PREVIEW TO PART TWO: The Shadow Of ...

                                              

                       FROM CHAPTER SIXTEEN

                                     

                                The Shadow OF …

         




She got up and fumbled in the dark to get her dressing-gown out of her wardrobe and wrapped it over her nightdress. In some ways, it was a good thing this was a small room because it made finding things in the dark very easy, but it wasn’t great if you wanted to avoid getting your toe stubbed, your head hit, or your knee knocked.

   She was careful to be quiet. Barefoot and silent, she made her way to the door and cracked it open just enough to slip through so the lights of the hall wouldn’t wake up Jessica. The door creaked, and Jessica rolled over. Carefully, Crescent closed the door behind her.

   She slowly walked down the long narrow corridor of the dormitory with its many evenly spaced doors and flickering fluorescent lights while all the other students and teachers were fast asleep in their beds.

   She had made the sojourn from her room to the hidden passageway and down to either the library or the kitchens many times before, so she was used to prowling around late at night; but somehow it had always seemed a bit unreal. 

   Crescent let her imagination go wild. To her it was like some strange setting from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, or a scene from some avant-garde film where every door led to a different danger or a wonderful adventure.

   As she made her way down the corridor, past all the thick brown doors late at night like this, it always reminded her of a weird painting she had once seen but could never remember the title of … It also reminded her of something else — something creepy, something that tugged at the edge of her memory that she could never quite bring to the surface. This late at night, it also reminded her of one of those old abandoned ghost towns you see in the Westerns, where there are plenty of houses and buildings but no people around, just the wind, cacti, and tumbleweeds — where at any moment, a showdown could erupt between two gunfighters.

  At the end of the hall, she reached the girls’ bathroom and went to one of the sinks. She looked at herself in the mirror and thought she appeared a bit frazzled. Her features looked tired, and her hair was sticking out at odd places.

  Crescent stuck her tongue out at herself, and her reflection obliged.

   Looking back at herself, she peered into her own eyes for a long while, but nothing happened.

   She shrugged, then shook her head violently, causing her hair to tangle up and stick out even more. Some strands flopped down in front of her face and she blew a rather thick one out of the way.

  Crescent went into the middle stall, placed her dressing-gown on a hook, closed the door, and sat down; she thought maybe tomorrow would be better. Still thinking of that Howl boy, she thought the worst part was that she still had to see him in class tomorrow along with the rest of Ferris’s gang.

  What would tomorrow bring? What new sufferings? Crescent didn’t think whatever it was that was between Jess and the Howl boy would last very long. Under Ferris’s tutelage, Thomas would turn quickly, get over his cowardice, and then they would all be lambs to the slaughter.

  What would she or Jessica, Elliott, Cam and Terrin have to endure then? Some other embarrassment, she supposed — whatever fresh hell Ferris could dream up.

  Crescent shivered at the thought and ran her fingers through her hair and down her face.

  She really needed to get some sleep, or she’d be no use to anyone tomorrow, least of all herself.

   A deep irritation at her predicament rose up inside; her temper flared about that Howl boy, but just as Crescent was getting her ire up again about Thomas Howl, the fluorescents suddenly stopped flickering and went out completely.

   The bathroom was pitch dark — she could tell the lights in the hall were out too because there was no light that could be seen from the slit under the door.

   “Great,” she said in an exasperated tone. Well, this was awkward; she had to make it out of the loo then down the hall, find the door that led into her room, and back to bed, all in pitch blackness. Then just as Crescent was figuring out her predicament, she heard a creaking — someone was walking down the corridor; someone else was up and out of bed, and it sounded as though they were coming her way. Only, it didn’t sound like a student. The footfalls sounded way too heavy; it was an adult, but other than the creaking, they weren’t making any sound at all.

   Crescent became worried, wondering who it could be. If it was Mrs. Wimple, surely she would have roused the whole dorm with her meanderings, Crescent knew she was much too talkative and noisy a person to be creeping around. And anyway, she was in charge.

    Then again, maybe it was Mrs. Wimple, trying not to wake anyone. If it was, it was very uncharacteristic of her, but who else could it be? 

     She sighed; she didn’t want to be caught with her pants down, literally. She hitched up her knickers and bit her lip, flushed the toilet, felt around for the latch, and slowly, carefully, made her way out of the cubicle.

     Peering out but not seeing anything, Crescent groped her way in the dark, went over to the lavatory entrance, looked out into the dormitory, which was completely black except for a thin, sharp sliver of moonlight that stretched down the length of the corridor floor.

   Crescent stopped. She heard something that sounded like raspy breathing, but she was so aware of her own breathing that at first she wasn’t sure if it was coming from her own chest or not.

   She held her breath.

   There it was again. Someone was definitely out there in the hall. She couldn’t see who it was, but she could hear them. Whoever it was was breathing strangely too; she’d never heard anyone wheezing so heavily but trying to hide it.

   Quite suddenly she sensed movement and saw a huge figure move from one side of the hall to the other.

   It moved so quickly that she couldn’t see much; it just looked like a large blob, whoever it was. She stared out into the blackness but she could only now see part of it silhouetted against the narrow strip of light. The rest seemed to meld into the complete darkness of the corridor.

   Then it moved again, edging closer and she saw a tiny glint of gold and saw that the figure was hooded and cloaked.

   As she watched it, it swayed back and forth, as if in a state of nervous anticipation, trying to decide what to do. The floorboards made a slight creaking sound as the shadow rocked, but whoever — whatever — it was that was out there though, hunched over. Crescent could tell it was very large and imposing.

   She could still hear the breathing, heavy and rasping, and her thoughts went to Sir William and what he had said.

   According to him, ghosts didn’t breathe and, in fact, were actually annoyed by the sounds of the living. And hadn’t William also said that the ghosts in the graveyard never entered the orphanage? She was sure he had said so. So whatever it was, it was alive and could not be one of the other ghosts that he had talked about.

   So then who was this; was it one of the boys playing a joke?

  Whoever it was, it must know she was there and, for whatever reason, was reluctant to present itself. Then just as she was considering calling out, it must have realized they were being watched, because just as suddenly, it moved out of the light completely and disappeared. But she knew that it was still there, somewhere on the dormitory floor, because she could still hear the breathing.

  What was it doing in the girls’ dormitory? Was it one of the boys? Could it be a burglar? she thought. Or worse? But how would a burglar have gotten past Mrs. Wimple, or even into the dorm? It was always locked solid, and the R.A. guarded the second floor entrance like a bull elephant protecting its young.

   She clasped her hands to her mouth, realizing who it must be — it was the legendary Phantom! It had to be! Prowling around at night, hooded and cloaked. Who else could it be?

   Crescent stood there, fascinated, her fear forgotten because of her experience with Sir William. But she wondered why the Phantom would be up here at all, prowling around the girls’ dormitory.

   Then it occurred to her that everyone else was asleep, and here she was, all alone, and she had nothing for protection but a nightgown, which, indeed, was no protection at all.

   In the pitch of night, not really being able to see, only hearing it breathing, she stared out into the hall.

   Crescent didn’t know how or why, maybe by some primal instinct, but somehow she could sense it there; more than just seeing or hearing, she could feel it.

   It was a wild, impossible idea, but somehow, even in the darkness, she just knew that she was staring at it, that it was now staring right back at her, watching her, studying her … hunting her.

   Her heart was pumping, fear enveloped her again, and her mind started racing. There was no way she could cross the length of the hall and make it back to her room without it — him — catching her.

   She didn’t know how she knew, but she just suddenly realized that it was a him and maybe if she did run, she could scream and raise the alarm before he could carry her off. But what if he had a gun or knife or something, what then? Despite herself, she almost laughed. A scary, creepy phantom with a gun! Just the very idea of it was ridiculous.

   But just as she was starting to feel calm again, once more she heard his footsteps creaking down the hall. Phantom or not, he was getting closer, and she suddenly felt panic start to grip her. Slowly Crescent moved backward; she reached out for one of the stall doors behind her, but just as she did, she heard him rush forward, his heavy footsteps pounding on the hardwood floor.

  She gasped and turned to run. Her only thought was that maybe he wouldn’t be able to find her in the dark. She moved, and dropping all pretense, he went for her.

   Crescent didn’t know what to do; she had no clue, and was too frightened. Then, from the back of her mind, an image shot forth, and she remembered there was a lock on the entrance door. She turned in her tracks and flung herself at it.

  With all her strength, she pushed on it just as two enormous hands came lunging for her, but before they could reach her, Crescent slammed the door shut and bolted it.

   From the other side, she heard him howl in rage.

  WHAM! He must be throwing himself against it, she thought. The door rumbled and shook.

  WHAM! It came again, only harder this time, and Crescent backed away. She could hear him growling in frustration. Why wasn’t someone doing something? Surely by now, someone would have heard. He crossed the hallway in heavy strides, his feet thumping on the wood floor, but instead of running into the door, he suddenly stopped.

   For a moment, there was no sound at all. Then coming directly from the other side of the door, she heard what sounded like a slow-rising utterance. No. It was more like a chant. The voice was thick, waspish, and guttural. Crescent strained to listen, but whatever it was he was saying, it was in a language she did not understand. She could hear the words but did not know what they meant. 

   Then he said a phrase in that same strange, unfamiliar language, and just as she was listening, scared out of her wits, trying to decipher it, Crescent heard a sudden loud pop as if the air had just imploded. Then there was no sound whatsoever.

   He pounded on the door, and this time the walls shook, as well as the door, but she did not hear it. Instead she felt the vibrations.

   Then the pounding become heavier. Surely he would wake up the whole school, and someone would come, she thought. But no one did.

   The entire orphanage should be roused, she thought, should be running to her rescue. And even though she knew there was a whole building full of people, it was as though everyone had just abandoned the place while she was in the toilet. Where were they?

  “HELP! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME — THERE’S SOMEONE HERE!

  “THERE’S A MAN IN THE DORM! HELP!”

   She shrieked and hollered, but to no avail. The words formed, but no sound came out.

   Surprised, Crescent put her hand to her throat. She tried to talk, but nothing at all came out. She had been rendered speechless, and her eyes went wide with fear. She pounded on the door of the stall and felt the metal, but still there was no sound. It was as though she was in a bubble of complete and utter silence.

  What was happening? Why wasn’t anybody else getting up? Where was Mrs. Wimple? Hadn’t they at least felt everything shake? What the hell was going on?

   Why was — this was just like — Crescent clasped her hands over her mouth and realized that this was just like what had happened with Mrs. Prinkle. Only now, she was alone, and it was all happening for real! 

   Then she felt the vibrations stop; the pounding on the door had stopped — the Phantom was backing away from the door. She didn’t know what was going on, her terror was at its zenith, and her heart was pounding in her chest.

   Without warning, the door suddenly burst open and exploded in a hail of wood and steel. Red light flooded in, shafts slicing through the darkness and bathing the bathroom in an ominous otherworldly glow, and even though she already knew no one would hear her, Crescent screamed.

   She backed away, retreated into one of the stalls, and closed the door, but she could still see through the space between the door and the wall of the stall.

   Through the dust and smoke, she saw him standing on the other side of a very large gaping hole where the door to the bathroom used to be.

   Illuminated by that unnatural red light, it surrounded him, emanated from him, and cut through the smoke in dazzling streams.

   He was a very large man — rotund and dressed in what looked like a purplish robe. He looked exactly as he had in her nightmare, hooded and ragged. His face was hidden in shadow. The only thing visible was his jowls, which were quivering and shaking as his mouth curved into a menacing grin.

   Just as in her nightmare … her vision. Only now he was here, he was real, and he was after her. He looked like some kind of demon, diabolical and mean. He moved forward, stepping into the bathroom. He raised one hand, and she saw — something. A pipe? No. A cane!

  A black cane broken in the middle with gold at the head, and a crazy thought ran through her — that he must mean to blast her with it just as he did the door … but that was impossible, wasn’t it?

   But she felt as though she was in an impossible situation already, and her fear was intense. She put her arms up to guard her face, knowing what little good it would do. She shrank back in fear against the back wall and let herself fall to the floor until she was in a sitting position, with her knees up against her chest.

   She just wanted to fold herself over, as William had done, and disappear, but she couldn’t and her mind reeled, and thought gave way to instinct.

   Next to the commode, inside the metal stall, back against the wall, she clutched wildly to escape, to leave this horrific scene, but her efforts were futile for there was nowhere to go.

   As he moved forward, frantic, she continued to grope along the wall, straining her hand and fingers to their limit, feeling the brick and the peeling of age-old paint. Her brain receded into primal reaches, her body looking for anything … but somewhere on the surface, her mind knew that there was no way out, and no one would come. She reached out to the wall grasping, the tips of her fingers digging in, it was really now her sanity that she clung to so desperately, trying to hold on to it.

   “P-please,” she begged, knowing it would do no good. Somehow he must have sensed her despair because the man’s only response was to throw back his head and laugh, though no sound could be heard. In that moment, a spike of cold ran through her and chilled her very soul.

   She was going to die! He was going to kill her right now, and she would never even know why!

   He thrust the stall door aside, almost wrenching the metal off its hinges. He was very close now. Sweat dripped off his skin; she could smell him and was disgusted at how repugnant the odor was — like he hadn’t bathed in over a hundred years.… 

   He advanced on her, reaching out a thick, fleshy hand toward her throat. Now her terror was in the extreme.

   Already knowing it would not save her, and driven only by instinct, Crescent put her hands up to protect herself from her attacker, closed her eyes, and screamed.