Despite the fire torches burning at strategic positions down the spiral staircase, Michael could
not help but feel a chill shoot down his spine. He shivered and his mother"s voice flashed in his
mind, someone walked over your grave, Son, only to brush the thought aside as nonsense. As
he approached the bottom of the staircase, Michael felt his heart begin to beat faster and
harder, so much so he could feel the pump in his wrists and hear the pounding noise in his ears.
Sweat was forming little beads on his forehead and growing to form larger droplets that
subsequently slid down his nose and dropped off the tip.
He could hear faints voices down one of the corridors as he peered round the corner at the
bottom of the steps. He was glad the corridor was similarly illuminated; he had lost his torch on
the stairs. He gingerly walked down the passage way, ensuring he made as little sound as
possible. A million thoughts rushed through his mind including old action movies he had
watched, if only Stallone or Schwarzenegger were here now. He stopped just shy of the
wooden door leading to the room at the end of the corridor. The air was musty and a familiar
sweet flowery smell filled his nostrils, but despite wracking his mind to figure out what it was, he
could not identify it. Instead, he moved his head closer to the gap in the door.
He could just make out a chamber. It was the one he had been in before, when he had his
little „accident" that had put him in hospital. Robed figures stood around a stone altar with their
hands clasped in front of them and one stood before them on a platform addressing the others.
He moved his ear to the door to listen, “The time is almost upon us. We must ready ourselves
for the transfer. Ye must clear yer minds of all that will tarnish this ritual.” The voice was low,
like a growl and seemingly echoed throughout the chamber. There was an element of
familiarity in the voice but Michael could not quite place it. For a moment, however, he felt it
came from behind him, though a quick check confirmed that not to be the case. “What is this? I
can sense weakness among ye.” Michael could hear the elevated temper in his words, “I have
waited one hundred years for this and will not let it slip through my fingers again. I will be set
free!” Michael heard the almost animalistic fury in the last sentence, and, despite the
aggression, he noticed the accent had lost its Scottish tones, maybe I’m just imagining it.
A figure eventually moved and looked up at the individual standing next to the stone altar,
“My Lord,” her voice sounded old, “I fear that my age is against me, I canna control my mind as I
once could, please forgive me, my Lord.”
The central figure nodded, “then you should leave, your mind is weak and frankly insulting
me.” Michael watched as the female nervously bowed and turned to walk off, however, she did
not get far before she fell to the stone floor in a crumpled heap. A shiver went down Michael"s
back. The one called „Lord" addressed the others, “are there any others who wish to join your
cowardice sister on her journey to oblivion?” His voice stabbed through Michael like a sharp
sword almost as if he were talking directly at him. He shook it off with another shiver that
rippled across his shoulders and down his spine.
Then Michael"s attention was drawn to the far side of the chamber, as another robed and
hooded figure entered and nodded to the „Lord". “My Lord, I bring news of an intruder.” His
voice was younger and at a guess, Michael would suggest a late teen, perhaps a prefect from
the school. The others turned their faces towards the new arrival. Michael scanned the faces
he saw, but the headmaster was not amongst them, though some of the faces resembled
villagers he met some time ago or so he thought.
“Have ye contained him?” Him? How does he know? Does he know? Michael stiffened,
had he been discovered? How is it though, he can change his accent and the others don’t
notice? Things were becoming more and more bizarre.
The new arrival bowed his head, out of fear or reverence, Michael could not be sure. “I fear,
my Lord, we have failed. The intruder is formidable, my Lord, he knocked The Five clean oot.”
They think I did it? The image of the five figures lying on the floor before him flashed in his
mind.
There was a short silence before the lord spoke again, perhaps he was choosing his words
carefully, or perhaps he was allowing his anger to rise up sufficiently, “FOOL!” Michael watched
as his gloved hand thrust forward toward the messenger. Immediately, he was lifted clean off
the floor, his legs dangling like a rag doll. His arms clawed at his throat as if to pull a hidden
cord from around his neck. The others did not move, though Michael thought he could see one
or two taking small steps closer to the boy, to save him. As the boy dangled in mid-air, his hood
slid clear of his head and Michael gasped slightly when he recognised the youth with blood
streaming from his nostrils and mouth. Michael covered his mouth hoping no one had heard
him and was about to dodge back behind the door when he saw Jack Robert"s body fall limp.
He saw his arms fall like bricks to his sides followed shortly by his body crashing to the floor
motionless. “See what befalls anyone who fails me? Let this be a lesson to ye all, I do not
tolerate incompetence.” His voice boomed throughout the entire chamber and beyond. “I am
surrounded by weak-minded imbeciles!” He threw his hands up into the air, a gesture Michael
knew all too well as having done it many times himself when he was frustrated with pupils.
“My Lord, I shall go and find the intruder,” said another male with an older voice as he
stepped forward, but his voice was unfamiliar to Michael.
He knew, however, they were talking about him, but could not take his eyes away. Michael
spotted the Lord"s black robe slowly ripple and twist as he turned his body towards the door
Michael was crouched behind. He ducked back behind the door as quickly as humanly
possible, but he could still hear, “that will not be necessary; it would seem our intruder has
already found his way here.” The words sounded lower and sharper than before. Another
shiver shot down Michael"s back as he put his head against a stone pillar. He couldn’t have
meant me, could he?
“What the hell have you got yourself into now, Michael?” he muttered under his breath.
Almost immediately, Michael felt a jab in his head urging him to raise his hands, “My Lord, I
have found him,” a young voice called from behind him. To Michael, “this"ll teach ye to snoop
where yer no" business o" doin", ye bastard, and, fer killin" my father.” This was followed by a
heavy blow to the side of Michael"s head.
