The storm
continues throughout the next two weeks. We go back to school, all a little
disheartened at the thought of returning to lessons and exams. There’s a
constant, non-stop rain pattering on the window of the maths classroom as I
drift off into a daydream during a boring lecture about ‘why simultaneous
equations are so important to us.’ I’m almost at the point of closing my eyes
and falling asleep when suddenly I hear a screaming noise. I jerk upright, only
to see nothing at all, for the bulbs in the room have gone out and the grey sky
outside doesn’t do anything in the way of light.
“Oh dear,
class. It seems we have a power cut. Stay here whilst I go and check with the
headmaster. Anyone caught out of their seat will receive a detention, do you
understand?” The voice of Mr Parson, the maths teacher still sounds more like a
drone, even when something as drastic as a power cut has taken place. There’s
the slam of a door as he leaves and a swell of chatter resumes. I look around
in the darkness trying to make out shapes. As my eyes adjust, I can faintly see
the outlines of the rest of the students in my class and can just about make
out trees outside the window, but nothing more, as it seems that the street
lights have also perished. A sudden burst of lightning illuminates the window
frame making me jump half a foot off my chair. Seeing as I’m sitting next to
the window, I seem to be the only one that has actually noticed the large
hooded figure that’s standing underneath the tree nearest the school. I can’t
exactly make out any specific features, other than the wispy fluid black cloak
that obscures its features, giving no clue to the identity. If I was to liken
it to anything, I’d say that it looks like one of the dementors in Harry
Potter. Only this dementor is a lot darker and a lot more chilling than them,
and one of the first thoughts that flashes into my head at the sight of it is
admiration to the person wearing it for being able to produce a thoroughly
realistic costume. I see it right in the centre of my vision for a mere second,
but the very sight of it sends another chill up my spine, and that’s when it
crosses my mind that Halloween isn’t for another month and a half yet.
Suddenly, a wave washes over my eyes, followed by a flashback: a very vivid,
unrealistic vision, distorted in my memories. It is a memory, but then again it isn’t – because with memories I’m
pretty certain it isn’t possible to remember things in such clear multi-sensory
detail as I am with this one.
I’m
standing, once again, on the edge of the pit. The clearing is sharper, a more
focused and detailed scene, with colours more vivid than any I’ve ever seen
naturally. I see Sam, followed strangely enough by myself standing at the other
end. We, (as it seems to be) are standing at opposite ends, within shouting
distance, but only just. I watch as Sam picks up a pebble; see him throw it
into the mist that’s emanating from the pit. We laugh and I stay motionless,
acknowledging the fact that this must be merely a dream, knowing that whatever
is about to happen won’t affect me in any way other than severely freaking me
out. I know what’s coming and hope beyond anything that the chilling cold
tendrils that begin to emanate from the pit can’t affect me in this dream-like
state. Sam drops the rock in, the mist around it curling and creeping upwards
as it falls. I wait, anticipating the moment that the noise begins and sure
enough, the rocks begin to plummet underneath and I watch the two people on the
other side of the clearing begin to run. It all seems to be happening so
quickly now, I could have sworn that the actual event had dragged on, but
seeing it again makes me realise that in reality, the whole thing must have
taken place in barely seconds.
And so I’m
standing here, watching the figures of myself and my best friend dart off into
the distance. It seems weird, like I’m suspended in some weird sense of
anticipation. I look down properly at the pit, given that in this strange
delusion, I’m not affected in the same way by it as I was in reality. I’m just
staring down at the shapes the smoke makes as it begins to curl skywards, when
I’m caught off guard by something completely unexpected. What comes next both
shocks my senses and at the same time satisfies the suspicions of my memories.
I hear the laughter that I’ve been plagued by since the first moment I heard
it. At least I know now that it hasn’t been a complete figment of my
imagination... but what I see next
completely screws with each of my senses. There’s something rising out of the
smoke. I know deep inside that I should be scared and maybe I am, but the
memory seems to be playing with my emotions and right now I can’t feel anything
besides a complete feeling of numbness and detachment from the dream. The thing
rising continues, as does the ever-so-familiar laughter. I look towards it,
however the more and more I concentrate on its ascending form, the less focused
the thing becomes. Even with this unusual cloaking method, I can just about
make out that it’s a definite object. A hand.
It’s
almost definitely not a human hand either. The digits are hooked, with curling
claws at the end of every finger, and dry rotting flesh covering the withered
bones. Somehow, I’ve got no doubts that the owner of the hand and the laughter
are the same; human or otherwise. It seems so clear to me right now, so
defined. I’m even pretty certain that the thing under the tree is in some way
connected to this disembodied hand, if not the same being again. The hand
continues to rise and I watch the arm that’s attached to it, and see that this
too is cloaked in a black shroud-like garment. I stare, watching the arm slowly
ascend, but something that seems far far away interrupts the image. With a
sudden, unexpected, sharp prod in the arm, I return with a jolt to the present.
“Anna?”
The voice is distant, but there’s no mistaking the worried tone of Sam, along
with many others from my class at school.
“Oh God.
Did I faint?” It’s light again, wait… no, someone’s shining a torch in my face.
I squint a little and they take the torch away, so I can look around. I’m still
in the classroom and the lights are still off, however now I realise I’m no
longer sat in my chair and have somehow made it to the carpeted floor. Sam is
kneeling down beside me, his hand on my forehead and a concerned look on his
face.
“Yeah, you
fainted. Think it must have been the lightning. But you hit your head on the
way down and I was just… checking you’re all right.” He says this last part
slowly, as if he’s got some kind of a hidden motive. I sit up so that my head
is level with his and look around. Even Mr Parson, who’s now back in the room,
looks worried. As I take in the faces of my other friends I notice that they
too are wearing anxious and concerned expressions. Something about the way
they’re standing back from me makes me feel uneasy.
“Well
class, the headmaster has decided that considering it’s already the afternoon,
and it doesn’t look much like the power will be going on again anytime soon,
you may all leave lessons early today. Just please make use of this afternoon
off... I’m expecting this exercise and the next one finished by next lesson,
okay?” Mr Parson opens the door and I notice his eyes following me as I leave
with Sam and the rest of our friends.
“You wanna
come back to mine?” Sam asks me. “Get in a bit of extra band practice? Oh shit,
we’re going to need electric, aren’t we?”
“Acoustic
session?” I venture weakly. Sam nods eagerly, and pulls out his phone to
contact the others. The four of us: Me, Sam, Dylan and Felix, all belong in a
band based in Sam’s garage. We play gigs and enter competitions, but so far
‘The Limit’ have yet to win any award – or recording contract for that matter.
In the midst of a chaotic crowd of excitable year sevens fleeing their classrooms,
Sam suggests that we wait around outside the entrance of school for the other
two. When they finally emerge, everyone
looks thoroughly thrilled at the prospect of an afternoon off school. The boys
walk back to Sam’s and I trail along afterwards in silence, still mulling over
the hand in the mist.
We reach his
house and everyone else flits into the garage to set up and drag out the dusty
old piano from underneath several stacks of old Kerrang magazines. I stay in
the familiar kitchen and pour myself a drink, all the while feeling a little
disassociated from the rest of them. For the first time in years, I feel ever
so slightly alone in the midst of everything. But I’m not.
“Hey, you
alright?” It’s Sam and this question doesn’t half shock me. I thought the
kitchen was empty.
“I’m… I’m
fine thanks. How’s the piano? Can’t even remember the last time we had it
out...” My voice breaks on the last sentence and I collapse in a wave of tears
in Sam’s arms. The shock and fearful emotions of the last two weeks have just
come spilling out, after building up to bursting point. It was the sudden
black-out that did it and the vision that completely pushed my mind to the
limits. I cry into Sam’s neck and he strokes my hair, completely confused by my
sudden outburst. I don’t think he’s ever seen me cry properly before, other
than at stupid sad movies, but it’s a testament to our friendship that he
doesn’t seem too freaked out by it.
“Whoa Anna…
what’s wrong? Are you all right? Tell me.” He puts me down on the cold tiles
and sits opposite me, legs crossed. I lift up my head and see his worried
expression, a permanent feature these days. He pulls a wad of tissue from the
kitchen surface and hands it to me. I don’t even feel the usual electric tingle
of excitement as my hand strokes Sam’s.
“I saw…” I
sniff and hold back the tears that threaten to reappear and moment. “I saw
something really freaky, when the lightning flashed. There… there was a figure.
It was all black and sc… scary. Then I had a flashback to that day by the pit.”
I wipe my eyes, seeing Sam’s expression change again. He’s alert, as if my
words have sparked some kind of a reaction. I respond to this, feeling braver
about telling the true story. The tears have stopped, so I wipe my eyes again
with the sleeve of my school jumper and venture on.
“But it
was different. I saw us; saw everything like I was watching from the opposite
side to the one we were on. When you threw that last stone in, Sam, there was
something different. I saw… a hand. A hand came up out of the pit.” There’s a
moment of silence, in which the tension mounting up in my brief summary of that
chilling dream seems so thick that you could cut it with a knife. After taking
this in for a minute or two, Sam draws breath and begins to speak again.
“Oh.” He
says quietly.
“What?” I
ask, annoyed with the simplicity of his response. Sam sighs again and
continues.
“When you
fainted, you weren’t exactly silent or sill for that matter. You started to
shout things. Just mumbling at first, but soon enough you were properly
shouting stuff and twitching. Parson thought you were having a fit or
something.”
“What did
I say?” I cut in, not remembering saying or hearing. It makes sense though, considering the
cautious responses that Mr Parson and the rest of the class had demonstrated
when I came around again, and the fact that I found myself on the classroom
floor.
“You
mumbled something about colour and…” His voice trails off and I stare into his
blue eyes, searching for the answer. He sighs and begins to speak again.
“…and then
you said that you knew that death was coming for you. And here’s the strangest
part Anna. Your voice went all weird, like you were…” he hesitates and I look
forcefully at him, as if willing him to carry on will make him. But he doesn’t
pause for long and continues “possessed or something. You said something about the
sky being on fire, but darkness was coming at the same time. It started off all
weird with something like ‘the Dark Assembly will rise again-‘
‘’and when the ground has turned to ash and
the sky to flames, only she can make the choice to destroy or conquer the
Darkness, before a new age for humanity dawns.” I finish
for him. I’m not exactly sure where these words are coming from, they just seem
to be tumbling out of my mouth and there’s nothing I can do to stop myself.
When I finally trail off into a confused silence, Sam gives me another curious
look.
“Anna what’s wrong with you
recently. First you start acting all detached and quiet and now this? Is there
something wrong with you Anna, are you on something? I mean, who the hell are
the Dark Assembly? They sound like some kind of cheesy 80’s TV show villains.”
I sit there in silent shock, not wanting to believe that my best friend thinks
that I’m going crazy. My stomach seems to have flipped, almost in anticipation.
I’m confused.
That
moment of silence is the longest; the atmosphere between the two of us seeming
thicker than it’s ever been between us before. I’ve never before even felt
close to tense around Sam. He looks towards me and I rack my brains. The Dark
Assembly? For starters I don’t think I’ve ever even heard of such a thing – I
wonder if my subconscious mind has picked it up from a video game or comic book
or something, but Sam would have known that, considering the amount of time he
spends on his PlayStation. It scares me, the thought of having been possessed
by some unnatural force. Am I going crazy? It’s this that frightens me even
more than the memory of the dream. I began to pull myself up, with a new trail
of thoughts formulating in my head. The mysterious shadow in the field during
the power cut; the strange hand and mass of wispy dark shadow that followed in
the vision. I’m feeling almost ninety-nine percent certain that the hand from
the pit and the creature under the tree were the same thing. I don’t know why,
but they both had the same black, empty shrouds covering their… I’m assuming
body. But who, or rather, what exactly
were they? And more importantly, why have they suddenly surfaced at the same
time my mind throws up a mysterious phrase I don’t ever recall having heard
before?
“You know
what’d completely make you feel better.” He finally says after what seems like
a long period of consideration, his voice a lot softer than it had been, as if
he could sense that what he’d just queried had hit a raw nerve. “Kicking the
shit out of some old classics. I’m thinking Foo Fighters; maybe a bit of Queen
– like all the feel good stuff. We’ve got the piano out, so you wanna try that
dodgy acoustic Don’t Stop Me Now again? Come on.”
He stands
up, and extends his hand down to me. I take it, and he grabs the other one and
pulls me up – perhaps a little too forcefully, and into a hug. We stand there
for a moment, and I’m lost in the depths of guy scent.
“Your
shampoo smells so nice.” I mumble into a mouthful of his hair.
“You
always say that.” He laughs softly in response.
“It does.”
I protest, pulling away. “I swear guys aren’t meant to smell this good. You
should smell of like mud and guy stuff.”
“Yeah, and
also I should be out playing football and have crappy messy hair like I did
back in year eight... Would you rather I was like that?”
“You were
nice back then.” I laugh at him. He shoves me gently.
“Oi. You
were the one who told me to start straightening my hair.” He flops his fringe
down over his eyes to demonstrate.
“Yeah, and
it’s your fault you got addicted. Honestly, you’re as bad as most of the girls
in our year.” I knew that’d provoke a response, and still underneath the
fringe, he makes a face.
“Eurgh,
like I’d wanna have my hair look anything like that anyway. Looks like it’s
been burned alive.” He flicks his fringe out of his eyes. I love that flick.
“Sam...
Answer me honestly, okay? Did everyone all hear me back there in class? Do they
all think I’m a complete freak or something?” I ask.
“No more
than usual.” He reassures me, grabbing me again in a massive bear hug.
“Uh guys.”
Comes a voice behind us. We turn to see Dylan and Felix leaning on the door
into the garage watching us, arms crossed. “Sorry to interrupt the moment here,
but are we playing tonight or what? Some of us have got places to be later.”
Dylan’s already holding his bass, and I can tell by the way his hands are
twitching over the strings that he’s eager to play. Even if there’s no
electricity.
“Oh what,
another date with Madison?” Sam calls. Dylan grins wickedly.
“Told her
she could stop by here on her way to mine. That okay?” He asks Sam.
“No, sorry mate. No girls allowed in band
practice.” Sam calls back, and he sneaks a wink in my direction as we head
towards the garage door. I hit him again, and for what seems to be the
millionth time, we disappear off together into the garage.
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