding hands against the cold with eyes only for each other.

And strangely enough Harry and Sue Ellison are doing the same, spending a lot of the time staring at Bob and Jo as well. They’re not making it obvious, of course, but they can see them reflected in the carriage windows. There’s a strange hunger to their gaze; but Harry is wearing a dog collar and Sue has that hypocritical piety that only comes from being the Vicar’s wife. I tell myself that I’m being overly cynical, that they’re only looking at the old couple in prayer and not as prey….I just don’t trust Christians. The fact that I get very little from them adds to my cynicism. Bob and Jo are very warm, obviously compatible, but Harry and Sue just aren’t; they seem so uncomfortable as if even their skin is ill-fitting. In fact, all I can gleam from them is their names; this level of mental shielding is unparalleled but I move on before I get a headache.

Robert and Barbara Deighton match me for my cynicism though; they have every reason to hate the clergy that makes my subtle distrust seem healthy. Their son had been ritually abused for many years by their local Priest and I could see that Robert was using all his restraint. I could see that all he wanted to do was strangle them with their own dog collars. Barbara is shifting between wanting to stop him and doing the same thing herself. The hate is infectious so I move on again to Jim and Edith Maclean.

Both seem wholesome and… knowing. I sense a kindred spirit and when Jim turns to wink at me I know I’m right. I get a glimpse of a smiling sun from Edith and then I’m blocked out. I make a mock bow to both and move on again.

Alistair Fowles is seething; he really did have an important place to go and I can see his mood just getting worse as the time progresses.

The sky is getting blacker, even for Winter this is unheard of; I’ve never seen storm clouds this severe before; the wind is buffeting the train, making it shake. There’s no way we’ll be leaving for a while yet so I go to sit back down in my own spot but Jim and Edith beckon me to sit next to them, which I do gratefully.

“What are you thinking?” Edith asks.

“Probably the same as you, something rotten is happening and it’s not the lack of customer service.”

“I haven’t seen weather like this since ’86.” Jim concurred and I knew exactly what he meant.

“You were out in that too, eh?”

“We needed to hold the fort somehow.”

“You got the dreams as well, then?” I asked. They nodded gravely. “I never want to meet that eight armed bitch again…She was one of the scariest apparitions I’ve ever faced.”

“We saw Fenris.” Edith replied. “A group of us ended up protecting Cissbury Ring; sitting at its base in a circle.”

“That must have been dicey.” I replied. “Chanctonbury was in negative that night.. it must have been terrible!”

“You don’t know the half of it… I was a redhead!” Edith smiled, she was now a very dignified silver-grey.

“I was given the Yew tree at Slaugham to guard; we’ve looked out for each other over the years so it was the least I could do… So what are you feeling now?” Both looked at each other.

“If it gets any worse then we’ll have to pull together; strength in numbers and all that. Will you be able to do that?”

“I’ll find a way.. I can be dead persuasive when I puts me mind to it.” Just then the lights go out and despite it being nearly mid-day you’d think we’d been plunged into darkness. There was the inevitable scream but for once I could understand it. There was something unnatural about the darkness. Jim and Edith’s hands found mine and, for once, I felt pleased for the sentiment. They were completely right as well, it was far safer this way. We could feel our energies radiate out and then suddenly the lights flicked back on.

“Right… that’s enough! I’ll bring us together.” I told them both and stood up.

“Look guys!” I shouted to the rest of them. “We’re going to be here for some time; it’s going to get a darn sight colder before too long and I can’t imagine that we’re going to get rescued for a bit so I reckon we should all get a lot closer together and keep each other company, like.”

“Who died and put you in charge?” Alistair said. I knew he’d be the one to cause trouble.

“Don’t be so foul, mate. You want to end up like Jack Nicholson at the end of The Shining, that’s fine by me. The rest of you scoot up here with us three.” Being a frozen arse-icle didn’t appeal to Alistair so he joined us and pretty soon we were all huddled together with Jim and Edith providing the tea and sympathy to my rugged practicality.

Maths was never my strong point but even I could tell that there weren’t enough of us and it wasn’t difficult to realise that we were missing the puritanical Ellisons. I looked around the carriage but they were nowhere to be seen. Strange. There was nowhere for them to go, the doors to the other compartments had stayed shut and it was impossible for anyone to operate the doors to the outside.

I urged the others to look for them but Robert and Barbara, unsurprisingly, refused  to join in the search. I noted it down for future reference but knew that now wasn’t the time to push them on it. In any normal circumstances they would have been my first suspicion regarding foul play. To them it might have been justified, I’m sure, but we hadn’t even found a body yet.

Bob and Jo, the ever loving couple, were almost giggling like a couple of nasty schoolchildren when we all gathered together again; no one had found anything. Somehow the Ellison’s had completely disappeared, which didn’t make any sense at all.

“It must have happened during the blackout.” Alistair remarked, although no one actually asked him.

“Ok, wise guy; what happened?” I asked. I mean, he wasn’t wrong as it was the only time such a thing could have happened, but how? “Go on… venture a theory.” I needled.

“It’s not my area of expertise, mate. More on your line, isn’t it?”

“We met before?” I asked.

“Let’s just say we have mutual friends. Remember the McKlusky’s?” Great. Just what I needed; the power of schadenfreude slaps me round the face again. “Brilliant… look, we don’t have time for this.” I looked at him, sizing him up in case things got out of hand. I really hoped that they wouldn’t, but like with the McKlusky’s, things have a habit of going very wrong, very quickly.  “Are we going to have a problem?” I asked again.

“What happened to the McKlusky’s?” Barbara asked.

“Their daughter had a mysterious illness that no one could figure out. He got involved and then…”

“I asked if we were going to have a problem..” I interrupted. “Look; I don’t have to get involved, believe me. I really don’t want to and never have done. They came to me; perhaps you didn’t know that…”

Edith put her hand on my arm and I felt her energy calm me. Alistair looked at her and back at me.

“No, we got no problem.. this time.” He replied.

“I can live with that…” I looked around me and saw that it was getting dark again. The air around us felt dank and claustrophobic somehow. Something was circling us, I could tell.

“We need to hold hands, in a kind of makeshift circle, the best we can.” I said as calmly as I could. “I know how this sounds but it’s something that we have to do.” I held hands with Edith one side and James the other; Barbara held Jo’s hand with Robert then Bob and then Alistair. I could see all of them, but either it was a trick of the light or both Bob and Jo had a vicious glint in their eyes that was as sinister as it was incongruous. There was something malevolent happening and they should have been at least scared or upset even. However, I didn’t have time for that, it was getting dark again. Everyone looked at me for succour and I almost shrugged my shoulders as if to say “what do you want me to do about it?” but I had just set myself up as the leader of this band of misfits. To break faith now could be disastrous.

“Whatever you do, don’t break the circle; things are likely to get a lot weirder. Keep looking at me. I know I ain’t pretty but keep looking into my eyes.”

I could feel their gaze on me; they drew strength from someone being in control and I drew strength from James and Edith; we were now one and I could see through their eyes as well. I knew what was happening now and what had befell Harry and Sue.

I looked at what remained of the love birds Bob and Jo and spoke so only they could hear me.

“I know what you are and what you’ve done.” Outwith I saw their demon wings unfold as they stripped themselves of their human vestments that had been the Flemmings.

“Smart..” I said with more gusto than I actually felt. “Or should I say devious? Hide yourselves in the last bodies you devoured…” The Ellisons, if they had ever been in the first place, smiled in unison and then spoke as one.

“Clever mortal. We like intelligence, so much more filling. The old couple’s souls were stringy, gristle in our teeth.”

“Ah… one entity…I see, ingenious!  So, why now? Why this train? And why them?”

“Why not? Time is slowly becoming ours, soon there will be no more places for you to hide.”

“Who’s hiding? I came on this journey to find you.” I bluffed. “I’d like to say that I wasn’t disappointed.. but…”

“Silence… you have done a very foolish thing, mortal, meeting with us outwith your plane.” Psychic claws raked at me and I winced in pain.

“Who says I’m alone? There’s perhaps two of you here but there’s at least five others with me!” I drew on the strength of those I’d left behind on the train.
“More for us to feed on then.” The Demon boasted and I felt pain deeper within. Now was the time to play my final hand.

“Don’t… don’t take them. It’s me you want.” This was music to their ears, I could feel their cancerous souls seethe over mine, blocking out the light, leeching through my mind with acid eating away at my core. I allowed them deeper until they got exactly where I wanted them. Whatever had enlisted them obviously hadn’t told them much about me, or they were complete amateurs. This wasn’t much of a psychic trap but it worked perfectly on them.

If you’re going to ‘invite’ demons to claim your soul then make sure you have a more powerful sonnovabitch lay claim beforehand. By the time they realised what was happening they couldn’t turn back; rather than try to consume me it was them who were eaten up, drained of their very life essences. They didn’t even get a chance to scream….

…and suddenly I was back on the Earth plain again, holding hands and watching as the bodies that had been Bob and Jo disintegrated in front of us. Robert, Barbara and Alistair were gobsmacked by what had just happened and even James and Edith were speechless. I don’t think they’d ever had the misfortune to encounter anything this evil before. But the carriage was now lighter and even the snow had stopped. There were still a couple of hours before we were to be rescued, I guessed, but that hopefully gave me enough time to explain to them all had just happened.