Old Porters

Chapter Twenty Five

Twenty Five

With surprising speed, Ryan’s funeral came and went. All the people who had called him a freak whilst he was away stood together in the crematorium paying their respects, all watching as an empty coffin was marched past them. Roger had been there, even though he really did want to go. Kate had asked him though, so of course he went.

Now things were returning to a sense of normality. With Christmas coming people were trying to be cheerful around the school. Well most people anyway.

With his backpack on and his hands in his pockets, Roger trudged up to the second floor of the school behind Steve and waited outside the art room for their next lesson. No Abe today. He was at the dentist.

The pair stood, leaning against opposite walls of the cream coloured corridor and talked about the weather of all things. It had after all, been quite rainy yesterday. Something moved at the other end of the empty corridor and both the boys looked to see nothing.

“Thought I heard something,” Roger said, just to fill the void.

     “Same,” Steve replied, for the same reason.

     Rubber squeaked across the tiled floor. This time both the boys stood up straight as they heard it, then turned and saw nothing down the corridor. Years of being picked on and far too many horror movies made both their minds jump to the same conclusion. Someone was hiding around the corner at the end of the hallway.

The vigilante took three steps forward to investigate, then the door to the stairwell behind him opened. His fists clenched automatically as he turned to see the doorway, half expecting that he was about to become the first victim in a high school slasher movie. Instead of a mask-wearing psychopath carrying a signature weapon, Kate appeared.

“Hey,” Roger said, un clenching his fists and realising that nobody got killed in the daytime in scary movies until right at the end when everyone thought the killer was gone.

“You guys here for art already?” Kate asked. This was not what she wanted. She left the cafeteria to get away from people. She loved her friends but she could not talk to them about what had happened. Nobody in the world knew how she felt and making someone understand was not something she knew how to do.

“We were just passing,” Steve lied.

Roger sniffed the air. Aside for the overpowering smell of Steve’s deodorant, the fruity scent of Kate’s perfume and the smell of paints, oils, chalk, as well as other stuff Roger could not identify coming from the gap between the floor and the art room door, there was something the teenager could detect. Tuna.

Kate’s jaw fell loose and before Roger could ask what was wrong, a scream bounced off the solid surfaces that made up the corridor. The scream disorientated the vigilante. He held his hands to his ears and closed his eyes until the wail faded away.

Roger looked up at Kate, who was now looking at Steve, who was lying collapsed in a heap on the floor. Roger’s line of vision shot up the corridor and standing fifteen or so feet away, blocking most of the light from the window at the far end, was a scaly beast.