Fragmented Evil Page 5

  As a teacher, his natural curiosity pricked and he unslung his camera bag from his shoulder. A few photos for his class might show his pupils that maybe they didn’t have it so bad after all. He pulled out his SLR camera and took a few quick pics; nothing fancy with filters or lenses, just simple snaps to capture the emptiness of the classroom.

  Satisfied with his snaps and satisfied that he had not wasted too much precious time, Hawk was just about to leave the classroom when he heard a low voice calling out.

  ‘Help me.’

  Hawk stopped and strained his ears. Sure enough, the call came again, slightly louder. The voice sounded like a young boy.

  ‘Help me. Please.’

  Hawk softly paced around the room, trying to detect the location of the plea. Shining the torch around revealed he was definitely alone.

  “Help me. Please. I’m scared.’

  At the back of the room, opposite the blackboard, the wall was dappled with holes of different sizes, that looked as if they had been punched or hammered through at various times.

  As Hawk neared the holes, the calling intensified.

  ‘PPlleeeaassssee, I’m scared.’

  Hawk pressed his head against a hole located at shoulder height and peered inside. In the shadows, he detected something small, crouched in the corner. Shining his torch deeper into the abyss, the beam picked up the shape of a young boy, no more than twelve years old, sat on the floor with his knees raised to his chest. His ragged pyjamas were heavily soiled and his face was streaked with dirt. Tears ran down his face as he innocently stared back at Hawk.

  Hawk’s mind raced. What had he stumbled upon? A kidnapped child or something far worse? Had he exposed a paedophile ring? Part of his brain was screaming at him to turn around, leave and call the authorities, but as a carer of young children himself, Hawk knew he was incapable of abandoning the terrified boy. He gently called through the hole.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get you out,’

  The boy buried his face into his hands, and from out of nowhere, he started laughing. A giggle at first, progressing into a full-blown laugh that shook his small frame. Lifting his head, his face revealed that of a completely bald older man; his haggard face was aged with wrinkles, scars and festering blisters. The man smiled, revealing missing and jagged black teeth.

  Hawk pulled back from the hole in fright and made to swiftly exit the room. The man stepped forwards, holding a sharpened pole, and plunged it through a hole below. Having turned, the pole penetrated through Hawk’s back. The pain was immense and as he looked down. The end of the pole appeared, protruding through his stomach, trailing tendrils of his small intestine thorough the wound. Impaled, he was unable to move. He wanted to cry out but the words failed to materialise. As the blood seeped out from his ruptured organs, he stared vacantly at the blackboard.

  He felt darkness calling and as he slipped away, the faint scribblings on the blackboard intensified, vividly revealing its original message.

  ‘There is no escape from insanity.’

  Chapter 5

  On the West Wing, Titch slowly walked along the corridor. The trek to St Mary’s had left him exhausted. He was happy walking around absorbing the atmosphere. He was just going to use his digital camera. He wasn’t into the arty-farty type of photography. He liked his photographs to be taken instantly, on the spur of the moment, not like some of the others who could take an age setting everything up just for that one perfect shot. No, he would take photos only if he really wanted to and they would be purely for his enjoyment, not for the rest of the 28 Days Later group. Sometimes they didn’t understand him but he didn’t care in the slightest. He just loved to be alone in the dark, out of sight and out of mind.

  He came to a set of double doors. Remarkably, the glass had not been broken and was covered in a light sheen of dust and grime. With his stubby fingers, Titch wrote out the words of the 28 Days Later group motto.

  ‘Take only pictures. Leave only footprints.’

  Happy with his contribution, Titch took out his digital camera and fired off a few shots before checking out the results through the viewfinder. A shiver passed over him as he looked at the screen. His writing had been obligated and instead, hastily scrawled through the dust, were the words.

  ‘You will all die.’

  The camera fell from his grasp and dropped to the floor. The flimsy plastic housing absorbed the impact and disintegrated into tiny pieces. Blinking madly, Titch looked up to the glass pain and shook his head. His original daubings were still intact and clearly visible. What the hell was going on? he thought. Annoyed with himself, he picked up his camera, relieved that the main body was undamaged and that the camera was still working. He carried on walking away but turned after a few metres to check if his words were still there. They were.

  The classrooms phased out, leaving a long run of empty corridor. Titch quickly walked through this, confident nothing further would grab his attention. Pushing through a set of double doors, he was faced with a decaying blue plastic information poster. He had the option of turning right and checking out the reception and administration offices or turning left to the grand hall. Decision made, he turned left; photos of papers and old records did not interest him in the slightest but maybe there was something different and appealing to be found inside the grand hall.

  Titch found the grand hall in minutes. The door was wide open. Moonlight shone into the room via large windows which ran close to the ceiling. Standing in the semi-lit grand hall, Titch let out a whistle as he praised the grandeur of the interior. The hall consisted of three stone-arched ceilings where rusted lights hung, the shades, rotted and damp were cocooned in cobwebs and spider’s webs. The moonlight danced through their silkiness.

  At the front of the grand hall was a stage. Mouse droppings were everywhere; their smell hung strongly in the air. A piano took centre stage; its stool and cover had been ripped free by vandals and flung to the hall floor below. Theatre curtains that looked like they were once maroon hung loosely at the side of the stage with holes visible in the fabric from feasting moths and bugs.

  Titch congratulated himself for his choice of location and got out his digital camera. He took a few test shots just to check it was working after its fall then took a few snaps of the moonlight dancing in the cobwebs. Not satisfied with the quality of the photographs he moved further back into the grand hall, hoping a different position or angle would get him the shot he sought.

  As Titch chose a new spot, taking note of the holes in the floor he stepped forwards carefully. His journey was made difficult by the multitude of clumpy grass, moss, roots, shoots, thorn bushes and weeds that over the years had grown wildly from the ground, sprouting through the rotting boards, carpeting the floor in a lush green. The foliage, slippery underfoot, clung to his feet and snagged at his ankles.

  Two green shoots fluttered softly, darker in colour than the others. In the blink of an eye they grew a further twelve inches and twitched in the air like a rabbit exiting its burrow at dawn. The front shoot rotated till it was facing the direction of Titch. Silently and without warning, they jumped forwards and wrapped themselves tightly around his ankles. Titch felt the roots bind tightly and looked down in shock. Before he could comprehend what was happening, the shoot shot forwards pulling him heavily to the floor. As he lay winded, two other shoots pierced through the floorboards and wrapped themselves around his shoulders. They tightened. Titch felt as if they were going to cut into his skin, severing his arms from his torso. He cried out in anguish as the pain intensified then suddenly everything stopped and the pain instantly disappeared.

  Titch’s mind was in a whirlwind, he had no idea what was happening. Relief swept over him as he lay in silence and he flexed his legs, hoping to break the entwined shoots around his ankles.

  Without warning, the roots around his shoulders started moving, dragging him backwards towards the nearest wall, splitting the floorboards apart with ease as the
y went, dragging the body of Titch behind. Crashing into the wall with his back, Titch felt all of the air expel from his lungs and he cried out in pain. Unable to see behind him, Titch started crying as he heard the sound of the wall splitting and felt heavy tugs from the roots as they battled to change direction. He had never felt so scared in all his life and the colour drained from his skin.

  A huge tug nearly tore his shoulder free from its socket and Titch found himself being pulled up the wall. He screamed for help, the panic in his voice echoing in the empty hall. From a distance he heard giggling, childlike, which grew louder and louder until it seemed to be on top of him, bellowing in his eardrums. He shook his head and begged for forgiveness. The sound slowly reduced to a whisper and retreated back into the darkened recesses of the hall. Titch feared his heart was going to give up at any minute as it pounded solidly in his chest.

  Everything stopped. Titch found himself elevated six feet up the wall. He tore madly at the entwined roots but there was no give in them at all. With each attempt the roots became tighter and within a matter of seconds blood trickled down his wrists and ankles. He was forced to give up, exhausted and beaten.

  Titch closed his eyes, panting heavily in the stillness of the hall. He heard further shoots attempt to break through the wall either side of his head. Not wishing to see the new horror, he kept his eyes firmly shut. Slowly, the concrete cracked, dust fell to the floor, and new roots appeared, edging further out, growing with confidence, free at last. The new roots were dark brown with sharp, deadly looking thorns protruding from their bodies.

  In unison, his neck was festooned by the two roots. They became tighter and tighter with each rotation, punching into the wall and wrapping themselves around his exposed neck. Titch’s face reddened and started to balloon. Unable to move an inch, he could only let out a pathetic, muffled sob. Lights danced before his eyes and he felt his strength desert him.

  With a swollen face ready to burst, crisscrossed like a map, with burst blood vessels visible just under the skin, the life eventually left his body. He became still, grotesque. His tongue hung lopsidedly from his open mouth. Titch’s final act was to evacuate his bowels. The fetid waste slid slowly down his trouser legs and dripped into a gloopy mess below.

  Chapter 6

  Dan had only been a member of 28 Days Later for the past six months. He was a bored twenty-year-old with a passion for photography and had travelled up to St Mary's from Doncaster in Yorkshire. He had been a bit daunted when he first joined the group, having originally been impressed with the quality of the photographs posted online.

  Being young and new to the group had meant he had struggled to make real connections with fellow members as of yet. Like any club, the older members could be quite reserved and cliquey. He had hoped that his posts taken from the top of the huge two hundred and fifty-ton crane on the Shepherd Offshore site on the River Tyne would gain him some praise, especially considering it was a guarded site and that the climb had been conducted in the middle of a dark winter night. Sadly, this had not been the case, and he had been disappointed to find himself firmly rebuked by the site administrators and senior members, all quick off the mark to berate him relentlessly about private property laws and the importance of observing health and safety guidelines.

  Dan withdrew into the background for a few weeks to allow the dust to settle. He was not such a lover of asylums. In truth, they put the fear of God into him. But when the chance of a lifetime opportunity presented itself, to bid for a place on the visit, he saw it as an ideal opportunity to redeem himself with his peers. He had bid the highest amount to attend. Fingers crossed that after tonight, he would become a respected member once and for all.

  He had tried to make small talk with Top Dollar, but he had appeared distant, answering his questions with one-word replies. The others had only nodded or grunted in his direction. He knew it was a major trip, but why did everyone have to be so standoffish with him.

  With the sole motive of establishing himself within the group, Dan had arrived at St Mary’s with no real plan in mind. He had brought along some fancy new filters that he hoped to try out. The likelihood of any of the others having the newest technology was slim as his new filters had just arrived from America last week, having only been available for sale for a month. He hoped his photographs would put the others to shame and that his talent would shine through, but right now, walking alone through the deserted corridors, nothing inspired him.

  The fear had started to kick in within minutes of him leaving the group. Dan felt as if the walls were closing in on him. He struggled to catch his breath in the musky air. Everywhere he glanced, he found himself imagining all sorts of evil hiding away in the shadows. He hoped to find something to photograph soon to occupy his mind, worried that his resolve would desert him otherwise. If he panicked and ran free from the spooky building, he would have zero to show for tonight’s escapade.

  He stopped and found himself at the end of the ground-floor corridor. Two big heavy doors in front of him were firmly locked. He kicked himself for not performing any research into the old building, wasting precious time ambling around when he should have been in pole position, taking the best shots of the night. He was just about to retrace his steps when he saw a door to his left, partly jammed open with a sign hanging rotting from above, which read “Shower Room”. With the clock ticking, Dan eased through the small gap and stepped inside.

  The air was stagnant and warm. He felt himself start to perspire. He rubbed his brow with his sleeve and set about locating his flashlight, afraid to step forwards until he could break through the solid darkness that had engulfed him.

  Switching on his powerful flashlight, Dan blinked, blinded from the resulting glare. A full-length mirror ran the length of the wall. Over the years it had been slowly destroyed by both Mother Nature and vandals. Large sections of glass were missing, smashed by hand and stone, lying broken in vicious shards on the floor below. The shattered mirror cast a thousand reflections and Dan found himself looking at fragmented images of himself.

  ‘Now this is cool,’ he thought to himself.

  Swivelling his hips, he shone the torch around the room, the penetrating light highlighting the neglect of the room. Tiles had been destroyed, simply because they could, and all the washing and shower fittings had been stripped bare leaving gaping holes in the walls.

  Dan was just about to concentrate on simply photographing the broken mirror when something caught his eye in the corner of the shower room. He walked forwards and stopped, amazed. Ignored by vandals and in perfect condition, left untouched for some unknown reason, stood an old ceramic bathtub complete with steel taps. Looking closer, the taps looked to have been recently polished, and bending down Dan could see his face staring back at him in full clarity. He knew it was strange, almost spooky. He chose not to think about it, the whole place was weird after all. Instead, he was thankful for the golden opportunity that had presented himself. Tonight, he would show his fellow members of 28 Days Later his true worth.

  In the desolated shower room, Dan could detect a chill coming from the old bathtub. Drawn to its beauty, he gathered his camera and selected a lens perfect for close-range snaps. He took a few of the bath and taps from his standing position then climbed into the bath to take photos from a lower level. He jumped slightly as the chill from the ceramic bath contacted with his sweaty body and he leant back to capture the full length of the tub from his sunken position. The chill began to penetrate his body, slowly numbing his senses. He felt his body relax further as he slipped fully onto his back, wanting to take photos of the ceiling above.

  With the camera held aloft, the chill took hold and his teeth started to chatter. He suddenly felt exhausted as if he had just run a marathon and his eyes became heavy. He gave himself a shake and made to rise from his lying position. From nowhere, an invisible force appeared from above, pressing down with all its weight, preventing Dan from moving. Dan fought back in panic, h
is chest becoming painful from the mass. The weight was solid and gradually began to push down more, expelling all the air from Dan’s lungs and immobilising him in his lying position. Just as he thought his chest would crack, the pressure stopped and he found himself immobile as the resistance remained in place. Shallow breaths escaped from his thin lips, clouding in the air that had now become frozen.

  Dan looked on in terror as the taps slowly turned on their own accord. First, the left tap and then the right one, fully rotating to the open position. He snapped his eyes shut as thick heavy blood spilled freely from the taps, filling the air with a coppery tang.

  Dan felt the warm blood splash against his legs and tried frantically to force his body into action, but the ever-present dead weight remained. He snatched a quick glimpse and immediately regretted his decision as he saw that the flow of blood was climbing steadily up the bathtub and was already covering his legs.

  Dan had never prayed in his entire life but now seemed as good a time as any to start. With his eyes fixed shut, he prayed out loud to any god that would listen, repeating his plea for divine help like a mantra. If he had known his calls for help would go unanswered, he would have been better off spending his last few moments alive thinking of loved ones, recalling happy and joyful times. Anything to block out the current madness.

  The thick gloopy blood reached his chest, and he felt his core temperature drop. The chattering of his teeth intensified. Somehow calming himself, he opened his eyes, eyes that sat heavy in their sockets and waited for the inevitable.

  As the blood rose to his chin, lapping against his soft skin, he stared at the taps, willing them to close. They did not and nor did the nightmare end.

  He took a final deep breath and clamped his mouth shut as the blood rose further, feeling the force reverberate through into his gums.